Page 1 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

CHAPTER 1

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.

Ruby's smile tightened just slightly. “Addison's handling some last-minute chaos with the junior contestants.”

“Where?”

“By the rodeo queen’s trailer. Or the main arena. Or maybe the vendor check-in.” Ruby waved her hand. “She'll turn up.”

That was the first problem. Threatened clients who “turned up” instead of staying where they were supposed to be rarely stayed alive long enough for me to fix the situation.

Orville must have read my face because he cleared his throat. “Let's go over what we know.”

He handed me a printed sheet full of messages, dates, and screenshots.

The first one was dated mid-July:

You looked beautiful in the parade. Next time, I'll be closer.

Then another from late July:

The crown suits you. But you should be careful who you trust.

And the most recent, dated almost a month ago:

Smile pretty, Addison. I'll be watching in August.

I set the paper down. “She reported these?”

“No,” Ruby said. “She mentioned them to me last week. Casually. Like they were fan mail.”

“They're not fan mail.”