Page 14 of Love Me, Cowboy
“How old are you, Colt?” Tyler asked.
“I’ll be ten on New Year’s Eve,” he said proudly.
With a twitch of his nose, Tyler made a face he hoped supported the wisdom he was about to share. “I’m a few years older than that, so I know a little more about girls than you do.” He caught Claire’s raised brow in his peripheral vision but pressed on. “Would you say delicate means fragile?”
Colt had to think about his answer. “Yeah, I guess so. Like Mama’s good dishes. They’ll break if I stomp my feet while walking by the glass cabinet where Mama keeps them.”
The boy sounded as if he knew this fact from experience, and Tyler believed he probably did.
“Would you say your mama is fragile?”
“No, sir,” Colt answered. “Why, she fell off old Gypsy just last week. She said some words I’m not s’posed to repeat, but she didn’t break.”
“That’s the secret about girls.” Tyler sat back, giving the young man time to absorb his meaning.
After a prolonged pause, filled with head scratching and gathered brow, Colt said, “I don’t get it.”
“Girls aren’t delicate at all. They’re softer, I’ll give you that.” Tyler winked at Claire, who was struggling not to laugh. “But they’re as tough as you or me. Some of ’em are tougher.”
Doubt shone in the young man’s eyes as he glanced over at fair Victoria. She was fighting for space with another boy, holding her ground as she added more berries to the painted vine.
“I’m gonna have to think about that,” Colt said.
Ruffling his hair, Tyler said, “You do that. But I wouldn’t steer you wrong, partner.”
The little cowboy fell into silent contemplation as Tyler scooted closer to Victoria.
“You mind if I help with the berries?”
Blond hair flipped over a pink-clad shoulder in a move that must have been instilled in females from birth. Blue eyes sparkled his way while her bright smile revealed a hole where a tiny little tooth used to be.
“I don’t mind at all, but are you sure you don’t want to paint the leaves with the other boys?”
“Nope. I’d rather paint the berries.”
That seemed to be the right answer if the little girl’s beaming smile was any indication. As he dipped his paintbrush into the red paint, Tyler glanced over to where Claire worked farther down the banner.
The smile on her face said she approved as well.
Chapter Five
If Claire fancied herself half in love with Tyler Holly before today, the sight of him painting berries next to a smitten nine-year-old put her all in. He was wonderful with the children. They’d been direct and curious about something he likely didn’t want to talk about. Most adults would have brushed them off, but not Tyler.
He’d gathered them in and mesmerized them with his story, as if what he’d been through was little more than a scraped knee. As if his life hadn’t been changed, and nearly cut short due to doing something as ridiculous as climbing onto the back of a bull.
Growing up in Texas meant rodeo was a part of life. And Claire had never thought too much about it until she saw what it did to Tyler. Thank God he’d survived to tell the tale and would never tempt fate in the same way again.
“Those berries look especially festive,” Claire said, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “And the handprint Christmas tree was a very artistic idea.”
As soon as Tyler suggested the tree, the children had taken immediately to the idea of sticking their hands in the paint. By some miracle, no one left a handprint on his neighbor, and all of the parents were good sports about the unexpected paint on their clothes.
“My mom had Bug and me make one when we were little.” Tyler crossed his arms as he stood next to her. “I hadn’t thought about it in years. Not sure why it came to me today.”
What he didn’t say was clear in his eyes. Even bull-riding cowboys missed their moms.
“So now we need to attach it,” Tyler said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “I’ve got some wire in my toolbox, along with some cutters. That should work.”
Crossing the short distance to where he’d left his tools near the back of the truck, Tyler bent down and lifted with his left arm, only to have the box drop back to the floor with a crash. He gripped his left shoulder as his face contorted in pain.