A perverse thought came over him. “Like a football? Somehow I’m thinking you don’t want me to punt the kid.” When Trace looked uneasy, he rolled his eyes. “Just go get on your horse, Muldoon,” he said dryly, not moving a muscle. If he moved, he might jostle the kid and wake him up. And then, only God knew what came next.
“Loosen up,” Trace advised, putting one boot in the stirrup and hauling himself up, settling into the saddle with the ease of someone who was born for it. He grinned down, showing some humor about the situation now. “Kids are like animals. They sense fear.”
“Then this kid’s gonna be sensing a lot,” he muttered to himself. To Trace, he said, “Start your warm-up. And pay attention. The faster you get through this circuit without screwing up, the faster you’re done.”
“Yes, sir.” With a mock tip of his hat, Trace turned Lad around to begin their warm-up.
Red watched for a bit, stiff and unsure. Then, when the kid didn’t seem to realize someone besides his father was holding him, he grew bolder and started to walk a little, pacing the length of the short side of the arena, checking for better angles to watch the action. When that didn’t disturb the child, he went all out and shifted him to his shoulder, settling with slow, steady movements until he found a position that was comfortable for both of them.
“He likes movement. Walking will keep him happier than standing still,” Trace called as he made a quick turn, bringing Lad to a full stop, dust flying around the horse’s legs.
“Works for me.” Red wondered how the hell Trace would handle single fatherhood while working on the ranch. Great place to raise kids, sure. Wide open space to roam, lots of fresh air. Safe and secure. But most ranchers had wives. Someone who stayed home with the kids full-time. He had a sister, naturally, but she had a job of her own and couldn’t always drop what she was doing.
No, he had two sisters, he corrected himself. Not that the other one was much help, living out in California.
And for reasons he didn’t want to contemplate, that rankled him. That Peyton was carrying the whole load herself. Yes, Trace was helping now, but the majority of the business rested solely on her shoulders. Though she seemed comfortable with the responsibility, it was still a weight she carried alone. Where had her siblings been when she fought against her mama so hard for the right thing? After her mother’s death, when she was dealing with grief and anger and a crooked trainer all at once?
Alone. And he hated that knowledge.
He heard the crunch of tires on the packed dirt and looked behind him. From the opened hanger-style doors, he could see Peyton’s Jeep pull up. He turned back quickly to watch how Lad handled the extra distraction, but the horse was too busy playing to Trace’s signals to even notice.
Excellent.
Peyton’s door shut quietly and she approached. He didn’t have to turn and watch to know it. He was as tuned in to her presence as Lad was to Trace’s, humiliating as that was to admit.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest picture,” she purred, hopping up to stand on the lowest rung of the gate near him. “The perfect image of domesticity.”
“Thank God you’re here.” Almost as if he realized there was a way out, the fear he’d originally felt when Trace handed over the precious bundle of baby boy bubbled back to the surface. He wasn’t about to pretend any longer. It wasn’t about showing he was capable of handling the kid. It was about getting the use of his arms back. “Here, take him.”
Peyton shook her head and made no move to reach for the kid. “Nope. You’re doing just fine. Getting the hang of it.”
“I’m not getting the hang of anything.” As if sensing his discomfort, the child shifted in his arms, a slow stretch, the way Red always felt in the morning as he woke up. “Okay, not funny anymore. He’s waking up.”
“Oh no.” Peyton grinned at him. “Whatever will we do?”
“This isn’t funny,” he shot back. “I don’t know what to do. Should I put him down?”
She sighed and smiled, rubbing a hand gently over the child’s bald head. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re fine.” She gave him a questioning look. “Have you never held a baby before?”
“No. Never. Why should I start now?” Nearly hysterical, he edged toward her. “Just take him.”
“But I think you look so cute,” she teased, her voice rising a few octaves in what mimicked baby talk. “The baby is a great accessory. Really smoothes out those rough edges. Who’s the cutest pretend daddy ever?”