Page 63 of A Montana Rodeo Star

Huh. Good point. Brent watched with additional interest as the kid nodded even though his shoulders slumped. Tate scooped the hat from the ground, dusted it on his leg, then placed it on the boy’s head. The kid glanced up at Brent, nodded, then headed off to where a truck had just pulled up.

When he was out of earshot, Brent let out a whistle. “You’re pretty good at that.”

“Not better than you,” Tate mused.

Brent snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I would have told the kid that it’s important to beat the other competitors. That wouldn’t have done him any good.”

“Maybe,” Tate agreed, “but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You have a knack with teaching these kids. You phrase things in a way that speaks to them. I don’t know how you do it.”

Brent shrugged off the compliment. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Have you considered sticking around and teaching? I think you’d be good at it.”

Another snort escaped his throat. “Yeah. I can see it now. My parents would totally get a kick out of their son teaching others to risk their necks in the arena.”

“At least you’re not risking yours?” They shared an amused look before Brent turned to scan the area.

“Where’s Faith?”

Tate’s jovial demeanor shifted to annoyance. Okay, he might have been willing to let Brent date his sister, but he still wasn’t thrilled with the notion. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah right. You always know where your sisters are. She out running errands? School hasn’t started yet.”

Tate turned to gather the materials he’d been using with the kid. “I think she’s sick.”

“Really?” Brent strode after him. “Sick? She didn’t tell me that.”

The man glanced at him with what could only be considered a bored expression. “Yeah. Been holed up in her room most of the day. I don’t know. Maybe she ate something that didn’t agree with her at the barbeque.”

“That was two days ago.”

Tate shrugged again. “She hasn’t exactly been up and about since then. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Brent turned to find her when Tate’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“You have practice. Go check on her after—on your own time.”

He couldn’t fight the frustration that threatened to explode in his chest. This was Tate’s sister. Wouldn’t he want Brent to check in on her?

The man in question answered the question before Brent could ask. “Look, she’s fine. She’s not dying. She’s coming down to get things to eat here and there. If the situation was dire, I would have taken her to the hospital myself.” Tate’s expression left no room for argument. He had a job to do and Brent wasn’t going to persuade him otherwise.

Finally, Brent nodded. “Yeah, okay. But we have to cut this one short. I’m going to check on her whether you like it or not.”

Maybe it was Brent’s imagination, but he could have sworn he saw Tate’s lips twitch just the slightest bit.

They got to work, spending a lot of time on core exercises. Since he’d gotten his footwork squared away, most of his points were coming from the movements he made in the saddle—the fluidity of it all.

By the end of it, his muscles were screaming but Brent refused to pay them any attention.

Faith belonged to him and she hadn’t even told him that she wasn’t feeling well.

Belong to him.

It was the first time he’d thought of her in that respect. No, they weren’t married. And yes, their relationship was still very new. But he wanted her to know that she could come to him anytime she needed something. And if she was feeling sick, he would be first in line to bring her chicken noodle soup and tea.

Faith’s sisters were still out on the porch when he hurried toward the house. Their eyes roved over him appreciatively before Lydia jerked her chin toward the house. “She’s either in her room or in the kitchen.”

When he stared at her blankly, she smiled sweetly at him. “Upstairs, first door on the left.”