Page 2 of Wild and Wrangled

Right as the front door opened, my eyes locked on the bottle of vodka that was on the other side of the bar. I saw Gus, his brother Wes, and the man who owned that bottle of vodka, Luke Brooks, ramble through it.

I knew they were looking for me, that they wanted to make sure I was okay, but I couldn’t deal with it yet. I didn’t want toknow what happened at the church or how my parents reacted or what people were saying.

So I pushed myself up and over the bar, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and slid out of my stool as quickly and quietly as possible. I headed for the bathroom, but I saw Wes notice me and, sure enough, a second later—

“Cam!” Gus called, but I kept moving.

Damn it.

“Are you really stealing from my bar right now?” Brooks asked.

“You look great, though!” Wes followed up.

I only had a few more steps to the bathroom. I could make it before they got to me. “Cam,” Gus said again. “Let’s talk!”

“I’m good,” I called back without looking. “Is Riley okay?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. Gus wouldn’t have come here before Riley was taken care of. He was a good dad—the best dad.

“Yes,” he said right as I reached the bathroom door. I opened it.

“Then we’re good!” I said as I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it before I pressed my back against the old wood. I stared at the yellow tiles on the floor before I sank down to it—bottle in hand.

There was a knock. “Cam?” It was Gus. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here and talk.” I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to drink. And eat.

“I’m fine here,” I called through the door. I listened to him continue to try to cajole me out, but I didn’t budge. I sat on the floor of the Devil’s Boot bathroom—the place where probably half of Meadowlark’s population had been conceived—and I didn’t even care. My gaze was unfocused and my eyes heavy.

I tried to cry—really I did—but nothing came out. Iwantedto cry. I would have loved to feelsomethingabout the fact that my life just got turned upside down.

Instead, I was numb. Blissfully and comfortably numb. Maybe this was a good thing—that I didn’t feel anything. My feelings had always gotten me in trouble.

I don’t know how long I stayed there, my wedding dress puddled around me, or how long Gus knocked at the door. He was persistent, but after a while the knocking stopped.

All I could hear was the music from the jukebox—it slid its way under the door, and I welcomed it into my fortress. It felt nice, being wrapped in it. I didn’t get wrapped in things—music, arms, embraces—very often.

I didn’t register that the music was the only thing I could hear—no talking, no bar patrons, or stools skating across the floor—until there was another knock at the bathroom door.

It was softer this time—like the person doing it didn’t want to disturb me or something. Three taps. They were on beat with the music.

“Ash?” a voice said. I straightened my spine. I’d know that voice anywhere. If I had slipped into a coma, it would wake me up. If I was six feet under, I’d dig myself out of the grave just to be closer to it, which was dramatic and startling and tragic and stupid.

But it was true.

“It’s just me out here,” he said. “The bar’s cleared out.”I’ll love you until we’re dust in the wind, Camille Ashwood.“I’m here, Cam.”

For some reason, I reached up and unlocked the door—theclick was unmistakable. “I’m going to open the door, okay?” he said, and I scooted away from it. When the door opened, my eyes found his without even trying.

Dusty Tucker.

His blond and light brown hair fell just past his chin, and his face had only gotten sharper and more angular as he got older. The silver ring that went through his right nostril was almost the same color as his eyes, but they were more slate than silver. He was beautiful. He always had been, but beautiful things can be dangerous, too.

Silence and the weight of the years past hung between us. Finally, I was the one who broke it.

“Take me somewhere.” That’s what I said. Dusty squatted in front of me so his gray eyes were level with my brown ones and stretched out a tattooed hand. I took it without thinking.

Chapter 2

Dusty

I’m not normally a drown-my-sorrows type of guy. I don’t really have a lot of sorrows. Honestly, I probably have one single sorrow, so I’ve never really had much to drown. But that one sorrow packed a hell of a punch—especially today.

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