Page 2 of My Cowboy Temptation

At seventeen, everything seemed possible. The college, the career, the boy. Now at twenty-four, the possibilities don’t seem as endless or attainable. Sure, I graduated from my dream college, but two years later, I’m not the rising star I thought I would be, and my paintings aren’t hanging up on exhibit in a hip L.A. art gallery—or any art gallery for that matter.

And the boy? Unclear. Although, after our run-in yesterday, I’m beginning to believe anything might be possible.

Everly grins over at me, as if she’s feeling all the possibilities of our early years again too. Everly and I have been best friends since she first moved to Castle Falls back in the third grade. It’s a friendship that has persevered despite my heading to sunny California to attend California Institute of the Arts—or Cal Arts—then moving to L.A. to try and get my foot in the door of the art world. Everly hadn’t stuck around Castle Creek, either. She’d gone to Billings to attend Montana State University, earning a degree in social work before going to work at Child Protective Services.

But about a month ago, I’d grown tired of answering phones and scheduling lunches and making nice with the owner of the art gallery where I was working as a receptionist and assistant without seeing any of the rewards, and I decided that maybe I needed to get out of L.A. and focus again on my own art.

My dad was more than happy to have me back in town, going so far as to pay for a six-month lease on a new two-bedroom condo, thinking I might use the extra room as a studio for painting.

I had other ideas, however. Knowing that Everly was debating going back to school for her master’s but was hard-up for the cash to do so, I’d called her and somehow talked her into returning to Castle Falls as my roommate, pushing hard the idea of her saving money on rent that she could put toward graduate school.

And here we are. Both together and living back in Castle Falls again and driving down the highway to our home with our new purchases. Purchases like the sexy lingerie I’m hoping to use in my little operation to seduce Brody Dalton once and for all, even if I still haven’t formulated a game plan to do so.

It’s nearly dark by the time we pull up in front of our condo. “I’ll make the margaritas if you start making your famous brownies,” I call to her.

“Deal,” Everly says and grabs her sole bag and heads up the path to the front door while I walk to the back of my Ford Bronco—a gift from my dad for my college graduation—and grab two of the bags and follow her.

Only instead of going inside, Everly is stopped outside the front door, her body tense.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“The door’s open,” she whispers and motions toward the door. I follow her gaze and see the four-inch gap. “Did you set the alarm before we left?”

“I-I think so.” Ever since some scumbag left a headless cat on our doorstep last weekend, a warning to Everly to stop interfering on a case she’s been working on at Child Protective Services, we’ve been pretty careful about keeping the alarm on all the time.

But could I swear I engaged it today? I’m not so sure.

I look past Everly and push against the door to look inside. We both gasp as we take in the hellish scene before us.

Our once beautiful couch has been ripped apart and tossed to its side, and the soft, plush blankets and pillows we snuggled in for last night’s movie night have been ripped apart and are scattered everywhere. I barely process the rest of the scene, like the television smashed and pulled from its mount, the cupboards left open in the kitchen and the glittering smashed glass on the floor, or two years of my work shredded and piled in the corner of the room like it’s nothing but trash.

The damage is shocking. But it is nothing compared to seeing the word “cunt” written in bright red on the wall.

Someone broke into our place, destroyed it, and left us a message. And that someone could still be inside.

My first instinct is to call Brody.

Even now, after all these years, he’s still the one person I want to turn to when I’m in trouble. But that’s crazy. I don’t even know if the number I’ve stored in my phone all this time is still his. “I’m calling my dad,” I say instead and whirl around. “He’ll know what to do.”

I babble a few incoherent things as my dad listens, breaking in to calmly ask me questions. He pauses, and I can hear him talking to someone. Then I hear another voice. Brody’s voice, just as calm but no less urgent, and I feel somehow better, even though they are miles away from us, and I don’t know if someone might still—

I look around, realizing that Everly isn’t in sight and that the door is open wider than before.

“Brody’s on the phone with Chief McCall,” my dad is saying. “He’s sending officers over immediately. I’m on my way, so you two sit tight.”

I hang up and go to stand in the doorway and look inside for my friend. I can’t get my feet to move forward, my fear so acute, which pisses me off on top of everything else because I’m supposed to be the fearless one.

“Everly,” I call out. Nothing. “Everly!”

I see her now, walking toward me from her room, her face deathly white. When she reaches me, I grab onto her, feeling her trembling, although maybe that’s me. “My dad and the police will be here any minute.”

I don’t know how long we stand there like that before we finally hear the police siren coming from a few blocks away. We’re given blankets to stop our shaking while one of the two officers asks us questions that we must have answered because he is scratching away on his pad.

Then there’s the sound of another vehicle approaching, tires screeching to a stop, and I suddenly see him. His tall, imposing figure impossible to miss as he slams his truck door and strides across the grass until he reaches me.

“It’s okay, Cal. I’ve got you,” Brody says just as his thick, muscled arms wrap around me, holding me against him. I’m surrounded by the familiar scent of cigars and whiskey and leather that tease and comfort me, just like I remember. Back before that awful shift in our relationship, right after I kissed him, and he pushed me away.

I lean into him, hold my face against his chest where I can hear his heart beat even as tears fall down my face. Despite the carnage inside, I’ve never felt safer.

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