Page 22 of 11 Cowboys

CORBIN

The house is quieter now. The volume has dropped to a hum instead of a roar. Bedtime stretches the day long and soft around the edges, tinged with warm yellow light, toothpaste foam, pajama negotiations, and innocent stories.

Grace is in the thick of it with her sleeves rolled and hair half-loose from where Junie tugged on it earlier. She’s got Caleb on her lap, brushing out his hair while he yawns wide and leans into her like he’s known her for years, not hours. There’s something about the way she moves, like she’s always tuned in, always listening. Even with her hair half a mess and brownie mixture on her sleeve, she’s all presence, no performance.

“Ow,” he whines, even though she’s barely tugging.

“Drama,” she says under her breath. “Hannah didn’t complain.”

“She cries when her jelly touches her bread,” he snaps

“To be fair,” Grace says solemnly, “jelly contamination is a serious offense.”

The twins giggle despite themselves. Matty peeks intothe bathroom to show off the foam mustache he’s fashioned out of toothpaste. Rory is kicking like a mad thing in a diaper and onesie, filled with a burst of energy I never understand.

“Ready for story time?” I ask softly.

The kids erupt into a crescendo of yeses, with Grace’s loudest of all. I smile broadly at how lighthearted she can be amongst our unfamiliarity and chaos.

“Ready?” She taps Caleb’s thigh, and he climbs out of her lap.

In the bedroom, Hannah rearranges pillows with military precision, and Eli is hunkered down in bed, clutching her favorite rabbit stuffed toy.

Grace reaches out and grabs a storybook from the nearby shelf. “All right, you goofballs. Into bed. We’re reading about the Very Brave Sloth tonight.”

“I don’t like that one,” Matty says.

“You loved it last week,” I remind him.

“Tonight, I’m in the mood for dragons.”

“No,” Eli growls. “Dragons suck.”

“Language, sweetie.”

She eyes Matty like she wants to strangle him.

“Sloth or nothing,” Grace declares, already flipping open the cover.

They all scramble into their beds, defeated but entertained. I hand Eli baby Rory to hold for story time, and she snuggles him under her covers. I lean against the wall and watch as Grace reads. Her voice changes with every character, becoming gravelly for the bear, breathy for the squirrel, and lilting and dramatic for the Sloth himself. She uses her hands, her face, and her whole body to deliver the story like she’s on a stage, and the kids are riveted.

So am I.

Her mouth curves when she reads, every voice a new shade of her. She tells them a story, giving them a whole new world to imagine, and as I watch her do it, I forget how tired I am.

When she finishes, the kids beg for one more. She raises her eyebrows at me, questioning what’s allowed, which is thoughtful and respectful.

“Deal’s one story,” I remind them.

She leans in conspiratorially, cupping her mouth. “But I’m bad at rules.”

When I give in and agree, the kids squeal, excited that this new houseguest has achieved the unachievable and broken the chains of the one-story rule.

The second story is shorter and sillier. Junie’s already drifting off, thumb in her mouth, braids halfway undone. Grace’s voice lowers near the end until the room feels like it’s exhaling with her.

We finally dim the lights, and Dylan appears, smelling of the night air, followed by Levi and Conway. We each press kisses to six little foreheads, settling Rory into his crib and tucking blankets as we go. The others drift off, but Grace stays, pulling the door shut as we step into the hall. Just a quiet click, and then we wait with our ears pricked, ready for a moan.

Silence greets us.