Page 82 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

“You almost did.”

He straightens her little cowboy hat with two fingers before turning back to the grill. Arizona watches him with a smile she doesn’t bother hiding.

Emmett starts passing out roasting sticks while the steaks finish cooking, and Sadie marches straight over to Arizona carrying the marshmallow bag against her chest. “You gotta watch real careful.”

She slides a marshmallow onto Arizona’s stick, then demonstrates with complete concentration. “You turn it… then count… one… two… free…”

“Three,” Emmett calls.

“I know.” She doesn’t even look at him. “…Then three.”

Arizona bites her lip to hide a smile. “I’ll do exactly what Campfire Girl says.”

“You better.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

Sadie gasps. “It gets all yucky.”

“I definitely don’t want yucky.”

Arizona follows the instructions until a little flame curls around the marshmallow.

Sadie points. “Quick! Blow!”

Arizona blows it out and holds it up for inspection. “Did I pass?”

Sadie studies it with the seriousness of a rodeo judge. “It’s a tiny bit crispy.”

“I can live with that.”

Dinner settles everybody into their chairs, and before long Arizona’s telling us about a rodeo in Montana where a goat wandered into the buckle presentation and refused to leave because somebody handed it a funnel cake.

“The announcer kept trying to chase it away,” she says between laughs, “and the goat just stared at him while eating.”

I point my fork at Red. “You would’ve handled that.”

“I would’ve opened the gate.”

“The goat would’ve followed you home.”

“It would’ve learned to respect fences.”

Arizona smiles over at him. “I thought goats chewed fences.”

“They try.” I clap once. “Which brings us back to my security goat proposal.”

Emmett groans. “I knew we’d end up here.”

“You’ve been campaigning for livestock police since spring.”

Then Sadie looks around the circle with complete seriousness. “Did the goat say moo?”

Emmett sprays beer into his hand.

I double over laughing while Arizona hides her face behind both hands.

Red rubs his forehead. “No, sweetheart.”