Page 33 of Wrangle Me, Cowboys

“Oh, now you’re dragging his name through the mud? You think you’re all that, with your young little body and that swishy hair of yours. But my husband is above temptation from harlots like you.”

“I’m sure he is,” I said, edging towards the shop, hoping Waylon would step out and come to my rescue. But it looked like this time, I was on my own.

“You may not know a lick about morals, so let me tell you this,” Mrs. Grimes went on, stalking closer and closer as she spoke. “My husband is an upstanding citizen of this community. He would rather lose his job than compromise his reputation. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for the men of that house.” She nodded towards the lodge, which was painfully silent.

“No one is doing anything to damage their reputation,” I said.

“Oh, save me the excuses.” She stuck her pointy little index finger right in my face. “No one will believe the lies of a slut like you when this comes out. And mark my words, it will come to light. You can’t keep filth like this hidden forever.”

“As nice as it’s been talking to you, I’m just going to go on and take care of the horses,” I said, edging towards the barn.

“You’ll burn in hell for this day,” she said, her eyes flashing with sick gleefulness. “The devil will ram his fiery pitchfork right up that flapping flytrap and fry you over the flames of hell like a piece of meat on a spit.” She thrust an imaginary pitchfork at me, and I jumped back with a yelp, slipping on the snow. Mrs. Grimes used my imbalance to her advantage, giving me a hard shove.

I pinwheeled my arms, flailing for a second before falling flat on my ass. Okay, that was it. I’d played nice, been a good, diplomatic senator’s daughter. But I wasn’t going to be pushed around by this old bat. I leapt to my feet and pushed Mrs. Grimes’s shoulder. She rocked back and then forward, trying to get her own balance on the slippery snow.

Instead of falling, she pitched forwards, grabbing my arms with both hands. We circled, each trying to wrestle the other’s feet out from under the other.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I asked, trying to knock her sideways.

“You want to talk about mothers?” she asked, stomping on my foot as we continued gripping each other’s arms like we were caught up in a demented dance. “What will your mother have to say when she finds out you’ve been diddling your own brothers?”

“Stepbrothers,” I growled, yanking my foot from under hers and kicking out at her shin.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to find out exactly what you’re out here doing,” she said. “On your back for all three of them, I bet.”

“What, are you jealous?” I asked. “You sound like you’ve thought this through an awful lot. Not that I blame you. A girl can have her fantasies, am I right?”

Mrs. Grimes’s mouth dropped open in a giant huff, and her face turned red with rage. Or hell, maybe it was embarrassment. I mean, a girl couldn’t help fantasizing about all three of the Westling boys pleasuring her at once. It was only human.

“You filthy Jezebel,” she howled.

I decided to forgive her for lusting after my men and for judging me so harshly. It was probably just jealousy. After all, she was stuck with Mr. Grimes. I knew how much it sucked to find out the guy you thought was perfect was actually a cheating, other-girl’s-pussy-eating piece of shit.

“I forgive you,” I said.

Her eyes burned with more rage than I’d ever seen on anyone’s face in my life. “What?”

“I know it sucks to love a cheater,” I said. “So I forgive you for blaming me.”

I thought I was being the bigger person, but obviously Mrs. Grimes did not agree. The next second, she kicked me in the shin so hard I yelped and lifted my foot. My other foot slipped, and I tumbled to the ground again. But this time, I was holding onto Mrs. Grimes. She sprawled on top of me, then flopped over, slipped and collapsed onto me again.

“Ooof,” I moaned as the air shot out of my lungs.

Mrs. Grimes scrambled to her feet, trying to look all high and mighty even with her hat halfway over her eyes, snow stuck all over her coat, and her arms wobbling for balance.

“I’ll make you pay for this if it’s the last thing I ever do,” she said, drawing up a ball of spit and hocking it right onto my face.

I screamed in disgust and hurled snow at her, flailing on the ground as I tried to grab her legs. She kicked a spray of snow into my face before she tottered off.

Sitting up, I wiped the spit off my face. I decided right then and there to start carrying pepper spray again. And maybe take a class in self-defense.

I was officially not a fan of cowgirl justice.

20

Amber

I’d almost forgotten why I was there, but once I scraped my ass up off the ground, I headed for the shop. This time, I wasn’t fueled by righteous rage at my mistreatment. In fact, I kinda wanted to keep this one to myself. I wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that I’d just had my ass handed to me by a doddering old lady.