Page 42 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

I move faster after that and one saddle becomes three, then six. The more equipment I inspect, the worse it gets.

By the time I’m finished checking the nearest storage area, I’ve stopped hoping there’s an innocent explanation.

This isn’t carelessness or even normal wear and tear. Whoever did this knew exactly where to look and exactly how much damage to cause without drawing attention.

One of the horses stomps inside a nearby stall, drawing my attention. The sound echoes through the barn before fading away again.

For years I’ve trusted my instincts around horses. They’ve kept me alive more times than I can count.

The feeling crawling through my chest now is the same one I get when a bronc comes out of the chute wrong or a rider loses control before anyone else notices.

Danger.

But why?

CHAPTER NINE

Arizona

When Emmett invited me back to Dusty Spur Ranch for lunch, I told myself I’d stay for an hour. Maybe two if Sadie talked me into it.

Long enough to drink coffee, work on a song, and let the tiny blonde tornado show me whatever crisis is currently dominating her five-year-old world before heading back into town.

Apparently, I’m terrible at leaving.

By the time I glance up from my notebook, sunlight has shifted across the kitchen floor and the clock on the microwave tells me I’ve somehow lost an entire afternoon.

“That’s not a horse.”

Sadie gasps from across the table like I’ve personally insulted her ancestors. “It is too.”

I lean closer to inspect the masterpiece she’s working on. The purple creature staring back at me has six legs, several tails, and wings large enough to carry off a small village.

I point at the page. “Sweetheart, that’s a dragon.”

“It’s Rover.”

I blink. “Your horse is named Rover?”

The look she gives me could peel paint. “No. Princess is my horse. Rover is my dragon.”

“Right. Obviously.”

“Yep.”

I nod seriously.

That explanation clears up absolutely nothing.

Sadie returns to coloring with the confidence of somebody who knows she’s surrounded by idiots. Across the table, Emmett lets out a laugh before taking another sip of coffee.

I’ve noticed that about him.

The man laughs easily. Not because he’s trying to be charming or because he enjoys being the center of attention.

It just happens. Like smiling at people or holding doors open or remembering the names of every person he meets.

Normally, men like that make me suspicious. Life has taught me that the friendliest people are often hiding the sharpest edges.