Grumpy Cowboy Bodyguard Bonus Scene

“I think she needs hobbies.”

I laugh so hard I nearly drop the camera. “You’re jealous because she’s more popular than you.”

“I’m not competing with a dog.”

“You are, and you’re losing.”

He gives me the same long-suffering look he always does whenever I point a lens in his direction. “Woman.”

Three months.

Three whole months since Widowmaker. Three months since everything changed.

The channel is different now. Not because I planned it. Because I can’t seem to stop smiling.

People noticed.

They’ve also noticed that every time a broad-shouldered cowboy wanders into frame… he mysteriously disappears two seconds later.

My subscribers have nicknamed him The Grumpy Ghost.

It fits.

“I’m filming the outro.”

He sighs. “I figured.”

“You don’t have to hide.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You literally stepped behind a building.”

“I preferred the scenery.”

I grin. “You are the scenery.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

I flip the camera around. “Okay, everybody…” I smile into the lens. “You asked if I’d ever come back to Widowmaker.”

I pan slowly across the empty street. The weathered buildings. The faded mine. The mountains stretching forever beneath an impossibly blue Nevada sky.

“I wasn’t sure I ever would.”

My eyes drift toward Amos. He pretends not to notice. “But sometimes the places that hurt us the most deserve another chance.”

He looks over. Just for a second. Long enough to catch my eye and smile. Barely.

“I also promised someone I’d stop wandering into ghost towns by myself.”

Off camera his voice rumbles. “You left out the part where I insisted.”

“I was trying to make you sound romantic.”

“I don’t need help sounding practical.”

I laugh. “No… you definitely don’t.”

By sunset we’ve climbed onto the same ridge overlooking Ruby Roo.

The same place. Only this time… Neither of us is bleeding or running.

Baby lies nearby chewing thoughtfully on a stick she selected after apparently deciding the boot lacked long-term entertainment value.

I unzip my backpack. “You remembered.”

Amos watches as I pull out the bottle. The whiskey. His whiskey.

The one we shared beside the bonfire when I came back.

“I told you some things are worth saving.” His expression softens. He takes the bottle from me almost reverently. “I didn’t think there’d be any left.”

“I may have hidden it from you.”

“I believe that.”

He pours just enough for each of us. The amber catches the last light of the sun.

We clink the metal cups together.

“To Sox,” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine. “To your dad.”

I nod. “And…”

He raises one eyebrow.

“…to Baby.”

Baby immediately sneezes.

Amos snorts into his whiskey.

The desert grows quiet as darkness settles over the hills. A breeze carries the scent of sage and dust. Stars appear one by one.

I stand.

He watches me. “What?”

I hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”

“There isn’t any music.”

“There wasn’t last time either.”

He studies me for another long second. Then sighs dramatically. “I’ve learned arguing with you rarely improves my situation.”

“Correct.”

He slips his hand into mine. Pulls me close. His injured arm has healed now. Just an ugly scar to match an uglier memory. But we survived.

And we did it together.

We sway beneath the stars slowly. Like we’ve been doing this forever.

“I was thinking,” I murmur.

He groans. “That’s usually expensive.”

“I should put this on YouTube.”

His entire body stiffens. “No.”

“But think of the views.”

“No.”

“The comments would love you.”

“No.”

“They already call you the Grumpy Ghost.”

He stops dancing. “They call me what?”

I bite my lip. “…Nothing.”

“Willa.”

“…Grumpy Ghost.”

He closes his eyes. “I’m losing to a German shepherd.”

“You’ve been losing for months.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let her get an audience.”

Baby lets out a sleepy little huff from beside the fire.

“Traitor,” he grunts.

Without thinking, I reach into my pocket. My phone. I tap the camera. The screen lights our faces for just a moment.

Amos notices immediately. He doesn’t say anything.

I start recording. Just us. No introduction. No narration. Just thirty seconds.

The wind. The stars. The quiet. His thumb rubbing slow circles across the back of my hand.

When it’s over… I watch it once.

Smile.

Then hit send. To him.

Amos watches me. “I thought you wanted to post that.”

“I did.”

“What changed?”

“Not everything has to belong to everyone else.” I slide the phone back into my pocket. “Some things are just for you and me.”

His expression shifts. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I like this version better.”

“So do I.”

We sit together for another long while before packing up. As we shoulder our bags, Baby trots ahead, pausing near the place where she’d first alerted that terrible day.

She sniffs. Looks back at Amos.

He walks over and crouches beside her. His hand disappears into the thick fur behind her ears. “You did good.”

His voice is quiet. “So damn good.”

Baby leans into him, eyes half-closing. I don’t think he’s talking about finding the camp. I think he’s thanking her for bringing him to me.

When he stands, I slip my hand into his. “Ghosts still don’t bother you?”

He looks across the silent buildings of Widowmaker. Then down at me. “Nah.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “The living are generally the problem.”

I laugh. He smiles. “Come on.”

“Where to?”

He glances toward the truck waiting beneath the stars. “Home.”

This time…

Neither of us looks back.

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