Page 45 of Rough Ride with the Grumpy Cowboy
I shake my head. “It didn’t feel that way.”
“With Zane, you never know. He’s a loose cannon.”
Is he though? It didn’t feel that way today.
My interrupted conversation with Zane bugs me the whole ride to the rec center, and by the time we get there, I’m no closer to an answer.
As we’re getting out of the car, my phone rings with a call from Lou, so I ask Ella and Daisy to head in first.
“You are so lucky I promised to pick up your calls; otherwise I’d have dodged this one as well,” I say when I pick up.
“Ava...” Lou calls out, and I can immediately tell that something is wrong.
“What is it? Is it him again?”
She hesitates before confirming, and I can hear the dread in her voice. “Yes...”
Fuck!
“What did he do?”
“You have to promise me to be calm about this first.”
“Dammit, Lou, tell me.”
“I don’t know how, but the stalker must have tracked you down there. There are pictures of you circulating the internet—recent ones of you in Wrangler Creek. Like the ones you’d expectfrom paparazzi, only creepy, like they were taken in secret,” she explains.
“What the fuck?!”
“The PR team and I are doing our best to get them taken down, but they’ve already done their rounds, so I’m sending you a security team down there,” she decrees.
I’m not going to allow her to do that. I don’t want any more people around me than there already are. “Don’t—that will only draw more attention to me. I’ll talk to the Morgans and stick to my original plan of not leaving the ranch.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I still have a month and a half left on my vacation, and I am not going to let him ruin it. Whoever the fuck he is.”
“Okay, but do let me know if anything happens. I’ll get you out of there immediately.”
“I will. Don’t worry, Lou, I’ll be okay,” I assure her.
We hang up, and I’m still reeling from the information I just received when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around with an annoyed look on my face that is soon replaced with panic.
“Mother?”
Miranda Fuerte, the woman who gave me life and who was once my closest ally. She is the spitting image of me, only older,with the most gorgeous dark hair, defined Hispanic looks, and flawless olive skin.
“Ah, so you know I am your mother?” she retorts.
“What are you doing here? How did you...”
“How did I find you? You’re famous, sweetheart. You seriously didn’t think you could come here and I wouldn’t know, right?” she bites back, faking a smile.
My hands start shaking, heartbeat increasing as I start assessing my surroundings for an exit strategy.
“Teaching a music class? Really, Noa? This is beneath you,” she mocks.
“It’s just for fun,” I defend, her words making me feel small.
