Page 32 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“You think somebody tampered with it?”

Part of me hates even considering it. Ranches run on trust, and rodeos do too. You assume the equipment is safe. You assume the people around you want everyone walking away in one piece.

The alternative is ugly.

“I don’t know,” I say finally.

It’s the only answer I’ve got.

What I do know is that the broken cinch strap bothered me. Now the gate bothers me.

Separately, either one could be bad luck. Together, they start looking a lot less friendly.

Silas rubs a hand across his jaw. “Red’s got that look. I saw it on the way by. That’s what made me come in to check on you.”

I snort. “Red? That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“He’s pretending not to worry while clearly worrying.”

“Ah. That look.”

Silas nods. “Exactly. So come on, take a break with me. Let’s ride and you can let me know exactly what’s going on.”

I resist at first, but actually I decide to go along with him. Maybe a break from all of this is exactly what I need, so I don’t keep replaying the accident.

The horse jumping sideways, the rider hitting the fence, the drama that tightens my stomach.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do it.” I smile. “You can tell me everything that’s going on at Ironwood.”

When I get home, Sadie’s waiting on the porch. The second my truck rolls to a stop, she flies toward me. “Daddy!”

I barely get one boot on the porch before she’s attached herself to my leg. “Hey, doll.”

She squeezes tighter. “You know what happened at school today?”

“Something tells me I’m about to find out.”

“We got to paint.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It was.”

I laugh as she drags me inside.

Apparently, paint ended up in Molly Jenkins’s hair and Logan Peterson tried to paint a horse and accidentally painted his own shirt.

Apparently, Mrs. Carter said words teachers only use when they’re trying very hard not to use different words.

By the time we reach the kitchen, I’ve received a full report on school, recess, lunch, and a heated playground disagreement involving a jump rope.

Then Sadie suddenly says, “Oh. And Arizona writes songs on her arms.”

I blink. “Oh yeah?”

Sadie nods seriously. “She uses pens.”

“That sounds like a terrible filing system.”