Page 16 of September’s Cowboy Travis

I closed the laptop.

“Going somewhere?” Ruby stood in the doorway holding two paper cups, looking far too entertained for someone who'd just brought me coffee.

“Stretching my legs.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She handed me one of the cups.

“Iced tea?”

“Thought you could use something cold. That air conditioner looks like it's losing the fight.”

I took a drink. “Thank you.”

Ruby glanced toward the arena. “Steer wrestling should be starting soon.”

“So I've heard.”

Her smile widened.

“Do people in this town have hobbies?” I asked.

“Plenty. Most of them involve other people's business.”

I laughed and followed her outside.

The crowd thickened as we crossed the grounds. A little girl in pink boots tugged her father toward a booth where Addison Blake stood signing rodeo programs, her crown and sash perfectly in place despite the heat.

Addison spotted me and waved.

That had started happening more often lately. People knew my name now. They asked how the audit was going or whether I'd tried the cinnamon rolls at Ruby's Mercantile.

I'd been hired because I didn't belong to Mustang Mountain or either side of its family drama, but the town had stopped treating me like an outsider.

I was still leaving when the job was done, but the reminder didn't feel as reassuring as it used to.

That was the trouble with staying somewhere long enough to learn its rhythm. Mustang Mountain wasn't just a job site anymore. It was starting to feel like a place I'd have opinions about even after I closed my last file.

Ruby headed toward the vendors, and I moved closer to the arena. The steer-wrestling competitors were gathering near the chutes. It took me less than five seconds to find Travis.

He sat on a dark bay near the back of the group, his competition number pinned across his back. None of the easy teasing I'd gotten used to from him showed on his face. His attention stayed on the arena, his reins held short and steady in one hand.

I'd seen that same focus during yesterday's practice run.

I liked seeing him like that.

As if he felt me watching, Travis turned. His gaze moved across the crowd until he found me, and he tipped his chin once.

My fingers tightened around my cup. I lifted it in response.

That was when his mouth curved.

The announcer called the next competitor, and Travis turned back toward the arena.

Yesterday, I'd barely understood what I was watching. Today I knew enough to understand exactly how many things could go wrong. Retirement accounts still seemed like the smarter choice.

Every time a gate rattled, my pulse kicked up another notch. Travis did this for fun on a regular basis but apparently knowing that didn't make watching him any easier.

Two cowboys went before Travis. One missed the steer entirely. The other posted a time that drew a cheer from the stands.