Page 33 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

CHAPTER 8

ADDISON

The hardest part wasn’t the fear. It was accepting that every piece of evidence kept pointing toward Evie.

I snuggled into Braxton’s side and stared at the ceiling while memories ran through my head. Evie fixing my sash before my first regional pageant. Teaching me how to keep my crown straight in the wind. Showing me how to smile when a sponsor stood too close and how to deflect questions without ever looking rude.

At sixteen, I’d thought she was teaching me strength. Now I wasn’t sure.

Braxton shifted beside me. “Now you’re thinking too loud.”

“I want you to be wrong.”

His hand settled over mine. He didn’t tell me I was being naive. Didn’t remind me about the tracker, the missing album, or the message that had come to a number almost nobody had. He didn’t have to.

The canary trap was harder to explain away. Evie had been the only person I’d told about going to the stock office to look for a duplicate album. Minutes later, someone had warned me not to go.

“I keep thinking there has to be another explanation.”

“There might be.”

I turned my head. “You don’t believe that.”

Braxton’s gaze stayed steady on mine. “I believe we need proof.”

I pushed myself upright and pulled the sheet around me. “I want to confront her.”

His shoulders tightened, but he didn’t immediately argue. That alone told me how much had changed between us.

“We could take what we have to Torin,” he said. “Let him handle it.”

“No.” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. “She’s been part of my life for years. If I’m wrong, I need to know before we destroy that.”

“And if you’re right?”

I looked down at my hands. “Then I need to hear her say it.”

Braxton sat up next to me. His knee brushed mine.

“I hate this plan already.”

“We haven’t made one yet.”

“Exactly.” Despite everything, a smile pulled at my mouth. I leaned into him. “Help me with it?”

His fingers threaded through mine. “That I can do.”

We came up with our plan at the kitchen table. Braxton didn’t take charge. He let me make suggestions as well. I wrote down the list of items we needed: a fake album, a copy of the cattle photograph, a wire so he could hear me from outside.

He also wanted Torin nearby and deputies covering the exits.

“How do you feel about a panic button?”

My stomach tightened. “Do you really think I’ll need one?”

“It would make me more comfortable,” he said. Then he waited, letting me make the choice.

I nodded and added it to the list. “Tomorrow night after final rehearsal, she’ll expect me to be exhausted.”