Two hours in, my coffee had gone cold and my neck ached from hunching over faded ink and water-stained pages.
That's when I found it.
Tucked between a stack of breeding records from the eighties, I came across a leather-bound ledger I'd never seen before.The binding cracked when I opened it, and the pages smelled like dust and old paper and something that made my gut clench before I'd read a single word.
There were cattle transactions with dates running back to the early 1900s.That didn't surprise me as much as the names.Kincaids and Hollisters were listed together.There was proof of shared ownership.Receipts for cooperative sales.
I flipped through page after page, my pulse ratcheting up with each entry.This wasn't some clerical error or coincidence.This was systematic.It was proof of years of partnership between families that were supposed to have hated each other for generations.
The feud everyone talked about like gospel was full of boundary disputes and property lines and bad blood that defined half the relationships in this valley.But I held the evidence that there was a lot more to it than anyone realized.
My hands shook as I set the ledger down.
This wasn't just history.This was a live wire that could blow up ownership claims, insurance coverage, maybe the whole damn rodeo if someone decided to dig into it.Stock eligibility hinged on clean lineage and clear ownership.And I'd just found proof that nothing about the family histories was clean.When the paperwork went sideways, it wouldn’t be a Kincaid or a Hollister answering for it.It would be me.
My phone buzzed on the desk.
I ignored it at first.Whatever it was could wait.I was still staring at the ledger, my fingers pressed into the cracked leather like I could force the truth back into the page if I held on hard enough.
My phone buzzed again.
I swore under my breath and picked it up.
Someone had left a voicemail.I didn’t recognize the number, but the area code was local.My gut tightened before I even hit play.
“Mr.Griffith, this is Donna Brown with Mountain States Rodeo Insurance.I’m calling regarding the Mustang Mountain policy application.We’re finalizing underwriting, but we need confirmation on stock lineage documentation before the policy can be bound.”
I closed my eyes.
“There are a few discrepancies we need cleared up before approval,” she continued, her voice calm, professional, and completely unaware she’d just lit the fuse on a problem that could blow up the whole damn rodeo.“We’ll need all verification submitted within the next two weeks.If we don’t receive it by then, the policy will be withdrawn, and the committee will need to reapply.”
Two weeks.
I stared at the ledger again, the names glaring back at me like they’d been waiting to be found.
“If you have any questions, feel free to call me back,” the voicemail finished.“Otherwise, we’ll keep an eye out for the documentation.”
The line went dead.
I didn’t move for a long moment.Didn’t breathe much either.
If I sent the paperwork, everything would fall apart fast.Insurance didn’t care about family feuds or buried history.They cared about clean lines and clear ownership, and this ledger was proof that neither existed the way everyone believed they did.
If I didn’t send it… the rodeo would lose coverage.Stock would get pulled.Sponsors would walk.
I set my phone face down on the desk.
Not yet.
I slid the ledger back where I’d found it and closed the filing cabinet, the click of the drawer sounding louder than it should have in the quiet office.
Two weeks.I’d figure it out.I always did.
I scrubbed a hand over my chin and tried to think.Who knew about this?Who'd buried it?And what the hell was I supposed to do with information that could fuck up everything?
Movement by the door caught my attention.
I looked up and found Lilah standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back and her expression concerned.She had on a pair of jeans and a thermal that hugged her curves, and for half a second I resisted the irrational urge to put my hands where they didn’t belong.
