Page 7 of Riding Cowgirl

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Page 7 of Riding Cowgirl

“Why are you being such a dick?”

He smiles. “Why are you getting pissed off at me? I didn’t cheat on you.”

“No, but you’re acting like this whole thing is a big joke. I was about to marry the man.”

His eyes widen. “You’re welcome!”

I roll away, holding back tears. I’m not sad, so I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s probably the overwhelming nature of the moment. I shake it off and speak slowly, hoping he’ll understand me better that way. “Why did you take me? Why not take the note and threaten to show everyone? Johnathan would’ve given you whatever money you wanted right then.”

“You’re more valuable.”

Now I know for sure I’m a mess. I shouldn’t be swooning over this kidnapping, unempathetic jerk calling me valuable.

“How am I more valuable than the ultrasound picture? He can’t deny that.”

“In the morning, I’ll send Johnathan a text. A picture of you and a picture of the letter. He’ll pay higher for the package deal.”

I laugh. “So, you do have the letter?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you need the money for, Tex? You’re riding that brand new bike, you’re living a new life up in the mountains, and you’re building a lodge for the people.” I’m speaking sarcastically for the hell of it. “Seems like you’re doing okay for yourself.”

“It’s about the principle of it all. The land Johnathan lives on should be mine. The money he spends on bullshit should be mine.Youshould be mine. He doesn’t get that shit for free anymore.” As though he realizes he’s said too much, Tex pulls back and looks away. “Go to sleep.”

I stare up at the ceiling, willing my heart not to swell with warmth at the slightest bit of attention, but here I am, practically floating like a stupid idiot. “You said you’re building a lodge, what else are you up to? I’ve thought about you a lot since you left.”

He laughs. “Was that before or after my brother was underneath you?”

Figuring I deserve the quip, I let it go and let down my guard, though I’m not sure why. Maybe this is how kidnapping works or maybe I have the quickest onset of Stockholm’s Syndrome ever. Then again, maybe I’ve been dying to talk to Tex like this since the day he left. “Both,but mostly after. I thought moving on with Johnathan made sense. When you left, he was there, and I was so fucking sad. But the truth is, everything he does, I compare to you.” I clear my throat. “It’s fucked up, right? But the ranch and the horses and the boots that sat next to the door,” I wipe away a tear, “all that shit made me feel closer to you, Tex.”

He goes silent for a long moment, and I wonder if some smart-ass comment is coming, but he clears his throat and asks, “Are you still painting?”

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. “No. I haven’t painted in months.”

“You loved sitting out in the pasture, sketching the horses and painting sunsets. Why’d you stop? I thought you were going to sell your work and move up to the mountains to live as a recluse artist in the woods. You know, the kind that wears turquoise jewelry and flowy tops with no waist.”

“Well, I spilled the paint in the barn once and it didn’t go over well. Your brother is a stickler about cleanliness.”

“So what? He took your paint away?”

“No!” I pause, thinking of a way to word what Johnathan told me without looking weak. “He asked me not to paint in the barn anymore.”

“But the barn is where you get your inspiration.”

I hate that Tex knows so much about me, and I love it at the same time.

“It’s fine. I was never going to be a famous painter. Besides, it opened doors for me to try other things… like tea. Did you know there are six different varieties?”

“Tea?”

“Tea.”

“Tea… as in the warm piss you drink with your pinky finger up? Since when are you into that kind of shit? Was thisthe asshole’ssuggestion, too?”

“There’s a lot of schmoozing in ranching I didn’t expect.”

Tex laughs. “No, there’s not. There’s sheering sheep, there’s breeding sheep, and there’s handling the books. Johnathan and my father made their business dealings more complicated because they were trying to own all the land in fucking Amarillo.” He sighs. “What do you love, on your own, without him?”




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