Page 40 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

“And you didn't tell anyone?”

Addison's jaw tightened. “I thought it was just⁠—”

“It's not,” I said. “This is a threat.”

Orville appeared then, his face grim. He must have seen the cluster of us standing there, must have read the tension in Addison's posture.

“What happened?”

Addison handed the phone to Morgan.

Morgan looked at the message, then lifted her gaze to Orville. “Someone's targeting Addison. Sounds like they're planning something for Rodeo Royalty Weekend.”

Orville's expression darkened. “We’re going to need security. I’m calling in Braxton. If Addison's walking into Rodeo Royalty Weekend, he needs to know what's waiting.”

Addison took her phone back carefully, her hands steady despite the fear I could see creeping into her eyes. “I'll be fine.”

Her voice didn't sound fine to me. She sounded like someone trying to convince herself.

I stepped closer, my hand still locked in Dallas's. “You're not doing this alone.”

Addison looked at me, then at the others gathered around her, then back at the screen.

“Smile pretty, Addison,” she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. “I'll be watching in August.”

No one said anything for a moment.

Then, somewhere in the distance, the first firework exploded, bright and loud against the darkening sky.

EPILOGUE

BRAXTON

I didn't like crowds. I didn't like temporary fencing. And I especially didn't like clients who described repeated threats as “probably nothing.”

The new Mustang Mountain rodeo grounds sprawled across acres of former pastureland, half-finished and already swarming with volunteers. Vendor tents lined the west perimeter in uneven rows. Trailers clustered near the main arena like shiny white teeth. Families arrived early, their trucks kicking up dust that hung in the August heat. Junior contestants ran everywhere—small girls in oversized hats, pre-teen boys practicing their walks, teenagers checking makeup in truck mirrors.

There were too many access points.

I'd grown up in Mustang Mountain, but these grounds were new. I liked knowing exits before I stepped into a room. I liked memory and muscle working together. Here, I had neither.

A woman in a bright yellow volunteer shirt waved at me from the registration tent. I nodded back and kept walking.

My truck was parked near the stock office—a double-wide trailer with a hand-painted sign that read MUSTANG MOUNTAIN RODEO ROYALTY WEEKEND in letters that looked like they'd been done by committee. The door stood open. Inside, I could hear voices.

I climbed the wooden steps and knocked once on the frame.

Orville Nelson looked up from a folding table covered in clipboards, schedules, and coffee cups. Ruby stood next to him, her hair pinned back, her glasses perched on her nose.

“Braxton,” Orville said. He stood and offered his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

I shook it. “Mayor.”

“Thanks for coming. We don’t know what we’re facing yet, but we know we’re in over our heads. I appreciate you helping us out.”

In the fifteen years since I’d left Mustang Mountain, I’d taken assignments to protect billionaires, professional athletes, and performers. Not once had I ever been contacted about babysitting a beauty queen. I glanced at the schedules spread across the table. Every page had Addison Blake's name highlighted in pink.

“Where is she?” I asked.