Sadie
By sunrise, the whole town would know I'd started pulling Hollister stock. By the time I finished pouring my first cup of coffee, my family would have already decided what version of the story they wanted me to tell.
I hadn't slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that empty shelf where that cardboard box used to be. I didn't have proof it was the same box Cody mentioned that had Cedar Draw scrawled across the side, but I knew it in my gut.
Cedar Draw. The name wouldn't stop circling in my head, patient and hungry, like it already knew something I didn't.
And when the name finally let go of me, sometime around two in the morning, my traitor brain had replaced it with Dallas.
The way he'd lifted his hand toward my cheek and stopped.
The way I'd wanted him not to stop, which was a thought I had no business having about a man who’d never been anything but a friend.
I knew how Mustang Mountain worked. Word traveled faster than wildfire during a drought, and people had long memories when it came to the Hollisters.
Before I'd finished my morning rounds at the veterinary clinic, my phone had buzzed twice with texts from people I barely talked to, both asking if everything was okay with the rodeo stock.
Everything was fine, I'd typed back. Just routine checks.
Lies came easy for a girl who'd been raised to protect the family name.
I got into my truck and stared at the steering wheel. The smart thing for me to do would be to let this go. I could pull the bad stock, file incident reports, and walk away. Someone else could chase down forged paperwork and missing boxes.
But I kept seeing that steer's leg. Kept thinking about the dun mare whose age had been falsified by three years. Kept wondering how many other animals had been pushed through certification when they shouldn't have been cleared.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up Dallas's number. My thumb hovered over the call button.
This was Hollister business. Family business. The kind that needed to be handled quietly, behind closed doors, with people who understood what was at stake.
Dallas wasn't family.
But he'd been there when the box went missing. He knew the stock. He'd backed me when Holt tried to shut me down.
And some part of me—the part I didn't want to examine too closely—didn't want to face Holt alone.
Since when did I need backup to talk to my own uncle?
And since when did backup mean one specific man with steady hands and a voice like gravel that rubbed my nerve endings raw in the best possible way?
I hit call anyway.
Dallas picked up on the second ring. “Morning.”
His voice was rough, like he'd been up for hours already. He probably had been. Ranch work didn't wait for anyone to catch up on sleep.
It shouldn't have done anything to me, that voice. It did anyway.
“I'm going out to the Hollister ranch office,” I said. “I want to see if that Cedar Draw box is there.”
The silence between us weighed heavy. Then he let out a soft sigh. “Want some company?”
I should have said no. Should have kept this contained. Should have protected him from getting dragged deeper into whatever mess my family had made.
“Yeah,” I said instead. “I do.”
“I'll meet you there in twenty.” He hung up before I could change my mind.
Dallas was already waiting when I pulled up the long drive of my family's ranch. He leaned against the side of his truck, his hat tilted low against the morning sun, those massive arms of his crossed over his chest. He straightened when he saw me and offered a small, encouraging smile.
I made myself look at the ranch office instead of the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. I had a fraud to untangle. A family to confront. There was no room on the list for cataloging Dallas Miller's forearms.
I parked next to him and climbed out.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
“No.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Fair enough.”
We walked across the yard together. The Hollister ranch office sat at the far end of the main barn, a squat building with faded siding and a metal roof that pinged in the heat. It looked like every other ranch office I'd ever been in. It was functional, worn, and built to last.
But it was my family's ranch office, and the Hollisters had a long legacy.
Photos lined the walls inside. Rodeo buckles gleamed in glass cases.
Framed news clippings yellowed at the edges.
Old brand plaques were mounted above the desk.
A coffee pot that had been there since before I was born hissed and sputtered.
It was the kind that made coffee strong enough to strip paint.
For generations, the men in my family had sat at that desk and made decisions for everyone else.
I pushed the door open.
Holt looked up from the paperwork spread in front of him. His expression didn't change, but his shoulders seemed to tense a fraction tighter.
Roy Pritchard sat in the chair across from him, boots propped on the desk like he owned the place. He'd been around Hollister stock forever—long enough to think his opinion mattered more than mine.
“Sadie.” Holt set his pen down. “I didn't expect you this morning.”
“I'm looking for the Cedar Draw box,” I said.
Roy snorted. “Those old boxes get moved around all the time.”
“Not usually five minutes after someone realizes they matter.”
Holt's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked to Dallas, standing just inside the doorway, then back to me.
“Is this a private conversation?” Holt asked.
“Dallas was there when the records were found.”
“He's not family.”
The words landed like a boot to the chest. Not because they were cruel. Because they were true. Because family meant secrecy, loyalty, silence. Family meant closing ranks and protecting the name, no matter the cost. I'd spent my whole life learning what that meant.
“He knows the stock,” I said. “And he knows what we found.”
Holt stood. “Then maybe we should talk about what you think you found.”
“Forged certifications. Mismatched brands. Animals that shouldn't have been cleared.” I kept my voice level. “Someone used our name to move bad stock, and I want to know who.”
“You're turning questions into accusations.”
“I'm reading what's in front of me.”
Roy swung his boots off the desk and leaned back in his chair. “You know what happens when this town gets a scent of Hollister trouble. Kincaids start circling like sharks.”
“This isn't about the Kincaids.”
“Everything's about the Kincaids when it comes to rodeo stock.” Roy's voice stayed easy, like he wasn’t personally involved. “You start pulling animals and filing complaints, people are going to think you're trying to start something.”
“I'm trying to keep people safe.”
Holt circled the desk, moving closer, filling the space until it felt smaller.
“There are ways to handle family business without dragging it through the arena dirt,” he said. “You need to think carefully about what you're putting your name on.”
“I'm not putting my name on anything I haven't verified.”
“You're making this bigger than it needs to be.”
“Someone forged veterinary certifications and swapped animals using our name. That's already big.”
“We don't know that.”
“We know enough.”
Roy stood, brushing dust off his jeans. “Maybe you're reacting a little emotionally here. It's understandable. Feud tensions are running high thanks to your brother taking up with that Kincaid girl.”
Heat flared in my chest.
Before I could answer, Dallas spoke.
“She's not guessing.” His voice was quiet, steady. “She's reading what's in front of her.”
Holt's gaze cut to him. “You're not part of this family, Dallas.”
“No, sir.” Dallas didn't flinch. “But I know how she works.”
The trust in those words hit me harder than I wanted to admit. Four words, and something in me wanted to cross the room and stand close enough to feel the warmth coming off him. I stayed exactly where I was.
Holt's expression didn't change, but the tension in the air felt thicker. He looked at me again, and I saw the calculation behind his eyes. He was weighing the risk and trying to decide if I was an asset or a liability.
“We'll look into it,” he said. “Quietly.”
“I'm not clearing unsafe stock.”
“No one's asking you to.”
“And I'm not pretending forged paperwork is a misunderstanding.”
Holt's jaw worked. “If you want to protect this family, Sadie, you need to be smart about how you do it.”
“The animals don't care whose name is on the trailer.” He was asking me to waltz past a line I couldn't cross.
Holt stared at me for a long moment. Then he picked up his coffee and took a slow sip.
“We're done here,” he said.
I made it all the way to the truck before my cheeks heated and the sting of embarrassment hit.
Dallas had seen that. Seen Holt try to box me in. Seen Roy dismiss me like I was just some hysterical girl trying to make trouble. Seen the machinery of my family up close, all the pressure and expectation and silent demands.
I yanked the truck door open harder than necessary.
“You didn't have to say anything in there,” I said.
Dallas stopped next to his truck, his hand on the door handle. “I know.”
That irritated me more. Because he wasn't apologizing for backing me, but he also wasn't making it about himself.
“This is exactly why I didn't want you involved,” I said. “Hollisters pull people into their mess and make them choose sides.”
“I already picked where I'm standing.”
I looked at him.
He looked back, calm and certain, like that was the simplest thing in the world.
Something low in my stomach pulled tight.
“Don't say things like that,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because—” I stopped. Because I didn't have an answer that wouldn't give too much away. Because Dallas was supposed to be safe. The one person who didn't expect anything from me except honesty. And that was exactly why he was dangerous.
Dallas waited. When I didn't finish, he nodded once and climbed into his truck.
I watched him drive away, dust rising behind his tires, and told myself the tightness in my chest was just anger at my uncle.
It wasn't. I knew it wasn't. But I had a lot of practice overlooking things I didn’t want to tackle yet, and Dallas Miller was going on that list until further notice.
The rodeo grounds felt different when I got back. The Fourth of July event was two days out, and the setup was in full swing. Banners stretched across the main arena. Sponsor booths lined the walkways. Volunteers hauled sound equipment and hay bales.
The rodeo grounds were full of people trying to make the weekend look effortless, but Addison Blake was the only one actually pulling it off.
She stood near the rodeo queen's trailer, her crown glinting in the sun, her sash perfectly positioned, with a smile bright enough to make people forget she'd been on her feet for hours.
She was surrounded by junior contestants, all wide eyes and nerves, and she was talking to them like they were the only people in the world.
I knew Addison well enough to see the strain underneath.
When she looked up and caught sight of me, the smile turned real. She excused herself from the girls and headed my way, her heels somehow not sinking in the dirt.
“Before you say you’re fine, your face is doing that thing,” Addison said with another smile.
I sighed. “What thing?”
“The thing where you look calm, but only because you’re mentally deciding which Hollister to bite first.”
“I don’t bite.”
“Sadie.” She cocked her head and bit back a grin.
“Fine. I rarely bite.”
Addison nodded. “Let me guess… Hollisters?”
“Hollisters.”
“So not one person to bite. Several.”
I laughed. “Always several.”
Addison's gaze drifted past me, landing on Dallas as he unloaded gear from his truck.
“And the cowboy shadow?”
“Dallas is helping.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So that’s what we're calling it?”
“Stop.”
“I'm just saying, he looks at you like—”
“Addison.”
She laughed and held up her hands. “Fine. But you're going to have to deal with that eventually.”
He looks at you like… Like what? I wasn't going to ask. Asking meant I wanted to know, and wanting to know meant admitting I'd spent most of the night before wondering the same thing.
“I'm dealing with forged stock certifications right now.”
Her expression sobered. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“God, Sadie.” She glanced toward the Hollister section of the pens. “Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “You always are.”
That wasn't true, but I didn't correct her.
“How long are you here?” I asked.
“Through the Fourth. Then I get a few weeks to recover before Mustang Mountain drags me back for Rodeo Royalty Weekend in August.”
“You love it.”
“I love the girls.” She adjusted her crown. “I tolerate the bobby pins.”
I smiled. Addison cared more about the younger contestants than she let on. She cared about the history, the mentorship, the way rodeo royalty could mean something beyond sparkle and sponsorships.
Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, and her smile slipped. Just for a second, but long enough for me to catch it.
“What’s that about?” I asked.
Her smile returned. Not the real one I’d seen before. This was her rodeo queen grin, bright and practiced.
“It’s nothing I haven't dealt with before.” She held my gaze, her eyes lacking the joy they’d held just a minute ago.
What wasn't she telling me? I wanted to push. Wanted to ask if she was really okay. But Cody Briggs started toward us, and his frown told me whatever came next wasn’t going to be good.
He nodded at Addison then shifted his attention to me. “We’ve got a problem.”
My stomach dropped. “What kind of problem?”
“The steer. The brindle with the bad leg.”
“What about it?”
“It's been moved.”
I frowned. “To a treatment pen? Because I sure as hell didn't authorize that.”
Dallas must have heard. When I looked over at him, he’d already started moving.
I caught up to him and Addison trailed behind us. The holding pens stretched along the back fence, divided into sections by animal and event. The pen where we'd isolated the injured steer was at the far end.
I reached the gate and stopped. The pen was empty. The steer with the bad leg was gone. Who moved a lame animal without a trailer, a vet, or a single word to anyone?
Whatever was going on, someone had just stopped hiding behind paperwork.