“She wouldn't load this morning. The handler said she needed time to adjust.”
“You should pull her from the lineup,” I said without turning around. “She's not mean and she's not green. But something went wrong in that reconditioning, and she's been compensating since. If you put her in the chutes on opening day with the noise from the crowd and a rider who doesn't know her signals…” I didn’t need to say anything else.
Slade's exhale was slow. “Can you fix it?”
“In a couple of weeks? No. But I can get her safe enough to evaluate properly. Then you'll know what you're actually working with.” I clipped the lead rope to her halter, taking it slow and easy. She tolerated me and didn’t back away.
Behind me, nobody spoke. Slade was probably running numbers and trying to figure out how much the mare’s issues would cost. But Rachel's silence was different. She wasn't taking notes, but she'd heard all of it.
And she'd understood — I didn't need to see her face to know that — not just what I'd said about the horse. About the gap between what something's documented to be and what it actually is when you're close enough to read it. She'd caught that too, I was sure of it.
I kept my eyes on the mare, but my jaw went tight in a way that had nothing to do with the horse and everything to do with the curvy blonde behind me.
CHAPTER 4
RACHEL
I stayed.
Slade moved off after the conversation with Roman, muttering something about chute construction, and I followed long enough to keep up the appearance that I was still focused on the story he wanted to tell. When his phone rang for the fifth time, he waved me off with a distracted nod, already pulling his phone out. I took the opportunity to double back toward the working side of the arena, the part that didn't make it into promotional videos.
A crew of contractors hammered platform seating on the west end, their voices carrying in bursts of instruction and complaints. Two men in matching supplier jackets unloaded feed bags near the stock pens, moving with an efficiency that said they’d done it a hundred times before. I watched them for a minute and noted the way they checked their surroundings before speaking to each other.
People talked differently depending on who was listening. I'd learned that early.
I moved past the main pens toward the smaller holding areas, where the dirt was churned from constant use and hay and manure mixed with sawdust. A cowboy stood near the gate with a clipboard in his hands and a radio clipped to his belt, scanning a list like he was looking for a problem.
“Excuse me.” I pulled out my notebook. “Hi, I’m Rachel Grable. I'm writing a piece on the rodeo?—”
“I know who you are.” He didn't look up. “Ruby mentioned you'd be poking around.”
I let that sit for a beat and watched his pen move down the list. He circled something, frowned, then crossed it out.
“Are you coordinating stock?” I asked.
“Among other things.” He looked up, his expression neutral, not hostile. “Jace Walker. I’m pitching in with logistics.”
“What kind of logistics?” I asked.
“Whatever they need from moving stock to checking medical clearances. It’s an all-hands on deck operation around here right now, Ms. Grable.”
“I can imagine. Can you tell me more about the medical clearances? Is that when a vet signs off on an animal?”
“It’s a requirement. We can't run stock without current health documentation.”
I nodded and made a note. “And if something comes up last minute? Like the mare Roman was working with this morning?”
His pen stopped moving. “Then we adjust. If we have to, we’ll pull her and shift things around. It happens more than people think.” He offered what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.
“Does it happen often enough to worry about?”
“Often enough to plan for.” He clipped the pen to his clipboard and turned toward the gate. “If you'll excuse me, I've got a few deliveries to handle.”
He headed off before I could ask a follow-up question, but his answer stayed with me. Behind the banners and fresh paint, the rodeo was still being held together by quick decisions, tight timelines, and people trying not to show how much pressure they were under.
I kept moving. The holding pens were quieter, set back from the construction noise. Horses shifted in their stalls. I passed three handlers near a water trough, and their conversation dropped off as I got close. One nodded. The other two watched.
I didn't stop. Didn't push when people went quiet, but I listened.
