The Bull Rider Wears Pink

by Jeanine McAdam

  “Jesus, Cassidy,” he scolded, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter. The veins popping out of his knuckles while his tanned forearms flexed.

  John’s strong reaction was hard to understand. John was never about work-family balance when he was strapping a tape recorder under her breasts and asking her to have drinks with Lewis Trigger. At the time he needed information from the man and felt Cassidy's short leather skirt would get the guy talking. And…it did.

  “I did what I had to do,” she told him hoping he would stop pressing the issue. Even though they were talking in code, they shouldn't have been talking in front of Kevin.

  But John wasn't ready to drop it. Again, Cassidy wasn't sure how to manage this compassionate, caring and interested John. “Was Kevin living at the ranch too?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Cassidy replied. She shook her head. Couldn't the man understand she made choices? Not always the best ones but it was done. Now she was making amends.

  “This was at your family ranch?” he clarified, “the one we are going to.” He glanced at her, blue eyes intent.

  She had no idea what that was about. “I couldn't leave L.A. and Montana was safer for Kevin,” she told John. He should have already realized that the work and being with him was more important to her at the time. Cassidy had lost perspective. Then, all that changed when John made a very bad decision. But he already knew that, he had watched her walk away from his hospital bed.

  Cassidy pressed her knees to the dashboard and slouched down a bit. If she was wearing a hat she would have pulled it over her eyes. She didn't want to talk anymore and she knew she'd be able to handle this line of questioning much better once she had another nap.

  “But why?” John pressed. “Couldn't there have been another way.” John Risk never second guessed himself, never looked for a plan B. Then again, it was Pastor John questioning her.

  Kevin stuck his head between their seats again. “There was no other way because she was making porn movies and recovering from drug addiction,” he announced bluntly. The pink calamine lotion on his face cracked as he spoke. “But maybe you know something about that?” The boy asked John his voice rising with each insightful word spoken.

  “Ohhh, nooo,” Cassidy moaned.

  With his finger tapping on the steering wheel John looked in the rear view mirror. “Kid,” he said in a low voice, “please sit back and put your seat belt on.” He returned his attention to the road. It seemed the strategy was to ignore that elephant-in-the-car comment of Kevin's.

  “The belt hurts the pox marks on my stomach,” Kevin moaned. Thankfully his fever had broken during the night but he was still infectious. Once the marks turned to scabs, which took four to six days, then the disease wouldn't be transmittable.

  “Well,” John said. “It's going to hurt a hell of a lot more if we get in an accident and your damn pink head goes through that windshield.” He jabbed his finger toward the windshield.

  “That's not going to happen,” Kevin replied confidently, “there isn't a curve in the road. And my head is not pink, it’s medication for the spots.”

  “I hope you're not itching any of those spots,” Cassidy remarked, so glad they weren't talking about her alleged drug addiction and nonexistence porn work. “Remember, you'll get a scar if you do.” She was told by the nurse, the older the patient the deeper the scar.

  “I'm not two years old, I can do what I want with my spots,” Kevin protested.

  Good God, the kid was in a mood. This sickness was not fun. “Please Kevin,” Cassidy begged. But just as the words came out of her mouth Kevin's head thunked against the head rest. John braked. It seemed John had a point to make and he wasn't going to make it by pleading.

  “John,” Cassidy yelled gripping the door handle. She pulled her knees down, sat up and twisted around to look at Kevin. Other than the pissy expression on his face, he was fine.

  “I'll be damned if we have an accident and you're paralyzed for life,” John told Kevin, while looking in the rear view mirror. His face getting red with each word he spoke. “Put your seat belt on and show some respect to your mother. You don't know what the hell she did in L.A. and you have no right calling her a drug addict or a porn star.”

  “You're a bully and a—” Kevin started as he pulled the belt across his chest.

  “Stop,” Cassidy yelled. She looked at both of them. “I have no idea where this just went.” She put her hands up in the air. “But I think we should all stop talking.” She turned on the radio. “How about a little music?” she asked. Nobody replied so she turned it to a country station.

  After an eighteen wheeler passed them on the left, John glanced in the rear view mirror. “Thank you,” he told Kevin in a low, hard, menacing voice while driving at the speed limit. “But, next time, can you do me a favor and listen to your mother the first time she asks?”

  For half of a Kenny Chesney song all was quiet. Then Kevin spoke up. “I thought you were a whiny, nervous kind of guy,” he theorized. “Sort of like Dr. Simon Tam.” He tapped John's head rest with his index finger. “Not some dare devil, risk taker, bad ass like Jayne.”

  John looked to Cassidy for an explanation. “The nerdy doctor on Firefly,” she supplied dryly. “And mercenary gunfighter.” She was a little worried about where Kevin was going with this.

  “When you're criticizing me can you use Battlestar references?” John asked sharply. He glanced in the rear view mirror again.

  But Kevin wasn't going to comply. “On second thought,” Kevin continued, “it's probably Shepherd Book you remind me of.” While an Eric Church song started on the radio Kevin studied the back of John's head. “That man knew how to read the scripture and handle a gun.” Kevin leaned forward but John put on the brakes again and the shoulder strap snapped Cassidy's son back into his seat.

  “Why the hell did you do that?” Kevin cried. He pulled on the seat belt. “If these pox marks pop I'll have scars.” He glanced at Cassidy. “My mother doesn't want me to have scars.”

  “You won't have scars and I needed to get your attention,” John replied evenly. He wouldn't look at Cassidy. He knew she wasn't happy with his behavior.

  “Well, you already have my attention,” Kevin countered. “I was in the middle of talking to you, telling you about the Shepherd.” He shook his head and muttered something about John being too stupid to breathe.

  “John—” Cassidy started. She was worried he'd crash the car. Then again, he probably had been trained in advanced precision driving plus pursuit driving and maybe even spin-out maneuvering. Even so, he shouldn't be treating Kevin like this.

  “You're right,” John cut her off. He waved a hand toward the backseat. “Go on,” he told Kevin politely with a nod into the rear view mirror. “I shouldn't have interrupted you.” He even turned off the radio.

  “Well,” Kevin continued looking smug. “The Shepherd was a—”

  “I just want to say Battlestar is a much better television show and it lasted for six seasons,” John cut Kevin off again. “Not a crappy one season,” he added.

  Did the man even realize what he was doing? It must have been lack of sleep or having to walk away from the Mike Shannon case that was causing him to behave like this. Or maybe he was worried about Cassidy being pregnant. She was certainly worried about that. Then again, whatever it was, no matter how big the concern, John had to stop bullying Kevin.

  “The Shepherd had a dark past,” Kevin continued, taking on the part of the mature one and ignoring John's comments about Battlestar. “Even though he was a man of the cloth, he was hiding something on Serenity.”

  John looked to Cassidy for clarification.

  “The space ship they live on,” Cassidy explained. Then she turned her head and looked out the window. John was probably being made at that moment by a thirteen year old and to add insult to injury, he had no idea. Embarrassing was one way to describe the situation. Careless another. It was good they were all disappearing from the rodeo for a f
ew days. John needed to reestablish his cover.

  “Sort of like you,” Kevin suggested. “You seem to me—”

  “I'm a preacher plain and simple,” John interrupted again but that time it was okay because finally he understood where Kevin was going with this story. “I came to the rodeo to give the bull riders spiritual comfort and guidance.” He glanced at Cassidy.

  She nodded as firmly as she possibly could. He didn't look reassured. He was probably right to feel that way. Even sick Kevin wasn't stupid and she was proud he had inherited her Spidey sense.

  “Okay,” Kevin replied.

  “It's true,” John pressed. “You don't have to be that way,” he scolded.

  “Whatever you say,” Kevin commented. Then he pulled his computer and headphones out of his backpack. With his knees on Cassidy’s headrest he slid down in the seat.

  “Please don't kick my seat,” Cassidy told her son. But he couldn't hear her, he was already absorbed in the show he was watching. Most likely it was the Firefly episode when the crew starts to figure out Shepherd isn't the mild minister he portrays himself to be because he knows how to load a gun. Cassidy glanced at John. She wondered where he was hiding his guns.

  * * * *

  “Sorry, only one room left,” the clerk at the desk told John. Jesus H. Christ, if this hadn't been his life it would seem like a bad Quentin Tarantino movie. The woman had bright red hair which matched the plastic roses sitting next to her pink registration book. Also, the palm tree behind her was certainly not native to northern Wyoming.

  John sighed.

  Cassidy sighed.

  Kevin whined, “I'm hungry.”

  “Is your kitchen open?” John asked, “And have you had the chicken pox?”

  The woman's face folded up. “Yeah, when I was two.” Then she got back to the negotiation, she'd probably seen plenty of communicable diseases in her day. “You rent this room for the night and I'll make you a four course meal.”

  John looked at Kevin. The kid could barely stand up. With his head on his mother's shoulder he moaned again. John wasn't sure he could spend the night in the same room with the boy. And, it wasn't because of the pox and or that the kid almost outed him in the car that morning. It was because seedy motels and Cassidy Cooper always equated great sex in John's mind and that certainly wasn't going to happen with a teenage contagion in their room.

  However, John had a feeling the red head with the grim reaper tattooed on her upper chest wouldn't understand that. “Why can't you just make us the meal?” John asked suspiciously. There had to be a Super 8 around here or something similar. Then he could rent two rooms. Honestly, he didn't even care if they were connecting. As long as he could close the door and press Cassidy’s naked body down onto the bed. He even bought condoms earlier in the day.

  The kid moaned again and Cassidy looked at John with pleading eyes.

  “If I open my kitchen I want to make it worth my while,” the inn keeper said after taking a drag on her cigarette. The smoke wasn't good for Kevin.

  John waved it away. “The kid is sick,” he told the woman.

  She shrugged.

  John decided to pay her for the room, have the dinner but go someplace else to sleep. He pulled out his wallet. This was a simple problem and it could be solved. With a little ingenuity he'd have Cassidy's tiny but delicious breasts in his hands before the clock struck midnight.

  The inn keeper shook her head. It seemed she didn't want his money and the problem was becoming more complicated than it needed to be. After driving twelve hours in a small space with a conspiracy theory pontificating, pox infected kid John didn't want complicated. “There's someone coming to town tonight,” the woman said while blowing out smoke. “I don't want him to stay in that room.”

  Holy shit, why did this woman have to say something like that? John's ears immediately popped out from the sides of his head while the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Not that he had a lot of hair on his neck because he shaved there. But forget that, who in the hell does this woman not want to rent a room to?

  “John,” Cassidy warned. Jesus, she knew him too damn well. She could probably see his ears twitching. “Let's just take the room, eat the meal, and not worry about anything else. It's none of our business and Kevin's forehead is getting warm again.”

  John eyed the inn keeper for a moment. “There's not going to be any trouble?” he asked. With that tattoo, it seemed like trouble was this lady's best friend and hard living was her middle name.

  “No,” she said through a few missing teeth. “Just an ex-husband I don't want to see.”

  Ah Christ, domestic violence. John hated domestic violence calls. It always started with the wife black and blue and screaming. Then when they'd throw the drunk, tank top wearing husband in cuffs, the wife would start crying and clawing at the cops. Ten minutes later she'd say she fell down the stairs.

  “There's only one bed,” Kevin said when they walked into their room after a meal of hamburgers and mashed potatoes, not four courses but it was fine. The place had floral curtains, a green rug and smelled like a litter box. John looked at the bed. He wasn't sure there was enough room between it and the wall for the cot Mary had promised. After John signed the guest book the motel lady had introduced herself as Mary.

  “The television doesn't work,” Kevin moaned. He had the thing on and was pressing all the buttons. Except he didn't give it a chance to warm up. “Wwwwhy, doesn't it workkkk,” he sniveled.

  John was really tired of everyone and everything and he was getting ready to take it out on the boy. Cassidy had spoken to him earlier about being patient, after all Kevin was sick. Also, she didn't appreciate the maneuvers John pulled with the car. It wasn't an appropriate discipline method she said. But it worked, John pointed out.

  “You don't need television,” he told Kevin patiently. Or at least it sounded patient to him. “We're going to bed.” He glanced at Cassidy hoping for some backup but she was busy reading her phone and ignoring both of them. John was on his own this time.

  “I'm not tired,” the boy replied.

  “You were hanging off your mother an hour ago,” John countered watching Cassidy go into the bathroom. “Of course you're tired.” Maybe Kevin would fall asleep with those noise canceling headphones on and John could make love to Cassidy under the covers. Then he shook his head, another inappropriate parenting method.

  “I want to watch television,” Kevin said again still playing with the flicker. “Can you call the front desk?”

  John sat down on the bed and rubbed his hands down his face. He had been so looking forward to sleeping next to Cassidy. Jesus, if he couldn't have sex, he'd settle for feeling her ripe little hind end cradled against his thighs.

  When Cassidy came out of the bathroom, John stood up. But before he had a chance to suggest the sleeping arrangements Kevin jumped on the bed. Yes, he was still wearing his sneakers. Holy hell, who knew where those sneakers had been?

  “Can you call the front desk?” Kevin asked his mother. “The television isn't working.”

  “Kevin,” Cassidy insisted. “It's almost ten o'clock and you're sick. You don't need television”

  Yeesss, Cassidy backed John up and she played the sick card as well. John hadn't thought to throw that one down. Parenting wasn't that bad if there were two of you to gang up against the one. He had no idea what people did with more kids. He had a feeling they just gave up after a while.

  “Ten o'clock is nothing,” Kevin started. “Caleb and I used to stay up until—”

  “It's late,” John interrupted. He'd return the favor and reinforce Cassidy's authority. Plus, what was that idiot Caleb Cooper thinking? Didn't the man know children can't stay up until all hours of the night? They need a set bedtime.

  “No, it's not,” Kevin argued as he reached for his laptop. “Maybe they have Wi-Fi and I can watch something on my computer. Can you call the front desk to find out the password?” He studied the screen. “I think I'm pickin
g up a network, it says Bob's Bar.

  Shoving his hands in his back pockets, John looked over the kid's shoulder. “That's the bar across the street,” he said. “Can't we just go to sleep?” he whined as he wondered how he was going to get Kevin off the bed and Cassidy into it. Where the hell was Mary with that damn cot?

  A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. John flung it open. Yes, he should have been professional and looked through the peep hole, but it was just too late for anyone wanting to cause trouble.

  “Here's your cot,” the proprietress announced with a hiss between her teeth. Either it was the missing tooth or she was mad. She rolled the rusty thing into the room. “I'm sure you can figure out how to put it down. My ex showed up and there's some stuff going on between us.” She closed the door with a bang muttering something about not wanting to help the man.

  No, it wasn't too late for trouble because ex-husbands who were always up all hours of the night. But John didn't want to think about that crap or anything else. Cassidy was right, it was none of their business. At this point, he didn't even care if he made love to Cassidy. Just her head on his chest and the sweet smell of her hair would satisfy him.

  “I wonder why her ex is here,” Cassidy said. She sat down on the bed next to Kevin.

  “You didn't ask her about the Wi-Fi,” the boy pressed.

  “I'm sure she doesn't have it,” Cassidy replied. “Wi-Fi is expensive. The woman hasn't got money to fix her teeth.”

  “Shit, this is just like Logan's house.” Kevin shook his head. “He's cheap too and refuses to pay for Wi-Fi.” The kid flopped down into the pillows.

  “What's this with the cuss words?” Cassidy warned.

  John wandered over to the window. The shadows in the parking lot were something he couldn't ignore. With two fingers he pushed the curtain aside. Then he peered out with one eye. “Fuckin’ A,” he moaned. “You're never going to believe who her ex—”

  “Why does he get to swear and I don't?” Kevin interrupted. The kid bounced up and down on the bed. “And, he doesn't even have to use Battlestar curse words.” The kid flopped onto his stomach.