Lila met her gaze. “Again, not that uncommon. I read somewhere that a lot of authors publish their own work these days. They make more money and have more control.”
Capri giggled from the back seat. “Well, that makes sense. I heard she writes smut.”
“Meaning?” Lila asked.
“Meaning she doesn’t have to answer to anyone but herself. She can take whatever—uh, liberties—she wants to with her stories.” She grinned. “If you know what I’m getting at.”
Charlie Grace glanced at Capri in the rearview mirror. “She dared to leave some of those books on the coffee table inside the lodge. I’m no prude, but let’s just say Aunt Mo saw the covers and quickly hid them.”
Lila took up the argument. “Okay, so she writes suggestive stories.”
“Smut,” Capri repeated.
Lila sighed with impatience. “Like I was saying, that might not be the fare most ladies in Thunder Mountain would be seen reading, but it’s a free country. People can read what they want, right?”
“Tell that to Pastor Pete,” Charlie Grace suggested.
“And to Aunt Mo,” Capri added.
Charlie Grace raised a hand from the wheel and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid that’s not all. She dresses a lot like those women on her book covers. Roxie Steele is very proud of her cleavage. And get this, the woman made a pass at my dad.”
Lila’s eyebrows lifted. “At Clancy?”
Charlie Grace visibly winced. “Yeah, she ran her fingers along his back as she walked behind him at the dinner table and suggested he take her for a ride sometime.” Her face twisted with disgust. “And I don’t think she meant on his wheelchair.”
“Gross.” Lila wrinkled her nose.
“Seriously,” Charlie Grace agreed. “And she did it right in front of my daughter.”
“That’s double nasty,” Capri chimed in.
As they drove closer to town, ranches and wooden fences dotted their route. To the left, a paved path with occasional cyclists and pedestrians ran parallel to the highway. To the right, off in the distance, was the Jackson Hole Airport. Eventually, the familiar “Welcome to Jackson” sign appeared.
A brief silence settled in the car until Lila spoke up. “Well, we’ll see what comes of Roxie Steele’s visit. But it looks like Nicola Cavendish has finally met her match in the inappropriate department.”
The others nodded in quick agreement.
“You can say that again,” Capri said, laughing.
9
Lila stepped out of the vehicle, her boots sinking slightly into the soft dirt of the Jackson Hole Rodeo grounds. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the arena, where rows of weathered bleachers buzzed with excited spectators. The air was thick with the scent of hot dogs and popcorn mixed with the unmistakable musk of livestock.
“Wow, look at the crowd,” she said.
Capri looped her arm through Lila’s as they walked toward the entrance. “Looks like fun!”
“Smells like manure,” Charlie Grace added with a laugh, her eyes scanning the colorful banners flapping in the breeze.
They passed through the gates, and immediately, the chaotic noise of the rodeo engulfed them—the announcer’s booming voice over the loudspeakers, children shouting, and the clatter of hooves in the distance. Music blared from hidden speakers, as several men on horses maneuvered around the arena.
“Look at that, Lila! He’s massive!” Charlie Grace pointed to the left, where a large bull was being corralled by a few cowboys.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that,” Lila replied, squinting against the sun. “Let’s find a good spot before the bull riding starts.”
They navigated through groups of people, the ground vibrating underfoot with the energy of the event. The trio found seats high up in the bleachers, giving them a perfect view of the arena.
“This is going to be amazing,” Capri murmured, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. “I love rodeos.”
