2. Addison
ADDISON
I hated him a little for seeing that picture. Braxton had stood in the doorway of the feed room and looked at me like I was a problem he was already solving in his head. Exits. Angles. Blind spots. People who had access.
And me, standing in the middle of it all, trying not to let him see how much the photograph rattled me.
I'd spent years learning how to smile through fear.
Sponsors who got too familiar. Drunk men at parade after-parties.
Photographers who didn't understand the meaning of personal space.
Evie taught me early that the worst thing a rodeo queen could do was look uncomfortable.
The second you flinched, people stopped seeing you as polished and started seeing you as a target.
So I didn't flinch.
Except Braxton James didn't care about my smile. He only cared about the fact that someone had been close enough to take that photo without me noticing. And now he wasn't going to let me out of his sight.
"Come on," he said. "We're meeting with the mayor."
"I have—"
"A schedule. I know."
He turned and walked back into the August heat without waiting for me to follow, which should have annoyed me but instead made my pulse ratchet up in a way I refused to acknowledge.
I grabbed my phone, straightened my crown, and followed him.
Mayor Nelson had moved the meeting from the stock office to the operations tent once he realized how many people were about to show up. It sat near the main arena, shaded by tarps and surrounded by folding tables covered in schedules and vendor maps.
The mayor stood at the head of the table with Ruby by his side.
Morgan Carter, the town planner who’d only moved to Mustang Mountain earlier in the year, leaned against the far end.
Deputy Thompson stood near the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the grounds like he expected trouble to walk in at any second.
And Evie Mercer sat in the middle, perfectly composed, her silver hair styled in soft waves and her expression balancing somewhere between concerned and skeptical.
Evie had been my mentor since I was sixteen.
She taught me how to work a crowd, how to handle sponsors without giving them more than I wanted to, and how to make everything look easy even when it wasn't. She'd been a regional rodeo queen decades ago, back when the circuit was smaller and the expectations were different, but she still carried herself like royalty.
She looked at me, then at Braxton, then back at me. "Addison, are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
Braxton glanced at me, his jaw tight. I ignored him.
Orville cleared his throat. "Thank you all for coming on short notice. Braxton, you've seen the latest message?"
"Yeah." Braxton set his phone on the table. The photograph filled the screen. Me behind the barrel. Him by the door. Someone close enough to watch.
Ruby leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "That was taken recently."
"Minutes ago," Braxton said. "Whoever sent it was on the grounds when I found Addison."
Evie frowned. "So someone with a camera and a crush got too close. That's not exactly unusual at rodeo events."
Braxton's gaze flicked to her. "This isn't a crush."
"How do you know?"
"Because crushes don't escalate to threats in three days."
"Mr. James, I've worked with rodeo queens for thirty years.” Evie's smile thinned. “Addison receives messages all the time. Some of them are inappropriate but they’re harmless. You can't expect her to disappear every time someone sends her something creepy."
"I'm not asking her to disappear. I'm asking her to take this seriously."
"And I'm telling you that Addison has obligations. Appearances. Sponsors. Commitments that can’t be canceled just because someone makes her a little uncomfortable."
Braxton's expression didn't change. "Then her commitments are going to have a shadow."
Evie's eyes narrowed. "You're going to follow her everywhere?"
"Yes."
"Even during pageant events? Meet-and-greets? Photo ops?"
"Especially then."
Evie looked at me. "Addison, do you really want a bodyguard hovering over you all weekend?"
I opened my mouth to say no. To say Braxton was overreacting. To say I could handle this the way I handled everything else… by smiling, staying calm, and not letting anyone see me sweat.
But the photo was still on the table. And Braxton's gaze was still on me, steady and patient, like he already knew what I was going to say and was waiting for me to stop lying to myself.
"I don't know." I shook my head.
Evie's expression softened. "Honey, you've dealt with worse than this."
"Have I?"
Silence fell over the tent. Ruby exchanged a look with Orville. Morgan's arms tightened across her chest. Torin shifted his weight, his hand resting on his belt near his radio.
Braxton broke the silence. "I need to check her trailer."
Evie blinked. "Why?"
"Because if someone's watching her, they've already been close enough to learn her schedule. That means they know where she's staying."
"Her trailer's locked," Evie said. "No one goes in there without a key."
Braxton looked at her. "How many people have keys?"
Evie hesitated. "Myself. Addison. The event coordinator. Maybe one or two other folks who need access to the costumes and makeup.”
"Then we check it now."
My trailer sat at the far end of the vendor lot, a restored vintage Airstream painted turquoise and white with "Rodeo Royalty" stenciled across the side.
I'd decorated the interior myself with string lights, vintage rodeo posters, a velvet bench, and a vanity where I kept my crowns, sashes, and emergency makeup kits.
It was my space. My calm in the chaos. My place to breathe when the crowds got too loud and the smiles got too heavy.
Braxton climbed the steps ahead of me, his movements controlled and precise. He tested the door handle before unlocking it. The lock clicked and the door swung open.
Nothing looked out of place. The lights were off. The curtains were drawn. Everything was exactly how I'd left it earlier that morning.
Except it wasn't.
Braxton stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the narrow space. I followed, my stomach tightening for reasons I couldn't name yet.
He moved toward the back where the vanity sat in front of a round mirror. My crown case sat open on the counter.
It was empty.
My breath caught.
Braxton didn't say anything. He turned toward the small bed tucked into the corner. My spare crown—the one I kept for backup appearances—sat in the center of my pillow, perfectly placed like someone had carefully arranged it. A folded piece of paper was tucked under the edge.
Braxton pulled gloves from his pocket and lifted the crown. He unfolded the note.
Keep smiling.
The air left my lungs.
Braxton's jaw tightened. He scanned the trailer again, then checked the windows, the locks, and the hinges on the door. "There’s no sign of forced entry."
"What does that mean?"
"It means they either knew how to get in or they had a key."
My hands started shaking. I pressed them against my sides before he could see.
"Someone was inside my trailer."
"Yeah."
"Someone who knows where I keep my things."
Braxton looked at me. His expression hadn't changed, but something in his eyes had. Something hot and angry and barely contained. "You're not staying here."
"Where am I supposed to go?"
"Somewhere with locks that actually work. Somewhere I can see every entrance. Somewhere they don't already have access to."
"Braxton—"
"This isn't negotiable, Addison."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I'd dealt with worse, that I could handle this, that I didn't need a man making decisions for me.
But someone had been inside my trailer. Someone had touched my crown. Someone had stood in this space and imagined me sleeping here.
"Where?" I asked, resigned to the fact that I might need to start listening to him.
Braxton exhaled, his shoulders tight. "My family's ranch."
"I thought you didn't live in Mustang Mountain anymore."
"I don't."
"Then why—"
"Because it's the safest place I know."
The drive took twenty minutes along winding mountain roads that narrowed the farther we got from town. Braxton didn't say a word. His hands stayed steady on the wheel, his gaze jumping back and forth between the road and the rearview mirror like he expected someone to follow us.
No one did.
The ranch appeared at the end of a gravel drive, tucked against the tree line with a view of the valley below. The house was small, weathered, and dark. Just silence and shadows and a heavy stillness.
Braxton parked and climbed out without looking at me.
I followed him to the front door. He unlocked it, stepped inside, and flipped on the lights.
Everything inside looked frozen in time. Sheets covered the furniture. Dusty family photos lined the walls. Four tall chairs crowded around a kitchen table. Everything looked like it was exactly where it had been left, like someone had walked out years ago and never come back.
Braxton moved through the space with quiet efficiency, checking the windows, locking the doors, and turning on lights.
"You can take the bedroom upstairs," he said. "I'll stay down here."
"Braxton."
He stopped.
"What happened here?"
His expression closed. "Nothing that matters anymore."
He walked into the kitchen and pulled a glass from a cabinet without looking, like his hands remembered where everything was, even if he didn't want to.
He filled it with water he didn't drink then turned to stare out the window at a view I wasn't sure he was seeing.
Whatever ghosts lived in this house, Braxton had left them behind on purpose. And now he'd brought me into it.
Later that night, I lay in the upstairs bedroom and stared at the ceiling. The house was quiet except for the creak of old wood and the sound of Braxton moving around downstairs.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number.
Cute bodyguard. But you can't hide forever.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the crown on my pillow or the way Braxton's voice had sounded when he said someone had been close.
Downstairs, a floorboard creaked. I heard Braxton's footsteps, steady and controlled, pacing the length of the house like he was standing guard. And I realized he was right.
This wasn't someone watching from a distance anymore. This was someone I'd already let too close.