Grant stands, signaling the meeting is wrapping up. “The festival was a win. This is another chance to keep that momentum going. Tripp Hollister could help put Prairie Pine on the map.”
I rise from the chair. Ruth does the same, tucking her mug under her arm.
“I’ll talk to Tex,” I say.
“Good,” Grant says. “And Billy?”
“Yeah?”
He gives me a knowing smile. “Try not to make it sound like bad news.”
I huff out a breath. “I’ll try.”
Ruth pats my arm as she moves to the door. “Tell your brothers I said hi. And tell Tex he’d better be ready. Competition keeps a man sharp.”
I follow them out into the hall. Grant goes back into his office. Ruth heads toward the stairs. I stand there for a moment, hands on my hips, drawing in a slow breath.
Tex isn’t going to like this.
But that’s a problem for later.
CHAPTER NINE
Seth
The numbers blura little on the screen, but I keep tapping through the ledger because if I stop, I’ll lose my rhythm.
Coffee’s going cold at my elbow, Boone is snoring under the desk, and the spreadsheet looks like a battlefield of projected costs, breeding schedules, feed increases, and the damn bull we’re supposed to buy from the Torres ranch down in San Marcos.
Billy wants that monster ready for next year’s rodeo season, and if Copper Creek ends up needing to board him long-term, I have to make sure we’re not bleeding money out of places we can’t afford.
The Torres family doesn’t sell cheap. Their bulls are bred for power, high-ranked for bucking, and every rodeo in the south circles their catalog like hawks.
If we’re lucky enough to snag one, I have to shuffle funds into new fencing, reinforced posts, space cleared behind the west paddock, and maybe even expanded medical storage if Billy or Joey wants to use him for training.
Copper Creek is holding strong. Our ranch does better than most because we don’t rely on one single income stream: rodeo,breeding stock, training horses, and selling feed to smaller ranches nearby.
Iron Horse Ranch has been slipping since Samuel Brightwood pulled out of the rodeo last season. He’s older now, not as spry, and the whole town knew it was coming.
Wildflower Hollow Ranch, run by the Brooks brothers—Levi and Tanner—keeps flirting with converting to a touring ranch. Goats, petting pens, maybe hayrides.
I can’t picture Tanner smiling politely at toddlers while they yank at his beard, but hey, people reinvent themselves.
Highridge is its own kingdom—Briggs up in the mountains with Jack and Rhett. Rhett Dalton is still a beast in the ring, one of the only men who can make Joey shut up when he’s bragging.
Silver Star Ranch, though, Grant’s place, that’s the real powerhouse. He sponsors half the rodeo events in three counties and moves money around like he’s shuffling cards.
And if Grant pushes Billy into keeping the prized bull on our land, we’ll need an entire rework of the herd management plan.
I’m scrolling down the feed order when the office door bangs open.
Jasper’s boots smack the floorboards like he outran a wildfire. “Seth—” he gasps out. He’s panting hard, freckles stark against his sunburned cheeks. “You need to come. Now.”
My chair screeches when I shove back. “What the hell happened?”
His chest is heaving. “The cattle—” He drags a hand through his hair. “They’re falling. Dropping one after another.”
Everything in me goes cold.
