Page 41 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Then Clint starts laughing. “See? You had to think about it.”

“Maybe I don’t keep records.”

“That sounds like avoidance.”

I bark out a laugh despite myself. “Good thing I’m not dating you.”

“No,” Clint says. “Just staring at Arizona like a teenager who’s discovered girls exist.”

I throw a french fry at his head.

The traitor catches it and eats it.

Across the diner, Arizona finally collects her coffee. Before she heads for the door, her eyes meet mine again.

Then she winks.

Actually winks.

My stomach decides to become a problem.

Clint laughs so hard he nearly chokes on the fry.

By midnight, most of Dusty Spur has turned in for the night.

The ranch settles differently after dark. During the day there’s always work getting done somewhere. Engines running, horses being worked, somebody yelling across a pasture.

At night, the place exhales. Horses bed down in their stalls. The barns fall still. Even the mountains surrounding the valley seem bigger when everything else goes silent.

Sleep and I aren’t getting along again tonight, so I end up doing what I usually do when my brain refuses to cooperate.

I walk.

The bronc barn sits dark except for the beam from my flashlight as I step inside. The familiar smells of leather, hay, dust, and horseflesh hit me. Usually that settles me down. Tonight it doesn’t.

I can’t explain why.

The flashlight moves across tack racks, storage shelves, and equipment hooks. Everything appears normal at first glance, but a few steps later I stop.

My stomach tightens.

A saddle sits on the workbench near the back wall.

That alone isn’t unusual. The problem is I recognize the saddle because I inspected it myself less than a week ago.

Frowning, I set the flashlight down and pick it up.

The second I turn it over, every trace of tiredness disappears. “What the hell?”

The flank strap has been sliced nearly all the way through, enough that it would’ve failed under pressure.

A rider hitting the dirt at the wrong angle could break a neck.

I stare at the damaged leather for several seconds before setting it back down and grabbing another saddle from the rack.

That one has damage too.

A cold feeling settles in my gut.