Spur is at the round pen with a hammer in his hand, and he's stopped working to watch.
His mouth is pulling at the corner. "Ma'am, looks like your boy decided to take a bath with his dog."
"Looks like it."
"He's gonna ruin them boots."
"He's gonna learn somethin' about boots."
Spur grins and goes back to the fence rail.
I get to the trough. Nash is standing in waist-deep water with his arms around Diesel's neck, grinning up at me with wet hair plastered to his forehead. "Mama. Diesel needed a bath."
"Did he, now?"
"Yeah. He smelled like the kennel."
"So you got in the water trough with him."
"I had to. He was scared."
Diesel—who isn't scared and who has likely never been scared of water in his life—is happily paddling in his slow circle and looking pleased with himself.
I laugh again. I can't help it. "Boys will be boys, I guess."
I crouch down at the side of the trough, reach in, and push the wet hair off my son's forehead with my fingers.
His eyes are shining. Diesel is paddling. The trough water is cold against my wrist.
And the part of me that has been clenched shut for nearly two years cracks open in a way it hasn't cracked in a long time.
I'm crouched at the side of a livestock trough with my hand on my son's head, watching him laugh in cold water with a seventy-pound shepherd, and I'm so happy I can't see straight.
Garrett would've laughed his ass off over this.
I take my hand off Nash's forehead and stand up. "All right. Out. Both of you."
Diesel jumps out first, shakes thoroughly, and soaks me from the knees down in the process.
I laugh, but give the dog a stern look. "Diesel. Really?"
He wags his tail.
I haul Nash out by the back of his t-shirt.
He's heavier than he was a year ago. If I really think about it, he's heavier than he was a month ago. I lift him up the last bit and set him on the gravel, and he stands there dripping in his boots.
Spur ambles over from the round pen. He's grinning the slow way he grins when something has amused him. "You want a hand walkin' him back, ma'am?"
"I think I've got it, but thank you, Spur."
Spur looks down at Nash. "Buddy, next time, take your boots off first. You'll thank me later."
Nash, dripping, salutes him without irony. "Yes, sir."
Spur tips his hat at me and goes back to the round pen.
The bunkhouse screen door opens behind me and Banshee comes out onto the porch.
