Page 15 of When a Cowboy Falls Hard
“Hello, Mister Monty.”
“Hello, Tex.” Damn. This kid was way too appealing.
“You knowed my name?”
“Your mom told me.”
“When?”
Zinnia put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “This morning, when I was at Laughing Creek Ranch helping Uncle G shoe their horses. Monty’s a vet and he’s going to help us with Speckles.”
“Oh.” Tex glanced up at her. “He’s a cowboy.”
“That, too, son.”
“Vets are girls.”
“Not always. We just happened to have Geraldine in Great Falls. Here we have Monty. Would you please shake his hand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He marched over and stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meetcha.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too.” Nudging back his hat, he resisted the urge to drop into a crouch for the handshake. Something told him that wouldn’t go over well with this proud little guy.
Instead he reached down and bent his knees the tiniest bit as he grasped the kid’s sticky hand and met his solemn gaze. He had guts. And his mother’s green eyes.
Tex gave a firm squeeze and let go. “Speckles is gonna have a baby. It’s a boy.”
“You know that already?” He glanced at Zinnia.
She nodded. “Some people were eager to find that out in advance, so we did the test.”
“I see.”
“Mommy and me used to ride Speckles but we can’t now. We hafta ride Ginger or Fred.”
His use of we probably meant he wasn’t allowed to ride solo yet. Instead he rode double on one of Graham’s horses. They were named after a famous old-timey dance team and thanks to Graham, Monty knew all about Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.
The little boy’s chest puffed out. “I’m a good rider.”
“I’ll bet you are.”
“I could ride all by myself, but nobody lets me.”
“Well, Ginger and Fred are pretty far off the ground.” The kid needed a pony. One like Little Bit, who’d hauled the Bridger kids around for?—
“I’m not scared.”
“I believe you.”
“He’s fearless.” Graham said it with pride. “You’re gonna be a super-duper cowboy someday, right, buddy?”
“I sure am, Uncle G!”
“What happened to my helper?” A slender woman several inches shorter than Zinnia walked out on the porch carrying a kid-sized cowboy hat. She shared Zinnia’s classic facial features, but her hair was a darker blonde and didn’t have Zinnia’s wild curls. The red streaks looked like a deliberate addition.
She zeroed in on him. “Oh, hey! I didn’t realize we had a visitor. Are you by any chance Monty Bridger?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “You must be Marigold.”
