Rodeo Standoff. Susan Sleeman

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      “I saw on the way in that someone cut the lock,” Braden said. “People can hardly hold you accountable for someone cutting the lock.”

      “And you’re only responsible for livestock once they’re checked in,” Tessa added and squeezed Harley’s arm. “You had no reason to even be here before the livestock were supposed to be delivered. I get that and Dad will, too.”

      “I thank you for understanding, Tessa, but you know your dad has different standards as the sheriff.” He frowned.

      “Are you worried about something else?” she asked.

      “Attendance. Pure and simple. This crazy heat wave is already threatening to keep folks home this year, but once this story gets around town, it could give them another reason to stay away.”

      Tessa hadn’t thought of that. “You can spin it with the press as a handsome cowboy rescuing a damsel in distress. Who knows, it might draw even more spectators in.”

      “You think I’m handsome, huh?” Braden whispered.

      She started to roll her eyes, but his flirtatious behavior, so like Jason’s, didn’t even deserve that much of a response.

      “I’m sure glad you agreed to come down for the rodeo,” Harley said, obviously missing the undercurrent running between Braden and her. “Wish you’d told me you were arriving this early. I’da been here to greet you. Maybe then things woulda been different.”

      “Maybe,” Braden said.

      “Why were you here so early, anyway?” Tessa asked.

      Braden turned toward her. His lazy hooded eyes ran over her and made her feel like she was the only woman on earth.

      “Like you,” he said, “I wanted a little time alone to relive the glory days.”

      “Well, it’s a good thing you were here, for Tessa’s sake and for our program. I’m especially grateful that you’d come an extra day before the rodeo begins, when we let our fans take a close-up look at the livestock. You usually do the bigger PBR events, so I figured you’d turn me down flat.”

      “I like to help out the smaller venues when my schedule allows.”

      Really? Sounded like he actually cared about the success of small-town rodeos. About the people and volunteers. Maybe he had layers she hadn’t seen before. Still, one layer didn’t make him a man she could trust.

      “I hate to do this to you,” Braden continued. “Especially with the issue of attendance, but I’m planning to help find the jerk who put the bull in the arena with Tessa. Means I might have to sit out a few of the PR events I agreed to handle.”

      Help find the suspect? That was news to Tessa. She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Harley said, “That’s right, you’re a detective now.” Harley pursed his lips for a moment. “Wish you hadn’t hung up your spurs. You were something to watch.”

      Braden suddenly gestured at the bull as if ignoring Harley’s compliment, at odds with the guy who’d seemed so cocky when he’d won so many championships.

      “I’m hoping I can use my experience in the ring and as a detective to close this case,” he said. “First step is to figure out who put the bull in the arena. We have a little over two days before the rodeo opens to figure that out and we shouldn’t waste any time. Harley, if I give you the bull’s ID number, can you give us his registration information?”

      “Sure thing,” Harley replied.

      Braden clambered up the rails to reach for the bull’s electronic identification tag fixed in his ear and called out the number. He could still move fluidly. Surprising, what with all the injuries bull riders sustained. Of course, he must have recovered from his injuries, or he wouldn’t have passed a police physical. But she’d seen him take some bad falls, and a bull’s jarring motion takes a toll on hips, shoulders and knees, so he had to have residual effects.

      “Here it is.” Harley tapped his notebook. “He’s King Slammer. Belongs to Ernie Winston Bucking Bulls out of Waco. He’s on the check-in schedule for nine o’clock.”

      “He’s several hours early,” Braden said. “Do you make the check-in schedules?”

      “Other volunteers handle that.” Harley, like everyone else in the association, was also a volunteer. Not unusual for small-town rodeos. “This year Douglas Peters is in charge of it.”

      “Douglas?” Tessa stiffened.

      “Is he a problem?” Braden asked.

      “I’m...not sure. His sister is Felicia Peters, my biggest competitor. Neither of them has made any secret about not liking me. In fact, Douglas often accuses me of cheating.”

      Braden’s eyebrow went up, but he didn’t speak.

      “Everyone knows the Peters family doesn’t much like Tessa,” Harley said. “But I can’t imagine Douglas being behind this.”

      Tessa wasn’t sure she’d be that generous. Douglas had been pretty nasty in his accusations against her.

      “Let me give Ernie a call to see what’s going on with King Slammer.” Harley stepped away and lifted his phone to his ear.

      Braden hopped down, standing tall and ruggedly handsome with his hands on his waist, his feet planted wide. Tessa’s gaze wanted to linger, but she forced her attention to the crime scene. She walked along the outside of the chute looking for any clue that might lead her to the person who wanted to end her life, but she couldn’t focus. She’d done her best to put on a good front for Braden and Harley, making it seem like the bull was no big deal. But she was smart enough to realize that someone wanted to cause her great harm, and she suspected when that someone learned she’d survived, they’d try again.

      Her phone rang and she dug it out of her pocket. Her father. Great. Could she get away with ignoring the call? As the Lake County sheriff, he usually received news long before anyone else, but he couldn’t have heard about the bull already, could he? She could just see him going ballistic once he did. Then, like always, he’d warn her to be careful. He told her brothers, Matt and Gavin, to get after things, but he tried to coddle her and her sister, Kendall. She loved him for his caring but was exasperated at the same time.

      And she couldn’t ignore his call. He could need her on an important investigation. Forcing herself to sound cheerful, she answered.

      “Got a report of a stolen bull,” he said before she could tell him about King Slammer. “It was taken from the rest area just outside town. We’re talking a fifty-thousand-dollar animal. I need you out there ASAP to process the scene.”

      “A stolen bull at the rest area,” she said, catching Braden’s attention. “Do you have a name for the bull?”

      “King Slammer.”

      She shot a look at the chute, her mind processing the idea that someone stole this bull to use it as a weapon against her. “No need to search for him. I’m at the arena, and you can tell the owner that King Slammer is here.”

      “What in the world?”

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