Page 39 of October’s Cowboy Beau

BEAU

I barely recognized the rodeo grounds when I showed up Saturday morning. Caroline had taken an empty stretch of dirt and figured out how to fit half of Mustang Mountain into it.

She stood near the main entrance talking to two volunteers. They both nodded and headed off in opposite directions. Her hair was already coming loose around her face even though the gates had barely opened.

She looked tired, but she also looked happy. I stood next to Hank for a minute and watched her work. A week ago, I might’ve told myself I was making sure she wasn’t about to walk backward into a horse or get run down by a golf cart. I’d run out of excuses somewhere between her toothbrush appearing beside my sink and her laptop taking up permanent space at one end of my kitchen island.

Caroline looked across the grounds and caught me staring. She smiled and headed my way, stopping close enough that the sleeve of her jacket brushed mine. I bent down and kissed her.

“Now I feel properly acknowledged,” she said.

“Seemed urgent.”

“I’m so glad we handled that crisis.” She glanced toward the heritage tent. “You should probably prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

“Your picture is up.”

I’d tried to forget about that. The photographer had met me at the rodeo grounds earlier in the week. One picture had turned into nine attempts because Gus kept moving his head and Hank decided my shoulder was a good place to rest his nose. Caroline had shown me every shot before deciding which one to use. It wasn’t anything fancy, just me standing next to the team with one hand on Hank’s harness and the Jordan wagon behind us. I’d approved it. That didn’t mean I wanted to see it.

“How obnoxious is it?” I braced myself for the truth.

“It’s part of the display, not a billboard.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

She caught my hand and started pulling me toward the heritage tent. “Come look before you decide to hate it.”

Ruby stood behind a folding table stacked with baked goods, talking to three women at once while keeping track of everything within fifty feet. She saw Caroline holding my hand, and her smile widened.

I kept walking.

“Coward,” Caroline said.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to stop.”

“I have work to do.”

“Sure.”

The Jordan display took up a whole section of the heritage tent. Caroline had mounted an old photograph of my great-grandfather’s freight team next to a short history of the family hauling business. The picture of me with Hank and Gus sat underneath. It wasn’t as big as a billboard, but it had to be at least three feet tall.

“You lied.”

“I did not. A billboard would be much bigger.”

I read the info on the display and tried to ignore the photo. She’d kept it simple. No mention of Cedar Draw. Nothing about the old records beyond the fact that Jordan wagons had hauled freight and livestock between ranches around Mustang Mountain.

“You mentioned my granddad.”

“Of course I did.”

Caroline stood beside me while I read the rest. She hadn’t turned my family into a cute piece of festival decoration. She’d written about work, and why the wagon was still here. Granddad would’ve liked that.

“It’s good,” I said.

She didn’t make a joke, just took the compliment. “Thank you.”