Slade: Training timeline's tight. We need to start running numbers on which animals are ready.
I read them twice, then pocketed my phone and latched the gate behind me. The news wasn't a surprise. Slade and I had been working toward this for months. But seeing it in writing made it real. The rodeo was happening, and the Wilde Creek Ranch was providing stock. Broncs, bulls, the whole operation.
It was a good opportunity. The kind that could establish us as a serious outfit, not just a working ranch that happened to have some rough stock on the side. But it also meant timelines, expectations, and a hell of a lot of coordination.
I headed toward the barn, my boots crunching through the thin layer of snow. The sun was higher now, bright enough to make me wish I’d grabbed my shades before heading out so early. Inside, I recognized the familiar sounds of morning feeding. Hooves shifted in stalls and my favorite bronc let out a low huff while waiting impatiently for breakfast.
I checked the bay mare's feed chart on the clipboard by the door, noted her progress, and started measuring out grain. The work was automatic and methodical. I liked it that way. There was an easy simplicity to mornings like this—me, the animals, and a list of tasks that made sense.
My phone rang. Ruby’s name and number flashed across the screen. I answered on the third ring, tucking the phone between my shoulder and ear while I hauled a water bucket. “Yeah.”
“Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
“It's six-thirty. Did someone die?”
“I've been up since five. If you want sympathy, call someone else.” Ruby's voice was brisk and amused, the way it always was when she was about to rope me into something. “Did you get Slade's texts?”
“Just read them.”
“Good. So you know we're on a clock.” Papers rustled in the background. Ruby had her fingers into everything and coordinated efforts efficiently and without apologies. “I'm working on logistics for the rodeo, and I need to know your stock numbers by end of week.”
We “still had plenty of time but it wouldn’t do any good to argue with Ruby. Everyone in Mustang Mountain learned that for themselves at one point. I’ll have them.”
“I know you will. That's not why I'm calling.”
I set the bucket down and straightened, wiping my hands on my jeans. “What do you need?”
“I've got someone passing through town. A trick rider who’s looking for temporary stock access while prepping for her next circuit.”
I frowned. “Ruby?—”
“Before you say no, hear me out. She's professional, she's got her own rig, and she's not going to get in your way. She just needs a safe place to work and a few reliable horses.”
“I'm running a training schedule. I don't have time to babysit a performer.”
“I'm not asking you to babysit. I'm asking you to let her use your arena and maybe lend her a horse or two if she needs it. She'll work around your schedule.”
I leaned against the stall door, considering. It wasn't that I minded helping someone out. Ruby wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. But I didn’t like taking on more than I could handle and I was already pushing myself past my limit.
“How long?” I asked.
“A few weeks. Maybe a month, depending on how her training goes.”
“Ruby.”
“Dawson.” Her tone shifted, losing the teasing edge. “I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it'd be fine. She's good. Really good. And honestly, having her around might not be the worst thing. You could use the reminder that other people exist.”
“I see people.”
“Slade and your horses don't count.”
I exhaled through my nose, a slow, controlled breath. Ruby had a way of making reasonable points that were also deeply annoying. “When's she coming?”
“Today. This morning, actually. I told her you'd be around.”
“You told her—” I bit back the rest of the sentence. There was no point. Ruby had already decided, and I'd already lost. “Fine. But if she disrupts my schedule, she's out.”
“She won't. Thanks, Dawson. I owe you.”
