4. Addison
ADDISON
I kept staring at the tracking device on Braxton’s kitchen table. It was tiny. Small enough that I could have carried it around for weeks without knowing it was there. Which, according to Braxton, I probably had. That was the part I couldn’t stop thinking about.
“How long ago did you start helping with the heritage display?” he asked.
I looked up. “What?”
“The boxes you sorted through. When did you start?”
I thought back. “Sometime in June.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Isn’t that when the messages started?”
A chill raced across my skin. I looked back at the tracker. “You think they’re connected?”
“I think somebody put that thing in your crown case around the same time you started digging through old records.”
“I wasn’t digging.” I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug. “Morgan needed help going through donations for the Royalty Weekend display. County fair programs, regional rodeo stuff, old pageant photos. Most of it wasn’t anything anybody would care about.”
“Most of it?”
I knew where he was going. “There was a photo.”
“The one you showed Dallas last month?”
I nodded. “I found it on the Fourth of July. Two men standing with a herd of cattle. One looked like a Kincaid. The other was Hollister.”
Braxton got up to pour himself more coffee. “And?”
“The steer closest to them had both family brands.”
His brows drew together as he grabbed the carafe.
“Exactly.” I took another sip even though my coffee had gone cold. “Those families have spent more than a hundred years acting like they’ve always hated each other. Then I find a picture of them running cattle together.”
“Who else did you show?” He carried the pot over and warmed up my coffee.
“Dallas and Sadie first. Morgan saw it too.”
“And that was the same day you got the message about August?”
I stopped with the mug halfway to my mouth.
Smile pretty, Addison. I’ll be watching in August.
I slowly lowered it. “I didn’t think about that.”
“I did.”
Figured. He was ten steps ahead of me.
Braxton’s gaze dropped to the tracker again. “Did Morgan ever go back through the box after you found the photo?”
“I don’t know.”
“Call her.”
I picked up my phone.
Twenty minutes later, Morgan knocked on the front door. Braxton peered through the window before he answered. The man double and triple checked everything. I supposed I should be grateful, but I hated the fact he had to.
Morgan stepped inside carrying her laptop bag and a thick file folder.
“I went back through my notes after you called.” She set the folder on the kitchen table next to the tracker. “I need you to walk me through exactly where you found that photograph. If Braxton’s right about the timing, I want to know what else was in that box.”
“It’s in a storage closet," I said. "Out at the community center."
"Can you show me?”
Braxton spoke up from the doorway. “I’ll drive.”
Morgan didn't argue. Neither did I.
The walk-in closet at the back of the community center smelled like dust and rodeo history. Decades of programs, banners, photographs, and trophies crammed into storage boxes that nobody had looked at in years.
I'd volunteered to sort through the rodeo queen archives as part of my Royalty Weekend prep. I’d been looking for a few items to display. Something to connect the past queens to the current generation.
What I'd found instead was a photograph that connected two feuding families in a way nobody wanted to talk about.
"Back here," I said, leading them past shelves stacked with folded banners and championship buckles that probably belonged in a museum.
The heritage boxes sat in the corner, labeled by decade. I'd been working through the 1980s material when I found the regional rodeo and pageant box. I pulled it down and carried it out to one of the tables.
Braxton moved closer like he was ready to defend me against whatever we’d find inside. Morgan opened the box with a kind of focus that made it clear she was looking for something specific.
She pulled out county fair programs from thirty years ago, their covers faded but still bright with cartoon livestock and rodeo riders.
The regional rodeo memorabilia came next: buckles, ribbons, and entry forms. I recognized faces from some of the images that hung on the walls of the Merc.
Women in sequined western wear with hair teased high wore camera-ready smiles.
I reached for the same cracked brown album I’d found in July. Nothing was written on the spine except REGIONAL, 1900–1925 in faded black marker. When I opened it, my stomach dropped. "The donor card's gone."
Morgan leaned in. "What donor card?"
"There was a handwritten card tucked inside the front cover. It listed who donated the album and when." I flipped through the pages, my hands moving faster. "And there was a page here. Right next to the photograph. It had dates and names and… it's gone."
"What else?" Braxton asked, his voice low.
I lifted the album cover, checking behind it like I'd done the first time. "There was piece of paper tucked behind the cover. Old It was old and creased like it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times. I saw it when I pulled the album out."
"What was on it?”
"I don't know. I didn't unfold it. I was focused on the pictures."
Morgan's lips pursed together. "Someone searched this box."
“Carefully,” Braxton added. He was examining the other items, his movements methodical. "They didn't dump it or destroy anything. They just took what they needed."
"Whatever might tell us where the photo came from," Morgan said. "Or connect it to something else."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn't want to look.
Braxton noticed. "Addison."
I pulled it out. Unknown number. Another message.
You should have left Cedar Draw buried.
The words stared up at me, and something in my chest cinched tight. This wasn't about me.
"They know," I said, my voice coming out softer than I wanted. "Whoever's been following me… they know I found something."
Braxton took the phone and read the message. His jaw tightened in a way that made him look dangerous and made me glad he was on my side. "This changes everything."
Morgan was already pulling out her own phone. "The earlier messages were about you. Your schedule, your safety. This one's about what you found."
I stared at the empty spaces in the album where the missing items should have been. "I told Evie."
Both of them looked at me.
"Before I ever showed the picture to Dallas and Sadie. I told her I was sorting through heritage material. That I'd found something interesting about the old rodeo queens and ranch families."
"What did she say?" Braxton held my gaze carefully, like he already knew the answer would matter more than I wanted it to.
"She said it was great. That historical material always made good showcase content. She asked if I needed help organizing it."
"Did she come here?"
"I don't know. I was only here twice. Once when I found the album, and once when I came back to grab it for Dallas."
Morgan stared at me with the same intense focus she'd given the box. "Who else knew you were working on this?"
"Ruby. Mayor Nelson. A few of the other committee volunteers." I tried to remember. "Kyle took photographs of some of the memorabilia for the website. But I hadn't pulled this box yet when he was here."
Braxton moved to stand between me and the door. Not to block me in, just positioning himself like he'd done at every event. Putting himself between me and whatever danger might come my way.
"How long between when you told Evie and when you came back for the album?" he asked.
"Three days. Maybe four."
"Plenty of time."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him Evie wouldn't do this. She'd been my mentor since I was sixteen. She taught me how to handle sponsors, how to smile through uncomfortable situations, how to deal with unwanted attention without making a scene. She taught me how to survive being visible.
Braxton was watching me with the same flat, assessing look he probably gave every threat he'd ever sized up. "Who taught you how to smile when someone makes you uncomfortable?"
The question caught me off guard, but I knew exactly what he meant.
Evie had taught me that. How to deflect.
How to keep everyone comfortable even when I wasn't. How to make myself smaller so nobody felt threatened by my presence.
How to dismiss my own instincts because making waves was worse than being wrong.
"That doesn't mean she's involved."
"Doesn't mean she isn't."
I turned back to the box, my hands shaking as I sorted through the remaining items. County fair programs. Rodeo entry forms. Photographs of cattle I didn't recognize and families whose names I'd heard all my life.
Nothing else was missing that I could tell. Just the pieces that would explain where the photograph came from. Who donated it. What it connected to.
"They didn't want to destroy the evidence," Morgan said. "They wanted to disconnect it. Make it untraceable."
"But they missed the photograph itself," I said.
"Because you'd already taken it."
Braxton’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “Torin checked the building log. Nobody signed into this room after you were here.”
“So whoever took those things didn’t want anyone knowing they came in.”
“Or,” Morgan said, “they knew how to get in without signing anything.”
My chest tightened. “Cedar Draw. That’s the same name that came up with Sadie’s livestock investigation.”
Morgan nodded. “Old paperwork tied to the stock problems. And now someone’s using the name to threaten you.”
I looked at the empty spaces in the album. “So you think they’re connected?”
“I think Cedar Draw keeps showing up in places it shouldn’t,” she said. “We need to figure out why.”
I thought about the messages. The tracker. The person who'd been close enough to leave a crown on my pillow. It was someone who had access. Someone who knew my schedule. Someone I trusted.
"Evie has keys to my trailer," I said. "She has access to all my equipment. She knew I was working on the heritage material. She knew I'd found something."
Braxton didn't say I told you so. He just waited.
"But she also taught me how to protect myself. How to recognize when something's wrong. Why would she do that if she wanted to hurt me?"
"Maybe she didn't plan to hurt you. Maybe she just wanted to control what you found,” he said.
I pressed my palms against the table, staring at the album with its missing pages and stolen secrets.
"I don't want it to be her."
"I know."
Morgan started photographing the contents of the box with her phone. "We need to document everything that's left. If someone comes back for more, we'll know exactly what they took."
Braxton moved closer to me, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "You don't have to know who it is yet. You just have to stay smart. Keep your distance. Don't tell anyone what we're doing."
"Even Evie."
"Especially Evie."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend the woman who'd spent years teaching me how to survive in a world that wanted me polished and pretty and quiet. But I couldn't ignore the timing.
The tracker had been in my crown case since June. Right after I'd started working on the heritage material. Right after I'd told Evie I'd found something interesting. Right after Cedar Draw became more than just an old ranch name.
"What do we do now?"
Braxton's expression could have been carved from stone. "We figure out what someone's desperate enough to threaten you over. And we make sure they don't get close enough to follow through."
Morgan finished taking pictures and closed the box. "I'll cross-reference this with the land records. See if any of these ranch names connect to Cedar Draw or the families involved."
"And I'll find out who else had access to this building," Braxton said.
I looked at the empty spaces in the album. Someone had been here. Someone who knew exactly what they were looking for. Someone who knew I'd found it first.
The message on my phone seemed more serious now.
You should have left Cedar Draw buried.
But I hdn't. And now someone wanted to make sure I paid for it. For the first time, I was actually grateful Braxton was on my side.