Page 27 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

I parked near the house and killed the engine. Rain drummed against the roof.

"Eli didn't just die in that barn," I said finally. "He ran into it during a lightning storm because one of the horses was trapped in a collapsed stall."

Addison turned toward me.

"He was fourteen and thought he was invincible. Thought he could get the horse out before the fire spread." I stared through the windshield at the dark outline of the house. "I saw him go in. Called his name. Ran after him."

"Braxton—"

"The roof came down before I made it through the door. Trapped him and the horse. I tried to dig through. Burned my hands and half my forearms pulling boards away. Found him under a support beam." My throat closed. "He was already gone."

Addison's hand found mine in the darkness.

"After the funeral, my father told me I should have stopped him."

Her fingers tightened.

"He apologized three days later. Said grief made him cruel. Said he didn't mean it." I looked down at our joined hands. “It didn't matter. I'd already decided he was right."

"He wasn't."

"I know that now. Probably even knew it then. But I built my whole life around those words anyway." I turned toward her. "I chose this line of work because I decided that warning someone about danger wasn't enough. I had to control the situation so they couldn't make the wrong choice."

"Like Eli did."

"Like Eli did. Like you were trying to do tonight." I lifted her hand and pressed it against my chest. "You were right earlier. I wasn't protecting you. I was trying to control you because I can't survive someone else getting hurt because I didn't stop them."

"You can't stop people from living their lives."

"I know."

"Or making their own choices."

"I know that too.”

"Or deciding what risks are worth taking."

"I'm sorry.” I met her gaze. “Not sorry that I worry. Not sorry that I want to keep you safe. I’m sorry that I tried to take your choices away instead of trusting you to make them."

She studied my face for a long moment. "You really mean that."

"Yes."

"You’re not just saying it to get me to calm me down."

"No."

"Then prove it."

I released her hand. "How?"

"Ask me what I want to do."

Those were simple words and at the same time, harder than they should have been. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to finish Rodeo Royalty Weekend. All of it. Every appearance, every event, every photo." She straightened. "And I want to catch whoever is doing this."

Everything in me wanted to argue, or list the reasons that plan was dangerous. Explain why she should leave town until we had answers. Instead, I nodded. "Then that's what we’ll do."