I tack Jaeger up at the back of the trailer.
Holt is twenty feet off, leaning against his F-250, watching the lane.
Wells is at the corner of the trailer pad.
Tread is at the warm-up pen rail.
Spur is at the saddle stand with me.
I work Jaeger easily for forty minutes in the warm-up pen.
He's loose, awake. Ears doing the thing they do before a run.
Brynn pulls up next to me at the rail when I come off. "Hey, baby girl."
"Hey."
She looks at me for a long second. "How you doin'?"
"I'm doin'."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
She doesn't push. Just leans on the rail beside me with her arms folded the way she does when she's about to say something hard. "I heard about the photos."
"How?"
"Cassidy. Two girls in the trailer pad got texts last night. Older guy was askin' around for your schedule. Said he wasa journalist doing a piece on rodeo women. Forties or fifties. Smoked through the whole conversation."
I take it in.
"Honey?"
"Yeah."
"I’m gonna be honest here. I'm scared for you."
I look at her. Brynn doesn't say things like that.
Brynn drinks Crown, laughs loud, and tells me to put on lipstick before runs.
"You got someone with you?" she asks.
"My man and Rogue. My uncle. Some guys from the Abilene charter."
She looks past me at Uncle Holt's F-250 and sees the cut. Sees Wells at the trailer pad. Sees Tread at the rail.
Her shoulders drop an inch and she lets out a breath she's been holding since I came off Jaeger. "Good."
"Brynn."
"Yeah?"
"I'm okay."
"You're not. But you will be."
