Page 81 of Ride Me Reckless
Then Tessa turned toward me with a lazy smile. “You gonna carry all these groceries inside yourself, or should you let the pregnant lady pull her weight?”
“Absolutely not,” I said, throwing the door open. “You’re on light-bag duty only.”
She rolled her eyes as she climbed out. “That’s gonna get old real fast.”
We worked in sync, side by side, hauling brown paper bags up the steps and through the front door. Biscuit watched from the corral with mild interest, her tail flicking at the occasional fly like the world didn’t hinge on how many boxes of cereal we’d grabbed.
Tessa handed me a box of herbal tea and wiggled her eyebrows. “This is for you.”
I glanced down. “Chamomile?”
“Yep. To keep your blood pressure down before the baby comes. I figure we start early.”
I gave her a look. “What exactly are you expecting this kid to do to me?”
She grinned. “I heard rumors about how you were as a young boy. I’m just covering our bases.”
I barked a laugh and dropped the box onto the counter beside the bread and produce. “Damned good to know I’m already being pre-treated.”
She leaned against the fridge for a second, watching me sort apples into the bowl. “Hey, about Art…”
I paused, not quite tensing but not relaxed either. “Yeah?”
“If he gets you the right footage before the auction kicks off—videos, good photos, maybe even a walk-around—do you really think you could coach him through what to look for?”
I leaned one hip against the counter and nodded. “Sure. There are a few things you can’t fake in a picture. Hoof placement is one. A good bull’s feet ought to point straight, no splay or pigeon-toe. You want symmetry in the walk, too. Smooth, no limps, no short stepping.”
Tessa folded her arms, nodding slowly, like she was committing it all to memory. “What about their eyes? You always said animals show more in the eyes than people give credit for.”
“Exactly. Clarity, confidence, no dullness. If a bull’s eye looks glassy or shifty, that’s a red flag. And how he responds to being haltered and led? Huge. A breeder bull needs a steady temperament. You don’t want him spooking at every noise or dragging handlers around like he’s king of the mountain.”
She grinned again, softer this time. “I love when you talk cowboy.”
I chuckled, then gave her a quick side-eye. “You’re mocking me?”
“Only a little. But mostly I’m just glad we can still help him. And,” she said, brushing her fingers along the hem of my shirt, “I don’t have to be the only one crying in that doctor’s office if they say something ridiculously sappy.”
I reached for her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I hope they have Kleenex in the office.”
She laughed, and the sound filled the kitchen like sunlight.
We went back to unpacking, but something had settled between us—something sure and simple. We weren’t just figuring out how to balance work and parenthood and grocery budgets.
We had learned how todo thistogether.
I finished loading the last of the eggs into the fridge and wiped my hands on a dish towel. Tessa had perched barefoot on the arm of the couch, sipping a glass of ice water, and flipping through a brochure for that memory care place in town. Her brow was furrowed, but not in that way that meant something was wrong. Just thinking. Planning.
Hell, didn’t that feel like a gift?
I grabbed my phone and gave her a little nod toward the couch. “Sit with me for this?”
She looked up, surprised, but nodded. “You calling Art back?”
“Yep.” I sat down and patted the cushion beside me. She settled in close, shoulder brushing mine, and I could feel her watching me as I thumbed through my recent calls and hit redial.
Art picked up on the first ring. “Whitson here.”
“Hey Art, it’s Colt. I wanted to talk to you about the auction trip.”
