Hearing Tucker’s feet pitter-patter against the hardwood floor as he runs down the hall, and I don’t respond to the message. I don’t need to; I told him our plans, and that’s all that really needed to be said.
When Tucker rounds the corner, I bite back a laugh at the ridiculous outfit he’s chosen for the day. He’s in a pair of neon green shorts with sharks all over them, a navy-blue shirt with a giant chicken in the center, and cowboy boots. Boy cannot match to save his life, and I love it so much. Finn always gets annoyed by it, insisting that he change into something that does match, but I don’t know why it matters. Let the kid wear what he wants. It’s not like we’re going to town. Most of the time, he’s literally playing here at the house or somewhere on the ranch. Who cares if he looks ridiculous in cowboy boots and shorts?
I’m a firm believer in letting kids be kids for as long as possible, and letting them express themselves however they want—within reason. If this outfit speaks to Tucker in some way, who the hell am I to get in the way of that?
“Ready, T?”
He punches his little closed fist into the air with enthusiasm, yelling, “Ready!”
Rustling the hair atop his head as I walk over to where the keys hang, I swipe mine off its designated hook. “Okay, let’s hit the road.”
I consider bringing Bubba, but a quick glance out the back door shows me he’s paws deep in his newest Kong toy and loving life, so I decide against it. He can hang with the chickens while we’re gone. The drive from the house to the barn takes less than three minutes, but by the time I park and we climb out, Tucker’s wincing as he alternates peering up at me and staring down at the ground.
“What’s with the face, my guy?” I ask, hoisting the backpack over my shoulder.
He kicks at the dirt with his boot. “I changed my mind,” is all he mumbles.
“About what? You don’t wanna draw horses?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Okay, then changed your mind about what?”
Tucker peers up at me, eyes squinting from the sun, and I can’t help but notice yet again how much he looks like his dad. “I wanna draw by the creek,” he says with a huff.
I shrug, a grin tugging on my lips. “Let’s do it!”
“Really?” His little eyes widen, and his smile showcases all his straight, white teeth.
“Heck yeah, little man. We go where the muse takes us.”
Tuckers brows scrunch in an adorably confused way. “What’s a muse?”
“It’s your inspiration as an artist.”
“But I’m not an artist.”
I squat down to get eye level with him. “You’re absolutely an artist, Tuck, and a damn good one. Never forget that.”
He lets out a small giggle. “You said a bad word, Ash.”
“You know what? I did.” I chuckle. “Oops.”
“It’s okay. Daddy says bad words sometimes too.”
“What a nice surprise,” a deep, twangy voice off to the side says, startling me.
Glancing to the right, I watch as Gentry saunters over to us. Dark shades shield his eyes from the sun, and he’s wearing the same Stetson I always see him wear. The genes in the Moore family are truly unfair. I’ve never met a more attractive family in my damn life.
“Hello, sir.” I stand up, offering him a smile. “Tucker’s in the mood to draw today. Was going to see if it’s okay if we borrow one of the horses to ride down to the creek with?”
“Enough with the sir crap,” he grunts. “You can call me Gentry. And ’course, it’s okay if you take a horse. Need help tackin’ one up?”
“Uh, sure. If you’ve got time.” I breathe out a laugh. “Finn showed me what to do before, but I always mess it up. Maybe one day I’ll know what I’m doing, but today is not that day.”
“C’mon.” Gentry nods toward the barn, and Tucker and I follow him inside. “No worries, son. It can be confusin’ at first, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll be able to do it in your sleep.”
Tucker and I watch in awe as Gentry gets the horse ready to ride, fitting her with all the equipment she’s gotta wear. He does it so quickly, it’s impressive.
