Page 29 of Wrangle Me, Cowboys

This was why I carried pepper spray in my purse.

But I didn’t carry it out here. There were exactly four men in a ten mile radius from me, and I wanted three of them. I didn’t figure I’d need it. But of course it would be that fourth guy who would remind me why I carried protection in the first place.

Since I didn’t have any, I bent over, grabbed a giant handful of snow, and hurled it into his lap, right on his scrawny little pencil dick.

“You can take your little golf cart and stick it up your side-by-side ass,” I said.

Good one, Amber. What does that even mean?

But apparently, it didn’t have to make sense. He got the message. He started beating snow off his dick and howling curses at me. “You’re going to regret this, you dirty whore,” he bellowed.

“I seriously doubt that,” I said. But because I was basically defenseless, I thought it might be wise to remind him that the Westling brothers had my back. “And if you try to make trouble, I’ll tell the guys what you said to me.”

“You’re nothing but a worthless cock-tease,” he said, shoving himself back into his coveralls. “I didn’t say anything you didn’t invite. You’re a cheap slut, spreading your legs for every man on the ranch, and then having the nerve to act surprised when a man gets in line for his turn.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” I said, my hands balling into fists. For a horrible moment, I thought I might cry. What if that’s how it looked to everyone else? Haley’s words echoed in my mind. Everyone who found out would have this reaction. I’d be the filthy whore who let her stepbrothers pass her around to get their rocks off.

Then an even worse thought entered my mind. What if the guys saw it that way, too? That I was just something to share, a good fuck followed by high-fives all around?

“I know one thing about you,” Grimes said. “If you know what’s good for you and those brothers of yours, you’ll keep your mouth shut about this. I’d hate to see them lose the ranch over a lousy piece of ass. You’re probably so loose I’d be rattling around in there like a pencil in a tin can.”

“You got the pencil part right,” I shot back.

“Enjoy your walk,” he said with a nasty smile, and he shifted into gear and drove off, leaving me fuming in the snow.

I was so pissed I thought my head would explode. I kicked savagely at the snow, sending sprays of it up into the sunlight, where it fell, glittering like…well, glitter. After a minute, my fury had receded, and I stopped kicking and took a breath, wiping snow off my pants and turning back towards the house. I couldn’t even see it from here.

Trying to keep the cold from seeping through my boots into my feet, I wiped off the toes of my riding boots. It didn’t matter much, though. I wasn’t wearing snow boots, or ski boots, or even Uggs. I was wearing leather riding boots, and my toes were like ice within a minute. Stomping towards the house, I began to fume all over again.

Stupid Grimes. Stupid Van Gogh. Stupid brothers for making me so sexually frustrated I’d tried to get off on a moving horse. Stupid Mom for sending me out here. Stupid Charlie for never wanting to have sex with me but letting some random ginger ride his face. Stupid Senator Westling for marrying my mother in Africa and thinking it was a good idea to tell me on the same night they told the rest of the political world.

By the time I made it back to the house, I was thoroughly frozen and twice as pissed as when I’d started walking.

I barged into the house and straight to the kitchen, where the wood stove was crackling. Sawyer was at the cook stove, frying bacon.

“Where you been?” he asked. “You look cold.”

“I am cold,” I growled, ripping off my gloves and tossing them on the table. “I just walked about a mile in the snow.”

“What’d you do that for?” he asked, barely glancing at me.

“Because your douche-nozzle farmhand wouldn’t give me a ride unless I agree to have sex with him.”

So much for not telling the guys. I was way too pissed to play that game.

That got Sawyer’s attention, though. He turned from the stove, a fork in one hand, his face weirdly devoid of emotion. “What did you say?”

I gulped. Maybe opening my mouth had been a huge mistake, like Grimes had warned. The guys were so loyal, and for all I knew, Grimes had been living there since their grandfather owned the ranch.

“Um, I didn’t, obviously,” I said.

“But he asked you to?”

“I’m not sure if he actually asked,” I said.

“Go ring the dinner bell for me,” he said, turning back to the stove.

My eyes stung. That was it? So as long as Grimes had politely asked me to hop on his shriveled old penis, it was okay?