Page 162 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“This weekend the entire crowd will be focused on the arena,” I say. “The loading yard won’t have many eyes on it.”

Annie follows my gaze before looking back at me. “You think they’ve timed whatever they’re doing to the finals?”

“I’m convinced they have.”

Another roar rolls through the grandstands as the next ride begins. Families line the fence, kids holler for their favorite cowboys, and the rodeo keeps rolling as if everything is exactly the way it should be while the answers sit inside Annie’s camera.

I shove my chair back and head for the opening of the tent.

“We’re going to find out what Travis and Beau are planning before the weekend,” I say, already moving. “Once those finals begin, they’ll have every distraction they need.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Emmett

I pull the last stock trailer strap tight, test the buckle with both hands, then move around the rear axle to check the tires again before tomorrow’s finals.

A strong weekend puts Dusty Spur in front of people who book trail rides, hire trainers, and buy horses, which matters after weeks of damaged equipment and lost work.

One more accident could wipe out whatever the rodeo brings in, so every latch and strap gets checked twice, whether the ranch hands think I’m overdoing it or not.

The yard stays busy around me as feed sacks cross the gravel and horses move through the corrals, picking up on the strain running through the ranch.

Red walks the perimeter with a clipboard beneath one arm, testing every gate even though he finished the same job before breakfast. Since Arizona spotted Travis Mercer meeting Beau behind the practice arena, Red has checked the work himself and then checked whoever did it before him.

Willy carries a hay bale toward the barn while mangling an old country song badly enough that a gelding pins its ears.

“I’m with you,” I tell the horse as I secure the trailer compartment.

Willy drops the bale inside the barn and looks back at me. “You siding with livestock again?”

“They usually have better judgment.”

He studies the gelding, who keeps his ears flattened. “He looks like he wants to kick me.”

“He probably does.”

“I respect an animal willing to communicate clearly.”

He heads deeper into the barn without improving his singing, and I test the left brake light again because Travis only needs us to miss one weak spot.

Arizona’s truck turns into the yard before I finish.

She climbs out carrying a cardboard tray of coffee, and Willy reappears so fast that he must have smelled it before she reached the ranch.

“I brought reinforcements,” she says.

Willy takes the largest cup. “I’ve always believed you were a woman of exceptional character.”

Arizona passes him the cup before he can steal another. “Your exceptional judgment proposed to Carrie Jo with pie in your mouth.”

“I offered her stability.”

“You were standing on one foot.”

“I was committed enough to stay upright.”

She laughs as she carries the remaining coffee toward me, and the sound eases the tightness across my shoulders.