Page 275 of Josephine and Clay

Henry throws both hands into the air. "See? He keeps making it worse."

Theodore lets out an exasperated sigh that sounds far too much like his father.

Clay glances at me for help.

I smile and take a sip of lemonade.

He's on his own.

After ten years of marriage, I've learned that rescuing him only encourages them.

The annual Buckhorn Rodeo stretches around us, packed with families, vendors, livestock, and enough noise to carry clear across town. Kids race between tents with faces smeared from funnel cakes. Country music blasts from the arena speakers. Somewhere behind me, a horse protests being brushed.

The whole place buzzes with energy.

And right in the middle of it stands Clay.

Ten years ago, he was trying to figure out who he wanted to be after bull riding.

Now people stop him every few steps.

A teenager waves from the scholarship booth. One of the instructors from the youth riding program catches his attention near the practice arena. A volunteer from the charity auction points toward a table that needs more bids.

Clay built every one of those programs. He spent years pouring himself into this town until Buckhorn stopped feeling like the place he landed and became the place he helped shape.

Theodore is still explaining competition classifications.

Henry is still convinced his brother belongs in a courtroom.

Clay listens to both of them, nodding along as if they're presenting evidence in a case that matters to national security.

Then a familiar grin spreads across his face.

I know that grin.

"Boys," Clay says, draping an arm around each of their shoulders, "I think there's only one way to settle this."

Neither of them looks convinced.

Clay turns toward me. "Let's ask your mother."

I laugh before either twin can protest.

Theodore groans, Henry throws both hands up in victory, and Clay looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Clay catches my eye from across the group and flashes a grin that still hits exactly where he intends it to. Ten years haven't done a thing to dull that particular weapon.

Before either twin can restart the debate, a familiar voice carries across the rodeo grounds. "McCoy family photo in five minutes!"

A chorus of complaints rises from every direction.

I laugh into my lemonade.

This is going to be a disaster.

Five minutes later, I discover I wasn't nearly pessimistic enough.

The photographer stands on a hay bale, waving his arms with the determination of a man trying to herd feral cats. "Everybody closer together!"