Page 19 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

My pulse kicked up before I could stop it.

I found him at the holding pens, clipboard in hand, looking exactly like he always did—steady, quiet, and competent. Sun-browned forearms, worn jeans, that calm presence that made skittish animals settle and people immediately give him all of their trust.

Except now I knew what those forearms felt like flexed under my hands. Knowing was so much worse than wondering.

He glanced up when I approached.

“Morning.” His voice was the same. Low, even, careful.

“Morning,” I managed.

He didn't touch me. Didn't smile. Didn't reference yesterday in any way that mattered. Just handed me the clipboard. “I pulled the six we flagged into separate pens. Figured you'd want to recheck them before making a final call.”

He was professional and helpful, just like he'd been a thousand times before. Only now I knew exactly what all that restraint felt like when it finally broke.

I took the clipboard, my fingers brushing his for half a second before he pulled back.

Twelve hours ago those hands had been in my hair. Now he couldn't stand half a second of contact.

So that was where we stood.

I focused on the paperwork because work was safer than the alternative. How was I supposed to get through an entire day working with him when I could still feel his mouth moving over my skin?

One pen at a time. That was how.

The call wasn't hard to make.

All six animals showed irregularities: mismatched brands, falsified ages, and forged certifications. The brindle steer's injury alone was enough to disqualify it, but the pattern across multiple animals made pulling them all the only responsible choice.

That didn't make it easy.

Cody Briggs looked like I'd told him to rebuild the arena by hand when I gave him the list.

“Six head?” His voice cracked. “This close to the start?”

“I'm sorry.”

“Mayor Nelson’s gonna lose his mind.”

“Better than losing livestock mid-event.”

Cody pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, muttering something about schedules and replacement contractors and how the Hollister name used to mean something people could count on. That last part hurt.

I felt every volunteer's eyes on me as word spread. Heard the whispers that followed me from pen to barn to office. Saw the tight-lipped looks from people who'd known me since I was a kid riding my first barrel pattern at the county fair.

You sure you want your name on that call?

Dallas didn't speak for me. He just stood nearby, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He was present but not interfering. Just like he always was. That mattered. I couldn't explain why, but it did.

Then Tanner showed up.

My brother looked like he'd come straight from morning chores. He had dust on his jeans, and his hat shadowing that look of controlled intensity he always wore. He stopped next to me at the holding pen gate, studied the pulled stock, then turned to face the small crowd that had gathered.

“If Sadie says they don't run, they don't run.” His voice carried across the yard, calm and firm.

Mayor Orville nodded. “Understood.”

Cody exhaled. “Right. Okay. I'll start calling backup suppliers.”