Big Bad Cowboy

by Carly Bloom

  “Who was that guy?” Mark asked.

  “I have no idea,” JD said. “I asked around, but nobody knew.”

  “You got a thing for Maggie?” Mark asked JD. “You guys more than friends?”

  Bill, who Travis liked less and less by the second, broke out in hysterical laughter. “Are you kidding? JD here could have any woman he wants. Why would he be with Maggie?”

  “Don’t make me punch you in the face, Bill,” JD said through clenched teeth.

  If JD didn’t do it, Travis might.

  “Don’t lose your shit. I’m just kidding.”

  It was doubtful that JD, in his pressed blue jeans and starched white shirt, ever lost his shit. But he could probably pack a powerful punch. The air was heavy with tension as all the men stood around worried that a fight might break out—and kind of hoping it would. But the sound of tires crunching on gravel drew their attention elsewhere.

  “Speak of the devil,” JD said.

  The men scattered, getting busy at whatever tasks they had to do, but Travis stayed put, watching as Maggie parked. Pop sprang out the door, peed on all four tires, and then sniffed the air like he could smell the previous conversation. And it stank.

  Maggie slammed the door. Then she looked up and smiled.

  It was a big, genuine, beautiful smile. Her cheeks were already pink from the brisk autumn air, her light blond hair whipped around her face, and Travis nearly melted into his steel-toed boots.

  Would it be weird to give her a hug? Because he wanted her body pressed against his in a bad way. Pop ran up, wagging his stubby tail, so Travis bent over and gave him a good rub.

  “Did you have a hard time getting Henry up this morning?”

  “It was awful. You’re too much of a party animal for us.”

  “Just wait until the play-offs start. Then we’re really going to party.”

  “Maybe I’ll enlist the help of Mrs. Garza on school nights,” Travis said. “That way we can watch without Henry.”

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. Travis grinned, put his head down, and headed for the patio. He’d just leave that there and see what Maggie did with it.

  Pop barked as another car pulled up. Travis looked over his shoulder. Two young men got out of a beat-up blue pickup. He recognized one of them from last night—his name was Norbert—and waved.

  “Hey, Maggie,” Norbert called. “Where do you need us to start with the rocks?”

  Travis stopped in his tracks. “What are they here for?”

  What was it Maggie had texted? I need to shut him down.

  “I thought you could use some help. These guys weren’t doing anything today so—”

  “I told you I didn’t need any help.”

  “I know, but you really do need the help. You’ve got to be so tired, and it’s no big deal to just let these guys join in. Y’all can be done by this afternoon.”

  Only it was a big deal. He couldn’t spare any money to pay them. And he couldn’t afford to get kicked off this job if Anna thought Maggie was having to help him.

  He looked at the two men, who stared back in confusion. It wasn’t their fault. He started for the rock mine. “Come on.”

  His pulse pounded in his head.

  Maggie scurried along behind him, her feet scattering gravel, her breath coming in short pants. He had at least a foot on her in height, and she was no match for his long legs, so he increased his stride.

  “Travis, are you mad?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wait up. I was just trying to help.”

  He doubted that. She was competitive. And she’d been pouty about sharing this job from the beginning. If he didn’t do something to put a stop to this, she’d have a full crew out here by next week, and he’d be out of a job.

  He’d chat Anna up today. Make sure she remembered why she hired him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Stop the truck!” Henry hollered as soon as Travis pulled onto Peacock Road. They were almost home, but Travis hit the brakes.

  “Why?” There was nothing blocking the road. What in the world was he yelling about?

  “Horse! Horse! Look, a horse!”

  For a kid raised on a ranch, Henry sure had a strange reaction to seeing livestock.

  Gerome Kowalski rode his chestnut mare down Peacock Road like it was the most natural thing in the world. Travis slowed down so as not to spook the animal, and Gerome waved and stopped. Travis rolled down his window.

  “Howdy,” Gerome said with a tilt of his straw Stetson.

  “Out for a ride? It’s a gorgeous day for it.”

  “That it is.”

  Gerome was an imposing figure, eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. Henry, for once, was quiet in the backseat.

  Should Travis introduce himself? Surely, Gerome didn’t remember—

  “I haven’t seen you since your daddy’s funeral,” Gerome said. “Have I changed as much as you have?”

  “Not a bit,” Travis said, flattered to be recognized. And Gerome hadn’t changed much at all. Maybe a little grayer at the temples, but that was about it.

  “My condolences about your sister-in-law. She was a good neighbor,” Gerome said, not missing a beat. “Lilly thought highly of her, and of course, she’s fond of that little man in the backseat.”

  “Hi, Mr. K!” Henry called out.

  “Howdy, Henry. Your cows are looking good today.”

  “Yours, too,” Henry said nonchalantly. Like it was normal for a five-year-old to discuss cattle with the owner of Rancho Canada Verde.

  Gerome gazed at the front pasture of Happy Trails, and Travis wilted beneath the scrutiny. “You need to make some hay, or the cattle won’t survive the winter. Manual Lopez will cut and bale it if you go in halves with him. He used to do it for Lisa.”

  Jesus. As big of a pain as Happy Trails was, Lisa used to manage it all herself. And here he was, not having given a single thought to what the herd would do for food for the winter. He hadn’t planned to be around that long. “I’ll give him a call this evening.”

  “And you need to thin out this herd. Sell some yearlings if you’re not going to turn them into steers.”

  This was humiliating. Travis wanted to mumble, Yes sir, thank you sir, but he manned up enough to say, “Thank you for the advice.”

  “It’ll help with your cash flow if you can sell a few.”

  Just when Travis thought it couldn’t get any worse, Gerome had brought up his cash flow. “How much is beef bringing right now?”

  Gerome scratched his chin. “At market, I’d say these yearlings would get about a dollar a pound on the hoof.”

  Travis wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, and it must have shown on his face, because with a barely perceptible grin, Gerome added, “They look to weigh about five to six hundred pounds each.”

  That was easy math. And a lot of fucking money.

  “But they’ll bring quite a bit more at the Texas Farmer’s Market in Austin.”

  “Really?”

  “And it’s a better way to sell beef. Meeting with folks who want to know where their food comes from, selling them a healthy product you’ve raised while being a good steward of the earth…Well, it just feels right.”

  Travis’s mind whirred with possibilities. It was surprising that he could make more money selling beef that way, but he trusted Gerome to know what he was talking about. “I never even considered that. And I agree, it sounds like a better way to sell beef.”

  “I’m going to miss it. But Canada Verde can’t keep up with demand now that our focus is retail and we’re the sole supplier to three big grocery chains.”

  Gerome wasn’t bragging. Just stating facts. He stopped staring at the pasture and looked down at Travis. “Would you like our stall at the Texas Farmer’s Market? You grow good grass and good cattle. Hell, thanks to your wandering bull and piss-poor fences, they’re the same bloodline as my own. I’d be happy to endorse you.”

  Travis couldn’t believe his ears. This
would be a way to earn some quick cash, and well, it sounded like fun. “Mr. Kowalski, I would love nothing more than to take over your stall. Let’s shake on it.”

  “Done,” Gerome said, grasping Travis’s hand in a firm shake. “You’ll need a permit, but that’s easy. And I’ll send Claire with you to help out and show you the ropes. She loves working the market.”

  Henry started kicking the back of Travis’s seat.

  “Somebody’s getting restless,” Gerome said. “I’ll let you two get back to your business, and I’ll finish my ride.”

  Travis watched Gerome through his rearview mirror, literally riding off into the motherfucking sunset like a god.

  Was it possible to make enough money to pay off the taxes with a stand at the farmer’s market? He drove through the gate and past the cedar patch, whistling the whole way.

  “Hey! Our house is clean!” Henry said as they rounded the bend.

  It was only white primer, but by God, the house was painted. And yes, it did make it look cleaner. The place looked downright respectable. “It’s just the primer,” Travis said. “The real coat of paint hasn’t even been applied yet.”

  “It sure looks real to me.”

  “Let’s go see what the inside looks like.” Travis didn’t know which one of them was more excited, and they burst through the back door together.

  “What’s that smell?” Henry asked.

  “Paint.”

  “Where’s all my stuff?”

  “Beneath those drop cloths.” Albert had covered everything up.

  Henry walked right up to a wall and put his hand on it. “Don’t touch!” Travis shouted.

  Henry snatched his hand back and stared at his white palm. Then he touched the wall again.

  “Goddammit, Henry.” Travis grabbed his tiny wrist. “I said don’t touch. What the hell is the matter with you?”

  Henry’s bottom lip jutted out and his eyes started filling up with tears.

  Here it comes.

  Travis’s entire body vibrated with frustration. He bit his tongue to keep from saying hurtful words. But man, they would feel glorious spilling out of his mouth. He could almost taste them.

  “I don’t want the house painted,” Henry said. “I want everything just like it was!”

  Travis started to count to ten. It was supposed to be a good idea, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why. It only postponed the inevitable. “Get in the tub,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll have your supper ready when you get out.”

  Mrs. Garza had left tacos in the refrigerator. At least he wouldn’t have to cook or feel like shit for going through a drive-thru.

  “No! I don’t want a bath.”

  Travis glared at Henry. One, two, three…

  “You can’t make me.”

  A dull ache began to throb behind Travis’s eyes, and he brought his fingers to his temples. He was so fucking tired he could hardly move. And now he had a house full of wet paint and a five-year-old hellbent on touching every surface. And he still had forms to fill out for Henry’s school and sandwiches to make for tomorrow’s lunchbox. And there was the social worker to touch base with and the letters from the tax office to open—but he didn’t plan on doing that without a beer.

  Four, five, six…

  “I want a cookie,” Henry said quietly.

  That was it. He’d only made it to six. “Do you know what I want, Henry?” The first words slipped out, and there was no going back. “I want to come home from work and not have to deal with a difficult little shit who isn’t even mine.”

  Henry took a step back, as if Travis had slapped him. A wave of remorse and disgust rose immediately like bile. He’d just glimpsed the depth of his dark side, and it was fucking fathoms deep. If only he could take back those words.

  Travis reached for Henry—his heart sinking—but it was too late. Henry turned away. What if he’d done irreparable damage?

  “I just want things the way they were,” Henry repeated with a sniffle.

  Jesus. The poor kid wasn’t talking about the paint. He wanted his mom, not an uncle he hardly knew who yelled and called him names. Some days were so trying that Travis had a hard time remembering how much Henry’s world had been turned upside down. Travis squatted so he could look Henry in the eye. The one thing he’d longed for when his dad got drunk and said mean things was an apology. He’d never gotten one. But he could damn well give one. “I know you wish things were the way they used to be. You miss your mom, and I don’t blame you. I’m sorry you’re stuck with me instead. And I didn’t mean what I just said. You are not a little shit. I’m tired and cranky is all. But that’s no excuse for talking ugly to you, and I am deeply sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes,” Henry said, and his ready forgiveness somehow made Travis feel worse. “But you meant the other part.”

  “What part?”

  “I’m not yours. That’s why you don’t love me.”

  Now it was Travis’s turn to be stunned. Slapped by words. “You are mine. We’re family, remember? Same blood running through our veins. And of course I…” It wasn’t easy. He wasn’t raised hearing or saying those words.

  He took Henry by the shoulders. “Look at me.”

  Henry looked up, and it damn near broke Travis’s heart. The pain in those little eyes was almost too much.

  “I love you, Henry. I know you can’t see it right now, especially when I’m like this, but everything I’m doing is for you. Do you understand? When we sell this place, you’ll be set—”

  “What does that mean?” Henry asked.

  Not a good time to answer that question. “Just that we have better times ahead of us. I’m trying to do that for us, okay?”

  Henry shrugged. He didn’t understand. How could he?

  “You say lots of bad words,” Henry said.

  “Sorry. I’ll work on that.”

  “Can I say one?”

  Travis couldn’t squat any longer. He sat on the floor, popping his back and pulling Henry onto his lap.

  “Just one. Make it good.”

  Henry put a finger to his chin, leaving a spot of paint, and considered which filthy word to utter. Travis felt bad that he had so many to choose from.

  Henry straightened up—he’d made his decision. “I love you, too, Uncle Travis.”

  That wasn’t what Travis had expected. “I’m happy you said that instead of a bad—”

  “But sometimes you’re a shit.”

  Travis bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. When he had it under control, he solemnly said, “Thank you, Henry. I’ll try harder.”

  “Can I have a cookie now?”

  The kid knew when to strike a deal. “I’ll split one with you. Then a bath.”

  Henry struggled out of Travis’s grasp and grinned. “You need a bath, too. You stink.”

  Ten minutes later Travis finally popped open a beer and filled out Henry’s field trip permission form. Then he wrote an e-mail to the social worker, asking if she’d had any luck locating extended family for Henry. His fingers froze when he tried to hit Send.

  He’d leave it as a draft. Maybe he’d send it tomorrow.

  He took a sip of beer and fingered the envelope from the tax office. Why was he so fucking afraid to open it?

  Because he was an avoider and a runner, plain and simple. When things got bad, he took off. When Anna had done her stupid teenage drama bit with the stolen bracelet, he’d left Big Verde rather than stay and defend himself. When his dad got sick, he joined the Army. What if the amount owed in taxes was too much to fathom? Just the thought of it made him want to pack his bags.

  Henry squealed and splashed in the tub.

  He couldn’t run this time. Not until he’d taken care of business.

  He tore at the corner of the envelope just as his phone buzzed.

  Fuck. Collect call from a third-party provider. It was Scott. Prison calls usually meant money for cigarettes or some stupid shit like that, and Tr
avis often ignored them. But he needed to make sure Scott had signed the paperwork about selling Happy Trails. He downed his beer before answering.

  “Collect call from a resident at the Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville. Will you accept the charges?”

  As usual, Travis hesitated for about seven seconds before replying that he would. The hesitation was real, he dreaded talking to Scott, and it had the bonus of making Scott nervous.

  “Took you long enough,” Scott said.

  “Did you sign the papers about selling the ranch?”

  “Whoa. No small talk? Can’t I just call to talk to my little brother?”

  “Not on my dime.”

  Henry screeched and laughed in the tub, and something tightened around Travis’s heart like a noose. Would this dumb shit even ask about his kid?

  “I haven’t seen the papers yet. It’s not like I have a butler skipping in with my mail and slippers every evening.”

  “Did you know we owe back taxes on this place? You said you and Lisa would take care of property taxes in exchange for living on the ranch.”

  “I didn’t really get to live on it all that long, now did I?”

  “That’s your own fault. Your wife and son lived on it and somebody should have paid the taxes.”

  Henry and Lisa had probably never been more than a blip on the radar of Scott’s self-centered universe, so Travis wasn’t surprised by Scott’s dismissal. “I figured Lisa would do it.”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  “Just pay it. Didn’t the Army give you some money?”

  “I haven’t gotten my final check yet. And it probably won’t be enough.”

  “Probably won’t be enough? How much do we owe? Do you even know?”

  Travis put his phone on speaker mode and set it down. He peeled back the corner of the envelope while sweat prickled the back of his neck. Slowly, he grasped the pink paper. He only had to pull it out about an inch before the number came into view.

  “Jesus Christ. It’s thirty-six thousand dollars.”

  “What?” Scott yelled, his voice ringing like tin through the phone’s speaker.