wanted to raise Matt in a small town—a small town that wasn’t Lonesome Bend, Colorado.
“Are we going to look at the day-camp place now?” Matt asked, once he’d peeked into every corner of the office. He didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect.
Steven checked his watch. “The dealer said we’d have our new truck within an hour and a half,” he replied. “Why don’t we go back out to the ranch and wait for it to be delivered, then swing into town again and visit Creekside Academy?”
Matt liked that idea, and it was settled.
They headed back home, and when they got there and piled out of the ancient pickup, Zeke ran around and around in happy circles in the grass, glorying in his freedom or maybe just glad to be alive, and obviously a country kind of dog.
Two and a half hours later, the new vehicle was delivered, sky-blue and shiny, with the chrome gleaming fit to dazzle the eye. A second man followed in a small car, to give the driver a ride back.
Steven signed for his purchase, accepted the keys and waved the deliverymen off in the second car.
Matt, meanwhile, had climbed onto the running board, probably hoping to stick his face against the driver’s-side window and peer inside. Too bad he was so short.
Chuckling, Steven walked over, hooked the boy around the waist with one arm, and opened the truck door with the other. He hoisted Matt inside, and watched, grinning, as he plunked himself on the seat, gripped the wheel and made that time-honored, spit-flinging varoom-varoom sound kids use to mimic the roar of an engine.
“It won’t be long,” Matt crowed, steering speedily, “until I’m old enough to drive!”
The words saddened Steven a little, because he knew they were true. Like all kids, Matt would grow up way too soon.
“Yeah,” Steven agreed, with a laugh, “but as of today, you’re still too vertically challenged to see over the dashboard.”
“Varoom!” Matt yelled, undaunted.
Steven went to the other truck for Matt’s car seat, brought it over and installed it carefully in back of the new rig while the boy continued to “drive” up front. Zeke, evidently feeling left out of the action, put his front paws up on the running board and whined to get inside.
With a shake of his head, Steven finished rigging up the car seat, shut the door and went around to the other side, whistling for Zeke to follow.
He opened the door behind the driver’s seat and Zeke leaped right up, nimble as a pup, and sat panting happilyon the heretofore spotless leather upholstery, waiting for the next adventure to begin.
“Come on, buddy,” Steven said to Matt, when the kid didn’t move from behind the wheel. “Time to switch seats.”
“Can’t I ride in front, like I did in the old truck?” Matt asked. He sounded a touch on the whiny side—probably needed a nap—but since Steven knew the boy wouldn’t take one, he couldn’t see any sense in allowing himself to dream of an hour or two of peace and quiet when there was no hope of it happening.
“No,” Steven said firmly, “you can’t. Anyhow, Zeke will get lonely if he has to sit back here all by himself.”
Matt couldn’t argue with that logic. The dog’s well-being was at stake, after all.
So the boy scrambled between the front seats to the back and only sighed a couple of times while Steven was buckling him in.
“Let’s see how this thing runs,” Steven said, when Matt was secure.
Zeke had moved over next to Matt, probably lending moral support, and when Steven got into the truck and started it up, the dog’s big hairy head was blocking the rearview mirror. So Steven had to reach back and maneuver Zeke out of his way, a tricky proposition at best.
By the time they finally hit the road, Steven was starting to think they ought to save the visit to the day camp for another day, but he decided against the idea because their wheels were already turning and, besides, Matt was supposed to start on Monday
“Are we going to look at the day-camp place now?” Matt asked, once he’d peeked into every corner of the office. He didn’t sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect.
Steven checked his watch. “The dealer said we’d have our new truck within an hour and a half,” he replied. “Why don’t we go back out to the ranch and wait for it to be delivered, then swing into town again and visit Creekside Academy?”
Matt liked that idea, and it was settled.
They headed back home, and when they got there and piled out of the ancient pickup, Zeke ran around and around in happy circles in the grass, glorying in his freedom or maybe just glad to be alive, and obviously a country kind of dog.
Two and a half hours later, the new vehicle was delivered, sky-blue and shiny, with the chrome gleaming fit to dazzle the eye. A second man followed in a small car, to give the driver a ride back.
Steven signed for his purchase, accepted the keys and waved the deliverymen off in the second car.
Matt, meanwhile, had climbed onto the running board, probably hoping to stick his face against the driver’s-side window and peer inside. Too bad he was so short.
Chuckling, Steven walked over, hooked the boy around the waist with one arm, and opened the truck door with the other. He hoisted Matt inside, and watched, grinning, as he plunked himself on the seat, gripped the wheel and made that time-honored, spit-flinging varoom-varoom sound kids use to mimic the roar of an engine.
“It won’t be long,” Matt crowed, steering speedily, “until I’m old enough to drive!”
The words saddened Steven a little, because he knew they were true. Like all kids, Matt would grow up way too soon.
“Yeah,” Steven agreed, with a laugh, “but as of today, you’re still too vertically challenged to see over the dashboard.”
“Varoom!” Matt yelled, undaunted.
Steven went to the other truck for Matt’s car seat, brought it over and installed it carefully in back of the new rig while the boy continued to “drive” up front. Zeke, evidently feeling left out of the action, put his front paws up on the running board and whined to get inside.
With a shake of his head, Steven finished rigging up the car seat, shut the door and went around to the other side, whistling for Zeke to follow.
He opened the door behind the driver’s seat and Zeke leaped right up, nimble as a pup, and sat panting happilyon the heretofore spotless leather upholstery, waiting for the next adventure to begin.
“Come on, buddy,” Steven said to Matt, when the kid didn’t move from behind the wheel. “Time to switch seats.”
“Can’t I ride in front, like I did in the old truck?” Matt asked. He sounded a touch on the whiny side—probably needed a nap—but since Steven knew the boy wouldn’t take one, he couldn’t see any sense in allowing himself to dream of an hour or two of peace and quiet when there was no hope of it happening.
“No,” Steven said firmly, “you can’t. Anyhow, Zeke will get lonely if he has to sit back here all by himself.”
Matt couldn’t argue with that logic. The dog’s well-being was at stake, after all.
So the boy scrambled between the front seats to the back and only sighed a couple of times while Steven was buckling him in.
“Let’s see how this thing runs,” Steven said, when Matt was secure.
Zeke had moved over next to Matt, probably lending moral support, and when Steven got into the truck and started it up, the dog’s big hairy head was blocking the rearview mirror. So Steven had to reach back and maneuver Zeke out of his way, a tricky proposition at best.
By the time they finally hit the road, Steven was starting to think they ought to save the visit to the day camp for another day, but he decided against the idea because their wheels were already turning and, besides, Matt was supposed to start on Monday
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