13. Arizona #2
For the next several seconds, all eyes follow the battle unfolding in the dirt. The rider hangs on. The horse twists and kicks. The crowd roars louder with every buck.
When the whistle finally sounds and applause rolls across the arena, my attention drifts back toward the section where the man was sitting.
The seat is empty.
I blink, then scan the surrounding rows.
Nothing. It seems he got up and vanished while nobody was paying attention.
“Where’d he go?” I ask.
Annie follows my gaze. “Concession stand? Bathroom?”
“Could be.”
She considers that for a second. “Secret tunnel beneath the bleachers?”
I laugh. “Naturally.”
“Every rodeo has one. It’s where they keep the mysterious strangers and emergency plot twists.”
“That sounds made up.”
“Most important truths are.”
She says it with such confidence that I almost believe her.
Almost.
The conversation drifts elsewhere after that, but my attention keeps circling back to the empty seat.
I know it’s irrational. People get up all the time. They buy food, run into friends, wander off because they spotted somebody they know across the grounds.
There’s nothing unusual about a man leaving his seat.
Even so, every few minutes I find myself looking over there again.
The rodeo rolls on around us. Riders compete as music blasts through the speakers. The announcer keeps the crowd energized between events.
Everything feels normal.
Yet each time my eyes wander back to that section of bleachers, the same uneasy feeling returns.
Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’ve spent too many years turning scraps of observation into stories.
But if that’s all this is, I can’t figure out why I’m still looking.
By the time Annie and I make it back to the town center, dusk has settled over the valley.
The rodeo grounds are still buzzing behind us as we head into town, headlights stretching across the highway while trucks and trailers peel off in every direction.
Even with the windows rolled up, I can hear bursts of music and laughter carrying across the parking lots as people squeeze every last minute out of the evening.
My entire body feels pleasantly worn out.
It’s the kind of exhaustion that comes from spending a day doing exactly what you love and realizing hours have disappeared without you noticing.
The Silver Bit is already packed when we walk in.
Country music pours from the speakers and every table seems occupied. A few riders are clustered near the bar reliving runs that get more impressive with each retelling.
The scent of fried food, beer, and dust-covered boots hangs over the room in a way that probably shouldn’t be appealing but somehow is.
And despite the crowd, I spot them.
Willy is perched on a barstool near the back, talking with enough enthusiasm to entertain half the room. Wyatt sits beside him nursing a beer and looking like he’s reconsidering several life choices.
Emmett occupies a chair nearby while Sadie bounces between conversations, apparently unwilling to remain in one location longer than thirty seconds.
Red leans against the bar with a bottle in one hand, listening to whatever story Willy is currently turning into a dramatic production.
“Arizona!”
Sadie spots me before I make it three steps into the room. She barrels across the floor at alarming speed.
I barely manage to catch her before she crashes into me hard enough to send us both into a nearby table. “Well, hello to you too.”
“I wasn’t stealing fries.”
I blink. “That’s a very specific thing to say before anyone accuses you of anything.”
Sadie presses both hands to her hips. “I wasn’t.”
Across the table, Emmett closes his eyes. “She absolutely stole fries.”
“Supposebly,” Sadie corrects.
“You had ketchup on your face.”
“Allegedly.”
Willy nearly falls off his stool laughing. “I love this kid.”
“That’s because you encourage her,” Emmett says.
“I encourage creativity.”
Emmett rolls his eyes. “You taught her the word ‘allegedly.’”
“And look how responsibly she’s using it.”
All I can think about is the man from the rodeo.
“Hey.”
Red glances over. “What?”
I almost let it go.
Standing here in a crowded bar with music playing and Willy arguing that livestock are capable of revenge, the whole thing feels ridiculous.
Maybe Annie was right. Maybe I spent too much time staring at a stranger and built an entire mystery around a guy sitting in the bleachers.
But the feeling hasn’t gone away. “Did you know somebody at the rodeo today?”
Red’s expression doesn’t change. “Such as?”
“There was a guy there.”
That gets his attention. “What guy?”
My stomach tightens.
I do my best to describe him. The baseball cap and the beard. Where he’d been sitting.
Then I explain the part that actually bothered me, the fact that while everyone else was watching the rodeo, he spent most of the afternoon watching Red.
Red sets his beer down.
The casual ease he’s been carrying all evening disappears. The smile is gone. His shoulders square slightly. Every bit of attention he has settles on me.
When I finish describing the man, Red rubs a hand across his jaw and lets out a breath. “Oh.”
The single word lands harder than it should.
Across the table, Willy’s expression changes too. Five minutes ago he was arguing that goats are capable of holding lifelong grudges.
Now he looks like somebody hit pause in the middle of a sentence and forgot to start him again. Which, frankly, is alarming.
Willy never stops talking voluntarily.
My pulse starts picking up. Because this reaction tells me I wasn’t imagining things in the stands. I wasn’t inventing a story because my brain got bored and decided to entertain itself.
The man was real, and whatever connection he has to Red is serious enough to suck every ounce of fun out of this table in under thirty seconds.
“Red.”
His eyes meet mine. I don’t miss the tension in his face.
Around us, the bar carries on as if nothing’s happened. Somebody feeds another song into the jukebox. A group near the front door erupts into laughter. Glasses hit tabletops.
At our table, though, the mood has shifted completely.
I keep waiting for somebody to explain what’s going on.
Nobody does.
“Arizona,” Red finally says, his gaze never leaving mine, “did he notice you watching him?”