Chapter 28 #2
I blink. “Was that necessary?”
“Yes.”
“Delete it.”
“No.”
Duke leans over to look. “Oh, that’s good. You look deeply pained.”
“That’s my usual face around you.”
“And yet you love me.”
Annie laughs, and the day turns.
Not completely; the threat is still there. The photos are still sitting inside her camera. The investigation still waits beyond the edge of the rodeo grounds, patient and ugly.
But the rodeo refuses to make room for dread forever.
By late afternoon, the competition starts loosening into celebration. Someone sets up speakers near the beer tent. The line at the food trucks doubles. Kids run feral around adults who have collectively given up pretending to supervise.
Duke gets pulled into helping Willy with something near the arena and somehow turns it into a performance. Within ten minutes, he has half a dozen people laughing and one small child wearing his hat.
Silas ends up near the ranch owners, talking in that low, serious way that makes everyone lean in as if he’s delivering law from a mountain. But every few minutes, his gaze cuts back to Annie.
Mine does, too. I tell myself it’s strategic.
It’s not only strategic.
Annie moves through the crowd because the camera has given her permission to stay in motion. She photographs Sammy yelling at the speaker system, Dakota laughing with one hand against her stomach, Abilene feeding a bite of pie to Wyatt while Marshall pretends not to notice.
Red sitting on the tailgate of a truck with his hat low and his expression carved from exhaustion, Emmett reenacting his ride badly for a cluster of kids, Willy bowing idiotically while Riley applauds with a beer in hand.
At some point, Betty Lou from the diner grabs Annie by both shoulders, declares she’s too skinny to survive rodeo season, and forces a paper basket of brisket into her hands.
Annie looks trapped. I take the basket from her.
She looks at me. “Did you just rescue me from meat?”
“I’m managing a logistical overload.”
“That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
“You know,” she says, stealing a fry from the basket, “for someone who claims to be allergic to fun, you’re not terrible at this.”
“I don’t claim to be allergic to fun.”
“You implied it with your whole personality.”
I look at her over the top of the basket. “Eat.”
She grins. “Bossy.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes dip briefly to my mouth. Every thought in my head stops behaving.
Then Duke appears beside us, as if summoned by inappropriate tension. “Are we flirting over brisket? Because I support it, but I’d like to be included.”
Annie turns the camera on him. “Smile.”
He does.
Of course he does.
The picture’s probably excellent. Everything Duke does photographs well, which I find personally offensive.
As evening settles, the rodeo grounds shine. Strings of temporary lights flicker on around the vendor tents.
The music shifts louder, fuller, and the open patch of packed dirt near the beer tent becomes an unofficial dance floor because Colter Creek apparently requires only three chords and mild dehydration to start a party.
Duke gets Annie to dance first.
That surprises no one.
He takes her hand with a dramatic bow, and she rolls her eyes hard enough to injure herself, but she lets him pull her in. He spins her once, then twice, and she laughs so openly I can’t help but smile.
She looks different when she forgets to defend herself.
Freer.
Silas comes to stand beside me, arms crossed, watching them. “I’m still worried about her. About those photos.”
I nod. “Me too.”
“The photos need work. I’ll need the originals. Metadata, sequence analysis, background comparison against prior images. If he appears across multiple events, we can build a movement pattern.”
“I know. I’m not ignoring it.”
He nods once, understanding me.
Because I’m not ignoring it. I can feel the problem sitting at the back of my mind, already organizing itself into tasks.
Image extraction. Timeline. Access point review. Event vendor credentials. Cross-check with Jake’s approvals. Tessa’s circle. Vivian’s pressure.
Every open thread waiting to be pulled until something tears.
But Annie is laughing. Right now, that matters too.
Duke spins her out and, because he’s an ass, sends her directly toward me. I catch her by the waist before she collides with my chest.
Her hands land against me. Her eyes lift. The music keeps going.
Duke’s voice carries over the noise. “Your turn, accountant.”
“No,” I say.
Annie’s smile turns dangerous. “No?”
“I don’t dance.”
“Everybody dances.”
“Incorrect.”
She tilts her head. “Are you bad at it?”
“No.”
“Then prove it.”
Silas makes a low sound beside me that might be amusement.
Betrayal.
“I hate all of you,” I say.
Annie’s smile widens. “That’s not a no.”
“It was very clearly a no.”
But I still take the camera from her and hand it to Silas. Then I take her hand.
Duke cheers loudly. Several people nearby turn to look. I ignore them with considerable discipline.
Annie steps closer, eyes bright. “You’re very tense.”
“I’m aware.”
“You can relax.”
“I disagree.”
She laughs, and I move with her because, contrary to her assumptions, I do know how. Not showy, like Duke did. But enough. Controlled steps. Efficient rhythm. One hand at her waist, the other holding hers.
Her brows lift. “Cody Harlan.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You can dance.”
“I can do many things.”
“That sounded accidentally filthy.”
“It wasn’t accidental.”
Her lips part.
There. Good.
For once, she’s the one without the immediate comeback.
The victory lasts exactly three seconds before she recovers. “I knew there was a menace under all that bookkeeping.”
“You have no idea.”
Her fingers tighten in mine.
The lights catch in her hair, turning the blue almost electric against the lowering sun. There’s dust on her boots, a smudge near her jaw, and a stubborn spark in her eyes that makes every rational part of me consider surrender and call it strategy.
The song changes into a faster tune. Duke whoops.
Someone pulls Silas into the edge of the dance floor, which should be impossible, but apparently Annie laughing at him makes him comply with things no sane man would attempt.
The day becomes noise.
A party spilling over itself with no plan or permission.
Annie dances with Duke until she’s breathless. Then with Silas, who holds her as if every person watching can go to hell if they have an opinion.
Then, somehow, with Dakota, because Dakota drags her in, laughing, while Sawyer claps along and Clint looks at them both with a grin.
I stand at the edge for a while, pretending I’m there because observation is useful.
Really, I’m watching Annie collect proof that she belongs here.
Not in Ironwood’s dining room under Vivian’s judgment.
Here.
In dust, music, bad beer, and golden light. With people calling her name. With her camera passed carefully from hand to hand.
With her laugh cutting through the noise. With Duke’s hat on her head at some point, then Willy’s, then mine, which I don’t remember agreeing to and will be investigating later.