Page 51 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

I’d been waiting for his name to come up. “I sold Roy cattle. More than once.”

Kaycee’s brow arched. “When was the last sale?”

“Spring. Everything was legit. I’ve got the bills of sale, registrations, and brand records. If Roy changed paperwork afterward, I didn’t know about it.”

She watched me instead of writing. “Did you suspect anything?”

“No.” Not maybe. Not I should have. Just no.

I’d replayed enough conversations since Roy’s name started circulating to know whether I’d missed something obvious. If there had been a sign, I hadn’t seen it.

Kaycee finally wrote something down. “I’ll verify the sales.”

“Please do.”

I expected another question. Instead, she closed that section of the folder. That threw me more than an accusation would have.

“You’re not going to tell me I should’ve known better?” I asked.

She crossed her arms. “Should you have?”

“I just told you I didn’t.”

“Then until I find evidence otherwise, that’s what goes in my notes.”

I stared at her. Most people heard my name and trouble in the same sentence and decided they’d learned everything worth knowing.

Kaycee looked at me the way she looked at the numbers spread across her desk. Like the answer existed somewhere, but she wasn’t going to invent it because finding the real one took longer.

“I don’t work off reputations,” she said, apparently reading something on my face. “I work off evidence.”

Something in my chest loosened. It wasn’t quite relief, but it was close. I hadn’t realized how tired I was of defending myself before anyone bothered asking what actually happened.

“And if the evidence says I had nothing to do with that deposit?”

“I’ll say so.”

“To the committee?”

“To anyone who needs to hear it.”

I nodded. That was more than I’d expected when I walked in.

Kaycee opened another folder and turned back toward the disaster covering her desk. The message was clear enough. Our conversation was over.

I made it to the door before I turned back, curious about something. “You’re not from Mustang Mountain, are you?”

“No. Bozeman.”

“The committee wanted somebody without local ties?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Is it that obvious?”

“Smart move. Everyone here has an opinion about everything… the Kincaids, the Hollisters, Cedar Draw, Roy, who started the feud, who lied about it, and who deserves to pay for something that happened before any of us were born.”

“And you don’t?”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of opinions.”