Page 16 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

Even more than that, I hated that I wanted to be the one she could lean into. And I’d spent years making sure she never knew it.

A couple of volunteers lowered their voices as we passed, but not before I heard them mention Hollister and pulled stock. Sadie cut them a look, and both of them suddenly found the dirt at their boots fascinating. She didn't slow down. Neither did I.

We found him in the loading alley behind the chutes.

The brindle steer stood in the far corner, his head low, favoring that front leg. His sides were lathered, his breath too fast. Someone had moved him, all right. And they hadn't cared about stressing an already injured animal.

Sadie was through the gate before I could reach for the latch.

I followed, shutting us in. The space was tight—just enough room for the steer, Sadie, and me. The animal shifted, uneasy, and I braced a shoulder against the panel to keep him from crowding her.

She didn't even glance back. Just dropped her bag and crouched, her hands already moving over the steer's leg.

“Easy, boy,” she murmured. “I've got you.”

I watched her work. Watched the way her fingers pressed into the joint, the way her brow furrowed when the steer flinched. She was all focus now. All vet. The anger and worry were still there, but she'd pushed it down where it wouldn't get in the way.

I knew that trick. I also knew what it cost her.

The alley was close enough that I could smell her under the dust and animal sweat—something clean, something that had been undoing me at this range for years. I kept my eyes on the steer and tried to ignore it.

Her arm brushed mine as she reached for her bag. Just a graze, but heat shot through me so fast I forgot what I’d been about to say. I didn't move. Didn't pull back. Just stood there, holding the panel, holding my breath, while she rummaged for supplies.

She didn't apologize for the contact. Hell, she didn't even seem to notice. That was worse because it meant she trusted me that much. And I was standing there like a damn statue, afraid to touch her back.

Ten minutes later, the steer was stabilized.

Sadie sat back on her heels and wiped her hands on her jeans. “He's overheated and stressed, but at least the leg's not worse.”

I nodded. “You caught it.”

She shot me a look. “We caught it.”

Two little letters. That was all. But they knocked something loose in my chest. We. Not her. Not me. We. I’d spent years wanting to be part of a we with Sadie, wanting it so quietly I’d almost mistaken the ache for friendship. I turned away before she could see what that did to me.

That was when I saw it. A torn corner of paper had been caught under the latch.

CEDAR DRAW.

Sadie saw it the same time I did. Her fingers stilled. Then she reached out, plucked it free, and tucked it into her pocket without a word.

She wasn’t shocked or surprised. Just stood there with quiet rage simmering through her.

We both knew what it meant. Someone was still moving pieces. Still covering tracks. And they'd used an injured animal to do it.

The adrenaline dropped fast after that.

One minute, Sadie was all sharp edges and fire. The next, her hands were shaking just enough to notice.

I reached for her. Then stopped. Because I always stopped. How many times had I done this exact thing? Lifted a hand and talked myself out of it before it landed?

Her eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Stopping.”

I should've made something up. Should've said the gate needed a check or that my phone had buzzed with an incoming text. But I was tired of lying to myself about Sadie Hollister.