4. Kaycee
KAYCEE
Somehow, a copy of the steer-wrestling schedule ended up next to my laptop. I blamed Mustang Mountain.
It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that I'd already checked Travis's competition time twice while pretending to review the stack of invoices next to me.
Outside the rodeo office, Labor Day weekend was in full swing.
Kids in cowboy hats darted between vendor booths, families carried food toward the grandstands, and the smells of coffee, fried dough, and livestock drifted through the open window.
During the week, the rodeo grounds had felt like a construction project with horses. Today, the place was alive.
I entered another payment into my spreadsheet, checked the time, then immediately got annoyed with myself.
Travis wasn't competing for another twenty-three minutes.
I closed the laptop.
“Going somewhere?” Ruby stood in the doorway holding two paper cups, looking far too entertained for someone who'd just brought me coffee.
“Stretching my legs.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She handed me one of the cups.
“Iced tea?”
“Thought you could use something cold. That air conditioner looks like it's losing the fight.”
I took a drink. “Thank you.”
Ruby glanced toward the arena. “Steer wrestling should be starting soon.”
“So I've heard.”
Her smile widened.
“Do people in this town have hobbies?” I asked.
“Plenty. Most of them involve other people's business.”
I laughed and followed her outside.
The crowd thickened as we crossed the grounds. A little girl in pink boots tugged her father toward a booth where Addison Blake stood signing rodeo programs, her crown and sash perfectly in place despite the heat.
Addison spotted me and waved.
That had started happening more often lately. People knew my name now. They asked how the audit was going or whether I'd tried the cinnamon rolls at Ruby's Mercantile.
I'd been hired because I didn't belong to Mustang Mountain or either side of its family drama, but the town had stopped treating me like an outsider.
I was still leaving when the job was done, but the reminder didn't feel as reassuring as it used to.
That was the trouble with staying somewhere long enough to learn its rhythm. Mustang Mountain wasn't just a job site anymore. It was starting to feel like a place I'd have opinions about even after I closed my last file.
Ruby headed toward the vendors, and I moved closer to the arena. The steer-wrestling competitors were gathering near the chutes. It took me less than five seconds to find Travis.
He sat on a dark bay near the back of the group, his competition number pinned across his back. None of the easy teasing I'd gotten used to from him showed on his face. His attention stayed on the arena, his reins held short and steady in one hand.
I'd seen that same focus during yesterday's practice run.
I liked seeing him like that.
As if he felt me watching, Travis turned. His gaze moved across the crowd until he found me, and he tipped his chin once.
My fingers tightened around my cup. I lifted it in response.
That was when his mouth curved.
The announcer called the next competitor, and Travis turned back toward the arena.
Yesterday, I'd barely understood what I was watching. Today I knew enough to understand exactly how many things could go wrong. Retirement accounts still seemed like the smarter choice.
Every time a gate rattled, my pulse kicked up another notch. Travis did this for fun on a regular basis but apparently knowing that didn't make watching him any easier.
Two cowboys went before Travis. One missed the steer entirely. The other posted a time that drew a cheer from the stands.
Then Travis backed his horse into the box. I set my cup down and wrapped both hands around the rail.
The gate opened.
The steer broke hard, with Travis charging after it and another cowboy keeping pace on the opposite side. Travis slid from the saddle and hit the ground running, his hands catching the horns while his boots dug into the dirt. For one awful second, the steer fought the turn.
Then Travis shifted his weight. The animal went over. The crowd erupted, and I realized I'd leaned halfway across the rail and shouted along with everyone else.
The announcer called his time. From the reaction of people sitting around me, it was good.
Travis got up, brushed dirt from his jeans, and looked toward the stands. Toward me.
His grin hit before I could pretend I wasn't waiting for it.
I picked up my iced tea instead of smiling back like an idiot.
I went back to the office and pulled the invoices in front of me again. The work should have been easy enough to disappear into, but I made it through the same line twice before realizing I hadn't absorbed a number.
Apparently watching Travis throw a steer into the dirt had been more distracting than I thought it would be.
I forced myself through another page before the door to the office opened. Addison leaned against the frame, still wearing her rodeo sash and an expression that made me immediately suspicious.
“So,” she said.
“No.”
“I didn't ask you anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
She laughed and stepped into the office. “He had a good run.”
“I noticed.”
“I bet you did.”
I pointed my pen at the door. “Don't you have rodeo-queen responsibilities somewhere?”
“This is community outreach.”
“Go outreach somewhere else.”
She waved then disappeared through the door as my phone started vibrating on the desk.
The message was from the bank contact helping me trace the transfer into Travis's account.
The five thousand dollars hadn't come from some random account with Cedar Draw typed into the memo field.
The originating account had a legitimate connection to one of the modern entities that had absorbed older Cedar Draw holdings.
It didn't explain why Travis had received the money, but the connection was real.
I requested the additional records and set my phone aside. I had a new lead, but without the documents behind it, anything else would be guessing.
“Hey, Harper.”
I looked up.
Travis stood in the doorway. He’d cleaned up, although dirt still streaked across his forearm. His competition number was gone, his hat sat farther back on his head, and the satisfaction on his face told me he knew exactly what I'd done during his run.
He crossed the room and stopped at the edge of the desk. “You watched me.”
“Against my better judgment.”
“You yelled.”
“I did not.”
His eyebrows went up.
“The crowd was loud.”
“I heard you.”
“You were wrestling a steer.”
“Still heard you.”
A smile tried to escape. His got bigger when he noticed.
“Are you convinced yet?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Don't ruin it.”
He laughed and backed toward the door. “I'll take maybe.”
I shook my head and turned back to the invoices spread across my desk.
By early evening, the main events had ended, and the crowd had thinned. Arena lights came on as the sun dropped, and music drifted from the beer garden while volunteers cleaned up around the grounds.
I closed my laptop a little after eight and stepped outside.
Travis leaned against the railing across from the office with two bottles of water.
“Are you stalking me now?” I asked.
“I prefer the term waiting.”
“For?”
He handed me a bottle. “You're off the clock.”
“According to who?”
“Me.”
“You have no authority over my schedule.”
“Never stopped me before.”
I twisted off the cap. “That's not the argument you think it is.”
He started walking, and I followed him anyway.
The grounds felt different after dark, quieter without the families and daytime crowds. We walked behind the grandstands until the music faded enough to hear each other without shouting.
For the first time since I'd arrived, Travis and I weren't together because of the audit. I wasn't about to ask what that made this.
“Can I ask you something?” I started.
“You usually do.”
“Do you really not care what people say about you?”
He glanced over. “Depends on who's saying it.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
His mouth twitched, but he stayed quiet for a few steps, rolling the unopened bottle between his palms. “People remember what they remember.”
“That sounds close to pretending you don't care.”
Travis stopped beside the fence and looked toward the darkened pens. “I gave them plenty to remember. I was an asshole for a while. Didn't exactly make it hard for people to decide what they thought of me.”
“You were grieving your mother.”
“That explains some of it.” His thumb worked along the edge of the bottle cap. “But it doesn't excuse all of it.”
I liked that answer. He wasn't asking me to pretend the past hadn't happened just because there were reasons behind it.
“The worst part isn't people remembering,” he said.
“What is?”
His jaw tightened. “It’s them not bothering to notice anything after.”
I didn't have a quick answer for that. The quiet stretched long enough that I heard a horse shift somewhere behind the pens, its hooves scraping dirt.
“Changing doesn't erase what happened before.”
“No.”
“But what happened before doesn't get to own everything that comes after it either.”
His gaze stayed on mine.
A few seconds passed before Travis stepped closer, the faint trace of arena dirt still caught near the edge of his jaw. “There’s no audience this time.”
I glanced around. A couple of volunteers stacked chairs in the distance, but nobody was paying us any attention.
“You've been thinking about that?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you still think stopping yesterday was a good call?” I asked.
His mouth tipped up at one corner. “I was going to ask you that.”
I looked at his mouth. “Not particularly.”
His hand came to my waist, slow enough to give me time to move away.
I didn't.
His mouth touched mine carefully at first. That lasted until I grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him back.
The cotton was warm in my fingers. His hand tightened at my waist, pulling me closer, and my water bottle bumped against his hip before I let it fall into the grass.
I slid my hand behind his neck, my thumb catching the rough edge of his jaw.
Travis made a low sound against my mouth, and whatever I'd planned to say next disappeared.
His hat bumped my forehead. He pulled back long enough to shove it higher, then kissed me again.
I'd spent days thinking his flirting was the problem. I'd underestimated the problem.
I pressed closer, and his mouth moved from mine to the edge of my jaw. My fingers tightened in the back of his shirt.
“Travis.”
He stopped immediately but didn't move away, resting his forehead against mine while we caught our breath.
“You good?”
“Very.”
His mouth curved. “Good.”
I kissed him again before he could say anything else.
When we finally pulled apart, his hand stayed at my waist and the smug look returned.
“Still think I'm a bad idea?”
“I never said you were a bad idea.”
“You thought it.”
“I'm an accountant. I evaluate risk.”
“And?”
I looked up at him. “You're getting harder to categorize.”
His grin widened. “Is that your accountant way of saying you want to do that again?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
I smiled. “Don't ruin it.”
Then I pulled him back down and touched my lips to his again.