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Conner ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He was still pissed off, but out of good sense, respect for his elders, or both, he didn’t speak his mind to Davis.

Then again, he didn’t have to. It was written all over him. He was mad from the top of his hat to the soles of his battered boots, and he wouldn’t be over it anytime soon. If ever.

He turned to open his truck door, and this time Davis didn’t make a move to stop him. Neither did Steven.

It took them all by surprise when, before Conner could start up that truck of his and drive away in the proverbial cloud of dust, Brody appeared, thrusting his way between Steven and Davis and lunging at Conner.

The whole scene reminded Steven of two bucks in rutting season, circling, preparing to lock antlers.

It was unclear whether Brody pulled open the truck door, or Conner pushed from the other side, but the next thing anybody knew, the brothers were rolling around on the ground, throwing punches, grunting and obviously bent on killing each other.

Steven sighed and started toward them, but Davis caught hold of his arm. The old man might have been in his fifties, but he was still strong.

“Let them settle it,” Davis said.

Conner and Brody were so equally matched that Steven figured the fight would run into the middle of next week. Instead, they both wound up exhausted and rolled onto their backs in the dirt, breathing hard and cursing like a pair of old salts with seawater in their veins.

Davis grinned.

One of Tom Parker’s deputies rushed over, red-faced. “We don’t allow fighting inside the city limits,” he blustered. An older man, significantly overweight, the deputy probably should have retired years before.

Brody hoisted himself upright and, beside him, Conner did the same.

“This isn’t settled,” Brody gasped out.

“You’re damn right it isn’t,” Conner retorted, just as short of breath.

Brody got to his feet. “I’ve gotta go,” he said.

“You scared I’ll kick your ass?” Conner asked, rising, too.

“No,” Brody bit out, “but I paid good money to compete in this rodeo, and I’ve got another event to ride in.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Conner told him.

“You’d be one chickenshit son-of-a-bitch bastard if you weren’t,” Brody retorted. He bent to retrieve his hat from the ground and whacked it against one thigh, making the dust fly.

Conner made a move toward Brody, but Davis put out his hand again, making contact with the younger man’s chest this time.

“Go make your ride,” Davis told Brody, though he was smiling warmly at the deputy the whole time. “Everything’s fine now, officer. We won’t trouble you again.”

Brody strode off toward the arena.

Conner swore and picked up his own fallen hat, punched the inside of the crown back into shape with so much force that Steven half expected his cousin’s fist to break through. He rolled his broad shoulders and then glared at Steven before plunking his hat back on his head.

“You don’t know what you’ve started,” Conner bit out. There was sadness in his eyes now, along with the lingering anger. “If you did, Steven, you’d have left Brody and me alone.”

Steven ached inside. As kids, the three of them had been close. Their summers were almost magical back then, straight out of Huckleberry Finn.

When had that changed? What had gone so wrong between Brody and Conner that they couldn’t even look at each other without tying in with fists flying?

“I guess I was hoping you’d gotten over whatever it was that came between you,” Steven said quietly. “Or whoever,” Davis put in.

Steven turned to look at his father, suddenly wondering if Davis had known what the trouble was all along.

“She’s long gone,” Davis went on, still watching Conner. “Isn’t it time you and Brody put that whole business behind you and moved on?”

A woman, Steven thought. He should have guessed that much but, back when the split happened, and Brody and Conner went their separate ways, he’d been too wrapped up in his own problems to really put his mind to it.

He’d been reeling then, from his granddad’s death,