8. Kaycee #2
Travis nodded. He didn't ask if anyone had apologized for suspecting him. After everything he'd told me about Mustang Mountain remembering the worst version of him, I doubted an apology was something he'd expected.
“Morgan found the 1912 document too.”
His attention moved to the folder. “Is that good or bad?”
“I’m not sure yet. Finding it was useful.” I opened the folder and handed him the copy Morgan had given me.
“The acreage that later became Parcel 17-B was part of the old Cedar Draw Stock and Land Account. The land and some of the livestock proceeds connected to it were set aside for Margaret Whitaker.” Travis read the section I'd marked. “Who's Margaret Whitaker?”
“We still don't know exactly.”
His gaze moved lower on the page.
I pointed to the line. “But this is important. It wasn't just set aside for Margaret. The document specifically says Margaret Whitaker and her lawful descendants.”
He looked at me. “Descendants.”
“Yes. Whoever created the arrangement intended it to continue after her.”
“That why the account's still around?”
“That's my best explanation for now. The old parcel eventually became part of the larger Kincaid tract you're leasing, but the financial obligation apparently survived somewhere underneath the modern records.”
“So that's where my five grand came from.”
“Exactly.”
He handed the paper back. “And nobody knows who Margaret was.”
“Not yet.”
I showed him the later notation. “We know one more thing. Margaret Whitaker eventually became Margaret Hale. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.” Travis glanced at the page again before returning his attention to the fence. “I guess that gives Morgan something else to for.”
I slid the document back into my folder while Travis picked up the fencing pliers.
“So now what?” he asked.
“I finish the report.”
“And then?”
I watched him tighten the wire before answering. “I go home.”
His hands stopped for a second before he pulled the wire taut again. “To Bozeman.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Probably tomorrow.”
He nodded and tested the repaired section of fence with his palm.
I waited.
Travis found another piece of wire.
“You knew I’d be going back,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“But you sound surprised.”
“I’m not.” He bent toward the fence again and started working the wire like the conversation was over.
I closed the folder. “Travis.”
“What?”
“Did something happen between yesterday and now?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting like I just told you I'm moving to another continent?”
That brought his head up. “I'm not acting like anything.”
“Of course not.”
His mouth flattened. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means I've spent a week watching you find something else to do every time you don't want to talk about what's actually bothering you.”
His fingers tightened around the pliers. “I knew you had a job,” he said. “Job's done.”
“That doesn't answer what I asked.”
“You didn't ask a question.”
“Fine. I’ll be more direct.” I stepped closer. “Do you want me to leave?”
Travis looked at me for several seconds, the pliers hanging loosely from one hand. “No.”
His voice come out low and soft. I hadn't expected him to answer me that fast. “Okay.”
He looked toward the pasture. “That doesn't mean you're staying.”
“I have an apartment, work, and a life in Bozeman.”
“I know.”
“But Bozeman is only two hours away.”
“That isn't the point.”
I tucked the folder under my arm, willing to stand there all night if that’s what it took to get him talking. “Then what is?”
He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the pliers before answering. “You came here because of the audit.
“Yes.”
“Now the audit's done.”
I could see exactly how he'd arranged the facts. I'd come because of work, and now the work was over. Everything attached to it, apparently, had an expiration date too.
“You think I'm going back tomorrow and that's the end of this.”
Travis gave one shoulder a small shrug. “Wouldn't be the first time somebody left.”
There was no accusation in his voice. He said it like he was pointing out the weather or a weak fence post. That told me more than an argument would have.
I stepped forward and took the pliers out of his hand.
His eyebrows rose. “You're stealing my tools?”
“You weren't using them.”
“I was literally repairing a fence.”
“You were avoiding me with a fence.”
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“It made enough sense that you're arguing about the fence instead of answering me.”
The corner of his mouth moved, but not all the way into a smile.
I set my folder on a fence pot and put the pliers on top of them. “My audit being finished doesn't automatically end everything else.”
His attention stayed on me.
“I don't know what happens next,” I continued. “I'm going back to Bozeman because I live there and because I have work waiting for me. I'm also not going to make six-month plans after knowing you for a week just so we can pretend there aren't any unknowns.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I work hard at it.”
His mouth finally made it the rest of the way into a smile.
I flattened my palm against the front of his shirt. “What I do know is that I don't want this to end when I leave.”
Travis looked down at my hand, then covered it with his. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
His thumb moved across my knuckles and he smiled.
Then his arm came around my waist, and I caught the front of his shirt as he pulled me closer.
He leaned down to kiss me, and I lost track of everything else until my folder tipped sideways on the fence post and several pages started sliding toward the grass.
I broke away and caught them.
Travis laughed. “You’re very professional.”
“Oh, hush.” I shoved the pages back inside before Margaret Whitaker's century-old inheritance arrangement ended up under a cow.
Travis picked up the pliers but didn't go back to the fence. “When are you leaving tomorrow?”
“After I finish the report and check out.”
He looked toward the house, then back at me. “Stay here tonight?”
The invitation was simple. He didn’t try to convince me it would be easier or more convenient.
I lifted an eyebrow. “My car would be parked in the drive overnight.”
“People already talked.” He shrugged.
“And?”
His mouth curved.
“Let them.”
I smiled and set my folder more securely on the fence post. “Okay.”
When Travis reached for me again, I melted into him.