Page 33 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“Maybe she forgets paper.”

“What if it rains?”

Sadie gasps. “I didn’t think of that.”

I set my hat on the counter. “Seems like a major flaw in the operation.”

She considers this carefully. “Maybe she writes waterproof songs.”

“That’s probably a tax write-off for musicians.”

She doesn’t know what that means, but she nods anyway.

Then she tells me Arizona likes horses. She likes guitars. She likes old boots. She drinks coffee, which Sadie finds endlessly fascinating despite being five years old and firmly banned from caffeine. She likes dogs.

She writes songs about towns. Possibly multiple towns. According to Sadie, Arizona also possesses extensive knowledge about absolutely everything worth knowing.

The kid has known her less than a day and somehow assembled a complete biography.

I spend most of the walk to the kitchen pretending I’m not amused but it’s not a particularly successful performance.

By the time I’m making dinner, Sadie’s seated at the counter with crayons spread around her like she’s preparing architectural blueprints. The horse she’s drawing appears to have six legs and the proportions of a sofa.

I decide not to interfere with the artistic process.

Arizona keeps finding her way back into the conversation.

“Daddy, do you think Arizona likes spaghetti?”

I glance over my shoulder while chopping vegetables. “Most people like spaghetti.”

Sadie nods gravely and returns to her drawing.

A few minutes later she looks up again. “Do you think Arizona knows cowboy songs?”

I stare at her. “You mean country songs?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say yes.”

The questions keep coming. They’re not really questions anymore. They’re excuses to talk about Arizona.

Eventually Sadie asks, “Do you think she could teach me guitar?”

My hand pauses against the spoon.

The reaction catches me off guard.

Sadie likes her. A lot.

Kids don’t spend time calculating emotional risks. They don’t stand back and evaluate people from a safe distance. If they like somebody, they hand over their trust without hesitation and assume you’ll take care of it.

That’s the part that scares me.

Because Arizona seems to like her right back.

I find myself thinking about the bonfire the night before. The way Sadie climbed into Arizona’s lap as if they’d known each other for months. The way Arizona shifted over without hesitation and made room for her.