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I’d faced bulls in a chute. I’d ridden broncs with one shoulder half out. I’d stood in front of the whole town at the Bluebird and told them I’d cancel the only thing I’d built because it was costing a woman her name.

None of it had prepared me for Priya looking at a small gold horseshoe in my palm.

“I bought it while you were in Denver,” I said. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I bought it on a Tuesday with your phone in my pocket not ringing.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. “It’s a horseshoe.”

“I see that.”

“For luck.”

“I also understand symbolic shapes.”

“This is going well.”

Her mouth curved, but she stayed quiet.

I looked at the chain.

The speech had been better in my head.

Not polished, exactly. I knew better than to attempt polished with her. But it had contained a beginning, a middle, and a point. I’d thought about it while setting panels, while counting receipts with Wyatt, while changing my shirt for the dance.

Now the point had wandered off.

“The thing is,” I said, “people think horseshoes bring luck. Depending how they hang. Up keeps the luck in. Down pours it over you. There are strong opinions.”

“I’m sure Petey has all of them.”

“He does. But that isn’t—I wasn’t thinking about the direction when I bought it.”

“How does it hang?”

“Up.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

The band moved into the chorus below us.

I rubbed my thumb over the horseshoe.

“I kept thinking I’d give it to you at the right time. Before the rodeo, after the rodeo, during the dance. But all those times had people in them. Or work. Or Earl. Earl was in a surprising number of them.”

“He’s difficult to avoid.”

“And it’s not because I think you need luck. You make plans so luck can go bother somebody else.”

“That sounds accurate.”

“It’s because I already had it.”

Her expression changed.

The smile stayed, but something opened behind it.

I kept going before I lost the nerve.