Page 48 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“No, but I would threaten it.” Coop’s phone rang, and he closed his eyes for a second. “It’s the school. I don’t suppose you got Lysol at the store?”
“I got bleach wipes.” That was close, right?
Coop answered the phone, putting it on speaker as he walked Mina toward the front door.
“Mr. Coop, is that you?”
“Yes, Miss Maydel. What do you need, ma’am?”
She chuckled softly. “You’ve got two of them that are puking. That only leaves two that aren’t.”
“Yay. I tell you what, I’m just going to come pick up all the rest just in case. Have everybody send e-mails with their homework, fair? There’s only a couple of days before the holiday anyway, right?”
“That would be a blessing. This is the third time that norovirus has gone through the school. Y’all just lucked out.”
“I’m sure it showed up at Mina’s birthday party. I’ll come get the kids if you just get them all out to the front. Give them Walmart sacks if you need to.”
“Put trash bags in your truck and save the seats.”
“Will do. Having so much fun. See you in a minute.”
Coop smiled at him. “My life is so glamorous.”
“Ours.”
“What?”
“Our lives.”
Coop smiled at him. “Right on. Horses can’t get norovirus, can they? I’m assuming that’s what’s wiggling around in the trailer.”
“Uncle Coop! I don’t feel good.”
“I’m coming. Mina, get undressed. Get in the shower.”
“I don’t like to stand in the shower!”
“So sit in the damn bathtub. I’ll run the water. I’ll be right there.” Coop’s temper was beginning to show.
“You said a cuss!”
“I’m gonna say more than a cuss,” Coop muttered under his breath. “Brooks, you’re a good man, but if you don’t do something soon, I’m going to have a stroke.”
That would be a waste of a hot stud of a man.
“All right. You get Mina’s bath going. I’ll get the horses in quarantine, and then I’ll clean up and start on the house while you go pick up the others.” He would also unload the groceries, but it was cold enough they could sit in the truck while he did all that. He’d disinfect everything before he gloved up and brought the food right into the kitchen and into the fridge.
The cans and dry goods could stay back in the mudroom where they were less likely to get slimed.
The horses were more than willing to unload and get into a warm barn with some sweet feed and some hay and a trough of clean water.
The pair were skinny, but not desperately so, and they were in decent shape, and he’d talked to the son of the man who had raised them. They were broken to saddle and harness, both mother and son, and they’d come with tack and names.
It sucked, getting so old that a man couldn’t live in his home, love on his horses. It wasn’t fair.
“Jenny. Hey, girl, how’s it going? Buddy. Buddy, are you in there?” Two heads popped up, the gelding a touch bigger than his momma, but they were both chestnut-brown and pretty as hell.
