Page 47 of September’s Cowboy Travis

“That thing deserves it,” Travis said.

I elbowed him.

Beau handed Travis a lead rope while he brought the second horse down. Both animals were broad through the chest, with thick necks and heavy feet that made a dull thud against the pavement.

“They're beautiful,” I said.

Beau's expression softened when he looked toward them. “They're good boys.”

Travis glanced at me. “Don't encourage him.”

“I'm starting to understand why he likes the horses better than you.”

“Everybody likes the horses better than him,” Beau said.

I laughed.

We spent the next hour helping Beau walk the horses along the route planned for the festival wagon. The town committee wanted the Clydesdales accustomed to the banners, hay bales, and other decorations before the streets filled with people.

Beau didn't have to do much with them. A quiet word or a small shift of the lead was usually enough.

I watched one of the horses hesitate near a flapping banner outside the hardware store. Beau stopped with him instead of pulling, let the horse look, then walked forward when the animal relaxed.

“You're patient,” I said.

Beau shrugged. “It’s more effective than fighting with two thousand pounds.”

Travis laughed. “That's his secret. Lazy.”

Beau gave him a flat look. “Want to take him?”

“Nope.”

“Didn't think so.”

I smiled as we continued down the street.

Beau was quieter than Travis, but the two of them worked together without needing much conversation. Travis moved a temporary sign before Beau reached it. Beau took one horse while Travis handled the other around a delivery truck. Nobody discussed who should do what.

Watching them made it easy to understand why Travis had listened when Beau talked to him after the rodeo, even if he'd complained about it afterward.

Near the Mercantile, an older man stepped out carrying a box of decorations and stopped when he saw Travis.

“Well, Cole. Haven't seen you hauling anything out of Ruby's lately that required a designated driver.”

The joke wasn't very clever. I looked at Travis.

A month ago, I would have expected his jaw to tighten. Maybe hear him snap back with a smart reply.

He took the box out of the man's hands instead. “Where do you want this?”

The man blinked, then pointed toward his truck. “Over there.”

Travis carried it away. That was it. No argument, no explanation.

The man wandered back inside.

I caught up with Travis by the tailgate. “You're not going to say anything?”