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“Why does it take so long?”

Colt sat on a cement block and patted the one next to him. “He’s a big animal. That’s a lot of muscle. You’d probably need time to cool off if you were that heavy too.”

Ben tilted his head, studying Burgundy. “I have lots of muscle too, but I don’t need to cool down.”

Colt rubbed a hand over his mouth to hide the grin. “You’re just like your dad.”

Ben sat beside him and turned to face Colt. “Really?”

“Really, really. Did I ever tell you about the time your dad tried to ride a horse?” The memory brought on a tingle of warmth, but also an ache. Grief was a funny thing.

“He did? I didn’t know Dad could ride.”

“No, no, no. Your dad definitely couldn’t ride a horse. I said hetried.”

Ben scooted closer. “What happened?”

“Our neighbors a little down the road had a couple of horses in a pasture by the road. Mark got it in his head that he could ride one. I bet he was about eight.”

“I’m almost eight,” Ben added.

Colt’s mouth went dry. The thought of Mark being only a few months older than Ben was right now put the memory into a different perspective. “Yeah. Please don’t get any ideas from this story. I’m not sure…”

Not sure how Mark lived as long as he did. But it wouldn’t be a good idea to say that out loud.

“Anyway, your dad climbed up on the side of the fence by the road and coaxed a horse over with an apple. While the horse was munching and I was reciting a list of all the ways this could go terribly wrong, your dad hopped on the horse’s back.”

Ben stood and stepped up on the block he’d been sitting on. “He did?”

Uh-oh. Those wide eyes held pride, not fear.

“Yeah, and the horse promptly bolted, leaving your dad in the dust. He flipped right off the back and landed on his right wrist.” Colt showed Ben the odd angle of Mark’s arm.

“He never told me that!”

“He probably didn’t want you repeating all of his mistakes. Ever think about that, bud?”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Ben tilted his head from side to side. “Well, not just like that. I would do it better.”

Colt rested his head in his hands. “What have I done?”

“I can already ride better than that.”

Colt raised his head. “True. Let’s keep it that way.”

Ben sat back down and watched Burgundy grazing. The crunch of leaves beneath her hooves and the chatter of the people gathering up the hill at the dining hall drifted on the autumn wind.

Ben wiped the palms of his hands over his jeans. “I’ll be a good rider. I want to work here someday.”

“What are you talking about? You already work here.”

“Not really.”

“You’ve got the hat.” Colt tipped the brim of the brown hat they’d picked up at the feed and seed a few weeks ago. “And with those boots, everyone would think you work here.”

“I mean, I could be a cowboy,” Ben said. The wistful note in his words was the mark of a boy dreaming of being a man.

Colt chose this job because it suited him. He loved the rodeo circuit, but settling down here was what he wanted. Most cowboys moved on every few years, but leaving people and places behind wasn’t in his nature.