Page 7 of August’s Cowboy Braxton

I opened my mouth to say no. To say Braxton was overreacting. To say I could handle this the way I handled everything else… by smiling, staying calm, and not letting anyone see me sweat.

But the photo was still on the table. And Braxton's gaze was still on me, steady and patient, like he already knew what I was going to say and was waiting for me to stop lying to myself.

"I don't know." I shook my head.

Evie's expression softened. "Honey, you've dealt with worse than this."

"Have I?"

Silence fell over the tent. Ruby exchanged a look with Orville. Morgan's arms tightened across her chest. Torin shifted his weight, his hand resting on his belt near his radio.

Braxton broke the silence. "I need to check her trailer."

Evie blinked. "Why?"

"Because if someone's watching her, they've already been close enough to learn her schedule. That means they know where she's staying."

"Her trailer's locked," Evie said. "No one goes in there without a key."

Braxton looked at her. "How many people have keys?"

Evie hesitated. "Myself. Addison. The event coordinator. Maybe one or two other folks who need access to the costumes and makeup.”

"Then we check it now."

My trailer sat at the far end of the vendor lot, a restored vintage Airstream painted turquoise and white with "Rodeo Royalty" stenciled across the side. I'd decorated the interior myself with string lights, vintage rodeo posters, a velvet bench, and a vanity where I kept my crowns, sashes, and emergency makeup kits.

It was my space. My calm in the chaos. My place to breathe when the crowds got too loud and the smiles got too heavy.

Braxton climbed the steps ahead of me, his movements controlled and precise. He tested the door handle before unlocking it. The lock clicked and the door swung open.

Nothing looked out of place. The lights were off. The curtains were drawn. Everything was exactly how I'd left it earlier that morning.

Except it wasn't.

Braxton stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the narrow space. I followed, my stomach tightening for reasons I couldn't name yet.

He moved toward the back where the vanity sat in front of a round mirror. My crown case sat open on the counter.

It was empty.

My breath caught.

Braxton didn't say anything. He turned toward the small bed tucked into the corner. My spare crown—the one I kept for backup appearances—sat in the center of my pillow, perfectly placed like someone had carefully arranged it. A folded piece of paper was tucked under the edge.

Braxton pulled gloves from his pocket and lifted the crown. He unfolded the note.

Keep smiling.

The air left my lungs.

Braxton's jaw tightened. He scanned the trailer again, then checked the windows, the locks, and the hinges on the door. "There’s no sign of forced entry."

"What does that mean?"

"It means they either knew how to get in or they had a key."

My hands started shaking. I pressed them against my sides before he could see.