Page 72 of Small Town Frenzy
Griffin looks back when we approach. “Hey, Dad,” he says, turning around. “I see you met Cricket.”
“I did. Ms. Dover was telling me about her big guy here.”
Griffin’s eyes shoot to mine—concern and panic startingto cloud them over. “She was?” He gulps for the entire universe to hear.
I hand him the basket of carrots. “I was saying how you recently met Jacob, but you two already get along like a house on fire.”
“House on fire,” Jacob repeats and giggles, hanging like a monkey from the rail.
I add, “Your dad brought carrots.”
“Just call out the word, and they’ll come running,” Thomas says, glancing at me with what appears to be a permanent smile on his face.
Squatting down next to Jacob, he tells him, “If we yell the word carrots really loud, the horses will come visit.” Jacob holds his arms up for Griffin to hold him. My heart is clenched from the trust he’s given. Griffin hands him the basket, then lifts him on top of his shoulders, securing him by holding his legs. Jacob accidentally bangs the basket against Griffin’s head. He winces but grins at me. “Okay, Champ, you ready?”
“Ready?”
Together, they yell, “Carrots,” several times. The depth of Griffin’s tone drowns out the pitch of Jacob’s voice, but they work as a team, and it’s adorable to see.
A black horse comes from a distance, galloping from behind a lighter, brown-colored horse. Both head in our direction. Griffin says, “The brown horse is named Sunrise.”
Jacob holds a carrot and calls, “Sunrise?”
Giving them space, I stand behind them next to his dad. Griffin says, “The other one is called Nightfall.” Sunrise makes it to the fence, where they step up.
I don’t have a lot of experience with horses despite the stable of ten at the Dover property, so I gnaw on the side of my cheek, a little anxious.
“He’s in good, capable hands,” Thomas says. “They won’t hurt him.”
The timbre of his voice is calming, and I find myself gravitating toward easily trusting him. “He is. Jacob’s taken right to him as well.”
“Does he like baseball?”
I laugh lightly, glancing at him. “It’s his favorite.”
“That works out well. How about you?”
“I manage operations for the Armadillos and the stadium.” I hate how I switched into business mode. I don’t have to sell anything, not even myself for Greene approval. I just need to tone it down and enjoy the day.
“By choice?”
“Not at first, but I wouldn’t trade it now. I’ve come to appreciate the sport more recently.”
“Is that how you and Griffin met? From that all-star fundraiser?”
Like his other son, I’m tripped up over how to answer this question. The honest response is not one I’m particularly looking to talk about.
“Hey, Dad?” Griffin nods for him to join them. “I was telling Jacob how you can neigh just like a horse.”
“Sure can.” As he neighs, messing around with them and causing my kid to lose it laughing, Griffin smiles at me.
He mouths, “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I silently reply. Better than okay, actually. When I look at the large grassy pasture and the land ahead past the barn, it looks so much like our property, which isn’t a surprise, but the buildings and the vibe feel less manicured, less picture-perfect, and more lived-in. It makes me feel like I can be myself here. I’m not sure I can be when I’m with my family, only in my own home.
The rumble of an off-road utility vehicle draws my attentionbefore I see it coming from a deeper part of the land. A woman with a wide-brimmed hat and a man with his own on his head sit inside the open-topped vehicle. A bobble of blond curls is barely seen in the back seat, and I don’t see the baby strapped to his chest until they park and get out.
I’m thinking this is his sister’s family. I remember her from her rodeo days and being awed that she was allowed to barrel race. I didn’t dare dream of being allowed to do something like that.
