Epilogue - Travis
I’d been told not to show up at the rodeo office. That right there should’ve been my first sign that stopping by meant any conversation I had would be hell.
But when the committee notified me that a five-thousand-dollar deposit into my ranch account had been flagged and told me not to touch it until their financial review was complete, I stopped caring what they wanted.
Five thousand dollars had shown up in my account without my permission. I wanted to know how the fuck that had happened, and more important, why.
I drove to the rodeo grounds, parked near the livestock gates, and headed straight for the office trailer.
The place had quieted down since Rodeo Royalty Weekend, but there were still stock trailers parked along the fence and volunteers hauling tables back into storage.
Dust hung in the August heat, coating my boots by the time I reached the steps.
The office door wasn’t locked. Inside, it looked like someone had turned three filing cabinets inside out. Folders covered the desk. Sticky notes marked with dates, names, parcel numbers, and enough arrows to make my head hurt clung to the whiteboard.
A woman stood with her back to me, comparing two documents under the glare of a desk lamp.
Her dark hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and she had on a button-down shirt rolled to her elbows. My gaze skidded down to notice the jeans clinging to her backside before I reminded myself I hadn’t come here to hit on the accountant.
She hadn’t heard me come in so I cleared my throat.
She spun around, one hand flying to her chest. “Jesus. You can’t just walk in here.”
“The door was unlocked.”
Her gaze traveled from me to the open door, then back again. Whatever she saw didn’t improve her mood. She yanked off her glasses and set them down on the desk.
“Unlocked doesn’t mean invited. Especially you, Travis Cole.”
So she already knew who I was. That figured. “Then we can skip introductions.”
“I’d rather skip to the part where you were specifically told not to come here.”
Her voice was calm again, but the color hadn’t completely left her cheeks. I stayed near the end of the desk instead of moving any closer.
“I got that message. What I didn’t get was an explanation for why five thousand dollars showed up in my account with a warning not to touch it.”
She studied me for another second before holding out her hand. “Kaycee Harper. Independent forensic accountant.”
I shook it. Her grip was firm and brief.
“The committee brought me in to follow the financial trail connected to Cedar Draw. I’m reviewing anything that might matter—livestock transactions, land leases, old accounts, modern transfers.” She pulled her hand back and reached for the folder nearest her. “Including yours.”
Cedar Draw.
The name had been everywhere for weeks. Old cattle records.
Family secrets. Roy Pritchard and those forged livestock papers.
Now everybody suspected Margaret Whitaker was the love child of a Kincaid and a Hollister, and apparently that had only given Mustang Mountain another hundred questions to argue over.
None of them had a damn thing to do with me. At least not until yesterday.
“What exactly did you find?”
Kaycee opened the folder and slid a page toward me. “The deposit hit your ranch business account three weeks ago. Five thousand dollars from a source account we’re still tracing.”
My own account number sat halfway down the page. Under it was a memo line I’d never seen before.
CEDAR DRAW — COLE LEASE PARCEL 17-B
The amount wasn’t enough to change my life. But it sure was enough to make it look like I’d taken money I shouldn’t have.
“I didn’t authorize this.”
“I know you’re saying that.”
I looked up. “You don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say that either.”
Those blue-gray eyes stayed on me, sharp and annoyingly unreadable. She wasn’t accusing me, but she also didn’t seem inclined to believe me.
Kaycee pulled another sheet from the folder. This one was a copy of an old handwritten page, the edges dark and uneven.
“The parcel reference is what caught my attention. Seventeen-B is part of the hundred and sixty acres you currently lease from the Kincaids.”
“Correct.”
“And nobody has ever called that land Cedar Draw?”
“No.”
“No side agreement attached to the lease? Grazing arrangement? Shared access?”
I shook my head. “I pay the Kincaids for the land. I run cattle on it. That’s the entire arrangement.”
She made a note in the margin.
I leaned closer to the old page. One line had been enlarged enough to read.
Cedar Draw account — Walker to continue until Margaret’s line is established.
I’d heard about the notebook after the mess with Evie Mercer—hell, everyone in town had—but seeing the words in front of me was different.
“Margaret Whitaker?” I glanced up at Kaycee.
She nodded. “They found her in the historical records once they knew who they were looking for. She was raised under the Whitaker name. That part isn’t especially mysterious anymore.”
“So what is?”
“The money.” She placed the old notation next to my transaction.
“Boone Whitaker wrote about Cedar Draw stock being held for Margaret and a Cedar Draw account the Walkers were supposed to continue. Nobody knows exactly what that arrangement was, how long it lasted, or what he meant by Margaret’s line being established. ”
I glanced at the deposit. “And now somebody sends money to me using the same name.”
“Exactly.”
A bad feeling settled between my shoulder blades. “Is it actually from the old account?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does the account even still exist?”
“I don’t know that either.”
My lip curled up and I glared at her. “What do you know?”
She put her glasses back on. “Sorry. You’re going to hear that answer a lot until I have evidence for a better one.”
I didn’t like it, but her answer was fair enough. For now.
She tapped the memo line with her pen. “What I do know is that someone deliberately connected three things: Cedar Draw, the land you lease, and your ranch account. I need to find out whether the money is genuinely part of that old financial trail or whether somebody is using the name to make it look that way.”
“How many other deposits are there?”
“So far, yours is the only direct payment I’ve found.”
“Right.” I dragged a hand through my hair and walked a few steps away from the desk.
People in Mustang Mountain had a long memory when it came to my past. Long enough to remember every stupid thing I’d done in my teens and early twenties and conveniently forget I was thirty-something now and had been towing the line for years.
“So someone is singling me out?”
Kaycee leaned one hip against the desk. “Maybe trying to take advantage of your reputation.”
“My reputation? I haven’t caused any trouble for years.” Sure I raised a little hell when I was younger. A lot of us did. Why was I always the one who never seemed to get a fresh start?
“I haven’t decided if that’s relevant or not yet.”
That pulled a laugh out of me. “At least you’re honest.”
“I’m an accountant. We’re delightful that way.” There was the smallest hint of humor in her expression before she looked back at the page. “If there’s something in your history that could be relevant to this review, I’d rather hear it from you than discover it later.”
I folded my arms. I could have told her none of it was her business. Would’ve saved time. Probably would also make me look guilty as hell.
“I got into fights when I was younger. Drank too much for a while after my mom died. Missed two equipment payments and caught them up with interest. I ran my mouth when I should’ve shut it, dated a few women who had every reason to regret it, and punched a man in a bar.”
Kaycee’s pen moved.
“He deserved it.”
Her pen stopped. “That’s not generally how assault law works.”
“Good thing you’re an accountant.”
One side of her mouth tipped up, just barely.
I went on before she could ask. “No bankruptcies. No tax liens. No judgments. No bad checks. I’m not hiding income, and every cattle sale I’ve made is on the books.”
“What about Roy Pritchard?”
I’d been waiting for his name to come up. “I sold Roy cattle. More than once.”
Kaycee’s brow arched. “When was the last sale?”
“Spring. Everything was legit. I’ve got the bills of sale, registrations, and brand records. If Roy changed paperwork afterward, I didn’t know about it.”
She watched me instead of writing. “Did you suspect anything?”
“No.” Not maybe. Not I should have. Just no.
I’d replayed enough conversations since Roy’s name started circulating to know whether I’d missed something obvious. If there had been a sign, I hadn’t seen it.
Kaycee finally wrote something down. “I’ll verify the sales.”
“Please do.”
I expected another question. Instead, she closed that section of the folder. That threw me more than an accusation would have.
“You’re not going to tell me I should’ve known better?” I asked.
She crossed her arms. “Should you have?”
“I just told you I didn’t.”
“Then until I find evidence otherwise, that’s what goes in my notes.”
I stared at her. Most people heard my name and trouble in the same sentence and decided they’d learned everything worth knowing.
Kaycee looked at me the way she looked at the numbers spread across her desk. Like the answer existed somewhere, but she wasn’t going to invent it because finding the real one took longer.
“I don’t work off reputations,” she said, apparently reading something on my face. “I work off evidence.”
Something in my chest loosened. It wasn’t quite relief, but it was close. I hadn’t realized how tired I was of defending myself before anyone bothered asking what actually happened.
“And if the evidence says I had nothing to do with that deposit?”
“I’ll say so.”
“To the committee?”
“To anyone who needs to hear it.”
I nodded. That was more than I’d expected when I walked in.
Kaycee opened another folder and turned back toward the disaster covering her desk. The message was clear enough. Our conversation was over.
I made it to the door before I turned back, curious about something. “You’re not from Mustang Mountain, are you?”
“No. Bozeman.”
“The committee wanted somebody without local ties?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Is it that obvious?”
“Smart move. Everyone here has an opinion about everything… the Kincaids, the Hollisters, Cedar Draw, Roy, who started the feud, who lied about it, and who deserves to pay for something that happened before any of us were born.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of opinions.”
Her almost-smile appeared again. “I’m shocked.”
“But nobody’s paying me for mine.” I reached for the door.
“Travis.”
The sound of my name stopped me.
Kaycee held up the transaction page. “Don’t touch the five thousand dollars while I’m tracing it. Don’t transfer it, return it, spend it, or try to move it somewhere you think I won’t be able to find it.”
I turned toward her. “You really had to add that last part?”
“I’ve met ranchers.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means enough.”
I laughed despite myself. “Are you planning on telling me where it came from when you figure it out?”
“If you’re entitled to know.”
“I’m starting to think we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”
“I’m starting to think you enjoy annoying people.”
“That wasn’t on your list?”
“I left room.”
She picked up her pen again.
I took the hint and stepped outside. The afternoon sun hit hard enough to make me squint. I slid my sunglasses back over my eyes as somewhere behind the arena a horse kicked a trailer wall hard enough to make the metal ring.
My truck sat where I’d left it. Dusty, dented, and old enough that I kept threatening to replace it. But it was reliable enough that I never did.
I climbed behind the wheel but didn’t start the engine. Five thousand dollars. Cedar Draw. Parcel 17-B. My account number. Somebody had deliberately tied all four together.
The question wasn’t whether Kaycee Harper believed I’d done it.
For some reason, I believed her when she said she’d follow the evidence wherever it went.
The bigger problem was that whoever sent the money had known exactly where to send it.
Exactly which piece of land to reference.
Exactly whose name would make people suspicious before they asked a single question.
Mine.
I started the truck and pulled toward the road. I’d spent plenty of years looking for trouble. For once, trouble had gone looking for me. I just hadn’t expected it to come with five thousand dollars and a forensic accountant I wanted another excuse to see.