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"Fuck."

It’s horribly crooked, but I don’t care. I am too damn tired to give a damn. Besides, it’s not my fault the asshole beside me parked the way he did.

Dusty has turned himself around on the tie-rope to watch me. His ears are flicked forward, his head tilted.

"Don't," I warn him.

He just blinks those big, stupid eyes at me.

"I swear to God, Dusty, keep laughing, and I’m selling you to the pony ride guy."

He shifts his weight to one hip, completely unbothered, and goes back to watching the trash can like it’s a high-stakes standoff.

I get him settled into his stall at the fairground stables. He paws at the shavings twice before deciding they’re acceptable accommodations, because God forbid anything be easy.

After unpacking my bags, securing the camper jacks, and setting up camp, dusk has settled across the wide-open fairgrounds.

The camper is small. It’s a slide-in truck bed unit, maybe eight feet of living space, with a bunk over the cab that you access by climbing up a few feet. There's a fold-down table not much bigger than a cutting board, a shelf I've rigged with a bungee cord to keep things from sliding on the road, and a hook by the door where my hat and camera bag go every time I come in. It smells like old liniment, with a hint of the coconut body wash I've been using since I was seventeen.

It's the smallest space I've ever called home, but one of the coziest. While I am envious of the big rigs around here, I wouldn't trade my small little camper for anything.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips as I hop off the bed and jump to the floor, twirling in circles and letting out a high-pitched squeal.

I'm here!

I fish my phone out of my back pocket and pull up my entry confirmation. Barrels are Saturday afternoon. I’ve got tomorrow to get Dusty comfortable with the arena, check ground conditions, and get in some practice runs. It’s a solid plan.

I step outside to cool off and take everything in for the first time. Really take it in.

Damn. This isn't Ashford Ridge. Haulers wrapped in sponsor graphics line up like a small city. Huge rigs with slide-outs extended, little string lights framing an outdoor living space, patio furniture and all. To my left, I can see the practice arena where two women run patterns, moving with so much grace it makes them seem like part of the dirt beneath their horses’ hooves.

This isn't a county qualifier with familiar faces and an announcer who’s known my name since I was nine. This is the real thing. The circuit. The thing I’ve been working towards for years.

I lean against the side of the truck and watch the practice pen for a long time. I don't know if I'm good enough. That’s the truth of it. I don’t know yet. But I'm here.

I’m deep in thought about how much practice time I can squeeze in while munching a granola bar when a voice pulls me out of my trance.

"Oh my God, you look terrible."

Shae is walking toward me across the lot in dusty boots and a green polo with Rimrock Veterinary Services embroidered on the chest. Her red hair is pulled back, an equipment bag slung over one shoulder, and she’s holding a coffee cup.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Internship." She gestures vaguely at her shirt. "Rodeo vet rotation. I'm covering a handful of stops this summer with Dr. Callahan’s team." She looks me over, her gaze hitting the crooked trailer and the sweaty shirt. "Glamorous life you’re living, Dawson."

"It’s luxury at its finest."

She grins and pulls me into a hug. "I'm not here the whole summer. Just a few stops. But—" she pulls back, waving her coffee cup, "—Billings is one of them."

"You could have told me."

"And miss seeing that face?" She nods at the granola bar. "Please tell me that’s not dinner."

"I just got here, Shae, I haven't—"

"Come on." She jerks her head toward the gravel road. "Dr. Callahan’s team has a cooler with actual food. Let's go."

Dr. Callahan's cooler has cold cuts, decent cheese, and something that might be homemade cornbread, which is more than I had expected from a rodeo vet's tailgate setup. I eat standing up, leaning against the side of the team's trailer while Shae talks shop with one of the other students, and for about fifteen minutes I feel almost human.