Page 5 of Revelry (Cowgirls Do It Better #2)

Tate

“One, two, three, four, five…shit how many was that?”

I growled in frustration at having to start again. I took a deep breath and tried to have patience with myself.

Just leave, my brain tempted me.

No, you don’t know what could happen if you leave without completing.

Growling again, I gripped the doorknob and twisted it, counting out loud. When I got to ten, I let go. Satisfaction filled me.

I headed to my black Ford truck and placed my bag on the passenger seat, clicking the window up and down once then adjusting my mirrors to the perfect position even though they never moved. It was another little ritual that I hadn’t been able to shake. Eventually I was ready to start my day.

I drove through Reverence, nodding hello at the local business owners on Main Street as they opened shutters and put out signs.

Some signs were crooked, but I couldn’t stop and straighten them today like I had done in the past, I was already running late.

I headed out from the main strip into the winding mountain roads, traveling to Redemption Ranch to check up on an infected horse hoof before heading to my veterinary practice for the day.

The sun was shining, the drive was smooth and a rare sense of calm flooded me. I inhaled deeply, relishing it and praying the calm stayed, wondering where it had even come from. Sometimes the noise in my head was too much and very rarely led to peaceful moments like this.

Turning off the road, my truck rumbled over the cattle grid and under the wooden arch that read Redemption Ranch and down the gravel path. I parked up next to Kat’s truck. A pink Volkswagen Beetle I hadn’t seen before was parked in my spot.

“Must have visitors,” I murmured, reassuring myself that it was okay if I wasn’t parked in my usual spot. It wouldn’t change anything except how many steps up to the stables it was, but by, like, ten so really it was fine.

Smoothing a hand down my dress shirt, I grabbed my leather satchel, the bag rattling with all my tools.

I counted my steps to the stables and hearing voices inside, I entered.

“Morning Katarina,” I called, not wanting to startle her. I’d frightened her a couple of times recently, but I think that was more to do with what she was doing in the stables and who with , than me.

Then my calm morning shattered.

She stood there, five feet nothing with a dainty hand planted on her rounded hip, flicking her curly black hair over one shoulder.

The dress she was wearing struggled to contain her ample chest which I couldn’t help but linger over, too long.

Her legs were short, thick and well-toned, smooth as cream with her small feet tucked into a pair of lilac cowgirl boots.

My mind screamed that I’d been silent too long. “Gertrude.”

“Hey, Tatey.” She finger-waved at me coquettishly. And I would have found it annoyingly adorable, if I wasn’t distracted by her black eye and split lip.

Rage boiled in my veins, and I couldn’t get my feet to stop as I made my way over, gripping her delicate chin and twisting her face to the light.

I took in her bruising, her cuts and the way she held my stare defiantly the entire time.

I had found her in a similar state before and the rage that sparked then had nothing on what I felt now.

“Was it him?”

A small shake of her head, her indigo eyes drowning me.

My temper was hanging by a thread and I needed answers, now. “Then who did this?”

I could feel Kat bristling by my side and my rage dulled slightly.

I didn’t want her to think I would hurt Gertrude; I would never hurt this woman.

She’d been hurt enough. But Kat wasn’t used to my uncharacteristic anger.

I’d fought my entire life to remain calm; my peace of mind depended on it. But my fury had been sparked.

“No one, sugar.” Gertrude waved a hand dismissively.

My nerves itched and twitched beneath my skin to do something. A sensation I was familiar with but the intensity of it in this moment was enough to make me incredibly uncomfortable.

Gertrude had always made me uncomfortable.

She had as a teenager, and she still managed it now. But instead of being an awkward adolescent, I was a full-grown man, still feeling on edge. I was nearly twice her height and yet I felt like I was that gangly boy again, hoping she would look my way.

Gertrude had been wild as a teenager. Her curves had come in quickly and made her very popular with the boys.

Ones that treated her like shit. Seems like they still did judging by her face.

She used to tear up the town with Kat, wreaking havoc wherever they went, causing chaos and destruction and just witnessing it all shoved me right out of my comfort zone.

I didn’t get to have fun as a teenager, I had responsibilities most kids couldn’t even dream of.

Even though it had been a decade since I’d seen her, I would never forget Gertrude. My teenage fantasy turned tormentor. When I was young, I fancied myself as some kind of protector of her.

Apparently, I still did.

I stroked my thumb over her chin, almost involuntarily like I wanted to soothe her somehow. But that wasn’t my place and I dropped my hand, my fingers still twitching.

I swallowed, trying to gather myself. “Are you…well?”

She dipped her head, smiling wide at me, her plush lips catching my attention and bringing out urges and neanderthal thoughts I’d long buried. “I am, are you?”

She was lying. I could tell from the pause in her words. She knew I hated liars, I had enough issues and anxiety figuring out what people normally meant, let alone when they masked their words with lies. She liked pushing my buttons and the ease with which she could still do it astounded me.

I needed to get away from her. Away from the evidence of abuse on her face that made me want to hunt down and destroy whoever put it there. But her being here had my mind quieting in a way it hadn’t since I was a teenager and I wasn’t used to it.

“Excuse me,” I said and turned, my bag of tools clinking as I hurried from the stables, struggling to catch my breath. Gertrude being here was unexpected. I didn’t like unexpected.

I headed back to my truck, retracing those extra ten steps before I settled myself inside my vehicle.

It wasn’t until I’d gotten all the way to my practice that I realized I’d forgotten the routine of the window.

*

Parking outside my veterinary practice, I grabbed my bag and went inside. The A/C was on despite summer ending but I didn’t mind the chill. I minded the electric bill but decided to let it go.

“Morning boss!” Harriet, my receptionist called as I pushed open the doors.

I glanced up, briefly taking in her purple hair and gnashed my teeth together. “You changed your hair, again ?”

She twirled a strand. “Yah?”

I fought back the urge to yell at her to tell me when she was going to make drastic changes but remembered it wasn’t my place. I wouldn’t pass my issues on to other people or make them adapt their way of life because of me.

“You don’t like it?” she sulked, chewing her gum loudly.

I hated upsetting people almost as much as I hated change. “No, it looks good,” I gruffed, heading into my office, eager for the interaction to be over.

Most veterinary practices needed to be clean and sterile, but the offices were standard. Except mine. I needed things tidy and in their place so when I spotted the stack of folders haphazardly placed on the glass top of my desk, I cringed.

“New patients?” I called out.

“Yah!” Harriet called back. The sound of her gum popping loudly had my shoulders hiking up to my ears.

“Don’t fire her, don’t fire her,” I muttered under my breath. She might be young and na?ve, but she was competent, most of the time, and she didn’t bat an eyelid at my barking orders and sometimes awkward demands.

I placed my satchel on the wooden sideboard that ran along the wall behind my desk containing my accolades, before straightening my Dr. Wilder, Veterinarian nameplate.

After switching on my computer, I was casually scrolling through my schedule for the day; constipated cat here, dog vaccination there and trying to forget about Gertrude and her wounds and lilac cowgirl boots when I spotted a familiar name.

Anger wrapped its steely fingers around my spine and my stomach somersaulted.

“Harriet!” I bellowed.

I heard the clack of heels as she tottered into my office. “Yah, Dr. Wilder?”

“If anyone with the surname Collins tries to book an appointment,” I jabbed a finger at my computer screen, “recommend them to another vet.”

Harriet chewed her gum loudly, setting my teeth on edge. I whipped a tissue from the box on the corner of my desk and held it out to her, glaring. She smiled awkwardly and tottered forward on her sky high, completely impractical heels, and took it off me, spitting her gum into it.

“Sure thing, Dr. Wilder. Any reason why?”

A fuck ton. “Because I said so.” My tone left no room for argument.

She smacked her tongue, missing her gum. “Gotcha.”

She clacked back to reception and I refreshed my calendar continuously until the name disappeared and only then did I push out the breath I’d been holding.

It was too late, memories flooded me. Painful, sharp ones stabbing at my conscience and I grunted, clicking my fingers three times, trying to rid myself of them and be grounded.

It took a couple of tries but eventually they shifted and my brain continued its usual noise.

The day was pretty monotonous. The constipated cat was no longer constipated after a little tummy massage which ended with stinky consequences.

As gross as it could be sometimes I loved helping animals.

Whether it was domestic pets here at the practice or the cattle and horses I tended to at the ranches.

Despite wanting a predictable, quiet life I didn’t mind the unpredictability of animals.

They didn’t understand human ways or how to communicate so what could I expect?

Therefore, I didn’t expect anything and was never frustrated or disappointed.

People though, they were another matter.

People knew how to communicate, knew societal norms and were taught how to behave and yet they still chose chaos.

Which is why I separated myself from them as much as possible.

I didn’t want to have any close relationships because people’s unpredictability was dangerous and hurtful.

I’d been blindsided before, more than once, leading to disastrous consequences. I never wanted that to happen again.

And there was one person who liked to cause chaos more than most. Her pouty mouth, soft curves and dark curls invaded my mind again.

Gertrude being here upset the order of things in a way I couldn’t explain and I didn’t like it. Hopefully she would just visit her mom and then be on her way to wherever life took her next.

Then my life would go back to normal.

*

After a late emergency callout across town, I was finally driving home, exhausted and happy to get to my bed when my mind wandered once again to Gertrude. Her bruised face flitted through my mind and my rage reignited, the leather of the steering wheel protesting beneath my clenched fists.

Shaking my head, I cranked up the music, ensuring the volume rested on an even number. I made it home without more thoughts of Gertrude and parked my truck, heading inside the house.

It was the same house from my childhood. I’d renovated it over the years, making it more modern and less cluttered. I didn’t like clutter. I liked clear surfaces and no knick-knacks. I toed off my shoes and placed them on the shoe rack before storing my bag in the hallway closet.

I went into the living room to look out the window, an absurd need to check that a pink Beetle hadn’t parked up next door in the time it had taken me to come inside.

I saw the driveway was empty and shook my head, annoyed at myself.

I slumped down on the gray L-shaped couch that ran along one wall.

The couch faced the wall mounted big-screen TV that I only watched sports on.

A white baby grand piano sat in the corner.

After a while lost in my thoughts, I realized how bad I smelled, a hazard of the day job, and went straight upstairs and took a shower.

When I was done, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

I finger-combed my black hair and swiped it off my forehead before repositioning my glasses and heading down to the kitchen to make dinner.

My kitchen was my happy place. Modern, white wooden cabinets and granite worktop that only held a coffee machine, air fryer and toaster. It was clean, minimalist and bare of mess.

Whilst I cooked, I heard a rumble from outside and immediately ran to the living room window to look next door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I grumbled when I saw there was no pink Beetle outside. I didn’t care really, it just messed with the order of things if Gertrude’s car was there, that’s all.

I sighed, my OCD clearly on top form today, and headed back to the kitchen, chastising myself the entire way.

After an uneventful dinner, I retired to my old room which had been redecorated years ago.

It no longer had posters on the wall but art prints, and a much larger king-size bed with black sheets.

The spare room that had been my mother’s was now my home gym and looked out over the front of the house, whereas my room looked out over the backyard.

As I moved about the room I was distracted by the fir tree in the neighbor’s yard and remembered when I’d climbed up it after Gertrude.

When she was last hurt. When she nursed my knee.

Right before she had asked if I wanted to kiss her.

A feeling suspiciously like regret crawled through me that I hadn’t just gone for it and kissed her.

At least if I had, I wouldn’t still be wondering how she would taste.

I blinked my thoughts away, pulling back the covers and laying my aching body down for a night of fitful sleep of dreams involving pink lips, black curls and lilac boots.