STUCK WITH THE COWBOY

Untitled

Chapter Four

I woke up because something was poking me in the back and Catalina was snoring right in my ear. But that was not the worst part. My skin felt like it was on fire. I scratched at my arms and neck, then looked down and saw angry red dots everywhere. Mosquitoes had feasted on me during the night through the broken window. My skin was covered in itchy red bumps that burned in the morning heat. I jumped up, panic rising fast.

"Oh my god!" I shouted, slapping at my arms. "Look at this! My skin is ruined! It's all red and swollen. I look like I have some horrible disease!" I kept scratching, the itch getting worse with every second. As a total clean freak, this was torture. I felt disgusting, dirty, and now marked up like some wilderness victim. "Catalina! Wake up! These mosquitoes destroyed me!"

Catalina cracked one eye open, still half asleep. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Everything!" I held out my arms, showing her the red bites. "My skin was perfect yesterday and now I'm covered in these ugly welts. I can't go anywhere looking like this. I need real treatment, not whatever dirt this place has. This is a nightmare!"

Catalina sat up and gently took my arm, looking at the bites. "Hey, breathe. It's just mosquito bites. They'll go down soon. You're still beautiful, Sam. The redness will fade, and we can find something to help the itch later. You survived the worst night ever. These are just battle scars from the farm."

“They will go soon are you f*****g kidding me?” I screamed at her face. I have spent time using different sinkcare products, getting tanned, now my precious and most perfect skin is ruined. This place is after my f*****g life Fr.

“Please Sam bear okay, this is our least problem and we would probably leave the farm today.”

Her words calmed me a little, even though I still wanted to scream. Catalina had always been good at talking me down, even when I was being dramatic. She was my childhood friend and the only person who could handle my meltdowns without running away. I took a deep breath and stopped scratching so hard. "Fine. But I still feel gross."

Sunlight streamed through the cracked window, already thick and heavy with Texas heat. The air smelled like old wood and faint mildew. My neck ached, my mouth tasted like stale peanut butter, and yesterday's clothes clung to my skin with sweat and dust. I sat up slowly on the thin mattress, looking around the sad little room we had tried to claim. The blanket lay crumpled on the floor, empty chip bags scattered like casualties, and my lone suitcase waited at the foot of the bed. I haven't had the mind to open it.

"Unfortunately," I muttered. "I need to brush my teeth so badly, but that's the least of my problems right now."

I stood and stretched, my body cracking in protest. As a total clean freak, all I could think about was a real shower. Hot water, good soap, actual privacy. This place offered none of that. The thought of staying dirty another minute, especially with these red bites, made my skin crawl even more.

I walked down the hall to the bathroom and turned the faucet. Nothing. I flushed the toilet. Still nothing. I let out a long groan. "This is ridiculous."

Catalina appeared behind me, rubbing her eyes. "No water still."

"I know," I said, voice tighter than I meant. "I feel disgusting. I'm going to lose my mind if I can't get properly clean, especially with these bites making everything worse."

She headed outside for what she called "a bush option." A couple of minutes later her voice echoed from the backyard. "Sam! Come here!"

I stepped out in yesterday's heels, the only shoes I had. The backyard was a wild tangle of weeds brushing my waist, buzzing with insects in the morning sun. In the center sat an old stone well, its wooden cover crooked and weathered.

Catalina grinned. "It's a well. Like in the movies."

I peered over the edge with her. Deep down, dark water glinted. A rusty bucket hung from a frayed rope. The whole scene felt like something from a survival show, not my life.

"We can fetch water to bathe," she said proudly.

“Are you f*****g kidding me?”

“Nope.” she rushed in to bring bucket.

We spent the next twenty minutes wrestling with the well. The rope burned my palms, the bucket felt like it weighed a ton, and we splashed half the water onto the dirt. Every spilled drop made me wince. "This isn't bathing," I grumbled. "This is just moving dirt around." Still, we hauled two full buckets inside. The mosquito bites throbbed with every movement, reminding me how much I hated this place.

Cold, awkward, and deeply unsatisfying. In the bathroom I scrubbed my body furiously, trying to make the tiny hotel soap bar do the impossible while avoiding scratching the bites. The water felt gritty instead of cleansing, but it was better than nothing. I focused on every inch of skin, washing away the layers of travel grime, sweat, and dust. When I finished and looked at my reflection in a small, cracked mirror on the wall, something surprising happened. Even with wet hair plastered to my face, no makeup, and the red mosquito bites dotting my arms and neck, I looked fresh. My skin glowed from the scrubbing, my blonde hair had a natural shine in the weak light, and my blue eyes seemed brighter. For the first time since arriving, I felt a tiny spark of my old self. Beautiful, even here in this mess. The clean freak in me sighed with relief, though the bites still itched.

Back in our room, I opened the suitcase, hoping for a miracle. Mom had promised she would tell the maid to pack all my designer pieces. Dresses, cute tops, proper shoes, my full makeup bag. Something to make me feel put together in this chaos.

Instead, I found plain hoodies, oversized sweatpants, a few basic pants, and a couple of bras. Nothing stylish. Nothing for me. Nothing flashy. So it means that the only surviving luggage is the worst one.

I held up one of the baggy hoodies. "Are you kidding me?"

Catalina peeked over. "What?"

"This is what my mom packed," I said, voice rising. "Or what she told the maid to pack. She swore it would be my designers, Cat. Where are my clothes? Where are my shoes? Where is my life?" I paused, staring at the sad pile. For a second, the fight drained out of me. "I look like I raided a lost and found bin."

Catalina picked up the sweatpants. "These look comfortable, at least."

"Comfortable?" I started, then caught myself. I threw a pair at her with less force. "Here. Take these and one of the hoodies. We're twins in misery now, I guess." I felt a little bad for snapping. Catalina had not asked for any of this either.

We changed into the tragic outfits. I twisted my hair into a messy bun. Catalina somehow made the baggy clothes look almost cute, which annoyed me, but I kept that to myself. The hot sun already pressed against the windows, promising a long, sticky day. Even after the awful bath, I still felt a quiet sense of beauty in how clean my skin was underneath the bites. It was a small victory.

Our stomachs growled in unison again, so we headed to the kitchen. It was big, with tall ceilings and wide counters that must have been beautiful once. Now everything sat under a layer of dust. Empty cabinets. A warm, sour smelling fridge. No pans, no plates, no signs of life. Outside the window, the fields stretched out empty. No cattle, no horses, no chickens. Just overgrown grass waving in the hot breeze and an old barn with sagging doors. In the distance, I could see the small cabin houses scattered across the property. They were meant to be the heart of the resort. Private retreats for guests wanting peace and ranch experiences. Grandma had described them so vividly on our phone calls. Now they looked lonely and neglected.

"This place is a scam," I muttered, the words heavy in my throat.

Tires crunched on the gravel driveway. A clean black SUV rolled up, looking completely out of place among all the decay.

A man in a navy suit stepped out, carrying two grocery bags despite the heat. Neat hair, glasses, around forty. Pure lawyer energy.

Catalina opened the door before I could smooth my hoodie.

"Miss Johnson? Miss Catalina?" He smiled politely. "I'm Thomas Henderson. We spoke last night."

He set the bags on the counter. The smell of coffee and warm breakfast sandwiches made my stomach twist with hunger. "I brought breakfast. Figured you might need it."

“Thanks,” I said.

We sat on the dusty floor. Mr. Henderson stayed standing, opening a leather folder while we devoured the food. I ate quickly.

"As I mentioned," he said gently, "your grandmother left the farm to two people. You own fifty percent."

"I know," I said around a bite. "So where do I sign to sell?"

He adjusted his glasses. "It's not that simple. The other owner has been running things for five years. Your grandmother wanted you both to agree on the future. She believed in the partnership."

"Partnership?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "I don't even know him. I just got here, but I'm already suffering.”

“Okay I'm sorry for all the troubles.”

“So where is the man? Is he old.” I heard Catalina asked what was on my mind.

“I called him last night and this morning he is coming.”

“Okay I said still eating my food.”

"You'll meet him shortly," Mr. Henderson said, checking his watch. "He lives on the property."

He told me the name: Jonah Cole.

The name hit like a half remembered echo. Grandma might have mentioned him once or twice in old cards or calls.

Before I could dig deeper, a deep rumble shook the house. Not a truck. A motorcycle. The sound grew until it vibrated through the floorboards. Gravel sprayed outside.

Mr. Henderson smiled. "That'll be him."

Catalina and I stood quickly. My pulse kicked up. Sunlight poured through the open doorway as a tall figure killed the engine, swung off the bike, and removed his helmet.

He walked in. Dusty boots, faded black t shirt stretched across broad shoulders, jeans worn from real work, dark hair a little too long. He carried a toolbox as if it were part of his arm. His eyes, sharp and steady, landed on me.

Mr. Henderson cleared his throat. "Jonah, this is Samantha Johnson, your new partner."

I took him in. The quiet confidence, the way he seemed to belong to this broken place, the faint surprise in his expression when he looked at me in my oversized hoodie and sweatpants. This cowboy was the reason I could not just sell and run. The partner Grandma had secretly chosen for me. Even after the terrible night, the cold bath, and the itchy red bites, I felt a flicker of my own beauty standing there, chin lifted despite everything.

Heat rose to my face. Half embarrassment, half something I did not want to name.

I opened my mouth and the only thing that came out was,

"What the f**k" I was definitely not expecting that.