“Thanks for the intel.” I set my cup down. “And the coffee.”
“Anytime.” The warm smile came back, but she’d made her point. “And Rachel, if you need anything while you're here, all you need to do is ask.”
“Thank you.” Eager to get started, I tucked the folder into my bag and made my way back outside.
The town had come to life while I’d been chatting with Ruby. As I walked back to my car, trucks rumbled down Main, people waved to each other from across the street, and the scent of something sweet mingled with the smell of pine.
I took in a deep breath while I tried to work out my next steps. But I wasn't thinking about the rodeo. Wasn't thinking about Slade Kincaid or Dawson Griffith or Tanner Hollister, despite Ruby's careful curation of who mattered.
I was thinking about a man who fixed things without being asked. Who worked the edges. Who Ruby Nelson had just warned me — politely and firmly — to leave alone.
I'd come here for a fluff piece about a rodeo. But standing on Main Street with the mountain pressing down behind me and the memory of a scarred jaw and a flashlight still clear in my head, I knew that had changed. I wanted to know what Ruby Nelson knew about Roman Maddox that she wasn’t saying. And why her warning made me want to look closer instead of walking away.
CHAPTER 3
RACHEL
The rodeo grounds sat outside of town, past a stretch of flat land where the grass grew short and the fencing ran in long, straight lines. I drove out with the windows down, my old-school voice recorder on the passenger seat, and my new leather journal open on my thigh.
I smelled it before I saw it. The scent of dust mingled with cut timber, horses, and something metallic from fresh hardware. The arena had gone up fast. All steel pipe and wooden boards, bleachers still getting their last rows bolted into place. Trucks lined the outer fence. Workers moved across the grounds with the focused efficiency of people on a deadline.
Slade Kincaid found me before I found him. Had Ruby warned him she’d sent me his way? Had he been watching for me?
“You must be Rachel.” He came around the side of a flatbed, his dark hair curling up under the edges of a well-worn hat, his hand already extended. His smile held the confidence of a man who'd grown up with land and a name that opened doors. “Ruby called ahead.”
“I’m not surprised.” I shook his hand. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”
“Anything for the rodeo.” He gestured for me to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
The arena was bigger than it looked from the road. The main ring stretched out under open sky, with chutes lined up along the far end. Workers were installing the gates and testing the latches.
“How long has this been in the works?” I asked, pointing my recorder toward him.
“Officially, just about eight months. But this town's been wanting it a lot longer than that.” He stopped at the rail and rested his arms across the top. “There have always been rodeo families in Mustang Mountain. Folks have been running cattle and horses since before I was born. The event just never had a home here. We've always had to travel out.”
“What changed?”
“I guess we finally reached a point where enough people finally wanted to do something about it.” He looked across the arena. “But there's pressure with that. This is the first official one. If it goes well, we’ll build something that can last. If goes bad… “ His voice trailed off and he shook his head.
“What does going bad look like?”
Slade sighed. “Poor turnout. Equipment failures. A horse that throws a rider wrong and puts someone in hospital. If anything like that happens, it will give the doubters a reason to say they were right.”
I kept pace with him as he moved around the outside of the arena toward the chutes. He walked me through the timing system, the medical station behind the far bleachers, and the pen where they’d keep extra stock. He knew the details without reaching for them. That told me he'd been deep in the logistics himself, not just signing off on other people's work.
“Ruby’s notes said you used to compete as a bull rider,” I said. “How long has it been?”
“Too long.” He grinned. “But Morgan would leave me if I tried to enter. Rodeoing gets in your blood though. It’s hard to give it up.”
We rounded the far end of the arena and the grounds opened up. A second pen sat about forty yards back, smaller and not as finished. It looked like it was built for practicality rather than performance. I almost missed what was happening inside it.
Roman stood in the center of the pen with a reddish-brown horse the color of dried clay. Broad-chested and restless, its ears were pinned flat and its tail flicked in short, agitated bursts. The horse moved in circles around him, and he just stood there, letting the horse burn off all its anxious energy. He held a lead rope loose at his side, and even from far away, I could see the deliberate stillness in his body, the quiet sureness of a man who knew pushing harder wouldn’t make the horse trust him any faster.
I stopped walking. “What's going on over there?”
Slade followed my line of sight. “That's a situation we're working through.” He leaned against the fence. “The horse came from a supplier down south. Bucking stock, good record, supposed to be well-conditioned. But she's been off since she arrived. She won't load, won't settle, and spooks at things that shouldn't make a horse spook.”
“Is she going to be in the rodeo?”
