Page 9 of Dirty Cowboys (Masked Men #7)

Indie

Today I feel different—for the first time in forever, I am content.

My life is good here, I am making friends, my content has never done so well, and the masked men complete the picture.

While I know our sexy meetups can’t go on forever, and at some stage we will have to stop, I don’t plan on rushing to shut it down.

My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah Beth.

Sarah Beth

Wyatt’s practicing at the arena today. Want to come watch? He could use the moral support. He’s nervous about his next ride.

I smile at the message. In the short time I’ve been here, Sarah Beth has become a good friend.

She doesn’t judge my mistakes and actually seems to enjoy teaching me about ranch life.

Watching Wyatt practice might give me some good content for my followers, and I need something to distract me from replaying last night on repeat in my head.

Me

Absolutely! What time?

Sarah Beth

Meet me at 2. Fair warning, it’s dusty and loud. Dress accordingly.

I laugh at her message and send her a thumbs up.

After seeing me at the rodeo, she drove up here and gave me some of her older clothes. Normally I would feel bad accepting clothes from someone, but when I told her she laughed and admitted she’d felt bad for me because of the stares I’d been getting.

The day drags on, so to fill my time I reply to comments and upload some new pictures. I get my content calendar for the day marked off right in time to meet up with Sarah Beth at the practice arena, which sits just outside of Copper Creek

When I pull into the parking area, I see several trucks and trailers. I spot Sarah Beth, and she waves me over .

“You made it! Wyatt’s up next. It’s rare they get to come here and train, but this trainer is one of the best.”

I nod and follow her inside. Honestly, it’s not what I was expecting—just a simple setup. I snap some pictures and climb onto the railings next to Sarah Beth.

“So how does this work?” I ask. “Is it just Wyatt today?”

“Wyatt and a couple other guys from neighboring ranches,” Sarah Beth explains. “They rotate through, each taking a few practice rides. It’s good for them to practice on different bulls—it keeps them sharp.”

I nod, snapping photos. Through my viewfinder, I spot Wyatt near the chutes, talking animatedly with an older man who I presume is the trainer.

“He doesn’t seem nervous,” I say, watching Wyatt listen to his trainer.

“He shouldn’t be. Wyatt’s a natural, and he needs to trust himself more.”

The trainer calls out something I can’t quite hear, and Wyatt nods, then walks toward the chutes. Other riders gather around, and I can feel the energy shift as everyone focuses on what’s about to happen.

“First ride coming up!” someone shouts, and I raise my phone, ready to capture the action.

Wyatt climbs onto the rail above one of the chutes, and I can see him going through his mental preparation .

“This is what he lives and breathes for,” Sarah Beth says beside me. “You can see it on his face.”

She’s right. Even from this distance, I can see how much he loves this as he settles onto the bull’s back.

The gate swings open, and suddenly the arena erupts with movement. The bull bursts out, spinning and bucking. I fire off shot after shot, so I can show him later.

Those few seconds don’t feel any quicker the second time I watch him.

When the buzzer sounds, Wyatt dismounts cleanly and jogs toward the fence, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was amazing!” I call out as he approaches our section of the fence line.

“Thanks! That was just the warmup bull,” he pants, still catching his breath. “Sarah Beth, did you get that on video?”

“Sure did,” she says, holding up her phone. “Your form looked solid.”

We spend the next hour watching other riders take their turns, with Wyatt giving commentary for my benefit. In that hour, I learn more about bull riding than I ever thought I’d need to know, but there’s something infectious about their passion for the sport.

“Alright, one more round on the beast,” the trainer calls out. “Wyatt, you game? ”

“Absolutely,” Wyatt replies, already hustling back toward the chutes.

This time, there’s a distinct energy as he prepares. I can see his nerves, and the other riders have gathered closer to watch. I sense this ride means something more than I understand.

As Wyatt settles onto the bull’s back, I position myself for the best angle. The anticipation builds as he adjusts his grip and nods to the gate operator.

“Alright, Wyatt,” the trainer shouts. “Show us what you and Mercy can do.”

My phone slips in my hands. The world seems to tilt as that single word echoes in my mind. Mercy. The safe word they gave me. The word that would stop everything, that would bring me back to safety if things went too far. Mercy.

The gate opens, and the bull explodes into the arena.

All I can think about is last night. The rope around my throat, and the moment I could have said that word and stayed silent. How close I came to needing it.

The sounds of the arena fade; Sarah Beth is saying something beside me, but I can’t focus. All I can hear is my own heartbeat, and that word repeated over and over.

Mercy.

The coincidence is too much—too specific. In a town this small, with these men, and everything that’s happened, it can’t be random. It can’t be.

“Indie? Are you okay?” Sarah Beth’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. I shift abruptly, nearly losing my balance on the fence rail.

“I need to go. I’m sorry, I just?—”

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

But I’m already climbing down from the fence.

I need to get out of here and figure out what this means.

I stumble toward my car, barely registering the concerned appeals from behind me.

My hands are trembling so badly it takes several tries to get the key in the ignition.

When the engine finally starts, I pull out of the parking area faster than I should, gravel spraying behind me.

I’m halfway back to town when I realize I’m crying. Hot tears stream down my face as the implications crash over me. Wyatt is a kid. If the town finds out, they will all hate me. He may not look like a child, but fuck , he’s only just turned eighteen.

I’m so distracted by my spiraling thoughts I don’t see the figure walking out of the feed store until I nearly run him down. I slam on the brakes, my car skidding to a stop inches from Duke. He approaches my driver’s side window, and though I roll it down, I’m unable to meet his eyes .

“Indie, what the hell happened? You nearly ran me over.”

“I’m sorry, I...” The words get stuck in my throat. How do I explain without revealing everything?

“You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

I look up at him, tears blurring my vision. “Wyatt’s bull,” I whisper. “It’s called Mercy.”

“And?” he asks.

Fresh tears spill over. “I messed up,” I sob out. “I’ve messed everything up.”

Before he can respond, and I have to explain what I can’t possibly explain, I put the car in drive and speed away. I leave Duke standing in the middle of the street, watching me disappear.

I don’t stop driving until I reach the farmhouse, and even then, I sit in my car for a long time, staring at the place that was beginning to feel like my new home.

Mercy.

The word echoes in my mind as I finally make my way inside, and I realize that for the first time since this started, I will need to use it.

I pace the small living room like a caged animal, my mind racing through every interaction I’ve had since arriving in Copper Creek.

Wyatt. It has to be Wyatt. He was there the first night at the bar when I talked to Marge about my fantasies. He must have heard everything. About my blog, being called names during sex, all the things I desired.

God, how could I have been so stupid? Of course, he would have told his friends.

They probably laughed about the desperate city girl who moved to their little town looking for cowboys to fulfill her dirty fantasies.

Then they gave me exactly what I asked for.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Wyatt is barely eighteen, and I was begging him for it. The thought makes my stomach churn.

I stop pacing and lean against the kitchen counter, trying to catch my breath.

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

Wyatt’s confidence around me, the way he invited me to watch his first bull ride, how comfortable he was when we were taking pictures.

He wasn’t being friendly; he was learning what I liked so he could use it against me later.

And his friends—maybe even some of the ones I met at the ranch—were in on the joke. All of them knew exactly who they were playing with, while I thought I was living out some anonymous fantasy.

My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah Beth.

Sarah Beth

Hope you’re feeling better! Wyatt was asking about you after you left.

I bet he was probably wondering if I’d figured it out, if their little game was over. No, I need to get out of here. I can’t think straight with these thoughts spinning through my head. Maybe some fresh air and photography will help clear my mind—help me figure out what to do next.

I grab my phone and head outside, not caring where I end up. My feet automatically carry me toward the back of the property, the place where everything started. Where I first saw those glowing masks and thought I’d found something with these men.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, walking right back to the scene of my humiliation, like I can’t help myself. Maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m exactly as pathetic as they think I am.

The sky is getting darker as the clouds roll in fast. Hopefully, I’ll get to experience my first storm, but I’m too busy rehearsing what I’ll say if they show up tonight to note how fast they are actually moving.

I know who you are, Wyatt.

Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?

The game’s over.

Even as I practice the words, I feel doubt creeping in.

What if I’m wrong? What if it’s not Wyatt after all, and I’m about to destroy something real because of a coincidence? The bull’s name could mean nothing. Maybe I’m overthinking because I’m scared of how much last night meant.

I reach the spot where they usually appear and pause, looking toward the tree line. Part of me hopes they’ll show up, so I can end this uncertainty one way or another. Part of me hopes they won’t because I’m terrified of what I’ll see when those masks come off.

The first raindrops hit my face, startling me from my thoughts.

I look up to see the storm clouds much closer than they were minutes ago.

The wind picks up, making the trees sway.

I should head back to the house, but something keeps me rooted in place.

If they’re coming tonight, they’ll be here soon.

I can wait a little longer to face whatever truth is waiting for me.

The rain changes quickly, going from small drops to a downpour in the span of seconds. I curse myself for not bringing a jacket, but it’s too late now. I’m soaked through.

Lightning flashes across the sky, followed immediately by a roll of thunder so loud it seems to shake the ground beneath me.

I need shelter, and fast. The farmhouse is too far away now, but there’s an old equipment shed closer to the tree line.

I run toward it as the wind whips around me, my wet hair slapping across my face and making it hard to see.

The shed door is unlocked, thank god, and I stumble inside as another bolt of lightning splits the sky. The small space smells like motor oil and old hay, but it’s dry and solid. I lean against the wall, breathing hard and trying to wring the water from my shirt.

Through the single grimy window, I can see the storm.

The trees are bending at impossible angles, and debris flies like missiles.

I don’t know how long this dingy little shed will hold up, but I’m concerned about the noises it’s already making.

My phone has no signal, so I can’t even check the weather alerts.

All I can do is wait it out and hope the shed doesn’t fall apart on me.

The wind gets stronger, and the wood creaks under the stress.

Through the rain-soaked glass, I watch the large trees near the property line.

I know I should move away from the window.

A nearby tree leans precariously, branches snapping and falling, crashing to the ground with sounds like gunshots.

I press myself against the far wall of the shed, finally understanding I might not be as safe as I thought.

That’s when I hear it, so much louder than before. I watch in horrified fascination as the tree loses its battle with the storm and topples, seeming to fall in slow motion toward the shed. I have just enough time to realize what’s about to happen before everything goes black.