Page 172 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

NELLY

Seven days and seven hours later…

Morning was gone.

Afternoon matured.

The sun hovered halfway between noon and settling against the horizon. I felt empty as I pushed out of the rundown barn. I’d not danced one step. I’d just sat in the dusty old truck, the only thing moving my mind and the organs that persisted in their machinations, though I wasn’t sure what the point was of them doing things like pumping blood and breathing air.

They should just give up.

I thought, after everything I’d been through, I was ready to throw in the towel. So why shouldn’t they?

Blinking against the outside brightness, I left the barn doors open behind me. Let it be exposed to the elements, let it weather the harsh world. I had no protection against the chafing wind, the burning sun, or the icy rain. So, I’d share that misfortune. I’d let other things ruin along with me.

I moved towards the original homestead’s foundation. This ranch had been here forever. So much history. It was time for me to leave it behind and become just a footnote in these Alphas’ lives, just like this part of the property. I wasn’t waiting for a reply from Eros anymore. I’d leave tonight, or maybe tomorrow. I’d leave and never look back.

Without conscious decision, my feet carried me toward the stables’ connected paddock where Ghost, my spirited, stunning mare, grazed peacefully.My horse, I thought, rolling the claim over in my head.Was she really mine?

I couldn’t take her with me when I left Sagebrush. She wouldn’t fit in a carry-on, though I had nothing to take from this place, nothing to pack in a bag. If I did manage to transport her to Seattle, where would she stay? An apartment couldn’t hold her wildness. I could find a horse facility outside the city, pay to stable her.

If I still had my bank account—would Eros have closed it? If I could find a job before her expenses got too high—where the hell could I work now?

If. If. If.

Ghost lifted her head at my approach, ears pricking forward in recognition. Something in her liquid brown eyes and soft nickered greeting unwound one small knot in my chest. Of course, there were dozens left behind.

"Hey, beautiful girl," I murmured, approaching the fence, then climbing onto the lowest rung and folding my arms atop the barrier.

Ghost ambled over, powerful muscles flowing beneath her sleek white coat. She nuzzled me with her velvety nose, rooting around, obviously hoping I had a treat. I pulled one hand from beneath her searching muzzle and stroked down her nose

"At least you're glad to see me," I told her, eyes watering, my voice barely above a whisper. "Everyone else is acting like I've grown a second head.”

Every time one of their stupid faces sprouted into my mind, I felt more confused. Their standoffish attitudes, their strained expressions, the way Wyatt had jerked from my touch. None of it aligned with the last week here. None of it fit.

Ghost gave up searching for a sugar cube or apple slice. She stepped back, stomping a hoof. I chuckled, swiping away a tear. “I promise I’ll bring you a treat next time.”

She whinnied and did a full body shake, as if to say, ‘you better not forget!’ Then she pushed back towards the fence, flatting her side against it so I could pet her back. I obliged, running my right hand down the curve of her spine.

“What do you think, girl? Do you think they’ll tell me what the heck’s going on, or do you think they’ll keep acting like they did at breakfast?” My stomach grumbled when I said the word ‘breakfast’. I was desperately hungry, hadn’t even managed a sip of coffee this morning, let alone food. There was zero way I was going inside to eat though.

Ghost's ears flicked to and fro, and her head turned so she could see me. Her intelligent eyes made me think she could understand every word I said.

“You’d never treat me like that, would you?” I continued stroking her neck, finding comfort in the warmth of her body, the silky texture of her mane between my fingers.

“You’d never treat me like that, would you?” I continued stroking her neck, finding comfort in the warmth of her body, the silky texture of her mane between my fingers.

Ghost nickered softly, as if answering my question with an emphatic 'never.'

"What should I do, Ghost?” I whispered my next question, knowing—despite my belief she understood me—that I could solve nothing talking to the horse.

This time, Ghost stayed perfectly still.

“I just…” I angrily wiped away another tear, “feel so damn trapped right now.”

She looked at me, and I looked at her.

She didn’t have a saddle, no bridle. I’d never ridden her. None of the men had either. They were too heavy for here frame, so much more petite than the other gigantic horses.