“Do you like peanut butter cookies? I just pulled a batch out of the oven.” His mom held a tray out towardme. White sugar dusted the tops of the fork-indented cookies.
“Peanut butter is my favorite.” I took one off the tray and took a bite, groaning as the flavor burst across my tongue. “Mmm, these areso good.”
My cheeks heated as Hayden and his mom both laughed, but after I realized they weren’t making fun of me, I joined in with them.
“I can’t remember the last time I had a cookie that good. Thank you, Mrs. Watkins.”
She offered me a wide grin, the corners of her eyes creasing. “Oh, please call me Mae.”
“Mom, I was telling Sierra that she should join the high school rodeo association with me and Keenan,” Hayden mumbled through a mouthful of his peanut butter cookie.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Hayden,” Mae scolded.
He swallowed. “Sorry. But what do you think? She should join the team, right?”
“Well, I don’t know. Does she?—”
“She has riding experience, Mom. She doesn’t have a horse, but I told her we have plenty and?—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, son. Slow your roll there.” Mr. Watkins walked into the kitchen. “Hello, wife.” He planted a kiss on Mae’s lips.
“I think I’d be interested in rodeo…maybe,” I whispered.
Hayden’s head snapped toward me. “Itoldyou guys!”
Mr. and Mrs. Watkins shook their heads, looking at their son with what seemed to be a mix of pride and amusement.
“We’re going to go see the horses,” Hayden declared, reaching for my hand as he hopped down from the stool.
The sudden movement startled me, and I pulled my hand away, smacking the underside of the counter in the process.
Hayden didn’t seem to notice, but embarrassment still flooded over me.
“S-sorry,” I apologized for no reason. “Um, can I have another cookie?”
“Of course, dear. Take as many as you’d like.”
I tried to ignore the concern in Mae’s voice as I grabbed two cookies with a muttered, “Thanks,” and took off after Hayden, who was already at the front door.
We walked side by side toward the stable and pasture, neither of us saying a word.
When we got to the fence, he started pointing out the horses and telling me their names.
“This one’s Bullseye.” He gestured to a big bay gelding and then a smaller mare. “And this one is Buttercup. The baby is in the stables right now, but we can go see her in a minute.” He must have caught me staring at Bullseye, because he asked, “Do you want to pet him?”
I nodded, approaching the horse slowly from the side, the back of my hand stretched out so he could sniff. Bullseye nuzzled his nose into my hand, and I rubbed it along his muzzle.
“He likes you.”
“I like him, too,” I murmured.
We spent some more time with the older horses whileHayden told me all about their histories and which one he was going to be riding for rodeos. Then he gestured for me to follow him into the barn.
“This one’s the mom. Her name’s Bagel.” He pointed to a beautiful roan. “The baby doesn’t have a nickname yet.”
The foal, who had a beautiful chestnut-colored coat, tried to stand, but her knees wobbled a little, pulling a giggle from my throat.
“She’s the color of peanut butter.” The thought slipped out, but Hayden just looked at me and nodded.
