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“Pie’s not a food group.”

“Bluebird says different.”

“Bluebird sells pie.” He looked back at Priya. “Breakfast?”

“Pending.”

“Make it unpending.”

“You came here to inspect me?”

“I came to cover the rodeo.”

That shut all of us up.

Doc shifted the medical bag to his other hand. “Clinic schedule’s cleared for the fifteenth. Josie’s got the ranch calls that morning. I’ll be here by nine, stay through stock haul-out.”

Priya blinked. “The veterinary contractor withdrew.”

“Know that.”

“He was carrying the event coverage.”

“Know that too.”

“You can’t personally cover four hundred attendees, performance horses, and bucking stock without a second veterinary professional on site.”

Doc’s eyebrows climbed. “Been doctoring this county thirty-four years. Think I can stand by a chute for an afternoon.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Know what you meant.” He pointed toward the stock trailer waiting behind Tuck’s pickup. “And Ty brought his own coverage.”

The trailer driver leaned on the horn.

One long blast.

A horse inside answered by kicking the wall.

Doc winced. “Man’s subtle as a rectal thermometer.”

Ty Bannerman climbed out of the cab. Sun-cured, stiff through the knees, two fingertips missing from one hand. He shut the truck door and looked past all of us toward the arena.

“South access still wide enough for a forty-foot rig?” he asked.

“By eighteen inches,” Priya said.

Ty nodded to her. “Good.” He came around the hood and held a folder out to me. Not Wyatt. Me.

“Policy certificate. Bannerman Rodeo Company as stock contractor. Carrow Creek added as additional insured. Full string runs under my license. Bulls, horses, pickup team.”

I took the folder.

“How much?”

“Covered.”

“Ty.”