Page 6 of Cowboy Bull's Promise

I called her Pixie the first time I talked to her.

But that was dumb, and she was right to scoff at me.

Arliss Deniro is no Pixie.

She’s a goddamn queen.

Far too good for the likes of me.

And, of course, she doesn’t want me. Don’t want a goddamn thing to do with a loser nobody like me.

She’s got my fucking number, alright.

Boy, does she ever.

And good on her, too.

She knows I’m a no-good fuck up.

That’s why I’m outside on a chilly Saturday morning working and not snuggled under the covers with her.

I don’t deserve to be.

I’m trying to be good about it. To respect her wishes and stay away.

No matter how hard my Bull kicks and stomps, tearing at my insides.

Goddamn beast is merciless in his attacks.

He wants her bad.

So fucking bad.

It’s been three weeks, and I’ve managed not to talk to her again.

But yeah, I hunted her down to her job in town at the local shithole bar.

She’s a bartender, and sometimes she works as a waitress there, too.

Shame fills me as I think it’s likely where she’s heard about me and my man-whoring ways.

Fuck.

I never even had a chance, did I?

My Bull rears up and stomps and I swear I feel it in my gut.

Sorrow and regret are bitter pills to swallow this early, and on an empty stomach, too.

But my spine’s been tingling all damn day, and I can tell something is coming, slinking all the way into Barren County.

It’s drawing close now.

Too fucking close.

I’m trying to respect Arliss’ wishes. To leave her alone.

But I have a sinking feeling whatever is coming, it’s looking for me.

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