Page 82 of Haunted Spurs

Since they signed up as "the cowboy couple," Cade and Cole are shoving each other to take the spot.

"I'll do it," Cole declares, adjusting his collar.

"Back off, idiot, I'm the better cowboy. I roped a calf blindfolded when I was twelve," Cade shoots back, blocking his path with an arm.

"Yeah, and then you fell into the pig trough. Leave it to the professionals."

Carolina rolls her eyes. "Boys, you're exhausting me before we even start. Settle it like real men."

The twins glare at each other. Then, in perfect sync, they raise their clenched fists.

"Rock, paper, scissors!"

Three pumps. Cole throws rock. Cade throws scissors.

Cole flashes his insufferable rogue grin and winks at Carolina, while Cade kicks the dirt in frustration. "I'm the competing cowboy, Princess," Cole declares, stepping into line next to me.

Indya, being the declared cowgirl of her duo, steps forward without batting an eye, cracking her knuckles. Carolina claps a hand on her shoulder, looking proud.

Levi gives a knowing nod to Emma, who looks at him with immense gratitude, thrilled she doesn't have to be blindfolded, and he steps up next to Indya.

Katherine steps forward, adjusting her gold glasses on her nose with a determined look. Sam rests his hands on her shoulders, looking at her with pride so blatant it melts the entire crew.

And Lizzie takes her step forward for her pair, too. She pulls her cowgirl hat low over her eyes, shooting a look of pure challenge at the camera. Josh steps right behind her, crossing his arms over his chest.

That just leaves Emerson and Susan. And here, production's logic hits a glaring snag.

"Um, excuse me?" Emerson pipes up, raising his hand and pushing his glasses up his nose. "I believe there is a gross inaccuracy in the rules. Neither of us is a cowboy. We were grouped together to fill a technical void in the cast. Statistically speaking, we do not meet the requirements to—"

"Emerson, you go."

Susan's voice is peremptory. She's pushing the astrophysicist from behind.

Emerson digs his heels in. "Susan, this is a blatant strategic error. The probability of me executing a knot under sensory deprivation is—"

"You're going, nerd. I'm sure you'll find a scientific way to pull it off," she cuts him off, grabbing him by the collar of his sweater vest and shoving him forward.

Emerson stumbles, joining our lineup of "cowboys" looking like a man walking to the gallows.

Aunt Tina snaps her fake blades together, making a screeching sound that sends the microphones into a frenzy. Production assistants emerge from the background, unrolling thick strips of black fabric.

"Very good, cannon fodder!" Tina cheers, pointing the megaphone toward the barn shrouded in fake fog. "Blindfold them!"

A production assistant ties the thick fabric of the black blindfold tightly behind my head. With a sharp tug, the light vanishes.

The darkness is immediate, disorienting, and complete.

Suddenly, my world shrinks. It’s reduced to what I feel on my skin and the sounds surrounding me. I hear the annoying hum of the fog machine, the crunch of boots on gravel, the heavy breathing of the other contestants.

And then, two small, cold, determined hands land on my hips.

A shiver shoots up my spine. The scent of orchids and rain washes over me, completely wiping out the smell of set dust.

"I'm right here," Selene whispers, her voice a millimeter from my shoulder. "Trust me."

I'd trust you with my life, Queen of Darkness.

An air horn blasts, shattering the air. The starting signal.