Page 66 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
“Oh, okay. Can we make cookies now?” Mina grinned at Johnny. “See? It’s okay. Sister says so.”
“Cool.” Johnny visibly relaxed. “I have to finish my eggs before I make cookies. And wash my hands. We all have to wash our hands. I learned about that in school.”
Mason rolled his eyes. “Can I have more eggs?”
“You had cereal,” Ricky said, his eyes wide. “Jesus Christ, man.”
“What? I’m still hungry? There’s lots of eggs. We have chickens.” Mason wrinkled his nose. “I never want to have to be skinny for some girl.”
“Thank God for that, chubster.”
Benji and Coop growled in unison. “Enough.”
Ricky looked to Brooks for assistance, and he shook his head. “Body-shaming is not cool, man. For you or anyone, and Mason can have eggs. It’s no big deal; I can make more eggs. Does anybody else want more eggs?”
Benji raised his hand like he was in school. “I would like some more eggs, please.”
That little son of a bitch was too tickled for his own good. Brooks would kick his ass, but who knew what he might re-break if he did, and then Benji would stay home longer.
“Me too?” Coop said softly. “I’ll take some more too, if you’re making them. Who else wants eggs?”
“I do! Are there going to be cimmamin rollies in the morning?” Mina asked. “I like cimmamin rolls.”
Brooks gave Coop a kind of wide-eyed look, mouthing “I forgot the yeast”, and Coop winked.
“Let me call over to the ranch house. I bet that there are cinnamon rolls somewhere for tomorrow. Give me two shakes.”
It was a great thing that Coop could just do that, get on the phone and say, “Hey, could you please make the world give me exactly what I need?”
Of course, to be fair, Coop paid it back. He was raising five kids and whatever Benji was. So Brooks guessed hereally couldn’t criticize the man for calling around to see if he could get someone else to make cinnamon rolls.
Coop came back in with his phone to his ear from the kitchen with the coffee pot, warming up his coffee on his way back to the kitchen to make eggs, passing like ships in the night.
He heard. “—Yeah, that’d be great this afternoon. I think that’s a fabulous idea. I appreciate it very much. Thank you.” He hung up and gave the kids a wide grin. “Cinnamon rolls have been arranged. They will be here for tomorrow morning and we will have Christmas cinnamon rolls.”
“Thank you, Uncle Coop,” they all sing-songed.
“What else is Christmas morning breakfast?” Lucy asked.
“Ask your Uncle Brooks. Whatever y’all want.”
“Can I have piano lessons?” Mina asked, and Brooks kind of blinked.
Now that was new.
And he swore to God if Coop found a way to get that child a piano by Christmas Day, he was going to swallow his own tongue.
“Well, I guess we can arrange that. Sure. If you really want to do it.”
He heard Johnny pop up with “Oh! I would love to learn to play piano. Did you know that music and math are the same thing?”
“No, they’re not.” That was Mason. “Music is art. Math is…uh…math. Math is like science.”
“No. Music is like science because they both use math.”
“Music is art. God, you argue about everything.”
Uh-oh, he came back out of the kitchen, eggs in hand.
