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Lydia nodded.

Her sister’s face softened. She didn’t say what Lydia expected. No teasing about grand gestures or how impossible it’d be to give up a man like that. She only nudged Lydia’s glass closer when Lydia reached for it.

Across the table, Tate caught her eye. “You know you don’t have to sort this out tonight.”

“I’m not ready to.”

“Okay.”

She waited, but he turned to ask Jason about the horses coming in. No one demanded a plan from her. Lydia took another bite and listened as they discussed where the new arrivals would go.

When Rylee started to stand, Lydia reached for her empty plate.

“I’ll help clear.”

“You brought dessert. That counts.”

“Good,” Wren said. “Because someone needs to cut those into fair portions.”

Tate leaned back in his chair. “I don’t trust your definition of fair.”

“You shouldn’t.” Wren grinned at him, then glanced at Lydia. “Want yours now?”

Lydia looked toward the bag again. She still needed answers her family couldn’t give her. But what Jason had said stayed with her, alongside the memory of Chet’s hand tightening around his own paper bag.

“In a minute,” she said. “Save me an edge piece.”

“Already did.”

Lydia looked at her sister. Wren shrugged and reached for the dessert plates. Lydia stayed at the table, letting the conversation settle around her while she finished her drink.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chet stopped inside the rodeo grounds as a cheer rose from the arena. The announcer’s voice carried over the crowd, and the familiar dust and grilled onions hung in the air. He hadn’t been back in a long while. Tonight, with no horses left to work and an evening he didn’t want to spend alone, he’d driven here.

He joined the line at the burger stand and looked toward the arena gate. He’d told Lydia he might compete locally again. He’d also told her he had no intention of returning to the circuit. Sitting across from her at The Steer House, he’d thought the distinction should’ve been clear. Now he had to ask himself how much he’d explained.

A boy hurried past carrying a hat nearly as wide as his shoulders. His father called him back to wait for his sister, and Chet stepped aside to let them pass.

There was a family dinner over at Tate’s place, and he’d turned down the invitation. He’d wanted to spare Lydia the awkwardness of sitting across from him. But he missed the others, too. As that family headed toward the stands, he wished he’d told Tate as much.

The line moved. Chet stepped forward, his fingers brushing the pocket where he’d put the bakery receipt. Lydia’s quiet “Oh” had stayed with him all afternoon. She’d looked at him for a moment as though she had more to say.

He wanted another conversation with her. One where he could get through the difficult parts without hurrying them toward being okay again.

He stepped up to the counter and offered the woman behind the register a tight smile. “Just a cheeseburger and Coke, please.”

“That’ll be ten-fifty,” she announced.

He got out his wallet and handed over the money. Then he stood to the side and waited. A couple of competitors strode by in chaps and spurs, stopping when a little girl held out her program for an autograph.

One of the cowboys knelt so she could point out where she wanted him to sign. Chet smiled. He remembered moments like that, and the long drives afterward every bit as well.

He’d liked being good at something. Liked hearing a crowd cheer when a ride went well. That part had been real. So had the motel rooms and the calls he’d cut short because he was tired or had somewhere else to be. He’d always figured there’d be time to get close to someone once he reached the next goal.

“Cheeseburger and Coke?”

He stepped forward and took the food. Nodding his thanks, he headed toward the stands.