All Chapters of My Pretty Cowboy.: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

My phone kept ringing.Again.And again.And again.I had been gone for less than five minutes, but it felt considerably longer.I felt as though I were being chased.As though I hadn't simply driven away from my home, but escaped from something—and now I needed to keep moving before it caught up with me.My mind was still numb.Sedated, almost.It was the strangest sensation. I knew something catastrophic had just happened to me, yet somehow, I couldn't feel the magnitude of it.No anger.No devastation.Nothing.Just numbness.And the overwhelming instinct to get away.I glanced at the dashboard.Gas.I needed gas.The Mustang had been sitting beneath that tarp for God only knew how long, and I had no idea how much farther the remaining fuel would take me.Then another thought penetrated the fog.My cards.I couldn't use them.If I genuinely wanted to disappear without leaving an obvious trail, I couldn't use a credit card. I couldn't make purchases from my phone. I couldn't do anyt

Professor Dollen was a complete jerk.I had reached that conclusion within approximately sixty seconds of meeting him.He walked into our first Foundations of Painting class, placed his leather portfolio on the desk, surveyed the room as though at least half of us had personally offended him by enrolling, and proceeded to shatter several dreams before introducing himself.“You are either gifted enough to belong here, or you are occupying space that would be better given to someone who is.”A few people frowned.I sat a little straighter.Interesting.“Technique can be taught,” he continued. “Color theory can be studied. Composition can be refined. I can teach you what your materials are capable of doing. What I cannot give you is the instinct to create something worth looking at.”Ouch.That one visibly wounded several people.Professor Dollen wasn't finished.“If you're expecting me to teach you how to become an artist, you've chosen the wrong discipline. I can teach you how to use a

SAWYERI was mindin' my own goddamn business, herdin' a few stubborn-ass cattle back where they belonged, when I heard a loud crash.Then another.I pulled Dallas to a stop.“What the hell?”Didn't sound good.Sounded like somebody had wrecked.So, bein' the fine, upstandin' citizen I try real hard to be, I turned Dallas around and headed toward the noise.Wasn't exactly in a hurry at first.People drove down that old road all the time. Could've been somebody hittin' a mailbox. Maybe a tree branch had come down. Hell, with the way some folks drove around here, somebody could've run straight into a ditch.Then I saw the car.Front end buried in my damn fence.Smoke pourin' out from under the hood.And somebody was still inside.Everything in me changed.“Shit.”I kicked Dallas into a run.Didn't give a damn about the fence.Didn't give a damn about the cattle.Didn't even give a damn about the car.All I could see was that smoke.And the woman inside.Because I'd seen something like i

MIA.I'd managed to email Isabella Brown three days after my disappearance, and I knew she was going to be mad.Not just mad.Murderously mad.I'd created a fictitious email address using my newly invented name, Chloe Anderson. I couldn't afford to leave a trail that might lead William straight to me, so I'd been extremely cautious about what I wrote.But I also needed Isabella to know it was me.After staring at the blank screen for what felt like an eternity, I'd finally typed:Dear Ms. Brown,I had a wonderful evening at Mrs. Sterling's exhibition. The drinks, the company, and the conversation were all delightful. Thank you for the ride home and for keeping me company.As promised, I've arrived home safely. Once I've settled in, I'll extend an invitation so we can continue discussing the business we left unfinished.Sincerely yours,Chloe AndersonI'd read the email at least a dozen times before finally hitting send.To anyone else, it would have sounded like a perfectly ordinary m

SAWYER.Ricky and I were judging her.Again.We stood a few feet away from the picnic tables, holding our plates piled high with barbecue ribs, baked beans, and potato salad, while our eyes practically burned holes through the pretty little woman sitting beneath the oak tree.Because Chloe Anderson was eating barbecue ribs.With a fork.And a fucking knife.I mean, who the hell asks for silverware at a barbecue? And I wasn't talking about a plastic fork to eat potato salad.Oh, no.The princess had specifically requested a steak knife.A steak knife.I'd actually made her repeat herself because I thought I'd misheard.And now there she sat, cutting delicate little pieces of meat from ribs so tender they practically fell off the bone.The same ribs my father had been cooking since before I stopped wearing diapers.I watched her lift another perfectly cut bite to her mouth.Then I looked at Ricky."Where the hell did this woman come from?" I chuckled.Ricky shook his head, looking equal