Page 38 of 11 Cowboys

I open my mouth to shut it down, then I hesitate. The kids are restless. I know their tells, and if I push straight into math now, I’ll spend the next hour wrestling their attention back into line.

So I sigh. “Five minutes.”

“Ten,” Grace counters, grinning. “You know creative work can’t be rushed.”

I sigh, but I don’t say no.

Grace claps her hands once, and the kids gather close around her like moths to a flame. Grace starts. “Once upon a time, there was a chicken.” Matty rises onto his knees, excitement overtaking him. “Who wanted to be a cowboy,”he yells.

The room erupts into giggles.

I cross my arms, watching as the story spirals into ridiculousness, featuring a talking chicken with a hat like Daddy, a runaway unicorn, an alien tractor beam, and a magical lasso. Grace keeps them moving, eyes sparkling, gently steering wilder ideas without ever shutting anyone down.

She glances up at me once and catches me watching. “Don’t tell me Professor Mc Serious Face is enjoying this,” she teases.

I clear my throat. “I’m evaluating its educational merit.”

She laughs, low and warm. “Right. Of course you are.”

The kids are practically vibrating with joy, scribbling pictures of the chicken hero and his adventures. Even Eli seems engaged, sketching quietly at the edge of the table. Grace notices and gives her a soft, encouraging smile that she almost returns.

“You have a way with them,” I say grudgingly, unable to keep the observation to myself.

Grace shrugs. “I grew up in a house full of kids who needed attention and structure, but also a little fun. You can have both, you know.”

I glance at the scattered crayons, the crooked drawings, the beaming faces. My jaw tightens. I don’t want to admit she’s right, or how easy it is for her to get under all our skin.

“We’ll see,” I say instead.

I should’ve ended it there. The kids would’ve gone back to their worksheets, and I would’ve had my orderly morning back. But no.

Grace pushes to her feet, brushing her hands on her jeans. “All right, ranch hands. Who knowsOld MacDonald?”

Five small hands shoot up, and Rory, not wanting to be left out, raises his chubby fist.

Before I can intervene, Matty is already shouting, “E-I-E-I-O!” and the twins start clapping out a beat on the table.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Grace…”

She waves me off with a sunny smile. “Movement breaks improve focus, Professor. You should read the research.”

I scowl, but the damage is done. The room erupts into gleeful chaos. Grace leads them in a stomping, marching, full-volume rendition ofOld MacDonald. Junie twirls like a ballerina. Rory claps frantically, squealing at full volume. Matty neighs dramatically for the horse verse. Reserved, guarded, Eli taps one foot along with the beat, lips silently mouthing the words.

I stand stiffly, arms crossed, watching the madness unfold like an unwilling bystander at a parade I never signed up to watch.

They launch intoIf You’re Happy and You Know It, clapping, stomping, and shouting with wild abandon.

Grace catches me glaring and grins wickedly. “Oh, come on, Professor. Not even a little clap?”

I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

Junie grabs my hand. “Please, Ha-wi-son?” Her tiny fingers wrap around mine and tug insistently.

Matty joins in. The twins circle me like hyenas scenting weakness. I give in, reluctantly lifting my hand for the world’s most half-hearted single clap. They cheer like I’ve cured world hunger. Against my better judgment, I feel something unexpected stir in my chest. Amusement, damn it.

The song ends in a pile of giggles. Grace collapses onto the carpet with them, flushed and breathless, her laughter bright and effortless, and I watch her, feeling unsettled. She isn’t what I want. I thought I was looking for someone who would slot neatly into our family machine. Someone quiet and predictable. Someone contained.

But maybe… maybe this messy, sparkling kind of energy has a place here, too.