"Mom." That was enough. They could try to bait me as much as they wanted, but Torin didn’t deserve to be dragged into the conversation.
I focused on my plate, willing the conversation to move anywhere else. Tanner had always been protective in that overbearing older-brother way, and Sadie thrived on needling people until they cracked. Even Mom had ganged up on me tonight.
But my father saved me, his voice cutting through the teasing. "How's the training business, Tanner?"
Tanner sat up straighter. "Good. I picked up two more clients last month. Both are barrel racers looking to step up their game."
"With a potential rodeo right in our backyard, I imagine you’ll pick up a few more before the season starts.” Dad reached for his water, his gaze zeroed in on my brother.
Tanner leaned back in his chair, settling into familiar territory. "I've been going back through some of the old training logs, actually. Trying to see what worked for Granddad's horses back in the day."
Finally. I forced myself to wait, to let the conversation breathe before steering it where I needed it to go.
My mother refilled water glasses. Sadie mentioned a rodeo horse she'd treated last week. The rhythm of family dinner settled back into place, the tension from earlier easing just enough.
"Speaking of old records," I said, keeping my tone casual. "Someone in town was talking about Hollister horses from over a hundred years ago. I didn't recognize the names they mentioned."
Tanner shrugged. "Most of those lines are gone now. Breeding's changed a lot since then."
"There was one name, though." I paused, pretending to think. "A stallion, I think. I can't remember exactly, but they said it was a big deal back then."
My father set down his fork, his gaze sharpening with interest. "What time frame?"
"Around 1912, maybe?"
He nodded slowly, his expression shifting into something distant. Remembering. "That'd be Bad Habit. He was a big bay stallion. Your great-grandfather brought him in from Wyoming. He changed the whole bloodline."
My pulse kicked up, but I kept my face neutral. "Bad Habit?"
"Best horse the family ever owned," my father said. "Strong bloodline, solid temperament. That horse was limitless. Every decent Hollister horse can probably be traced back to him in some way." He reached for his water glass, his tone warming with the kind of pride that only came from talking about legacy. "Granddad used to say that stallion put the Hollister name on the map in this valley."
The name matched.
Bad Habit. The same horse listed in Dawson's ledger screenshot. The same bloodline that had been crossed with Kincaid mares in 1912.
I forced myself to swallow, to nod like I was just curious and didn’t have an ulterior motive. "That's the one. I wonder why someone would bring that up now."
Tanner frowned. "Who was talking about it?"
"Just someone at the Merc," I said. "You know how Ruby gets when she starts reminiscing."
He snorted. "Ruby reminisces about everything."
My mother stood, gathering empty plates. "Well, it's nice to know the old stories are still circulating. Keeps the history alive."
I helped her clear the table, my mind already racing ahead. The horses, the land records, the missing file Lois had been researching… they all circled back to the same year. Something happened in 1912. I’d bet my waterfront condo in Seattle on it.
After dinner, I stepped out onto the side porch, needing air and a few minutes of quiet to think. The evening had settled into that soft twilight blue that made the ridge look closer than it was. Somewhere in the distance, cattle lowed, and the wind carried the faint smell of damp earth.
Bad Habit had been the foundation of the Hollister herd. My father had said it himself. Every decent horse could be traced back to that stallion. And Dawson's ledger showed Bad Habit listed alongside Kincaid mares in 1912. Which meant the bloodlines weren't just connected. They were deliberately crossed. Hollister and Kincaid stock, bred together, recorded together.
Not as enemies, but as partners. And if that were true, then the feud narrative everyone repeated like gospel was incomplete at best. A lie at worst.
I leaned against the porch railing, my fingers curling around the weathered wood. The rodeo expansion had stalled because Dawson couldn't prove clean lineage for the stock he planned to use. But if the Hollister and Kincaid families had been working together in 1912, sharing bloodlines and breeding records, then maybe the answer he needed wasn't buried in some impossible-to-find document.
Maybe it was right here. In the records my father still had. In the breeding logs Tanner had mentioned. In whatever Lois had been trying to piece together before she died.
The porch door creaked open behind me, and I glanced back to see Sadie stepping outside, her arms crossed against the cooling air.
