Cowgirl Up Three ✔️

Chapter Fifty Seven

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Chapter Fifty Six. 💙💚💜😍

Bailey

The morning was warm enough that I was comfortable in jeans and a checkered shirt over a tank top.
Noah was keeping an eye on Luka, Brodie, Dale and Tatum while I checked on the Horses and gave them all some food.
It was usually the Boys' job, but we'd long ago organised that I would do it today, expecting that they'd need some sleep after the Bucks Do.
Thinking of the state of the Boy's last night, I shook my head.
Drunk was an understatement.
I'd never seen Blayze as drunk as he was.
Noah didn't even bother trying to get Codie to climb the stairs.
She'd pushed him onto the couch, thrown a blanket onto him and he'd promptly passed out.
I wasn't sure what happened to Jax, but assumed Mum took care of him.
Uncle Lukas told me he'd drop Heath down to the Cottage.
Whenever Heath woke up, I was assuming he would remember his Daughter at some point and make his way up to my House.
Back at the gate to the Working Horse Paddock, I folded my arms on the top of the gate and rested my chin on my forearms.
It was too long since I'd had the opportunity to just feed the Horses and watch them peacefully munch their hay.
Phoenix seemed to sense my return and lifted his head from where he shared a pile of breakfast with Western and Cupid, his ears pricked and his gaze landing directly on me.
"Hey good boy."
I greeted him.
My Horse turned away from the Oaten and Pasture hay blend and shook out his neck, then made his way over to the gate.
"I've got nothing else."
I informed him, showing him my empty hands.
Phoenix sniffed and lipped at my fingers, then lifted his muzzle to my face and inhaled my scent.
"You're a good boy."
I whispered, lifting my left hand to gently rub his forehead.
His gold colouring was starting to be replaced with the creamy white colour that came with his winter coat.
"Winter's on its way, isn't it mate."
I murmured.

Blayze

It was one of the rare days where I wished I could just sleep.
But the warble of bird's outside the House, the drone of the TV on in the Lounge Room and the tinkering sound of somebody in the Kitchen told me that the day had started.
My mouth and throat felt as dry as a desert.
Every one of my limbs felt like a lump of cement.
And I would swear somebody was gently, but repetitively tapping a hammer against my skull.
I cracked my eyes open and found myself thankful that the curtains on both large windows were still covering the glass, blocking out the sunlight.
I couldn't even remember the last time I'd felt a hangover so badly.
I looked to my left and found the rest of the bed empty.
Bailey was already up.
I sighed, closed my eyes and rubbed my fingers on my temples.
Nurofen.
Today I'm going to need some fucking Nurofen.
But that means getting up.
I didn't want to move.
But Bailey wouldn't let me get away with spending any more time in bed.
I could practically already hear her declaring that I'd brought the hangover upon myself.
And she'd be right.
While I vaguely remembered one of the Boy's putting a new drink into my hand every time I finished one, I was the one who drank them.
I rolled to the right and pushed myself up onto my hands.
My head spun, then the pounding ensued even harder, like the hammer had been replaced with an axe.
I groaned and swung my legs out of bed.
My head was positively throbbing.
But now that I was upright, there was another problem.
I think only after my 18th Birthday had I ever been so hungover that I'd chundered the next day.
I had boxer's on, but didn't have time to worry about finding pants.
The toilet was calling me!
I ran to the bedroom door, hauled it open and darted to the toilet.