Page 161 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

I smile. “She’ll be talking about that ribbon for weeks.”

“I’ve already heard the victory speech three times.”

The next picture catches Red crouched in front of a nervous little boy, tightening the strap on an oversized boot before sending him toward the mutton-busting gate.

I shake my head. “Delete that.”

“Why?”

“He’s worked too hard convincing everybody he’s tough.”

“I think the secret’s out.”

She keeps scrolling.

Willy appears next, balanced on the arena fence while half a dozen kids hang on every word he’s saying.

“He could start charging admission,” Annie says.

“He’d probably try.”

Then Emmett fills the screen. He’s walking a horse through the equipment lane with one hand resting against its neck, and the gelding follows him without needing a lead rope.

The whole town looks exactly the way it feels today… busy, happy, proud to be here.

Then Annie stops.

The smile slips from my face as I lean closer.

The picture shows the equipment barns after dark. Floodlights spill across the service road, and a chain link gate blocks the entrance beneath a RESTRICTED ACCESS sign.

“When was this taken?”

“Last night,” Annie says. “The setup crews were finishing, so I wandered over.”

“Zoom in.”

She enlarges the image, and my stomach twists the second Beau comes into focus beside Travis Mercer at the equipment yard gate. Neither of them has any business being there this late.

“What time was this?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the screen.

“A little after eleven,” Annie says as she passes me the camera.

I zoom through the rest of the sequence. Travis stands beside the control box in one frame before Beau walks over to join him. The next shot catches Travis gesturing toward the stock trailers while Beau watches. In the last image, they both look down the service road, then disappear into the dark.

“They stayed there several minutes,” Annie says, leaning over my shoulder. “I figured they were just checking equipment until I looked closer.”

“He wasn’t.”

Every conversation I’ve overheard with Beau over the past week crashes together.

He wanted to know which riders had drawn which chutes. He asked when the stock would be moved from one holding area to another.

He kept circling back to the championship finals, acting curious enough that no one questioned it.

He wasn’t making conversation. He was collecting information.

I hand the camera back and stare toward the equipment barns beyond the tent.