Page 38 of September’s Cowboy Travis

“Did something happen between yesterday and now?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting like I just told you I'm moving to another continent?”

That brought his head up. “I'm not acting like anything.”

“Of course not.”

His mouth flattened. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means I've spent a week watching you find something else to do every time you don't want to talk about what's actually bothering you.”

His fingers tightened around the pliers. “I knew you had a job,” he said. “Job's done.”

“That doesn't answer what I asked.”

“You didn't ask a question.”

“Fine. I’ll be more direct.” I stepped closer. “Do you want me to leave?”

Travis looked at me for several seconds, the pliers hanging loosely from one hand. “No.”

His voice come out low and soft. I hadn't expected him to answer me that fast. “Okay.”

He looked toward the pasture. “That doesn't mean you're staying.”

“I have an apartment, work, and a life in Bozeman.”

“I know.”

“But Bozeman is only two hours away.”

“That isn't the point.”

I tucked the folder under my arm, willing to stand there all night if that’s what it took to get him talking. “Then what is?”

He rubbed his thumb along the handle of the pliers before answering. “You came here because of the audit.

“Yes.”

“Now the audit's done.”

I could see exactly how he'd arranged the facts. I'd come because of work, and now the work was over. Everything attached to it, apparently, had an expiration date too.

“You think I'm going back tomorrow and that's the end of this.”

Travis gave one shoulder a small shrug. “Wouldn't be the first time somebody left.”

There was no accusation in his voice. He said it like he was pointing out the weather or a weak fence post. That told me more than an argument would have.

I stepped forward and took the pliers out of his hand.

His eyebrows rose. “You're stealing my tools?”

“You weren't using them.”

“I was literally repairing a fence.”