Page 26 of July’s Cowboy Dallas

I should have brought Sadie. The thought sat in my chest, heavy and unwelcome. But I was already here, and turning back now would only waste time.

The gate came into view—chain hanging loose, not locked. That wasn't right. I always locked the gate.

I climbed out, my boots hitting dirt, and walked the fence line.

There was fresh manure near the water trough and grass trampled flat around the loading area. Tire tracks pressed deep into the dirt, too new to have come from any Miller vehicle.

Someone had been here. Not long ago.

I moved closer to the loading chute and found a strip of blue vet wrap caught on the barbed wire, fluttering in the breeze like a flag.

Someone had used Miller land to hold stock before moving them to the rodeo grounds. Stock that came in with forged certifications and mismatched brands. Stock that Sadie pulled. And they’d used my family’s name to do it.

My gut turned over.

I stepped closer to the chute and saw where someone had marked the lower rail in grease pencil. Most of it had been rubbed away, smeared by dust and a careless sleeve, but two letters were still visible beside a partial certification number.

C.D.

That wasn’t enough to prove anything by itself, but it didn’t take a fucking genius to figure they probably referred to Cedar Draw. A name nobody wanted to explain, and everyone seemed to recognize too late.

I snapped a few pictures, then stood there, staring at the trampled grass and the empty pasture beyond. I’d wanted to protect Sadie from this. Instead, I’d walked straight into the middle of it alone.

Then I saw the stock tag. It was tangled in the fence wire near the loading chute, half-hidden by dust and grass. Hollister stock. The numbers matched one of the pulled certifications.

A few feet away, the gate chain hung in the wrong kind of loop—the same careless half-loop I’d seen Roy Pritchard use around the Hollister pens when he was in a hurry.

Roy had been here. And that meant Sadie had been right to pull every animal tied to him.

I pulled out my phone, dirt still on my hands, and almost called Sadie. Almost. But standing there with evidence in my hand, I understood what I’d done. I hadn’t protected her from a problem. I’d taken her out of the middle of something she had every right to stand in. Her report. Her call. Her fight. And I’d made myself the man who decided when she got to know the truth.

Just like Holt. Just like Roy. Just like every man in her life who thought caring about her gave him the right to manage her. Wasn't that exactly what I'd promised myself I'd never be?

One night. I'd had her in my arms for one night, and I'd already found a way to treat her like something to manage instead of someone to stand beside.

I drove back to the rodeo grounds with the evidence in a plastic bag on the passenger seat and my stomach in knots the whole way.

The sun sat lower now, casting long shadows across the grounds. Volunteers were packing up for the evening. The holding pens stood quiet.

I parked near the stock barn and climbed out, bag in hand. Sadie stood twenty feet away, her arms folded, her expression too controlled. She already knew.

“You went to the Miller pasture,” she said.

“I needed to see if⁠—”

“If what?” Her voice stayed level. Dangerously level. “If I could handle knowing?”

“That's not what this was.”

“Then what was it, Dallas?” The control cracked, just once, before she flattened it again. “Were you protecting me? Or managing me?”

The question hit me square in the chest, and I didn’t have a quick answer for it.

“I didn’t want to give you one more problem until I knew there was one,” I said.

“You didn’t just go look,” she said. “You made me wait while you decided what I was allowed to know.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”