Rory unfolded herself from the ground in one fluid motion. She slid past me without another word, close enough that I could have caught her arm, and walked toward the main gate without bothering to glance back at her dad.
Jace watched her go. His shoulders did that thing again, the thing I'd captured on film an hour ago. The locked-in stillness that was doing its level best to look like composure.
“She wasn't bothering me,” I said.
“She's got work to do.” He redirected his gaze to me. “So do you.”
I didn’t like being told what to do or when. That’s why I’d always preferred to work as a freelance photographer.
“Any idea where Slade might be this time of day?” I asked.
“Check the office.” Jace nodded the same direction Rory had gone. “And Ms. Robbins?”
“You can call me Bella.” I faced him, irritated that he’d called me out and also pissed at myself for being glad to see him again.
He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Leave Rory alone. She’s got plenty to do this summer and doesn’t need to be distracted by someone filling her head with big ideas.”
I bristled. “I’m not filling her head. She’s good, she’s?—”
“Please. It’s for her own good.” He glanced up at me like it had cost him a portion of his pride to ask a stranger for a favor. Then he turned and headed back to one of the barns.
My jaw ached from grinding my teeth together as I watched him go. So far, nothing in Mustang Mountain was going my way.
I found Slade Kincaid twenty minutes later, sitting at a picnic table and sipping on cold coffee. He rested one arm on the table and surveyed the grounds in an easy way of a man whose event was running on schedule. He had the kind of natural physical confidence that came with being the best at a thing that required real courage, and he aimed a grin at me the second I walked up.
“You meet Walker?”
Warmth spiraled through my stomach as I thought about the dark-eyed cowboy. “Yes, we met.”
He read something in my face and his grin stretched. “Did he give you the speech?”
“The one about safety?” I smiled before I could stop myself. “Yeah, I got the speech.”
“He gives everybody the speech.” Slade finished the coffee. “If you want the behind-the-scenes access, he's the one you want showing you around. He knows where everything is, what time it happens, and which angles are going to get somebody kicked in the head.”
My stomach tightened. “You want me to follow him around?”
“I'm asking him to help you.” Slade got to his feet and walked over to drop the cup into a bin. “The difference is subtle, but with Jace, it matters.”
I looked across the grounds to where Jace was talking to an older man in a blue baseball cap, his arms crossed, and his head angled down. Listening. Processing. Probably already three steps ahead of whatever problem was being described to him.
I thought about the way he'd said don't when I'd lifted my camera at him. The flat, final weight of it.
“He's going to love that,” I said.
Slade let out a loud laugh.
“I’m going to take a break and go check into where I’m staying. I’ll find Jace when I get back if that’s okay.”
“Works for me.” Slade’s fingers went to the brim of his hat, and he tipped it my direction. “Good luck, Ms. Robbins. Let me know if you need anything else.”
A half hour later, I pulled into the gravel lot of the bed-and-breakfast I’d booked just outside of town and sat in my SUV for a long moment before I got out.
The place was exactly as advertised. White porch. Hanging baskets. A hand-painted sign with a horse on it. The kind of charming Montana lodging that would make a magazine reader sigh and start pricing flights if I photographed it in the right light.
My room was small but clean, with a quilt folded at the foot of the bed and a window that looked out toward the mountains. I dropped my bags inside, splashed cold water on my face, and told myself to be grateful.
I had a bed. I had a shower. I had a place to lock up my gear. All of which mattered more than whatever unreasonable part of me kept thinking about Jace Walker telling me to leave his daughter alone like I’d been handing her bad ideas instead of telling the truth.
