She swooned out loud merely thinking of him.
Moisture from days of rain saturated the muddy ground beneath her boots and the sharp smell of manure hung in the air as Ember worked to coil the tail end of the rope in her hands.
“Now, build the loop at the end of your lariat so it’s almost as tall as you are.” Mr. Montgomery nodded promptly as Ember adjusted the rope to the height of her armpit. “Listen to me now, you’re going to wield the loop in your right hand and hold the coils loosely in your left.”
“Why can’t I hold them tight?” she questioned, struggling to control the rope.
“When you’re riding Storm, you’ll be steering the reins and holding the rope in your left hand. Soft hands help to release the slack of the rope as you throw, but still allows you to keep hold of the reins.” Mr. Montgomery paused inspecting her form. “That’s right. Focus on the base of the horns when you let go.”
Holding the loop of the rope in her right hand, Ember raised her elbow and rotated her wrist, swinging the rope from front to back in a circle above her head. Rigid concentration narrowed her aim as she tossed the rope capturing one horn and half a bale of hay sitting beside the fake dummy steer.
“Shit,” she grumbled, missing both horns for the dozenth time.
Mr. Montgomery’s whiskery lips set in a flat line of disapproval. He skewered the ground with a spat of tobacco before diagnosing and correcting her habits. “Don’t drop your elbow. Open up your loop. You’ve got to finesse it a little.”
Ember massaged the ache in her right shoulder before starting again. Filled with determination, she insisted, “I don’t care if it takes all damn day. I’m going to get this rope around both of those horns.”
“The tighter you hold to that rope, the more your shoulder is going to hurt. Let the rope rest in your hand and gently close your fingers around it. After you’ve swung the loop above your head a few times, you’ll start to feel the correct timing. Use the centrifugal force to release the tip of the rope and follow through with your delivery, extending your arm naturally.”
Ember slogged through the mud, working through the routine in her head readying the rope and her focus.
“I think a five-year-old could pull this off better than me. I can’t believe how hard this is.”
“Skill and finesse will come with practice.”
“You keep insisting this rope is going to give me a second pair of hands, but I think it’s making me all thumbs. I’m never this awkward.”
Mr. Montgomery ignored her complaints. When it came to teaching her anything to do with cowboying, he seemed to have a short, but gracious supply of patience. Travis had promised to work with her on roping but got hung up in the field, so Mr. Montgomery stepped in with his own personal brand of instruction.
“Don’t throw the lariat like a baseball. You’re not throwing, you’re releasing at the correct time. Make sure your hand is in a position to grab the slack and pull it back to close the circle.”
“Okay. I can do this.”
Determination firing on all cylinders, Ember closed her eyes to the sunless sky and shook out the nervous tension from her limbs. Allowing the rope to rest loosely in her hand, she opened her eyes, stared down the stationary dummy steer, and started to swing the loop above her head. She twirled it around and around, letting the momentum do the work, releasing the tip of the rope at the perfect time, capturing both horns.
“Woo hoo! I did it!” Ember shrieked, throwing her hands in the air.
“We’ll make a cowgirl out of you yet,” Mr. Montgomery crooned, offering her a high five.
A drizzle of rain started to fall from the dark clouds overhead as Travis pulled up next to the arena in a Walker Ranch truck. Jet sat in the back seat, paws and nose happily hanging out the rear window.
Satisfaction bloomed into a goofy grin, trotting over to greet him. Ember rested her crossed arms on the opening of the passenger side window. Jet’s baby blue eyes peeked from behind the headrest petitioning for a few pats on the head.
“Did you see that?” The high pitch of her excited tone carried through the cab of the truck. “I finally caught both horns.”
“I missed it,” Travis murmured, shooting her a wide-eyed look, shuffling a stack of papers on the passenger seat. Flicking his hand toward the dummy steer, he insisted, “Try it again.”
The jittery strain in his voice triggered her attention.
Before she had a chance to get a good look at him, Travis tossed his black hat on the seat beside him and hopped out of the vehicle. Jet right on his heels, he rounded the truck in a quick, erratic manner. His eyes darted toward the arena as she took inspection of the pasted-on smile twisting over his lips.
“Come on, let’s see what you got.” Travis started for the arena.
As she pushed away from the truck, Ember caught a glimpse of a file hidden beneath his hat bearing part of her name.
She stopped in her tracks.
Kicking a boot up onto the side step, she reached through the open window, and slid his hat out of the way, exposing her entire name written in Sharpie on the tab.
Her pulse jumped beneath the thin skin on her wrists.
File in hand, she stepped down, staggering backward a few feet.
“Travis.” Uneasiness pinched between her brows. “What’s this?”
A grave expression overwhelmed his profile. Travis lowered his view to the muddy ground below his boots, curse words popping off beneath his breath. Responding slowly, he curled his hands into fists, and tucked his thumbs into the opening of his pockets.
Lifting his head, he took a few hesitant steps toward her. “That’s for Mr. Montgomery.”
Ember’s heart pounded hard and fast nearly drowning out his reply. “What’s in this file?”
“I don’t think you want to open that.” Wisdom and warning colored his tone. Travis reached for the papers, but Ember twisted out of his grasp. He grumbled making a tsk sound, but his voice remained steady as stone. “Suit yourself, but you’re not going to be happy.”
A tremor chased down her spine. Ember stared down at the file pinched between her fingers and thumb. Panic, curiosity, and fear raced through her blood like a migration of angry butterflies.
Head remaining still, her eyes tracked upward, glaring at Travis through heavy lids. His jaw clamped tight, lips flattening to a straight line as she dared to flip open the folder.
Her mind swam in silence, the entire universe placed on hold, sifting through pages of her life’s history. The information went far beyond listing every address, phone number, and social media account she’d acquired since birth, it included a photo from high school, instructor headshots, and a few social media pics. However, the most unsettling photos in the stack were recent pictures of her working with Mr. Montgomery and Travis on the west end of the ranch.
“Where did you get this, Travis?” Fury bobbled in the tightness of her throat.
“My cousin had a birthday party for her boy. She’s divorced, but dating this new guy, Randy. Apparently, he’s a private investigator. He’s got a pool, and it was a swim party.” His head wavered back and forth. “I was changing in the extra bathroom off his office and noticed a file with your name on it sitting on his desk, so I took it.”