Page 36 of October’s Cowboy Beau

“I want it somewhere I can find it.”

He closed the office door behind us, and we walked back toward the kitchen. The ranch was quiet except for a tractor running somewhere beyond the barn and Hank calling once from the pasture.

My laptop, tablet, and three folders covered one end of Beau’s kitchen island. I’d been spending enough time at his place that he’d stopped clearing a spot every time I walked in.

I probably should’ve thought about what that meant. Instead, I opened the draft of what I’d been working on for the heritage display.

“So, now that your family wagon is officially part of a century-old financial mystery, I’m assuming the Cedar Draw section is off the table.”

“Yep.”

“Good. I don’t want to try to explain livestock transfers to people holding caramel apples anyway.”

“What are you putting with the wagon?”

“A short history of the Jordan freight business, assuming you approve it. Your great-grandfather’s name, approximate dates, what the family hauled, and the fact that the wagon was restored by your grandfather.”

“And me.”

I looked up.

Beau leaned one hip against the counter.

“What about you?”

“You said you needed a picture.”

I closed the laptop halfway. “I said a picture of the wagon would help.”

“With Hank and Gus.”

“That would be better.”

“And me.”

For a second, I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. “You’re volunteering to be photographed?”

“One picture.”

I studied his face. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Caroline.”

“I’m checking. This is a major development.”

“It’s Granddad’s wagon.” He looked toward the window. “He’d want it seen.”

I swallowed, hard.

“I’m thinking about it,” he said.

I got up and walked around the island. “So, one picture. You, Hank, Gus, and the wagon?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re consciously agreeing to stand where I put you while someone points a camera at you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to talk me out of it?”