Page 52 of The Rogue

Roger subtly inspects each one and smiles down at the boy with pride. “Good job, buddy.”

Absently, I pick at a leaf, rubbing the smooth texture between my fingers, watching this happy kid do one of the many things he does best. Melt my heart.

I don’t envy that his childhood is surrounded by dependable grownups who will teach and protect him. But I do wonder what that's like. And if I ever have kids, will I have the means to do the same?

About one hour into an uneventful tour and way past the feeling of being babysat, I’m ready to take this kid home. When I mentioned I wanted a tour, I hoped it would be a little less touristy and a bit more personal.

Even Jackson looks bored. And he’s always raving about the ranch.

And some creek.

As if reading my mind, he tugs my hand while Roger explains livestock care and feeding. “I wish Dad gave you the tour. He’s a lot more fun.”

Doubtful.

We’re in the feeding shed, where buckets are stacked next to other feeding supplies for the smaller pasture. Apparently, after this, Roger plans on taking us to the larger one—and to be frank—I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.

“Hey, why don’t we head home? Looks like it’s going to rain soon anyway.” I look up at the grey clouds. “We could have popsicles and watch cartoons?”

Jackson’s deep in thought, staring off into the distance, then turns his head up to me, a mischievous spark lighting his face. “I’ve got a better idea.”

“Better than popsicles and cartoons?”

He nods, then whispers. “Follow my lead.”

I narrow my eyes, keeping my voice low. “Wiggles, are we about to go rogue?”

He shrugs. “I am. You’re just stuck with me.”

I think Ilovethis kid.

While I’m in my head, unsure if I should be proud or concerned that I’m a bad influence, Jackson drops my hand and is on the move, tiptoeing his way around the shed behind Roger.

When the man stands, I circle in front of him. “Wait. Show me that again. So you just fill these little buckets with anything?”

“Depends on who we’re feedin’. This here’s for the goats.”

I nod with interest, chancing a glance behind the old man. And oh…no, I really wish I’d asked what he was planning.

Jackson winds his little foot and kicks the stack of empty buckets. They clatter to the ground, bouncing and rolling in every direction. The sound echoes off the walls, startling livestock, causing a commotion.

Roger’s on his feet and out of the shed. “Stay here,” he shouts over the noise, closing the gate behind him.

“What did you do?” I hiss at the kid.

Jackson giggles as he races to the gate, pulling it open, then waving me over. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Hurry!” He pulls me along.

Jackson and I bolt across the pasture, leaving behind a frazzled cowboy.

I wince. I’m in so much trouble for that.

But it’s all worth it when I look at this little boy’s face once we’re in the clear. He’s absolutely glowing with joy.

Worth it.

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