She had shared everything with me, left no stone unturned; I should do the same for her. “The truth is, I’m doing it for my dad.” Not wanting the pain of his death to get the better of me, I took a sip of water to gather my thoughts and emotions. “He was in the later stages of dementia when he died, but that wasn’t what killed him. He was so frail his body couldn’t fight off infections anymore. We made sure he was as pain-free as possible at the end.”
Heart-wrenching sorrow showed in her eyes, and to stop myself from breaking down in the middle of the restaurant, I studied what was left of my meal.
“He wanted so badly to be the best bull rider in the world, but he never could quite get there. Before he died, I promised him I’d win the gold buckle in his name. That’s what’s driving me. That’s what’s pushing me.”
“Was...” She paused. “Was his dementia caused by getting bucked off and hitting his head?”
I nodded slowly. “Repeated blows to the head can be associated with the development of dementia. I’m sure it was a factor.”
Not wanting to talk anymore about my reasons or the causes of my dad’s illness, I changed the subject, something I always did when I didn’t want to continue a conversation. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Sure.” She pushed away from the table and stood. “We should do this again.”
“We will. Any time I come to town, I’ll take you to dinner before taking you to bed.”
“Deal.”
As soon as we got outside, a flash went off, then another and another and another. Someone stuck a recording device in Montana’s face and screamed quick-fire questions at her.
“Are you drunk, Montana?”
“Are you coming back to music?”
“When was the last time you yelled at little kids?”
“Are you and Dylan Willows dating?”
“Get out of our way,” I shouted. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and bundled her into my truck. Her body shook, and her lips trembled.
I shouldn’t have pushed her when she wasn’t ready.
This was all my fault.
I couldn’t leave her. Not now.
Maybe not ever.
Chapter Six
Montana
I hadn’t slept for more than five minutes at a time, and when I managed to drop off, flashing lights filled my dreams.
Dylan didn’t have that problem. He’d slept through the night and was still in the land of nod when I rolled out of bed. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen and began the walk to my cabin.
Last night when we’d gotten back, he kept apologizing for what had happened outside the restaurant. I reassured him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. I’d wanted to lash out at him, to scream at him for making me do something I wasn’t ready to do, but I feared losing control, of saying things I couldn’t take back. That was the old me.
He should have listened. He shouldn’t have made me leave the ranch.
Halfway up the hill to my cabin, a branch cracked, and the telltale sound of a lens shuttering came from the woods. My veins turned to ice.
The paparazzi were like cockroaches. They could infest even the securest of places.
“Please leave,” I called out. “You’re trespassing on private property.”
The lens clicked again. “I know you’re there. I can hear your camera.”
After some rustling, a paparazzo crawled out from where he’d been hiding.
“Get out of here, or I’ll call the police.”
The sleaze bag grinned. “Come on, Montana, just a few minutes of your time. Your fans deserve to know what you’ve been doing during your hiatus.”
I crossed my arms and hurried up the hill, but before I got very far, he caught up with me and clutched at my arm.
Anger, fueled by lack of sleep, frustration, and fear shot out of my mouth. “Don’t fucking touch me. Get your filthy hands off me, you piece of shit.”
Fury distorted my face. He snapped about a hundred high-speed pictures. I had to get away. Get somewhere safe. I bolted, but he came after me, nipping at my heels, shouting questions, taking photo after photo.
I looked back, and not watching where I was going, I lost my footing and tumbled down a ravine. The side of my head slammed against the ground, and every bone in my body felt like it had been snapped in two. The feeling was worse than any hangover I’d experienced in my life.
During the fall, my phone flew out of my hand, so there was no way to call for help. My stomach churned, and my pulse pounded.
The gossip rags were going to have a field day. Pictures like the ones he’d taken could tell a million lies.
I pushed to standing and ran my shaking hands all over my body. There didn’t seem to be anything other than some deep scratches on my legs, arms, and face. The guy stood at the top of the ravine, still snapping pictures.
I was too drained, too deflated, too everything to deal with this.
“You still drinking, Montana?”
“Are you going to help me or just stand there asking dumb questions and taking photos?”
“Looks like you were drunk and fell.”
I threw up my hands. “I fell because you were chasing me. You’re lucky I didn’t break my neck.”
The sound of a horse thundering up the road made us both look in the direction it came from.
