“What in the world happened? Something go down wrong?” Ty Senior asked.
I looked at Brock and nodded down to Blayze, moved my eyes to Ty and Kaylee, and then nodded to Blayze again.
Brock frowned and mouthed, What?
Clearly, I needed to work on my covert skills.
I leaned around Blayze’s back and whispered to Brock, “Blayze announced that his uncle Ty has a crush on Kaylee and something about a song he made up, right as she was taking a bite of salad.”
Brock pulled back and stared at me, and then he looked to Kaylee and his brother.
Then, he lost it, laughing, and I couldn’t help it; I followed right along.
Kaylee shot us both daggers as she quietly said, “I hate you.” Then, she proceeded to kick me under the table.
“What’s so funny?” Ty asked.
I wondered when Blayze would speak up, and he didn’t disappoint.
“I think Miss Kaylee swallowed her salad all wrong when I told her you had a crush on her. I know you said I’d have to walk to Billings if I didn’t stop singing my song, but we’re here now, so I want to sing it for her too.”
The entire table stilled—well, with the exception of Kaylee, who was groaning.
Ty stared at his nephew. “I do not have a crush on Kaylee, Blayze. We already went over this. And you’ll walk back home if you start that song.”
“What?” Kaylee asked, glaring at Ty now. “You went over this? When?”
Ty looked at her. “It was before we picked you both up. Blayze misunderstood something his daddy said. Right, Blayze?”
The little boy winked at his uncle and replied, “Right.” He leaned across the table and whispered loudly, “We’re tellin’ a white lie, ain’t that right, Uncle Ty?”
This time Ty moaned, and Kaylee tried to keep from laughing.
“Well, moving on from that conversation,” Stella said with a huge smile, “girls, I’d love to get some shopping in while we’re here, if you’re both up for it.”
“Shopping? I am always up for shopping,” Kaylee stated.
Stella giggled, as did I.
The rest of dinner was spent with the men talking about ranching, bulls, horses, and what they were going to plant in the north pasture. Stella and I talked about me starting a garden, possibly offering a few riding lessons, and she even offered to board one or two of their horses in my barn for the lessons. I told her about how excited I was to start my new job. Then, I played tic-tac-toe with Blayze to keep him occupied while we waited for the check. Brock picked up the tab and told his father he could get it next time, to which his father argued back that Brock had said that last time he’d picked up the check.
I couldn’t help but notice how Ty’s mood had seemed to slip. He hardly said a word the rest of the night. After dinner, he mentioned something about heading back to the hotel and meeting up with a few friends for some drinks.
Brock invited me to go along with him and Blayze to see the bulls, and that made both me and Blayze happy campers. Stella and Kaylee excused themselves and acted like two schoolgirls as they set off for their shopping trip.
“You sure you don’t want to go with Mom and Kaylee?” Brock asked as we headed toward Ty’s truck. He was letting Brock use it since he would be with friends.
“I’m positive. I’d rather spend the time with you and Blayze.”
The way Blayze smiled up at me made my chest squeeze tightly with adoration. This boy had a way of wrapping you around his little finger.
As we walked along and looked at the bulls, Brock gave me their stats.
Ruthless Outlaw had been ridden the full eight seconds only once in the last six outs. Brock was the one who had gone the full eight on him last. Pride bubbled up inside me.
Steel Bullet was a spitfire bull. Small, but he packed a lot of power. Brock loved riding him.
“What did it mean when your father said one of the bulls was a left-hand delivery?”
“When we get to the event center tomorrow, I’ll show you. But basically, it means that the bull is left-handed, so to speak. He likes coming out of the chutes on his left side. Most bulls are left-handed. So, most of the bulls you see tomorrow will be a left-hand delivery.”
I nodded. “And him turning away from your hand?”
Brock smiled. He seemed to like me asking questions.
“If I’m right-handed, I’ve got my hand in my bull strap like this.” He motioned like his hand was slipping under a strap. “If the bull turns away from my hand, or to the left, he’s turning away from me. If he turns into my hand, goes to the right, he’s turning into me. Most guys like it when the bull turns toward his hand.”