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Her eyes go wide, faux innocent. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’re not saying.”

Before she can respond, two young guys start walking toward us.

“You’re Noble Kane,” one of them says.

“Yeah, your disguise is terrible,” Hattie says under her breath.

“Saw you ride over in Bozeman a few months back,” the guy says. “Heck of a thing, man, you were amazing.”

“Thanks,” I say. “That was a good night.”

“How much did you walk away with?” he asks.

“Wow, Grant,” Hattie says. “Mama didn’t teach you manners?”

“Sorry,” Grant says. “I’m not trying to be nosy. I’ve been thinking about riding myself.”

“You only make money if you can hold on,” the other guy says.

“Shut up, Micah,” Grant says.

I spot a small cluster of guys, probably around my age, leaning against a truck a few parking spaces away. I see the second they clock me.

“You two working next week?” Hattie asks Grant and Micah.

“Yes, ma’am,” Grant says. “Quent put us both on to help with wedding prep.”

“Good,” she says. “Maybe I’ll assign you to the guest cabins. Finn and Raya are going to stay in one of them before they leave on their honeymoon. Got a list of last minute touch-ups you should be able to handle.”

Micah winces. “Do we have to make it all girly like with rose petals or whatever?”

“You think I’d put you two jokers in charge of romantic atmosphere?” Hattie asks.

“I can be romantic,” Micah says. “I’d like to prove that to your sister. Think I’ve got a shot?”

“No,” Grant says, plainly.

“Put in a good word for me?” Micah says.

“I’ll think about it.” Hattie hands me the two empty totes. “We’ll see you later.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kane.” They head off into the crowd, and I turn to find Hattie watching me.

“‘Mister Kane,’” she grins. “Ha. Next they’ll be calling you ‘Unc.’”

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m an old man.” I groan. “My body reminds me every day.”

“See, not everyone despises you,” she says, but I’m focused on the three guys who are now moving this way. I silently remind myself that no matter what happens, I cannot let them get the best of me. I’m not the guy who gets in fights. Not anymore.

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Trouble,” I say through thin lips.

One of the guys, a big one with thinning hair and a mustache, calls out, “Well, lookie here, guys, it’s Hattie Holbrook.”

“Dale. They let you outta prison early?” She spins around and steels her jaw.