The following day seemed to drag on forever. I left work and headed home, planning to take a very long, well-deserved nap. As expected, the man in the shadows had plagued my thoughts all night, leaving me with an uncomfortable somebody’s-watching-you feeling.
Even now, the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. It had actually kept me from thinking about Cowboy, which would’ve been a welcome relief if it hadn’t been so damn creepy.
Before leaving for work, I’d walked the edge of the woods, looking for footprints or some evidence to suggest the visitor had been real. But I found nothing. Based on that alone, I decided that the whole thing had been nothing more than a figment of my overactive imagination.
I parked in my driveway and walked down to the mailbox before strolling inside. I tossed the mail on the kitchen counter, causing it to fan out as I kicked off my shoes. A small envelope with my name handwritten on the outside in big letters caught my eye.
Shifting the other mail aside, I picked up the envelope and flipped it over, searching for a return address. There wasn’t one. No stamp, either, which meant that someone had placed it in my mailbox, rather than mailing it.
I opened it carefully, pulled out a small note card that had been tucked inside, and read the message. As my eyes scanned the words, I gasped and a twinge of dread ran through me. My thoughts went directly back to the supposedly non-existent shadowy man standing outside my home the night before.
Then I realized something.
I shook my head and almost laughed aloud at myself. With the messy scrawl and misspelled words, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who wrote the note. After all, no one else would say, “Play with fire and your gonna get burnt,” except for the two idiots next door.
It all made perfect sense.
Last night, I must’ve caught one of the Barlow brothers in the act of delivering the note to my mailbox. They probably hoped I’d get the ominous note today and storm over to their house so they could torture me with more of their idle threats.
But I wasn’t going to play into their hands and give them the reaction they wanted. I’d just ignore it. And them.
Those two boys were known bullies who got their thrills by intimidating and terrorizing others, but they were also cowards, which made it difficult for me to believe I was in any real danger.
At least as far as the Barlows were concerned.
Almost a week later, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Bobbie Jo’s tan Ford truck as she drove. She glanced at me warily. “You sounded a little upset on the phone. Is everything okay?”
I shrugged lightly. “I had a bad morning, that’s all.”
And that was the truth.
The note I’d found in my mailbox earlier that morning had irritated me, though it was only one of several I’d received over the past week. The Barlow brothers hadn’t improved with their spelling any, but the lame threatening notes were starting to get on my nerves. I had a good mind to march next door, give them an ass-kicking, and possibly a lesson in good grammar.
Nor had Cowboy come back after kissing me almost a week ago. Of course, that may have had something to do with me throwing him out of my house afterward and slamming the door in his face. But still…
I wondered if my blatant sexual inexperience had shone through the moment our lips touched. Maybe that was why the persistent playboy hadn’t returned. I mean, I’d kissed a guy before. Just not one who made me feel the way Cowboy did. Like I would willingly tear off my clothes and let him caress me any way he wanted.