Page 5 of You Fall First

People who aren’t me.

Most importantly, the bathrooms there are open to the public and contain changing tables.

“Can you keep an eye on Rowan and Wally while I deal with … this?” Kendal’s already backing up toward the bathrooms.

“Happy to.” I turn toward the pen and set down the piglet at the same time that a little boy in cowboy boots and a hat barrels around the back of the stable. When he crashes into my legs, I try to grab him so he won’t fall. Instead, I lose my balance and topple over him, my arms pinwheeling on the way down.

The good news is, the mini-cowboy stays upright. Unfortunately, my butt hits the dirt, hard. Do I land in a pile of horse dung? No. Is my entire backside covered in hay?

Woot.

After gathering my sundress around my legs to avoid flashing everyone, I peer up at the little boy. He’s got curly brown hair, and his eyes are round and chocolate colored, like the inside of an M&M.

“You fell,” he says, solemnly. I’d gauge him to be about four years old, like Rowan.

“That about sums it up,” I manage, but the wind’s knocked out of me. Now would be a fantastic time for the trusty petting zoo attendant to rush over and offer some assistance, but the man charging toward us is definitely not Floyd.

Like the little boy, he’s wearing a cowboy hat and boots, only his are a whole lot bigger. I’m on the ground flailing like an upended turtle, so I drop my gaze and let my hair hang over my face. If I can’t see him, he can’t see me, right? That’s how this works.

Within seconds, though, Not-Floyd looms over me, blocking out the sun.

A cowboy eclipse.

“Sorry about that.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbles through me. Or maybe that’s just the cramps. Either way, my face is in flames, and I refuse to make eye contact. This isn’t how I want to meet anyone, let alone a tall, well-built cowboy. “You all right?” he asks.

“Are you talking to me?” I wheeze.

“I am.”

“Then, yes. I’m okay.”

So you can go away now. Please just go away.

He doesn’t go away.

A hand the size of a bear claw appears in my peripheral vision. My less-than-stellar options are to let this man help me up or haul myself off the ground on my own. Without showing the entire petting zoo my underwear.

You don’t want to be rude, Jo.

Keeping my eyes averted, I reluctantly reach for the man. When our palms meet and his huge fingers wrap around mine, heat rockets up my arm. Then he lifts my entire body, and I let out a less-than-dainty oof.

Delightful.

“Thank you,” I say, smoothing my dress and taking in the man’s tree trunk legs. His worn blue jeans could’ve been melted onto his thighs.

Hello, cowboy.

“Apologies again,” he says. “Kid’s got a lot of energy. Gets away from me sometimes.”

“Totally normal,” I say, offering the little boy a smile. His cheeks are puffed out like he’s holding his breath. “Also age-appropriate,” I add.

The man chuckles. “For him or for me?”

“Both, I guess.”

I lift my chin for the first time, but the man ducks his head, looking down at the boy, his face blocked by his hat.

“Dutton?” he says gruffly. “Apologize to the pretty lady.”