Page 110 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.”

I hope that’s true.

Sadie barely pauses for breath before the words start tumbling over each other. “Cinnamon’s got a ranch now and Arizona helped me build it and Willy carved a sign and Red said it was ugly but Cinnamon forgave him because she’s nice…” She suddenly twists around, scanning the yard. “Where’s Arizona?”

Tori’s smile fades. “Who’s Arizona?”

“My friend.” Sadie points toward the house before looking back up at her mother. “She sings and she helped me build Cinnamon’s ranch.”

Tori looks at me. “You hired somebody?”

“No. She’s staying in town for a while. She’s a singer.”

“She’s been spending time here?”

I shake my head. Not that it’s her business, but there’s no point in aggravating Tori. She doesn’t say anything else, but the way she studies me makes my shoulders tighten.

Sadie doesn’t give either of us the chance to continue.

“Come on.” She catches Tori’s hand and tugs her across the yard. “You’ve got to see Cinnamon.”

The upside down feed bucket waits proudly inside the little paddock we built yesterday, complete with Willy’s crooked sign hanging across the front.

Red slips the wrench back into his toolbox before looking my way. “We’ll finish the west fence.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t say another word because he doesn’t need to.

Willy claps me on the shoulder as they head toward the pasture. “If she starts throwing things, whistle.”

Their voices drift across the pasture while I watch Sadie lead her mother toward Cinnamon’s ranch.

“Cinnamon lives here,” Sadie announces proudly.

Tori blinks at the bucket wearing its pink halter. “So, who’s Cinnamon?”

“My horse.”

Sadie says it like the answer should’ve been obvious.

Tori looks at me before looking back at the bucket. “She’s still pretending?”

“It makes her happy.”

She crouches beside Sadie and smiles. “Sweetheart, you’re getting to the age where most kids are finding new games.”

Sadie strokes the bucket gently. “I still like her.”

“I’m sure you do.” Tori brushes a curl away from Sadie’s face. “You don’t have to encourage every little fantasy, Emmett.”

Sadie’s hand stills against the pink halter.

My grip tightens around the hammer in my hand because I’ve watched her do that for years.