Page 50 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

“So what is?”

“The money.” She placed the old notation next to my transaction. “Boone Whitaker wrote about Cedar Draw stock being held for Margaret and a Cedar Draw account the Walkers were supposed to continue. Nobody knows exactly what that arrangement was, how long it lasted, or what he meant by Margaret’s line being established.”

I glanced at the deposit. “And now somebody sends money to me using the same name.”

“Exactly.”

A bad feeling settled between my shoulder blades. “Is it actually from the old account?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does the account even still exist?”

“I don’t know that either.”

My lip curled up and I glared at her. “What do you know?”

She put her glasses back on. “Sorry. You’re going to hear that answer a lot until I have evidence for a better one.”

I didn’t like it, but her answer was fair enough. For now.

She tapped the memo line with her pen. “What I do know is that someone deliberately connected three things: Cedar Draw, the land you lease, and your ranch account. I need to find out whether the money is genuinely part of that old financial trail or whether somebody is using the name to make it look that way.”

“How many other deposits are there?”

“So far, yours is the only direct payment I’ve found.”

“Right.” I dragged a hand through my hair and walked a few steps away from the desk. People in Mustang Mountain had a long memory when it came to my past. Long enough to remember every stupid thing I’d done in my teens and early twenties and conveniently forget I was thirty-something now and had been towing the line for years.

“So someone is singling me out?”

Kaycee leaned one hip against the desk. “Maybe trying to take advantage of your reputation.”

“My reputation? I haven’t caused any trouble for years.” Sure I raised a little hell when I was younger. A lot of us did. Why was I always the one who never seemed to get a fresh start?

“I haven’t decided if that’s relevant or not yet.”

That pulled a laugh out of me. “At least you’re honest.”

“I’m an accountant. We’re delightful that way.” There was the smallest hint of humor in her expression before she looked back at the page. “If there’s something in your history that could be relevant to this review, I’d rather hear it from you than discover it later.”

I folded my arms. I could have told her none of it was her business. Would’ve saved time. Probably would also make me look guilty as hell.

“I got into fights when I was younger. Drank too much for a while after my mom died. Missed two equipment payments and caught them up with interest. I ran my mouth when I should’ve shut it, dated a few women who had every reason to regret it, and punched a man in a bar.”

Kaycee’s pen moved.

“He deserved it.”

Her pen stopped. “That’s not generally how assault law works.”

“Good thing you’re an accountant.”

One side of her mouth tipped up, just barely.

I went on before she could ask. “No bankruptcies. No tax liens. No judgments. No bad checks. I’m not hiding income, and every cattle sale I’ve made is on the books.”

“What about Roy Pritchard?”