Page 55 of September’s Cowboy Travis

Hank lifted his head like he'd understood every word.

Caroline smiled at him. “And apparently vain.”

“He gets it from Gus.”

Gus didn't bother opening his eyes.

She turned that smile on me.

Damn.

“But the horses aren't enough,” she said.

“They usually are.”

“Not for what I need.”

“And what do you need?”

“A story.”

I leaned one shoulder against the wagon. “You've got a harvest festival.”

“I have twelve food vendors, seventeen craft vendors, a parade, a pumpkin-carving contest, live music, a kids' zone, a pie auction, demonstrations, and a town committee that apparently considers the word confirmed more wishful thinking than fact.”

“Sounds like Orville, or a combination of Orville and Ruby.”

“Well, whatever it is, I need something people will remember.” She pointed toward Hank and Gus. “They'll remember those two, and they'll want to know who they belong to.”

“Why?”

Caroline blinked at me like the answer ought to be obvious. “Because people do.”

“That's not much of a reason.”

“It's literally my job to know what makes people stop scrolling.”

I didn't know what scrolling had to do with a harvest festival, but I had the feeling admitting it would make me sound about eighty years old.

She shifted the tablet under her arm. “You don't like having your picture taken.”

“No.” I looked at her.

She looked right back. There was no irritation in her face. No annoyance that I wasn't making her job easy. Mostly she looked curious. That was worse.

“Let me take five pictures,” she said.

“No.”

“Three.”

“No.”

“One.”

“No.”

“Do you ever negotiate?”