Chancy's Cowboy. Lass Small

thought of his sex as a gun. He probably called it shotgun or rifle or automatic.

      Cliff turned away saying, “Sorry.”

      And Tom replied kindly, “If I slept in her house, I’d have trouble sleeping, too. It’s bad enough being just this close..”

      Cliff turned back in a trifle overdone surprise and asked, “What?”

      But Tom just laughed. “Run around the fence area for twenty minutes and you’ll get it out of your system.”

      “You think...I’m...restless?”

      Tom’s eyes spilled humor. But it wasn’t derision. It was understanding. “She keeps me awake, too. Think what it’ll be like with two of them in the house. Oops, one’ll be your sister. Sorry. I’ll behave.”

      “See to it.”

      “Yes, sir, master, I’ll be careful.”

      But Tom stood and watched Cliff. And Cliff didn’t want to go out and run around the needed area and go to bed. He went over and petted his sleepy horse.

      Tom said, “You know better than to get him all steamed up and eager for a run.”

      “I was just checking.”

      Tom assured Cliff, “Everything’s under control... but you. Go to bed.”

      And Cliff said, “I just have trouble minding a snot-nosed kid.” He gestured as he explained seriously, “Your advice is excellent, but I’m older than you, and I have trouble minding you.”

      “You’re just like my big brothers. I have to tell them what to do all the time. They never listen. Go to bed. It’ll help us both.”