Page 23 of Rough
Then again.
Her smile filled with joy slams into me. She was clearly so happy to see us. Then the sight of her walking away, her ass filling those jeans like it should be illegal. There’s no more conversation happening around me, everyone waiting for my response. I scroll down to read the comments, then snort out a bark of laughter as I read the shit people are spouting off about us.
Those cowboys should be ashamed of themselves.
Who talks to a woman like that?
She’s the kind of country I wouldn’t mind visiting.
What’d they call her? Betsy? BETSY – call me. I’ll treat you right.
I thought these guys were the kind of men to look up to?
The hashtags trending are all too telling of where their loyalties have shifted.
#cowgirlforever
#countrystrong
#standwithbetsy
#countrygirl
#jackass #horsesass #wildtamed
“Seems you went and fucked up, Trina,” I say, darkening the screen before I set her phone on the table. With one finger, I push it across the surface until she fumbles for it, grasping it to her chest.
Wilder is leaning back, staring at the ceiling with his hands locked behind his neck. “Fuuuuuck,” he drawls out. “Our followers have dropped by almost a quarter. What’s that gonna do to us?”
She’s chewing on her lip, unable to meet any of our eyes. “I got an email from a few of your sponsors wanting to know what the hell is going on. Two have already pulled out, stating that you don’t align with the message they want associated with their companies. I think…”
“What? Please tell me what you could possibly think right now,” Remy grits out. I have to give him credit for how he’s handling this. After the way he handled the situation with Betsy and how vicious he was, his reservation with Trina is almost shocking.
Swallowing hard, she nods once. “I think we need to ask her to do another video with you three. Show people that you all are good with each other, that it wasn’t received properly by our audience.”
“I think it was received exactly how you wanted it to be. It’s just everyone is on the wrong side, amiright?” I clip out, then stand slowly to my feet, looking at my friends. “I’m gonna go see her. Let her know that her face just went viral all over the internet. She has a right to know.Especiallysince Trina let your last name free in that video, Rem. Won’t take long before people figure out where we’re from.”
“JESUS CHRIST!” Remy shouts as I leave the room. I have no pity for how her face pales, then turns green at his anger. Obviously, he’d never lay a hand on her, but I’ll be shocked if she’s not fired and on her way back to wherever she came from within the next few hours.
It doesn’t take me long to make it to Betsy’s place, turning off the engine and taking a good look at the place. We weren’t here long enough to really absorb how much things have changed. This place is thriving, and I can see little bits of her touch everywhere.
Hoping out of the SUV, I slam the door and shove the keys into my pocket. Her rusted-out Ford is parked next to the barnwith the horses, so I try looking there first. Passing the old diesel storage tank, I frown when I notice it’s missing the flower garden she painted there. Now, it’s just a dingy white, like it was covered a few years ago and is now weathered from rain, wind, and snow.
“Country, you in here?” I call out as I step inside, pushing the brim of my hat up with a finger to look around. The only thing I can hear are the horses shifting in their stalls, munching on feed and breathing heavily. I walk down, peering into each stall, pausing for a moment when I see my Fielder, blanketed and calm in his stall.
Snapping my fingers, I step up on the ledge outside the locked gate and wait for him to come to me. “Hey, boy. How you been?” I ask as I run my fingers over the white stripe that cuts down his face. He’s a blonde stallion that Betsy’s Pap helped me buy at auction when I had just turned fifteen. His straw-colored fur and mane always reminded me of Betsy’s hair, which is why I named him Fielder.
Can’t have the country without the fields. And I couldn’t have my Fielder without our girl. It was Betsy that told her Pap that I was itching for a horse, so he loaned me the funds and I worked my ass off all summer to pay him back. It was only fitting I named him after her. I don’t think she ever realized it.
I probably never told her. Maybe I should have.
Resting my palm on his nose, I let myself crack a smile when he closes his eyes at my touch. She’s been taking great care of him; I’ll definitely give her that. He looks like he’s been flourishing while we’ve been away.
“You know where she’s at?” I ask. Pointless, I know, but I feel like he answers anyway when he shakes my hand away and steps back from the wall. “I’ll be back to see you soon, buddy.”
Smacking my hand on the rough wood, I continue making my way down the stalls and see Frankenstein’s nameplate a couple of stalls down from Fielder’s. Peering inside, Iimmediately know where she’s gone. Frank’s had a tough life, so Betsy doesn’t take him out when it’s working time. When she rides him, she takes him to the pond.
“Why you always take him here instead of the trails?” I ask, picking at the grass in front of me.
