Grant stands when I step in.
“Billy Carson,” he says with a grin, coming around the desk to shake my hand. His grip is firm, his smile bright, like he knows he’s delivering news he wants me to react to. “Glad you made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, shutting the door behind me.
Ruth lifts her travel mug toward me. “Morning. Hope you recovered from the festival. You all worked harder than anyone.”
“It was a good turnout,” I say, lowering into the empty chair. “Crowds were bigger than last year.”
“Bigger than the last three,” she confirms. “Vendors sold out on the first night. Music stage ran smooth. The lighting they put up on Main Street brought in so many families for the evening market.”
Grant clears his throat, pride rolling through him. “This town hasn’t seen numbers like that in a long while. Couldn’t have done it without the ranch’s help. You and your brothers kepteverything moving. Parking, livestock prep, security volunteer hours. Folks were talking about it all weekend.”
I nod. “Always happy to help.”
Honestly, I’m glad the festival went as well as it did. Prairie Pine needed a win. Stores have been struggling. The feed warehouse almost closed last winter. People needed a reason to show up, to remember why they love this place.
Grant sits back down, flipping open a folder. “So. Let’s get to it. We’re already planning next year, and I’ve been talking to a few sponsors from out of town. There’s a chance to expand the rodeo part of the festival, maybe even make it two nights instead of one.”
Ruth brightens. “Tourism numbers shot up this season. If we lean into it, we could bring more business into the valley. We’ve got the land, the arenas, the crowd draw. And let’s be honest—people come out because the rodeo performers know how to put on a show.”
I shrug, but a small smile tugs at my mouth. “Tex does most of that. I just hold the gates.”
Ruth laughs. “Don’t undersell yourself. Folks love watching you ride Whiskey Jack.”
“Whiskey Jack loves attention,” I say. “Always has.”
Grant cuts in, flipping to another page. “Speaking of rodeo talent… I’ve got someone new I want to bring in next year.”
Ruth’s eyebrows lift, interested. Mine twitch, curious. Grant leans forward, palms pressed to the folder like he’s about to reveal a state secret.
“Tripp Hollister.”
The name hits the air like a thrown lasso. Ruth gasps, delighted. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” Grant says. “He’s interested in coming down for the festival. Maybe performing in the arena. Maybe a short demo. Maybe signing autographs.”
“Tripp Hollister?” Ruth repeats, like she can’t believe it. “The Tripp Hollister?”
Grant grins. “The one who did that Wrangler Jeans campaign last year. The one who ended up on the cover ofWestern Life Magazine.The one who rode in Vegas and had that viral clip of him jumping the rails.”
I know exactly who he means. The guy’s everywhere lately. Lean, blond, loud. Good at the sport, no denying that. But he’s also the kind of rider who knows which camera to wink at.
Grant turns to me. “You’ve seen him, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve seen him on TV.”
Ruth is still buzzing. “He’s practically a celebrity. People love him. He’d bring a huge crowd.”
“He’d also bring the sponsors with deeper pockets,” Grant says. “Wrangler, maybe Ariat, maybe a feed brand or two. Could help cover festival costs. Could help the arena get the upgrades it needs.”
I cross my arms, leaning back. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” Grant says. “He’s young, he’s got fans, and he wants to make a tour of smaller towns. Prairie Pine is small, but it’s beautiful, it’s safe, and it’s got the ranches. He likes the idea of that.”
He says it all like good news. Like this is going to change everything in a way that only benefits us. And maybe he’s right.
But I can already hear Tex cursing if he finds out someone else is about to roll into town and steal his spotlight.
