“I don't know,” I said, weighing my words carefully. We hadn’t talked about it but a woman with her aspirations wouldn’t be happy in Mustang Mountain for long. “Once the rodeo gets approved and the site work's done, I expect she'll probably move on.”
Dawson paused mid-stroke. “You sound pretty sure about that.”
“I'm being realistic.”
“Uh-huh.” He went back to brushing, but I could feel his attention still fixed on me. “And last night?”
“What about it?”
“Anything happen? You two seem… close.”
I set down the hoof pick harder than necessary. “We got stuck in a storm. That's it.”
“That's it,” Dawson repeated, not believing a word.
“Yeah.”
He was quiet for a long moment like he was trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to without pissing me off. “You know, for someone who’s spent half his life riding things that wanted to kill him, you sure do run scared from the things that might actually be good for you.”
“I'm not running from anything.” And I wasn’t. Kincaids weren’t raised to run away, not from a fight like the one that might erupt over that damn marker, and definitely not from a woman who would be leaving soon anyway.
“No?” Dawson straightened, meeting my eyes. “Then why do you look like a man who just lost something he didn't know he wanted?”
I didn't have an answer for that. Or maybe I did, and I didn't want to say it out loud.
Dawson sighed. “Look, I'm not trying to push. But if there's something between you two?—”
“There's not.” That should have shut him down, but he knew me better than I knew myself.
“Slade—”
“She's not staying, Dawson.” The words came out sharper than I meant them to. “She's got a career to build and a life somewhere else. This—Mustang Mountain, the rodeo, all of it—it's just a job for her.”
“Did she say that?”
“She doesn't have to.”
Dawson gave me a long look, the kind that made me feel like he could see straight through every wall I'd built. “You're already bracing for her to leave.”
“I'm being practical.”
“You're being a coward.”
His accusation hung in the air between us. I turned away and grabbed a water bucket that didn't need filling, so I’d have something to do with my hands. “I don't know what you want me to say.”
“I want you to be honest,” Dawson said quietly. “With yourself, if not with me.”
“I am being honest.”
“No, you're being safe. There's a difference.”
I set the bucket down and faced him. “You want honesty? Fine. Last night happened. And it was a mistake. Not because I didn't want it, but because it complicates everything. The rodeo, the land review, her job… all of it gets messier if people think there's something between us.”
“Is there something between you?”
“It doesn't matter.”
“The hell it doesn't.”
