Page 96 of Perfect Cowboy

Even the most peaceful things can appear sinister when it’s dark and your mind is racing. I walk to the cottage so quickly that I’m basically running, the happy bliss from date night with Gavin fading away.

And then a strange, eerie sensation overwhelms me, making me shudder.

I stop walking and listen closely, trying to pick up on any sounds that are out of the ordinary. Nothing stands out. I turn to face the direction where Gavin and the guys are, but I don’t want to run back and distract them from their task with my crazy ravings.

If I didn’t see or hear anything – and I didn’t – what would I say anyway? That I’m scared of the dark?

Gavin doesn’t have time to cater to me right now.

I’m being ridiculous.

Ordering myself to be brave, I walk toward the front porch. But as I approach, a terrible metallic stench makes me gag. I stumble back and trip over my own feet that haven’t caught up with the fact that I’m changing direction.

And now my ass is in the snow.

I’m not wearing gloves since we didn’t spend an extended period of time outside tonight, and a wet, warm, and sticky substance is all over my bare hands.

Snow is cold.

This is not right.

“What the hell…”

My stomach bottoms out, and I refuse to let my brain skip ahead and process what all of this could mean.

I tell myself not to look up, not to find out what’s on the porch, and to just close my eyes and try to erase what’s already happened.

But I look anyway.

And the mutilated body traps a strangled scream in my throat.

I run as fast as I can toward Gavin, crashing into him at full speed. He absorbs my weight and doesn’t even step backward, wrapping his arms around me.

“Babe, what is it? What happened?”

“Jesus,” I pant. “The… It’s… I found… I found… What you’re looking for and… Oh, God, Gavin, please don’t go. Please send Cameron.”

Cameron rushes over to us, and his face is lit with concern. “Send me where? What’s happening?”

“On the porch of the cottage where I’m staying… Please. Gavin, don’t go.”

“Ashley, tell us what we’re walking into,” Gavin orders.

“It’s Scout,” I whisper, hot tears pouring down my cheeks. “I’m so, so sorry.”

I won’t be responsible for breaking his heart, and I don’t want to say the words.

I can’t,

I can’t,

I can’t.

“What about Scout?” Gavin asks, and the panic rings painfully loud in his voice.

But whether I say the words or not, I am responsible. The reason all of this chaos has been brought into his life is because of me.

And now Scout is dead.

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