Chapter 2
RACHEL
The briefing my editor gave me before I left Bozeman covered the main points of my assignment like rodeo logistics, the names of people I should interview, and a basic history of Mustang Mountain.
But he hadn’t mentioned how adorable the little downtown area would be.
With hand-painted signs in storefront windows, hand-carved wooden benches sitting under awnings, and a community bulletin board so plastered with flyers I couldn't see the cork underneath, the town was bursting at the seams with charm.
I pulled into a spot along Main, grabbed my messenger bag, and got out of my car.
After that silent giant of a man fixed my car last night, I’d headed straight to the cabin I’d rented.
Today, I wanted to explore the downtown area and start making a few connections so I could start researching the community interest piece I was writing about the upcoming rodeo.
It was early, but a few people were out and about, moving along the sidewalk like they had all the time in the world. When was the last time I’d been somewhere people walked this slow?
Everyone I passed offered a smile but still seemed to give me a quick once over.
An older man outside the hardware store stared at me, his hand frozen on the door handle.
A woman watering flower boxes across the street stopped mid-pour, tracking me as I headed toward the Mercantile.
That was where I’d meet Ruby Nelson, the woman whose cabin I was renting while I was in town.
I’d found the key on the kitchen table when I arrived last night along with a note inviting me to stop by for coffee this morning.
I almost passed right by a door half-hidden by gorgeous hanging baskets full of flowers. “Good morning. Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Turning my head toward the voice, I spotted a petite woman standing in the doorway. She wore a smile that made her eyes sparkle and a purple apron with Noted embroidered across the chest.
“It's my grand opening,” she said, nodding toward a sign in the window. “You look like someone who might appreciate good paper.”
I smiled as I glanced at the front window. “What gave me away?”
“Your bag.” She nodded toward my messenger bag. “Writers carry those. Journalists too, I'd guess.”
“Guilty.” I liked her immediately, which didn't happen often. What did that say about me? Obviously, I needed to get out more. “I'm Rachel.”
“From the magazine in Bozeman, right? Welcome to Mustang Mountain. I’m Marie. Come in if you'd like. I've got the best selection of notebooks you’ll find this side of the Rockies and some paper featuring Montana wildflowers that I make by hand.”
“I’ve never been able to turn down a stationary store.
” I followed her inside. The shop smelled like lavender and old books, two of my favorite scents.
Shelves lined every wall, filled with journals, stationery, and handmade cards.
A small table near the window held a stack of leather-bound notebooks, their edges worn soft.
I ran my fingers over the one on top. “These are beautiful. Do you make them?”
“No. They’re made by a local leather worker. He does custom saddle work mostly and started the journals as a side project.” Marie picked one up and turned it over. “I doubt I’ll be able to keep them in stock.”
A handmade leather journal would be a complete upgrade from my regular spiral notebook and a luxury I couldn’t resist. “I'll take this one.”
“Perfect.” Marie moved to the register to ring me up.
As I followed her, movement near the door caught my eye. Orange and gold wings fluttered, carrying a butterfly into the shop. It landed on the edge of the counter between us.
Marie lowered her voice into an almost-whisper. “Well, hello there, beautiful.”
The butterfly rose a few inches into the air and landed on my wrist. I barely felt it… just the faint whisper of legs against my skin and wings opening and closing in slow, patient beats.
“That's good luck.” Marie smiled as she wrapped the leather journal in a few sheets of lavender tissue paper. “Or maybe more than that. My grandmother used to say a butterfly landing on you means change is coming.”
I watched its wings gracefully open and close. “What kind of change?”
“The kind you don't see coming.” She slid the wrapped notebook across the counter. “Sometimes it's a new beginning. Sometimes it's love, whether you're ready for it or not.”
“I'm here for a story,” I said with a soft laugh. “Not a romance.”
Marie gave me a knowing smile. “Most people come for one thing, but Mustang Mountain always seems to give them what they need.”
Cute, but I had a job to do. If this rodeo piece went well, maybe I could re-establish trust with my editor and start earning stories that mattered again.
The butterfly lifted from my wrist and drifted back toward the window, gone before I could watch it glide all the way out.
I paid for my purchase and tucked the notebook into my bag. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” A faint flush crossed Marie’s cheeks. “If you need anything while you're in town — directions, recommendations, someone to talk to — you know where I am.”
I might take her up on that. It would be nice to have a friendly face in a town full of people who'd be watching what I wrote about them.
My assignment was simple enough… a write-up on Mustang Mountain's first rodeo.
I was supposed to focus on the excitement of opening weekend and snag a quote or two.
I could write that kind of story in my sleep.
I waved goodbye to Marie as I stepped back out into the mountain air and let it settle around me. A flash of movement across the street caught my eye.
At first, I thought it was a dog slipping between two parked trucks, but then it stepped into the open and paused near the edge of the sidewalk. With a gray coat, long legs, and amber eyes that locked on mine, there was no way the animal was just a dog. It was a wolf.
My hand tightened around the strap of my bag. Nobody screamed. Nobody ran. A teenager coming out of the hardware store glanced over, grinned, and shook his head. Like seeing a wolf standing on Main Street was just a regular weekday morning around here.
The wolf looked at me for one more breath, then turned and disappeared down the sidewalk.
“Don’t worry. That was just Hades,” Marie called from behind me, her voice calm and unrattled.
I turned slowly. “The wolf has a name?”
She smiled. “He’s more mascot than menace, and he likes to make sure newcomers know they’ve been noticed.”
Wonderful. Even the wildlife in Mustang Mountain was nosy.
“Have a nice day.” Marie turned her attention to the hanging baskets, leaving me to my own thoughts.
I was still thinking about that butterfly when I stopped in front of the Mercantile. And the certainty in Marie's voice when she'd said the kind you don't see coming. But I was here to work, and I didn't have time to read meaning into the wings of an insect.
Nelson's Mercantile was exactly how I’d imagined it.
Wide windows let in the sunlight. Packed aisles held everything from groceries to personal items to fresh bait.
A coffee counter ran the length of the back wall.
People clustered near the register like it was a gathering point, which it probably was.
Small towns always had one, a place where information pooled before it moved anywhere else.
The door creaked as I entered. Three heads turned my way, but I kept walking. The woman behind the coffee counter had silver hair and sparkly red frames and appeared to be holding court. Her smile widened as I approached.
“Rachel Grable.” She set a clean mug on the counter in front of me. “I wondered when you'd come in.”
I slid onto a stool. “You must be Ruby.”
“That’s me. Mayor's wife, proprietor, and your landlady while you’re in town.” She filled my mug from the carafe she held in her right hand. “Do you need cream or sugar?”
“Just black is fine.” I slipped the strap of my bag over the back of the stool.
“How are you settling in? Does the cabin have everything you need?” she asked.
“Yes. It’s perfect, and I love the view.”
“Good. If you need anything, just let me know.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug. “Thank you. I will. Everyone around here has been so accommodating so far.”
Ruby’s laugh was warm and genuine. “That's Mustang Mountain. People around here are curious every time they see a stranger, especially one who’s writing a story about our upcoming rodeo.”
“I suppose I stand out a little. Marie from next door knew who I was as soon as I told her my name.”
“She’s a sweetheart. You won’t have any trouble with her.” Ruby rested her hip against the counter. “But speaking of trouble… I heard you had an issue with your car on your way into town last night.”
News traveled fast around here. I suppose I should have expected that. “I did. It would've been a long night if someone hadn't stopped.”
“Roman Maddox,” Ruby said.
Hearing his name sent a shiver racing up and down my spine. I hadn’t been able to erase the image of the tall, dark stranger from my mind. “He didn't say much but seemed to know what he was doing.”
Ruby took her time refilling her own mug.
“Roman's good at fixing things, especially animals.
He's got a way with horses that borders on supernatural.
People around here call him a horse whisperer, though he'd never use that word himself.” She paused.
“He's been conditioning the rough stock for the rodeo. The horses no one else wants to go near.”
“It sounds like he's good at his job.” My mouth went dry picturing those big hands of his.
“The best.” Her tone shifted a little quieter. “But he keeps to himself. Always has.”
I filed that piece of information away to think about later. “I'm just grateful he stopped. Otherwise I might have had to sleep in my car.”
“Mmm hmm.” Ruby tilted her head and studied me like she was looking for the answer to a question that hadn’t been asked yet.
Then she pulled a folder out from under the counter and set it between us.
“Since you're here for the rodeo, let me give you a proper lay of the land.
Slade Kincaid runs point on the bull riding.
His family owns the Iron Spur, one of the biggest operations in the region.
He's your best source for anything about the competition itself.”
I pulled out a pen to start taking notes.
“Dawson Griffith handles the broncs. Trains out at Wilde Creek. He doesn't waste words.” Ruby's mouth curved up and she gave me a wink. “You'll work for that interview, but it'll be worth it.”
“Is there anyone else I should talk to?”
“Tanner Hollister. He’s a horse trainer and he and Jace Walker have been coordinating logistics for the whole event.”
I wrote the names down. Kincaid. Griffith. Hollister. Walker. I'd seen them in my background research, old family names that showed up in property records and local history like load-bearing walls, invisible until you needed to understand what was holding everything up.
“What about Roman?” I asked. “Where does he fit in?”
Ruby kept her eyes on the papers. “Roman works the edges. He's not part of the main show, but the show doesn't happen without him. He handles the problem horses, the ones that need real work before they're ready. He's essential, but he's not the kind of man who wants recognition for it.”
“Sounds like there's a story there.”
“There's always a story.” Her head lifted and she met my gaze. “But not all of them need to be told. Some people would rather stand outside the spotlight than in it. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let them stick to the shadows.”
The warning was clear, delivered with the calm certainty of a woman who’d been guarding other people’s business for a long time. But Ruby didn't know me well enough yet to understand what warnings like that did to my curiosity.
“I'm just here for the rodeo,” I said. “And maybe a human-interest piece or two that will help you bring in the summer crowds.”
She held my gaze for a long moment, then slid the papers back into the folder and passed it over to me. “Good. This town's been through enough without someone stirring things up for the sake of a headline.”
“Thanks for the intel.” I set my cup down. “And the coffee.”
“Anytime.” The warm smile came back, but she’d made her point. “And Rachel, if you need anything while you're here, all you need to do is ask.”
“Thank you.” Eager to get started, I tucked the folder into my bag and made my way back outside.
The town had come to life while I’d been chatting with Ruby. As I walked back to my car, trucks rumbled down Main, people waved to each other from across the street, and the scent of something sweet mingled with the smell of pine.
I took in a deep breath while I tried to work out my next steps. But I wasn't thinking about the rodeo. Wasn't thinking about Slade Kincaid or Dawson Griffith or Tanner Hollister, despite Ruby's careful curation of who mattered.
I was thinking about a man who fixed things without being asked. Who worked the edges. Who Ruby Nelson had just warned me — politely and firmly — to leave alone.
I'd come here for a fluff piece about a rodeo. But standing on Main Street with the mountain pressing down behind me and the memory of a scarred jaw and a flashlight still clear in my head, I knew that had changed. I wanted to know what Ruby Nelson knew about Roman Maddox that she wasn’t saying.
And why her warning made me want to look closer instead of walking away.