Page 8 of September’s Cowboy Travis

His upper lip twitched as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to commit to a smile. “Would you prefer me to call it Dead Man's Gulch?”

“No.”

“How about Widow's Ridge?”

“Please stop.”

His lips split into a wide grin.

I tapped the map. “Can you show me?”

His gaze dropped to my boots. “If you’re sure you don’t mind getting your boots dirty.”

“I've survived worse than dirt.”

His eyes came back to mine. “I don't doubt it.”

The way he said it made the words feel less like a joke. I picked up the map before I could think too hard about that.

Five minutes later, I buckled my seat belt in the front seat of Travis’s truck. We drove out past a calving field and a stretch of fence he said needed to be fixed before winter, while the mountains rose in the distance.

“So how does somebody decide to become a forensic accountant?” he asked.

“I’ve always liked puzzles. Now I get to figure them out and get paid for it.” It was probably part of why the job suited me so well. I could drop into someone else's mess, sort through the pieces until they made sense, then hand over the answer and move on. There was something satisfying about problems with clear endings.

“So what do you do when you're not chasing suspicious money?”

“I have a perfectly normal, perfectly boring life in Bozeman.” And I'd always liked it that way. My apartment was mine, my schedule was flexible, and there was nobody waiting for me to explain why a job had run long or why I'd decided to spend three weeks somewhere else. Work gave me enough complications.

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

My heart skipped a beat. Why did he want to know? “What is this, twenty questions?”

“Just making conversation.”

Conversation, right. “No boyfriend.”

“Good.”

I looked over at him and bit back a laugh. “Good?”

“I don't want him getting jealous when you come watch me rodeo on Saturday.”

“You compete?”

He looked genuinely offended. “You really didn't do your research.”

“I investigated your finances. Your hobbies weren't relevant.”

“Steer wrestling isn't a hobby.”

“Clearly, I touched a nerve.”

“I'm entered Labor Day weekend. You should come.”

The committee had already asked me to stay through the holiday so I could finish reviewing payments. That made it easy to say yes. “I'll be there.”

“Working doesn't count.”