Dallas
The Fourth of July Rodeo had the whole town moving before sunrise. So did Sadie Hollister. And for the first time in years, I let myself look.
She was over near the vet station, loading supplies into crates with the kind of focused efficiency that made everything around her seem slower.
Her hair was twisted up, already escaping at her temples, and her boots looked like they’d earned every bit of dust on them.
The morning light caught her profile as she bent to check a water line, and I didn't pretend I wasn't watching.
Didn't look away when she straightened and found me standing twenty yards out.
She smiled. Small. Just for me. And something in my chest loosened.
Last night I'd fallen asleep with her hair against my jaw and woken up certain I'd dreamed it. Then she'd stolen half my coffee on her way out the door, and I'd stood in my own kitchen grinning like an idiot at an empty mug.
I'd spent years being careful. Years making sure no one noticed where my attention landed, because wanting Sadie Hollister felt like wanting something that wasn't mine to reach for.
One night of being chosen didn't erase all of that.
But it made it easier to cross the arena dirt toward her instead of finding another gate to check.
“You're here early,” she said when I got close enough.
“So are you.”
“Someone has to make sure the replacement stock doesn't mysteriously develop paperwork issues overnight.”
Her mouth curved, but there was an edge beneath it. She was still on guard. Still waiting for someone to challenge her authority or try to tell her what was best for the Hollister name.
I wasn't going to be that someone.
“What do you need?” I asked.
Sadie tilted her head, her hazel eyes catching the light. “You need to stop asking like you don't already know.”
I reached for the crate at her feet and carried it to the station without waiting for permission. She didn't stop me. Just grabbed the next one and worked beside me until the setup was finished.
It was the same work we'd done side by side a hundred times. Except now I knew what her mouth tasted like, and standing this close to her was a different kind of occupational hazard.
When she brushed past me to adjust the shade tarp, her fingers grazed my wrist. It wasn't a kiss. Wasn't her making a public claim. Just her fingers brushing my wrist where half the town could see. And it still felt like being chosen out loud.
I wanted to catch her hand. Wanted to press my mouth to her knuckles right there in front of the vendor row and let Mustang Mountain make of it what it wanted. I didn't. Not because I was hiding anymore. Because she'd set the pace, and I'd follow it the way I followed her into everything else.
By nine, Mustang Mountain had transformed.
Flags snapped along the fence rails, red and white and blue against the cloudless sky.
The smell of barbecue drifted from the vendor row, mixing with dust and leather and horse sweat.
Kids ran past with painted faces, clutching corn dogs and sno-cones, while the junior rodeo queens posed for pictures near the main gate in their sashes and boots.
Addison Blake stood in the center of it all, her crown catching the sunlight, her smile perfect and unshakable as she waved to sponsors and helped settle the younger girls. She looked every inch the rodeo queen—polished, graceful, untouchable.
But Sadie was watching her with a faint frown.
“Is your friend okay?” I asked.
Sadie's gaze didn't leave Addison. “She says she is.”
Which meant no.
I didn't push. Sadie would tell me if she needed to. And if Addison was in trouble, she'd have people looking out for her when the time came.
Today, the rodeo had to happen.
The announcer's voice crackled over the speakers, calling riders to the staging area.
Horses tossed their heads near the chutes, their ears flicking at the noise.
Bella moved through the crowd with her camera, catching candid shots of families and competitors, and Ruby Nelson worked the concessions with Orville by her side.
This rodeo mattered to Mustang Mountain. Not just the money. Not just the tourists. It was proof we could build something together despite the feud, despite the history, despite every reason people had to stay divided.
And if the stock paperwork had been fraudulent, if someone had tried to use the Hollister name to cover forged papers and swapped stock, it would have poisoned all of it.
Sadie had stopped that. She'd pulled the animals, filed the report, and stood firm even when her own family tried to bury it.
Now she was standing at the vet station with her shoulders back and her chin up, waiting for someone to challenge her authority. No one did.
I found her again just before I had to report for the team roping event.
She was double-checking the documentation on the replacement steers, her pen tapping against the clipboard as she scanned the certifications. When she saw me, she set the board down and crossed her arms.
“Are you competing?”
“Heeling.”
“Good.” She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the faint freckles across her nose. “Don't get stepped on.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Her mouth twitched. “I mean it, Dallas.”
“I know.”
She reached up and adjusted the collar of my shirt, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
My pulse kicked up. Sadie Hollister was fixing my collar in the middle of the rodeo grounds like she'd been doing it for years. Like she planned to keep doing it. A man could get drunk on less.
“Go make your catch,” she said.
So I did.
Being a heeler meant coming in after. Reading what someone else started. Making the catch no one cheered for first, but everyone needed.
I used to think that said something about me. Maybe it did. Wasn't that the same story I kept telling myself about Sadie? That I only got to be useful, never wanted?
Maybe I'd been hearing it wrong.
The header was Cole Driscoll, a steady hand from the valley who didn't waste movement. He nodded once when I rode into the box, and I settled into position, rope ready, eyes on the steer.
The gate opened.
Cole's loop flew clean, catching horns, and I was already moving, reading the steer's momentum, the way his hindquarters shifted as Cole pulled him around. My rope left my hand smooth, the loop opening wide, and I caught both hind legs in one clean sweep.
The flag dropped. The crowd cheered. But I wasn't listening to them.
I was looking at Sadie, standing near the rail with her arms still crossed, her smile small and real and meant only for me. That mattered more than our winning time.
It occurred to me, riding out of the arena, that I'd spent my whole life making catches nobody watched. Now the only person I wanted watching was, and I'd have thrown that loop a thousand more times just to keep her looking at me like that.
The trouble started an hour later, near the back gate.
I'd just finished coiling my rope when I saw Roy Pritchard moving along the fence line toward the pulled stock trailer. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it. Holt had made that clear after Sadie's report went through.
But there he was, shoulders tight, head down, walking like a man with something to hide.
I started toward him. Then I saw Sadie. She'd seen him too. And she was already moving.
Every instinct in me wanted to get between Sadie and whatever Roy was about to do.
I didn't. I moved beside her instead.
Roy reached the trailer and yanked the door latch, muttering something under his breath. Inside, the brindle steer shifted his weight, his injured leg still favoring, his ears pinned back in stress.
“Roy.” Sadie's voice cut sharp across the dirt. “Step away from that trailer.”
Roy froze, then slowly turned. His face was hard, lined with frustration and something uglier. “This is Hollister business, Sadie. You've done enough damage already.”
“That steer is pulled stock. He doesn't leave until I clear him.”
“He's taking up space we need for—”
“For what?” Sadie crossed the dirt toward him, her boots kicking up dust. “For more animals with forged papers? More certifications you copied from Dr. Hendricks's old files?”
Roy's jaw worked. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Then explain it.”
He didn't. Instead, he turned back to the trailer and yanked the door open. The steer lunged.
Roy stumbled back, and the brindle bolted through the gap, favoring his leg but moving fast on adrenaline and fear. He veered left, toward the narrow alley between the main arena and the queen staging area, where Addison was helping the junior girls line up for the closing ceremony.
Sadie moved. So did I.
My horse was still saddled near the chutes, reins looped loose where I'd left him after my run. I didn't think. I swung up, gathered the rope still coiled at my shoulder, and sent him toward the alley.
The steer was headed for the fence rail where kids were leaning over to watch. Addison had already moved the junior queens back, her face calm but her hands quick, but the brindle wasn't slowing.
I went left. No second-guessing. I read the steer's momentum, the way his weight shifted right, and threw my loop.
It opened clean. Caught both hind legs.
I set back just enough to check his momentum and turn him away from the fence, giving Cody time to swing a panel across the alley. The steer stumbled, blowing hard, but stayed upright.
I dismounted before he could bolt again, keeping tension on the line while Sadie closed in from the front.
“Easy,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Easy, big guy.”
The steer's breathing evened. His ears flicked forward.
Sadie's hands moved over his leg, checking the injury, her touch firm and sure. The crowd had gone quiet.
Someone started clapping. Then someone else joined in.
By the time Sadie straightened and nodded to me, half the arena was applauding, and Orville Nelson was striding toward the back gate with Holt and Tanner behind him. Roy was still standing near the trailer, his face pale and tight.
Cody Briggs jogged over and took the rope from my hands. “Hell of a catch, Miller.”
I didn't answer. I was too busy watching Sadie, who was looking at me like she knew exactly what that catch had cost me—and exactly what it meant.
Addison appeared at my elbow a minute later, her crown slightly askew but her smile back in place. The junior queens clustered behind her, wide-eyed and whispering.
“Your cowboy has timing,” she said to Sadie.
Sadie's mouth curved. “He does.”
Your cowboy. The words settled somewhere deep, and I didn't try to dislodge them. Hers. Said out loud, in front of the junior queens and half the back gate, and Sadie hadn't corrected it. She'd claimed it.
By the time Holt and Orville reached Roy, a small crowd had gathered. Tanner stood with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. Slade was there too, along with Morgan and a few of the stock hands who'd been helping all week.
Roy looked from Sadie to Holt to the open trailer door.
“You want to explain why you were trying to move pulled stock off the grounds?” Holt's voice was hard.
Roy's hands clenched. “I was trying to clean up a mess before it got worse.”
“By letting an injured animal loose near kids?” Sadie's voice stayed level, but I heard the steel underneath it. “That's your idea of cleanup?”
“You don't understand—”
“Then make me understand.” She stepped forward, her eyes locked on his.
“Because right now, it looks like you've been covering tracks all week. Forged certifications. Mismatched brands. Stock held on Miller land without permission. A Cedar Draw box that vanished off the stock office shelf the same afternoon we found it. All of it points back to you.”
Roy's jaw worked. He looked at Holt, then at Orville, then back at Sadie.
“You think this started with me?” His laugh came out dry and mean. “Those papers were old before your daddy was born.”
The words hung in the air. Holt went still. Tanner's eyes narrowed. Sadie didn't move, but something in her face had gone very carefully blank—the look of someone recalculating everything she thought she knew.
Roy wasn't the beginning. Just the most recent chapter.
Roy looked at all of them, his mouth twisting. “You want to dig into Cedar Draw? Fine. But don't pretend you're going to like what you find.”
He turned like he meant to walk away, but Cody stepped into his path.
Holt's voice came low and hard. “Don't.”
Roy stopped.
The crowd noise rolled on behind us, bright and oblivious, but inside that circle of dirt, no one moved.
Because Roy Pritchard had just told us the truth. He wasn't the beginning. He was only the man who'd gotten caught.