Cowboy After Dark

“Don’t know her well enough to suggest that. Nice idea, though.”

“Hey, I’m all about promoting romantic encounters for my brothers.”

“Speaking of romance, what’s up with you and Lexi? Rosie said Lex still has her apartment in town, and you’re living in a brand-new cabin out here.”

Cade sighed. “Yeah, and it’s not optimal. You do know that I’ve handed the decision over to her, right?”

“Hadn’t heard that. I live in Cody. Word doesn’t always travel that far.”

“Maybe that’s a blessing. Anyway, last summer she turned me down flat. So I told her she has to propose to me when she thinks we’re ready for that step.”

“Interesting concept. Do you feel ready?”

“Bro, I feel more ready than you can possibly imagine. But she’s holding off. It’s been subtly suggested that I need to show signs of domesticity.”

“Such as?”

“I think I’m supposed to spruce up the cabin, put pictures on the walls, stuff like that. Maybe buy a fancy holder for extra toilet paper, hang a sun catcher in the living room window. Cook some meals there. I never use the kitchen.”

Liam couldn’t help smiling. “For what it’s worth, my mother had that kind of discussion before she agreed to marry my stepfather. They trade off cooking the meals and cleaning the house. I know you can clean. Rosie made us all do it.”

“I can and I will. But I can’t cook worth a damn, and choosing artwork is not my area.”

“Not mine, either, but it’s Grady’s. Get him to help you find some stuff while he’s here.”

“Great idea.”

“And cooking just takes practice.”

Cade blew out a breath. “I suppose. I hate wasting food I ruined, but I hate not being married to Lexi even more, so I might as well burn some lasagna for the cause.” He slid back the bar holding the barn’s double doors. “Am I right that you and Hope have never gotten around to dating, even though you both live in Cody?”

“We have not.”

“Then I guess we need to make sure this evening ride is extra special. You could take a couple of our nifty battery-operated lanterns and hang one on each saddle horn. There should be some spares in the tack room.”

Liam breathed in the nostalgic mix of scents—horses, oiled leather and fresh straw. He’d missed this. “I noticed a lantern in our cabin, on the shelf where we used to keep the flashlights. How come? Don’t the kids all have flashlight apps on their phones?”

“I’m sure they do. But we found out real quick that if we let them keep their phones, we’d get nowhere.” Cade put the lanterns, constructed to look like old-fashioned kerosene ones, by the barn door. Then he and Liam transferred the necessary tack out to the hitching post.

“Couldn’t they just turn their phones off?”

“Oh, sure.” Cade handed Liam a lead rope, and they headed for the stalls. “We tried that. They’d shut them off during class, but every break they were texting and checking their social media.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had kids on my rafting trips carrying on because they couldn’t get a signal. They’ve missed seeing an eagle or a bull moose because they were fiddling with their phones.”

“I feel your pain. And it wouldn’t be so bad if it only affected the breaks between classes, but that’s not the case. They have trouble concentrating during the next class with all that junk in their heads. So now Rosie keeps all the phones at the house, and every night they get thirty minutes of phone time.”

“That’s strict. Do they pitch a fit?”

“You know, I thought for sure they would, but so far, no. We tested it on the first group in January, and after the shock of withdrawal, they seemed a lot less stressed. They’re relieved of the responsibility of constantly updating their status.”

“Bingo. Who came up with the solution?”

“Rosie, of course. She was willing to gamble that the kids would actually enjoy a break from their phones. New students are warned of the policy in advance, and nobody’s canceled because of it.”

“Some parents might enroll their kids just for that.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” He paused in front of adjoining stalls. “If you’ll take Navarre out first, I’ll follow with Isabeau.”

“Got it.” He spoke gently to the gelding as he went inside, clipped the lead rope on his halter and walked him out of the stall.

“These two have benefitted from having the students here,” Cade said as he followed with Isabeau. “Rosie and Herb weren’t riding them much, and now they get plenty of attention and exercise on a daily basis.”

“Looks like everybody’s benefitting from the academy.” He tied Navarre to the hitching post and picked up a brush to give the horse a quick grooming. “Rosie and Herb seem ten years younger. They need teenagers around.”

“And as a bonus, these kids are mostly well-adjusted.”

“Unlike us?” He worked through the familiar routine of saddling Navarre in the glow of the dusk-to-dawn light hanging over the barn door. Because he’d been trained years ago, he didn’t have to think about it much.

Cade laughed. “Sometimes I wonder how Rosie and Herb survived those years. The crap we pulled.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“You were no choir boy, either, bro.” Cade tightened the cinch on Isabeau’s saddle, and the mare snorted in protest. “Let’s not forget the fireworks you set off that damn near started a forest fire.”

“But they didn’t. And it was the only prank I ever tried. I wasn’t constantly putting rubber snakes in guys’ bunks like present company.”

“Harmless fun.”

“Says you. When my bare toes came in contact with that snake, I jumped out of bed so fast I whacked my head on the top bunk. Much harder and I would have been in the emergency room.”

“You did have a pretty nifty goose egg. Good thing Rosie had her traditional bag of frozen peas handy.”

“We went through a lot of frozen peas. We either ate them in Rosie’s tuna casserole or used them for an ice pack.” Resting his forearms on the saddle, he looked over at Cade and grinned. “Those were the days.”

“Yeah, they were. Do you miss ’em?”

“Maybe a little, but I wouldn’t want to be that age again. We were so clueless about everything.”

“No kidding. Especially women.” Cade grimaced. “Apparently I’m still pretty clueless in that department.”

“Ah, you’ll get there.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather not be ninety when it happens.”

“You won’t be.”

“Easy for you to say.”