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I watched her while the crowd moved around me.

The rodeo had run because of her.

And she was letting it run without holding it.

I thought that might have been the bravest thing I’d seen all summer.

***

By seven, the arena had become a dance floor.

Not officially. Officially, the dance floor was the patch of packed dirt in front of the flatbed. But people spread wherever the ground was level. Strings of bulbs ran from the stage to the vendor posts, warm light above the settling dust. The barbecue smoke had thinned. The stock trailers were gone. Kids chased each other between hay bales while their parents pretended not to see.

The band tuned.

Somebody tapped a microphone.

The creek beyond the cottonwoods made almost no sound.

And in my front pocket, under the fold of my jeans, the thin gold chain pressed against my thigh. I’d bought it in Ennis the week she was gone, which had made no sense at the time and made less sense at the till.

All day, every step, waiting for the right moment.

Priya stood across from me.

She’d let her hair down. Not formally—there was no formal version left after twelve hours of August heat. She’d pulled the tie from it and pushed both hands through it, and now the sharp ends brushed her collarbone, bent in places from the tie. The flannel was still around her waist. Her white shirt had a barbecue stain near the hem. Dust coated her boots.

Beautiful.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“I’m resting my eyes.”

“On me.”

“Best view.” I paused. “Dance with me.”

She looked past me toward the arena. “You danced with three people on the way over here.”

“I was intercepted.”

“One of them was Earl.”

“Earl leads.”

“I noticed.”

“And he doesn’t accept no.”

“I also noticed.”

I held out my hand.

She looked at it.

Then at me.

“What?” I asked.