Page 33 of Holiday Hire

The truck engine revs, and I turn toward it.

The boys and Phoebe wave as they drive away from the house.

I wave back and watch it disappear through the gates.

Jagger mocks, "You've got the hots for your nanny."

"Shut up, you idiots," I order and then stomp away from them. I step into the barn, and the scent of hay flares in my nostrils. I grip a wooden pole and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself.

"Immature idiots," I mumble, then open the gate.

"Hey, buddy," I coo, grabbing Calypso's bridle. He nuzzles my shoulder, relaxing me.

I spend a few minutes with him, then lead him out of the barn, taking him to the other corral so I don't need to deal with my brothers.

Like always, I lose myself in my work. At one point during the day, I spot Phoebe carrying in groceries. At other times, she's with Mom. I'm careful not to give her any attention.

When the boys arrive home, they race to the barn and saddle up their horses.

Phoebe appears and stands between two stakes with red T-shirts wrapped around them. She has a big stick and drags it through the sand.

The boys ride over on their horses, and I join Phoebe.

She points to a thirty-foot-tall river birch. "Race to the tree, steer your horse around it, then rush back here. The first to cross this line is the winner. Understood?"

"Easy-peasy," Wilder claims with the same cocky grin on his face he wore at breakfast.

Ace's expression turns serious. He leans forward on his horse and mutters, "Eat my dust, Wilder."

Phoebe arches her eyebrows at me, biting her smile. Then she asks, "Do you know how to whistle?"

I grin. "Can you be a cowboy if you can't whistle?"

She laughs. "Is that a rule?"

"Yep."

Her smile expands. "Good to know. Boys, you can start when your dad whistles on the count of three. Ready?"

"I was born ready!" Wilder exclaims, positioning his horse next to Phoebe.

"Count down!" Ace orders, and moves his horse right to the line, then focuses on the tree.

Phoebe catches my eye, steps back, and counts. "Three. Two. One."

I whistle as loud as possible, and it cuts through the air.

The boys take off, their horses neck and neck.

Phoebe asks, "Who's going to win?"

"Not sure," I admit, not taking my eyes off the boys.

They get to the tree, and Wilder leans into his turn. Ace doesn't lean enough and loses ground.

"Damn it! I've been working with Ace on that turn," I state.

"What did he do wrong?" she asks as Wilder comes charging at us, Ace four feet behind him.

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