Page 90 of Lost Trust

Her eyes flash.

She shakes her head and keeps walking. “Sneaky bastard.”

I follow her toward the table with a grin I can’t quite wipe off my face.

Marina

Royce insists on walking us home after dinner.

I tell him it’s unnecessary. The cabin is barely a ten-minute walk from the main house, and I’ve made the trip plenty of times by myself. But he only gives me that stubborn look and falls into step beside me like the decision has already been made.

Ryder doesn’t care either way.

He’s too busy skipping down the path ahead of us, his little boots kicking up dust as he goes.

“Ryder,” I call, “stay where I can see you.”

He slows down for approximately five seconds before he’s skipping again.

I shake my head, fighting a smile.

When I look back at Royce, he’s watching Ryder with an amused expression.

“Do you really think I should let him start riding sheep?”

“Honestly?” He brings his eyes to me. “Yes.”

“You answered that way too fast.”

“Because it’s the truth,” he says slowly.

“I don’t think he’s ready.”

“He’s not the one who isn’t ready.”

My eyebrows pull together. “He’s four.”

“You know as well as I do that kids can start training for entry-level rodeo activities like mutton bustin’ and dummy roping as young as three.”

I exhale through my nose. “I know.”

Ryder squeals ahead of us when he sees a chipmunk run across the path.

“I just …” I hesitate. “He’s been asking. A lot. And I’ve avoided it.”

“You can’t avoid it forever.”

I know he’s right. I’m just avoiding the inevitable.

“What age were you when you started training?” he asks.

I glance at him. I know exactly what he’s getting at. “I was in leadline classes when I was two.”

His brows lift.

“But I didn’t actually start barrel training until after my dad left and I went to live with my grandparents.”

He nods slowly.