Taking the Reins(31)
“No waiting necessary. Taking a break?”
It was then Red realized Trace was wearing a harness or something that strapped over his shoulders. But when Trace turned around, that was no harness he’d ever seen before. Resting against Trace’s chest, strapped down tight, was a sleeping baby.
“What the hell?”
Trace glanced down, then gave a shrug. “Emma’s sick as a dog and can’t keep him.”
“Where’s your sister then?” He didn’t want to treat Peyton like a babysitter, and he knew she had important work to do. But this work was just as important, and without it, they’d all look like jackasses at the rodeo. Not to mention, it’d be easier for her to keep an eye on the munchkin in the house while she did paperwork than while Trace was riding, for cripes’ sake.
“She’s in town running errands.”
“Convenient, that,” he muttered. “Well . . .” He stared at the black harness that cradled the boy. It actually looked pretty ingenious, though he’d never admit that out loud. “What the hell kind of contraption is that?”
“A Bjorn.” When Red gave him a look, he shrugged. “That’s what Emma called it. She wears it when she’s doing work around the house and he doesn’t want to be put down. Suggested I use it while I get stuff done.”
“That’s all well and good, but you can’t ride a horse wearing that thing.” He glanced around, saw nobody else nearby but the ranch hand holding Lad’s reins. “Can’t we hand him over to someone else for now? Or put him down somewhere?”
Trace looked mildly horrified. “Put him down? He’s not a sack of potatoes.”
“Calm yourself down, Daddy. Lord,” he muttered, taking his hat off and beating his leg with it. “What do you suggest, then?”
Trace started the complex process of unhooking the carrier thing and sliding it off his chest without so much as jostling the baby. Red bit back a smile. Trace might look like a rough cowboy, might have the rumored past to back it up. A buckle bunny at every rodeo, all that. But he loved his son in a way Red hadn’t seen before, especially while doing it all on his own. Lot of men might take up a serious resentment toward their child for having to go it alone. He would know. His father’d been one of them. But Trace took to fatherhood like a duck to water, from what Red could see.
Trace muttered a soft oath and twisted his left arm until it was caught behind him, the right still supporting the child’s weight against his chest. “Uh. Okay. I think I’m stuck. Little help here?”
A slightly awkward duck, then.
Chuckling, Red helped him slip the harness off from the back so Trace could keep a grip on the kid in front.
“So what’s the plan?” Red frowned. “You can’t afford to give up practice time. The two of you aren’t entirely in sync yet. And you’ve only got a few days before you leave.”
“Oh, I know that much. I figured it all out.” He walked over to the side where a set of old aluminum bleachers were tucked against the wall, out of the way. A few more maneuvers and the child was out of the sling entirely. He set the harness down on a bench and cradled his son against his shoulder. “I’ll ride. You hold him.”
“You ride and I’ll—oh no. Hell no.” Red took a step back, bumping into the metal gate and wincing at the shriek it made. “You don’t want me holding him. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Understatement. Complete understatement.
“You’ll be fine. You’ve got steady hands. It’s easy. Look, he’s asleep.” Trace took another step toward him, smiling when Red countered with a step back. “You can’t seriously be afraid of a tiny kid, right? You take on thousand pound animals all day.”
“Any day of the week,” he agreed easily. “But I know what I’m doing there. I’m a horse trainer, not a kid trainer.”
“Good, cause he doesn’t need training. Just holding.” He paused. “You want to explain to Peyton why we showed shit this weekend? All because you were scared to hold a baby that was fast asleep the whole time?”
Damn. Dammit all to hell and back. “I’m not explaining crap. Show me how to not break him.”
Trace transferred the lightweight bundle into his own arms—Jesus, humans actually started out this small?—explaining the few different ways to hold the kid without losing support of his head. “Use one of those holds and you’ll be good.” He peered at the sleeping infant cradled in his arms. “Just think of him like a football.”