Page 122 of Dirty Cowboy

The red letters scream at me, louder than any words ever could. My knees hit the ground.

The ranch. Grandpa’s legacy. My home.

Gone.

I stare at the sign, my vision blurring, the weight of my failure crushing me.

I lost the ranch.

I lost Emma.

And I don’t know how to get any of it back.

The ranch stretches out before me, silent and unforgiving, like a graveyard of dreams. As the wind howls through, it carries a single thought: I have nothing left to lose, but maybe, just maybe, I have something to fight for.

Sunlight streams through the hospital window, painting pale golden lines across the sterile white walls. The rhythmic beeping of monitors blends with the soft hum of footsteps in the hallway, and the distant chatter of nurses filters through the door. Everything feels too bright, and too sharp, like the world has been stripped raw.

My body aches with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion, every muscle heavy as if I’m buried under a mountain of lead. My limbs won’t move the way I want them to. A dull, numb sensation settles into my bones, wrapping around my ribs like a vice. My head throbs with sluggish thoughts as I try to push through the fog.

How did I get here?

I close my eyes, searching for the last thing I remember.

Hanging from the train bridge.

Huntz.

The gunshot.

And the freezing water swallowing me whole.

My breath hitches, and my fingers twitch against the stiff sheets. I shift slightly, wincing as pain flares through my side. I swallow hard and try to move my left hand, but something feels off.

Grandma Estonia’s ring.

It’s gone!

Panic spikes through my veins, but I’m too weak to do anything about it. I turn my head slowly, my neck stiff, every movement sending sharp, searing aches through my body.

Grace is sitting beside my bed, scrolling through her phone, her foot bouncing restlessly. Dark circles shadow her tired eyes, and the tight pull of her lips tells me she hasn’t slept in days.

I try to speak, but my throat is dry as sandpaper, the words catching before they make it out. I try again, barely whispering, “Grace?”

Her head snaps up so fast, I swear, she nearly drops her phone.

Her eyes widen, and she leans over the bed rail, her face softening with pure, unfiltered relief. “Emma,” she breathes, her voice trembling. Her hands hover over me like she wants to touch me but isn’t sure if she should.

“You’re awake,” she whispers, like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then, without hesitation, she whips her head toward the door. “Mrs. Silver! She’s awake!”

The door bursts open.

My mother rushes inside, her face pale and eyes swollen from crying. She looks as if she’s been holding her breath since the moment I fell into the river, and now, she’s finally exhaling.

She’s at my bedside in seconds, gripping my hand like a lifeline. Grace holds a cup next to my face and places a straw against my lips. I barely find the strength to wet my lips and sip.

“Emma, sweetheart,” Mom sobs, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. “We’ve been waiting for this. The doctors kept saying you’d wake up, but we were so scared. You almost died.”

The words hit me like a freight train, slamming into my chest, leaving me gasping. My gaze darts between them, searching for some kind of explanation, but all I find is the overwhelming weight of it all pressing down on me.

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