“Want to watch the horsey?” I tucked a strand of hairbehind Ivy’s ear. “Papa is gentling a horse that Matt rescued. Want to watch?”
She gave a solemn, sleepy nod that turned into a sudden little squeal when she spotted Opie’s pet—a fat hen wearing a tutu and a straw hat tied under her beak.
What in the world is Opie up to now?
“Ms. Cwuck!” Ivy crowed, kicking to be let down. I set her on her feet,and she launched toward Opie, who scooped the hen like she was a toy poodle and not a chicken with opinions.
“Well,look who woke up pretty,” Opie singsonged, his smile as bright as usual. His jeans were paint-splattered in three colors, and his T-shirt read BAWK OFF in glitter vinyl. He tilted Ms. Cluck so Ivy could pat the feathery bustle. “You like her skirt? She’s wearing sunflower yellow with a trim of gingham ribbon. We’re going seasonal, darling.”
Ozzie leaned an elbow on the fence beside him, shaking his head but grinning. “Seasonal. For a chicken.”
“Not just a chicken.” Opie tipped the straw hat on Ms. Cluck’s head with two fingers. “An influencer. Tell him, Ms. C. We’re going viral.”
Ms. Cluck blinked at us, unimpressed, and let out a soft chortle.
Ivy giggled and smoothed the tutu like she was checking for wrinkles. “Pwetty,” she whispered. “Isn’t she pwetty, Daddy?”
I kept a straight face. “She’s stunning, Bug.”
Opie winked at me as though he figured I wasn’t fooling him. “We’ve been doing little livestreams. We’re calling it No “Clucks Given”. At first, I started it for fun to keep me occupied while Daddy’s honing those muscles on the ranch, but folks have been tuning in for the couture and staying for the clucks. Somebody DM’d me to make a hen harness and aparty hat set. A commission. Can you imagine? My big break is coming courtesy of poultry.”
“You should do it.” I grinned. Just imagining the whole thing—Opie trying to get Ms. Cluck to stand still while wrestling with a tape measure—was too damn good. “Can’t have Ms. Cluck be the only well-dressed hen in the county.”
Opie gasped, hand to his chest like I’d just knighted him. “Hudson Granger, don’t tempt me with success. Ms. Cluck here deserves to be the face of a movement. Why should Paris have all the runways when we’ve got Bristlecone Springs’ finest feathers?”
Ms. Cluck fluffed her wings like she’d understood, the tutu bouncing, and Ivy squealed, clapping her hands. “Pwitty chicken!”
“You want a pet chicken too, Ivy?” Opie asked. “Because I have one that looks just like Ms. Cluck that you can raise.”
My face dropped, and I shook my head, making a sign with my hands for Opie to abort that mission. Sure, hens were cute, but they crapped all over the place. Training them to use a litter box wasn’t as easy as training dogs or cats. I’d heard enough complaints from Lawson before Opie finally got Ms. Cluck to use hers.
Why would he want to inflict that torture on Matty and me?
“Yay, Daddy, can I have the chicken?” Ivy looked up at me with big eyes. “Daddy puh-leeze.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. We don’t have the time to raise a chicken right now. Maybe when you get older and are more responsible.”
“So tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
“Don’t worry, lovebug.” Opie ruffled her hair. “Daddy can take you over to play with Ms. Cluck anytime.”
“Opie, you’re killing me,” I groaned.
The mischievous boy grinned. “If you can’t make it, I know one very dedicated stepdad who would do anything for Ivy.”
Beyond them in the paddock, the horse Gray and Lawson were working had opinions of his own. He was stocky and bright, with a hide of red that looked lit from inside, but the sheen broke across an old scar tracking down his flank, pale against the copper coat. He wore a snaffle and a long line.
Lawson had him circling, but the gelding wasn’t in the mood for circles. He shied at the far corner, showed a flash of white around his eyes, then tossed his head hard enough for the line to sing. There were patches along his neck where hair hadn’t grown back smooth, like someone had yanked at him too rough, too often.
Ivy climbed a lower rail and hooked her elbows over the top one, and I steadied her with an arm. Her little boots—another gift from Matty—knocked softly against the boards. Every time the horse crow-hopped, she jumped and then laughed, like she was on a roller coaster. The sound cut right through my chest, pure, easy joy.
Lawson clucked once, and the colt surged, tried to bolt through the far side where the fence shadow darkened the dirt. Gray was already there, flag up but gentle, body turned in anticipation. The colt danced sideways, bunched like a spring, then froze and snorted. He wasn’t mean, but he carried his fear like a spark in dry grass. The kind that could catch.
Opie whistled low. “He’s a spicy meatball, but how hot do our men look working with him? Watching Daddy makes me want to lick—eek!” He rubbed his side from Ozzie elbowing him in the rib.
“Remember the baby,” Ozzie hissed.
