Page 23 of September’s Cowboy Travis

Kaycee stayed quiet.

“The drinking got worse. So did the fighting. Some of that was grief, but some of it was just me being an asshole.” I turned down the burner. “I spent enough years giving people reasons to expect the worst that I can't exactly complain because they remember.”

“But you've changed.”

“Mostly.”

Her mouth twitched. “That’s comforting.”

I laughed.

She rested her forearms on the table. “That doesn't mean they get to decide who you are forever.”

I looked at her across the kitchen. “You really believe that?”

“I believe people are allowed to update the evidence.”

That sounded exactly like something she would say. I turned back to the stove before she could see how much I liked hearing it. “You really can't turn that accountant brain off, can you?”

“Nope.”

“Good to know.”

We ate at the kitchen table with the paperwork pushed to one end. Kaycee stole fries off my plate after saying she didn't want any and informed me that stealing one didn't count. She'd taken three by the time we finished.

I gathered the plates and set them in the sink. “You want to sit outside for a while?”

Kaycee looked toward the stack on the table. “We still have half a box.”

“It'll be there in twenty minutes.”

“That sounds dangerously irresponsible.”

“You've been around me too long. I guess my bad influence is rubbing off on you.”

“Well, I’ve been warned.” Her voice held enough humor that I knew she wasn't thinking about Cody's version of the warning. Still, I liked that she followed me onto the porch instead of reaching for another file.

The temperature had finally started dropping. A few cattle grazed beyond the nearest fence, and the mountains were turning dark against the lighter evening sky, the kind of thing I barely noticed most days because it had always been there.

Kaycee settled into the chair next to mine and stretched her legs out.

“Do you like Bozeman?” I asked.

She glanced over. “I like my apartment. My friends. My work, especially because I can pick projects and work from almost anywhere.”

“But?”

“Sometimes I spend weeks digging through somebody else's life, figure out exactly where everything went wrong, hand them a report, and move on to the next thing.”

“That's the job.”

“I know.” The answer sounded different from the way she usually talked about her work.

“You don't like leaving?”

Kaycee rubbed her thumb along the side of her glass. “I'm good at it.”

I understood that better than I wanted to.