Page 41 of Smart@ss Cyborg

Privately, I marvel that they fretted enough to make their signage overlarge when the smell of freshly baked goods permeates the entire street.

“We can park here,” Becky tells me, indicating the hitching post in front of the bakery, more than likely positioning us here on account of nearly all the other hitching post spots being taken by various horseflesh.

Once Joel’s horse has eased our wagon into a parking space, reluctantly, I return Becky to the bench beside me, setting her down gingerly. Then I clamber off the wagon and secure Joel’s horse, tying the beautiful mare’s lead rope to the post.

Paco comes around the side of the wagon, sneaking up to Becky to be petted. When I finish my task and turn to him with the notion of tying him to the wagon, he wheels around and scrambles away from me, acting for all the world like a wild ass.

Sighing, I help Becky down from the wagon. Looping my arm with hers, I move for the bakery, the window of which Becky has been sending wistful looks.

She balks a little, looking up at me inquiringly. “You’re not going to catch him?”

Sparing a withering stare for our jackass, I shake my head.

“Someone else will take him, Will,” she worries.

My heart thrills to hear her use this shortened version of my name again.

But the words no more than exit her mouth when a gentleman steps into the middle of the dusty street and removes his hat, flapping it at Paco. “Hay up! Hay up! Cu’Bossy!”

I give my puzzled frown to Becky.

She snorts. “That’s how farmers call their cows. It’s short for ‘Come, Bossy.’” Her brow beetles. “Itmightwork to call in a donkey that’s been kept in a field with cows.”

We both turn our attention back to Paco.

His ears have flattened. Barking a growl, he kicks out at the advancing man. When that doesn’t earn him the space he desires, Paco whirls around to chase him, grazer’s teeth flashing dangerously.

“He must not have been kept with cows,” I observe.

The man scrambles away and dives behind a line of barrels being loaded onto a nearby cart.

Paco sends one last kick in his direction. The exertion of this kick causes him to fart. As if he’s aware that it’s considered a rude bodily function and he’s pleased by the release of his gas, he wags his tail and continues to fart as he gallops down the street.

Becky covers her mouth with her hand.

“Donkeys are strange creatures,” I muse.

Waving his hat in surrender at our retreating jackass, the bystander who attempted to catch him steps back from the barrel barrier, brushing himself off before he walks away.

I pat Becky’s hand where it rests inside my arm. “If Paco allows himself to be caught, I’d be surprised. And if anyone actually does manage to capture him, I’d be more surprised if they can successfully hold him for any length of time.”

Becky tips her head, no doubt recalling how many times Paco has escaped from every stall and fence gate we’ve set him behind. “Fair points.”

This time when I nudge her to move with me, she shows no hesitation, and I help her mount the steps of the boardwalk that runs along the strip of store fronts on this side of the street.

She turns as if to head to our destination, the general store. But because her arm is locked with mine, I’m able to gently redirect and guide her into the bakery.

My chest fills with a new emotion when Becky looks up at me, a glimmer sparkling in her eyes. “You’re sweet, Will.”

The baker does a double take as we approach her counter. To a smiling Becky, she exclaims a somewhat surprised, “You must be a friend of Stella's!”

Becky’s smile tinges with polite regret. “Sorry, don’t know a Stella.”

“Ah. Well, her man likes to take her in here a lot too,” the baker says, nodding her head at me.

“I can see why a man would,” Becky says agreeably, squeezing my arm as she gazes around at all the prettily decorated dainties. “This man just earned himself so many brownie points.”

“What are brownie points?” I ask.

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