Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48446 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 242(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 161(@300wpm)
He nodded, lifting his boot for me. “I don’t have spurs, though.”
“You don’t need none,” I advised him seriously. “Real cowboys can guide their horses with just the pressure from their legs and thighs. Cowboys only wear spurs in the movies.”
His eyes lit up, and he came over, hand on my thigh as he looked into my face. “Really?”
“Oh, yessir.”
“You ever go to a rodeo?” the oldest asked, moving closer as the middle one, who was just staring at me, edged in.
“Yessir,” I told him. “I’m a bull rider. You?”
“Me?” he said like I was stupid. “I’m not old enough to be in a rodeo.”
I nodded. “How old are you?”
The middle one reached out and touched the brim of my hat as the oldest ran his gaze all over me before answering.
“I’m eight.”
“Oh.” I shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t do no barrel racin’ until I was ten.”
“I’ve seen the barrel racing on TV. You did that when you were ten?”
“Yep. My brother had a beautiful quarter horse named Dave, and he let me ride him.”
“Dave’s a weird name for a horse.”
“Don’t I know it, but you couldn’t tell that to Spencer.”
“Who’s Spencer?”
“My brother.”
“So your brother named his horse Dave.”
“Yessir, he did, and the rest of us had to go along with it.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“He died in the war. Over there in Iraq.”
“We learned about the war at school.” Then, “My name’s Tristan, but you can call me Tris.”
“Well, it’s good to meet you, Tris,” I said, offering him my hand. “I’m Weber Yates.”
He took my hand and shook it.
“I’m Pip,” the little one said, putting out his hand too, the other sliding over the top of my thigh, petting me, though it was doubtful he was even paying attention to what he was doing.
“His name’s Phillip,” Tristan told me. “He just has trouble saying his name.”
I nodded, taking the sticky little hand in mine before turning my head to the other little boy, who was now leaning against me. “And who is this?”
“That’s Micah. He doesn’t talk anymore. He used to, but he stopped.”
Tristan and Pip had dark midnight-blue eyes, a deep cobalt. Micah’s eyes were lighter, brighter, almost the color of the bluebonnets I had grown up with in Texas. They were all three as cute as they could be.
“You don’t never talk?” I asked Micah.
He shook his head.
“Well, that’s all right. Talkin’s overrated anyhow. You hungry?”
He nodded and put an arm around my neck, leaning heavily.
I looked up at Cyrus and his sister then, and to my surprise, they both seemed sort of startled and at a loss. “Sorry, I got caught up,” I apologized, rising, bringing Micah up with me since it seemed like that was what he wanted. “My name’s Weber Yates, ma’am,” I said, touching the brim of my hat. “It’s real nice to meet you and your boys.”
Her mouth was open, but no sound came out. She was staring at me and then Micah and then back to me.
“Web, this is my sister, Carolyn Easton. Lyn, this is Weber, whom I told you about.”
“Oh yes, the cowboy.”
“Yes.”
“Can we feed y’all?” I asked her. “Would that be all right?”
“That would be fine,” she told me, her voice dropping out on her. “But, um, they don’t eat anything. They’re the worst eaters ever.”
“Yeah, but…” I turned to Micah. “…cowboys always eat breakfast. Y’all will eat that, right? Some pancakes and eggs and bacon and such?”
Micah nodded.
“I will,” Tristan told me.
“Pancakes!” Pip yelled loudly.
“I can make that,” I told Cyrus.
“No, no, I’ll make it. You need to take a shower and get out of your wet clothes before you catch pneumonia.”
I smiled because the man never stopped worrying.
“And you also need to just sit down and relax,” he added.
“Well, maybe just a quick shower, and then the boys can show me how your game thing works that you got last time I was here.”
“The Xbox,” he said with a sigh.
“Yeah, that,” I told him as Micah started fiddling with the collar of my jacket and Pip slipped his hand into mine.
“That sounds good,” he husked, and I saw his eyes were filling suddenly.
“Looks like you had a long day yourself,” I murmured, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.
“Oh!” Tristan gasped. “You kissed Uncle Cyrus.”
I looked down at him. “I did. But that don’t bother you none, does it?”
He thought about it. “No. Josie Dole has two moms. She’s in the same class as me, and Jake Finnegan, he has two dads, but he’s in Mr. Wong’s class.”
“Well, see there, you know all about this sort of thing since you’re a man of the world.”
“You think I’m a man?”
“You’re eight, ain’t ya?” I squinted at him.
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, then.”
He smiled big.
I looked at their mother. “I reckon we’re ready to go in. Cy, will you grab my pack?”