Page 32 of Running to the Cowboy

Jake laughs. “Better not let Curly hear you say that.”

“Why not? He’s ready to retire anyway.”

While their compliments make me feel good, I’m worried about Wylie.

“What’re you staring at?” Ennis asks as I gaze out the window.

“Huh,” I say, noticing Ramsay trotting by the kitchen window. “Ramsay’s back, but Wylie’s not with him.”

I turn to look at Ennis and Jake, who are exchanging a look.

“That’s weird, right?” I ask.

Ennis drops the rest of his lunch on the counter and makes for the mud room. Jake is already at the back door, putting his hat back on. “Damn horse probably threw him. I told him no one in their right mind rides a stallion to do ranch work,” Ennis grumbles,

As for me, I don’t like that explanation. Ennis is placating me so I don’t panic, but underneath, he’s scared.

Jake and Ennis run to the utility barn. I follow them. One of them hops in a truck, and the other gets behind the wheel of one of the Gators.

“I’ll call you when we find him,” Jake says.

No way they’re leaving me alone. “Take me with you!” I shout, but they’re already backing out of the shed. “Go inside the house and lock the doors!” Ennis shouts, pointing at me.

I have a horrible feeling about all this.

I tear out of the shed, and with Wylie’s old boots on my feet, several sizes too big, it’s not suited for running balls to the wall. No way I’m going to lock myself in the house when Wylie’s missing.

Ramsay is pacing back and forth in front of the stable and needs me to tend to him.

I approach slowly from the side, keeping my distance.

“Ramsay. It’s okay.”

The stallion backs away from me, pawing the ground and snorting. His muscles are tense like he wants to kick, and his ears are flattened. On top of that, he’s crapping like the very definition of the phrase scared shitless.

“It’s okay, boy,” I say calmly, but I’m careful not to approach.

From behind me, the slide of metal against metal sounds, as Wylie’s 12 gauge Winchester is cocked.

Ramsay rears up.

All the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

That’s when I remember, too late, that I’d stupidly left the Winchester on the gun rack in the stable.

Chapter Sixteen

Wylie

Sensing danger, Ramsay starts acting a fool as soon as Orlyn Moffat appears like a specter out of the fog.

I’m not going to draw on my neighbor, even though the man has his right hand on his belt holster, trying to look threatening, like some kind of rookie.

Still, I keep one eye on the butt of my rifle in my saddle scabbard as he approaches.

“You have something I want, cowpoke.”

I raise the brim of my hat. “Then we should go inside and talk about it man-to-man. My horse doesn’t seem too keen on us settling things out here.”

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