Page 10 of October’s Cowboy Beau

“I understand.” He put a hand over his chest. “The bakery’s confirmed. So are the musicians. I have the texts to prove it.”

“Good.”

His grin came back. I could see how people would let him get away with this kind of thing.

He pointed at my tablet. “Rachel wants everybody to keep an eye out while they’re pulling displays together. If you find any old ledgers, photos, or ranch records, let her know.”

“What kind of records?” I asked.

“They’re still tracking down Margaret.” Ruby waved a hand. “Look for the name Margaret Whitaker Hale. Or any Whitakers or Hales, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“They’re trying to trace her descendants. Rachel thinks they found part of it. Kaycee says they need more proof.”

“And Roman keeps talking about livestock records,” Orville said.

“I was getting to that.” Ruby tsked at her husband.

“Maybe eventually.” Orville tilted his head toward Ruby. “She’s more interested in finding out if there’s anything to those letters.”

“Letters?” I was almost afraid to encourage them. Breaking up a marital dispute wasn’t on my schedule for today.

“Secret love letters.” Ruby leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Sounds like there might be a whole lot more to the feud between the Hollisters and Kincaids than the whole town realized.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep an eye out.” Even though I hadn’t grown up in Mustang Mountain, I’d heard of the generations-long feud. I could only imagine how many hours of entertainment this new twist had provided Ruby and Aunt Linda.

Orville wandered off toward the register, and I went back to what really mattered right now: the star next to Beau’s name. I didn’t need him. The campaign would work fine without Beau Jordan’s face anywhere in it. So why was I still thinking about it… about him?

Beyond his obvious good looks, he was authentic. Like the way he worked with those horses. He’d checked Hank’s harness before he moved him. Gus had leaned into his hand when it settled on his neck. And that old wagon behind them looked like somebody still used it on a regular basis. That would sell Mustang Mountain better than a random shirtless cowboy staring at a camera.

I opened a new note.

Ruby leaned forward. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing my problem.”

“The Beau problem?”

“The campaign problem.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Her lips spread into a knowing grin.

“It really isn’t.”

I started typing. Hank and Gus. Harness. Hooves. Wagon wheel. Hands buckling harness. My fingers stopped. Beau’s hands had been big enough to make the heavy leather straps look narrow. He had scars across his knuckles and dirt worked into the lines, and it hadn’t even been ten in the morning.

I’d noticed too much. It was my job, right?

I added one more line. No face. Voice only if he wants. A few seconds of Beau talking about Hank and Gus while he harnessed them would beat anything I could stage with a model.

“You’ve got a look about you,” Ruby said.

“I have lots of looks.”

“Not like this one. Linda warned me you can be tenacious.”

“My aunt needs to mind her own business.”