Page 2 of The Trail Boss

“Jeremiah,” she croaked, her voice raw.

She turned her head toward the crumpled wreckage of the SUV. The vehicle had come to rest on its side, its twisted frame illuminated by the flickering beam of a broken headlight. Inside, Jeremiah was slumped over the steering wheel, motionless.

“No!” she screamed, dragging herself forward despite the stabbing pain in her ribs and the sharp ache in her legs. Her hands clawed at the grass and dirt, her body protesting every inch as she crawled toward him.

“Jeremiah!” she cried again, her voice hoarse.

Her vision blurred with tears as she reached the shattered window. Glass bit into her palms as she reached inside, her fingers brushing against his arm. He didn’t move. His headhung limply, blood trailing down the side of his face as she felt for a pulse and found none.

“Please, no,” she sobbed, her voice trembling. “Jeremiah, wake up! Please!”

The acrid smell of gasoline filled her nostrils, sharp and suffocating. A faint hiss reached her ears, and her heart sank. She turned her head just in time to see a spark ignite beneath the crumpled hood.

“Jeremiah, I can’t...” She choked on her words, her voice breaking as panic surged through her. She tried to pull herself closer, to grab him, to do something.

But then, the spark became a flame.

The fire spread quickly, licking up the side of the SUV, its heat scorching the air. Roxie’s hands trembled as she tried to hold on, but the realization hit her like a punch to the gut—she wouldn’t make it in time.

“No!” she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. She pushed herself back, crawling frantically away from the vehicle as the flames roared to life.

Just as she reached the edge of the embankment, the explosion tore through the night. The force of it knocked her onto her back, the heat searing against her skin as fiery debris rained down around her.

Roxie lay there, gasping for breath, her vision filled with the bright, hellish glow of the burning wreckage. Her chest heaved with sobs as she turned her face away, her body trembling violently.

“Jeremiah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackle of the flames.

As the fire consumed what was left of the SUV, Roxie’s tears blurred her vision, the pain in her chest threatening to suffocate her. She had reached for him, she had tried—but it hadn’t been enough.

And as the weight of what had happened crashed down on her, she realized nothing would ever be the same again.

Present Day

“Focus,” she muttered under her breath, forcing her attention back to the notebook and to the here and now. There was nothing to be done about what had happened. She could only continue to move forward one step at a time.

The words began to come in short bursts, images of a sprawling ranch, a brooding cowboy, and a heroine with a heart full of fire. She wrote furiously, her pen scratching against the paper, until her wrist ached, and the world of her imagination felt just a little closer.

The sudden creak of a floorboard startled her. Roxie’s head snapped up, her pulse quickening. The room was empty, of course, but the fleeting sense of unease lingered. Shaking it off, she tucked the notebook back into her bag.

She stood in the center of the studio, her reflection staring back from the tarnished mirror. “You’ve survived worse,” she whispered to herself. “You’ll survive this, too.”

With a deep breath, Roxie grabbed her bag and headed for the door. Another long day awaited, and she had no choice but to meet it head-on.

The engine of Roxie’s ancient sedan sputtered as she turned onto the narrow back road that led to the Iron Spur. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving only the glow of the city in her rearview mirror. She adjusted her grip on the wheel, her knuckles white against the cracked leather. The road was quiet—almost too quiet—and she felt her muscles tighten as her thoughts wandered.

The rain. She remembered how it had slicked the pavement that night, how the headlights of oncoming cars had streaked into a blur as Jeremiah muttered something she couldn’t quite hear.

“Jeremiah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the engine. Her grip on the wheel tightened further as the memory crept closer.

The screech of tires. The deafening crash. The way the car had spun, her body yanked violently by the seatbelt. And then silence.

Roxie shook her head, forcing herself back to the present. She drew in a deep breath, focusing on the sound of the gravel crunching beneath her tires as she turned into the small parking lot behind the club. Relief washed over her as she pulled into her usual spot near the back door. The memory faded, leaving a dull ache in its wake.

“Get it together,” she muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she stepped out of the car. The cool evening air nipped at her skin, but she ignored it, her boots clicking softly on the pavement as she made her way inside.

The employee lounge of the Iron Spur was as unremarkable as always: a small room with lockers along one wall and a couple of comfy chairs clustered near a state-of-the-art pod coffeemaker. The assortment and variety of pods from which to choose always made her smile. The employees might not be among the club’s elite patrons, but the owners made sure they felt appreciated. Roxie walked in, nodding at another bartender she passed on her way to her locker.

“Hey, Roxie,” the woman said with a smile. “Busy night ahead.”

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