Page 34 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
“BOYS!” If his roar could stop a bull in its tracks, he could sure as shit stop a seven-year-old and a ten-year-old. “That is enough.”
He turned the corner from the office where he’d been paying some bills. He didn’t know where Brooks was—he’d bet the man was out working in the barns, cleaning up. Heimagined he was going to have to ask Brooks to start helping here in the house.
If Brooks liked working, he could use the help.
“Let me see, Johnny,” Coop said, then leveled a finger at Mason. “Back off. No ‘helping’.”
Mason’s expression went surprised, then mutinous. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I didn’t say you did, but you know you’re not as careful with Johnny’s things as you are with yours.”
Mason’s cheeks turned a deep red, and he looked at the floor.
“Now, come here, Johnny. And screaming ain’t the way to handle things, kiddo.”
“He just makes me so mad.”
The urge to pinch the bridge of his nose was huge, but he resisted.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Brooks walked into the front room. “I was coming in for the day and I heard shouting.”
“Mason broke my costume.”
“Johnny’s a crybaby.”
“You’re fixin’ to get grounded, Mason. No name-calling. I mean it, son. I will shut your ass down in your room and there won’t be any fun. Do not try me.” He didn’t threaten. He’d dealt with cowboys his entire life. He didn’t have to. If this, then that.
“I’ll talk to Mason, if you can fix the costume?”
“That’s more than fair, thank you.” He quirked a finger at Johnny. “Come on. I can help.”
Why couldn’t this little boy want a costume from the Walmart like his little sister? It was so much easier than all of the other little ones.
“Okay. I just really want it to be right.”
“I know, kiddo.” Johnny was so smart, but he was also veryprecise. It was like one went with the other. He didn’t like itchy things. He didn’t like his food touching if it wasn’t meant to. Butter on bread? Sure. Green beans touching his chicken? No.
“Mike’s making one too. We’re going to be robot buddies.”
Coop reminded himself this little boy was seven years old. That was so young.
“Yeah? What does your robot do?” He took the foil-covered box that was the robot’s head, careful not to dislodge any of the strands of battery-operated LED lights on it. He’d just poke a hole in the top of the cardboard, attach with glue and tape to make sure the wire didn’t scratch Johnny’s head.
“He makes baked goods—muffins, cakes, doughnuts, crescent rolls, lemon pie, cookies. You pour the ingredients in here.” Johnny pointed toward the back of his costume. “And they pop right out here.”
Then he pointed to his belly, where he’d drawn a cake.
“Oh, that’s clever, honey. Real clever.” Such a smart kid.
“Yeah. Mike’s is a vacuum—kind of boring, but super necessary. I mean, no one likes a dirty floor.”
Coop chuckled softly. “You’re so right. No one does.”
“And you find such cool things in the vacuum sometimes. Like nuts and bolts and pieces of jewelry. Or, you know, pennies.”
“See, now that I like. So vacuums are less boring than you think.”
“I like it.”
