"Brynn told me at the warm-up pen about this. An older guy, around forties or fifties. Smoked through the whole conversation. He was asking around for my schedule."
He goes still in the driver's seat. "Forties or fifties?"
"Yeah."
"Smokes?"
"That's what she said."
He doesn't answer for a long stretch of road.
His thumb moves across the back of my hand on his thigh, slowly, and his face has gone into the look it goes into when his mind is somewhere I can't follow.
"What is it, Spur?"
"Nothing yet, baby. I'll tell you when I know something."
I let him have it.
I fall asleep on the back stretch of the drive with my head against the window and his hand on top of mine.
When I wake up, the gate at the front of the ranch is in the headlights.
It's open. Pops on the porch of the main house.
Banshee’s at the round pen rail. Marlena’s in the kitchen window.
The whole property has been waiting up for us.
Spur pulls past the main house and drives to his cabin.
"Pops will want to see me."
"Respectfully, your pops can come over here. If we need to get out fast, we have a better advantage at my place."
I look at him. He looks at me. He's right.
He carries my bag in, carries the broken saddle to his porch, and sets it on the boards.
He even walks Jaeger to the round pen for water and rest. Comes back to the cabin with the dust of the day still on his boots.
I'm on his couch with my hat in my hand and the cuff of his shirt back down over the gauze on my wrist.
He kneels in front of me, hands on my knees and looks up at me. "Spur..."
"Yeah."
"He's going to come for us at home."
"I know."
"He's going to come back to the property."
"I know."
"I want him dead."
"Yeah, baby. I know."
