One Night With a Cowboy

by Cat Johnson

“Yeah. Got a pen?”

  Thank God for her obsessive organizational habits. That, coupled with her love of office supply stores, meant Becca had pads of paper and multiple pens in every room of the apartment, as well as in her office at work. “I do. Go ahead.”

  Tuck hung up the call with Becca, feeling both better and worse. Her voice had made him homesick in the worst way, but hearing she’d researched what he might need was a comfort. At least it meant she was thinking about him while he was gone. He’d wrestled with himself for weeks about whether or not to call her and what to say if he did.

  Now he was glad he had.

  Back at his bunk he pulled off his body armor, grateful to be free of it, as usual. While he was stripping, he pulled off his T-shirt and draped it on a nail sticking out of the wall so it would dry. It was soaked with sweat from the hike from the outpost. It would be stiff with salt, but at least it wouldn’t be wet. It felt good to have air hit his damp skin, even if it was the stifling air of their living quarters.

  Of all the many things they went without here—fresh meat, television, air-conditioning, flushable toilets—he thought he’d miss sex the most on this deployment. It turned out his nostalgia for daily showers was running a close second. On days such as today, the shower might even win out over sex. Even sex with Becca.

  He glanced around at the raw conditions they lived in and chuckled one more time at the list she’d spouted off of things she’d thought he’d want.

  Conseco lowered a magazine Tuck hadn’t seen him with before. They must have gotten mail with the last drop off of supplies. “What you laughing about over there? Tell me. I could use some entertainment.”

  “I just called my . . . uh, Becca.” He still didn’t dare call her his girlfriend, but after Tuck’s foxhole confession a couple of weeks ago, Conseco knew her name.

  “And?”

  “And she offered to send me razors and shower shoes.” Tuck scratched at the stubble on his chin. He hadn’t gotten to shave yet today. Or yesterday. He thought he’d shaved the day before, but he couldn’t be sure. Conseco’s stubble was even thicker and darker than Tuck’s.

  The big brass back at home or in Italy, or hell, even in Kandahar, would be appalled. He’d have to toe the line when they got back to the real world, but here and now, during the height of the fighting season, anything that took time and energy away from keeping themselves and each other alive was a pretty low priority.

  They were so far away from anything resembling a real base, little things like being clean shaven fell by the wayside pretty quickly. He’d seen soldiers here run for the guns in their underwear during a surprise firefight. Since a .50-cal could shoot through a wall, Tuck figured it really didn’t matter if you were manning that bad ass of a weapon in boxer shorts.

  Even though he could walk around shirtless and stubbly and not get into trouble, he wished the showers were a little more frequent. Rotating from a barebones outpost with no running water, back to a firebase with limited showers, meant they walked around dirty. Basically they all looked like Pigpen from the Charlie Brown comics.

  Conseco let out a snort at the offer of razors and shower shoes. “Tell her if she wants to mail you something, she should send some nice pictures of herself. The less clothing the better. Those kinds of care packages are always appreciated.”

  Tuck laughed. “I don’t think we’re at that stage in our relationship.”

  “You two were doing the deed before you left, right?” One dark eyebrow rose in question.

  “Yes.” Tuck inwardly cringed, feeling a little guilty now he wasn’t in the heat of battle that he’d spilled so many of the details of his time with Becca.

  “Then you’re at that stage. Trust me.” Conseco raised the magazine resting on his chest, but it didn’t stay there. He lowered it again. “And speaking of relationship—you tell her you love her on that phone call?”

  “No . . . It didn’t seem like the right time.” Tuck rushed to explain when he saw the judgmental look Conseco sent him.

  There wasn’t even a lecture. Conseco simply pressed his lips together, shook his head, and went back to his reading.

  Tuck didn’t need him to say anything. He knew exactly what Conseco was thinking. Time was the one thing none of them could be sure of.

  “By the way, you got a package. Jinx dropped it off. I told him to put it on your rack.” Conseco delivered that news from behind the pages of his magazine.

  There was a big brown envelope on top of his blanket. Not sure who would be sending him anything, Tuck frowned. Not that he was unhappy to see it. In a place where the only entertainment was a good firefight, a package was a welcome sight. He sat and picked it up to see who it could be from.

  Tuck grinned when he recognized the return address. Good old Jace had sent him a package, though God only knew what he’d put inside. Probably something against the rules, like porn. Of course, way out here, who the hell was going to catch him or care if he had a girly mag under the mattress? He’d rather have a picture of Becca, though.

  He tore the flap open and slid his hand inside to find a slick, colored poster the exact size of the eleven-by-seventeen-inch envelope. It took a bit of doing to slide it out without wrinkling it more than transit already had or getting it dirty because his hands weren’t all that clean right now. In this place, everything eventually turned the color of dirt.

  Finally he coaxed the poster out, and in front of him were the smiling faces of his rodeo team. He laughed when he saw Jace had somehow wiggled his way into the team photo. That was fine. Jace looked good there, grinning ear-to-ear at the end of one row of students. It was an advertisement for an upcoming charity rodeo the team would be competing in. Every member had signed it.

  For a guy who was generally a joker and a dumbass, Jace could be really thoughtful sometimes. Just looking at the poster made Tuck smile, but it upped his homesickness another notch. He sized up an empty section of plywood sheathing and then glanced across the room at the other bunk. “Is it okay if I hang something on the wall?”

  Conseco lowered his sports magazine and cocked a brow, pointedly glancing at the wall to the right of his bunk where there were numerous advertisements featuring scantily clad females. “I think that might be all right. I wouldn’t hang a picture of your girl up there, though. That’s just asking for trouble. The other guys are going to comment until you’re good and pissed off. I can promise you that. I stick with the pros myself.”

  Tuck glanced at the Hooters calendar next to Conseco’s head. “So I see.”

  “Here. You can have this.”

  A tack came flying across the room. Tuck caught it in mid-air. If nothing else, combat was good for your reflexes. “Thanks.”

  With his thumb, he pushed the point through the poster and sank it into the wood. “Home, sweet home.” Tuck stood back and admired his work.

  “What the hell is that?” Conseco frowned at the poster and swung his feet to the ground.

  Apparently even though he didn’t know what it was, it was interesting enough to get him up off his mattress to come over and take a closer look.

  “That is the Oklahoma State University rodeo team,” Tuck said with pride.

  “I see.” Conseco nodded. “And might I ask what the hell you’re doing with it?”

  He laughed. “I used to be their coach. Guess I still will be when I get back.” Unless Jace refused to give up the position, in which case he supposed they could share it.

  “Rodeo coach. What the fuck do you know about rodeo?”

  “I took the state championship in bull riding and came in second in roping.” When Conseco stared at Tuck as if he’d grown dick antlers, he elaborated. “I won the state buckle years ago. Back when I was on the circuit full-time, before I enlisted. Nowadays I only ride bulls. I haven’t roped competitively in years. With work and workouts, I just don’t have the time it would take to get a good cutting horse up to competition level . . . What?”

  He stopped when he n
oticed Conseco’s mouth had dropped open.

  Tuck laughed. “Close your mouth before something flies in it.”

  He did, but it was only to open it again. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Um, no. Why?”

  “You’ve been here for what? A month? And you never told me you’re a fucking cowboy?”

  “It didn’t come up. I guess I never thought it was important.” Tucker shrugged.

  “That you willingly get on the back of a freaking bull and ride on a regular basis isn’t important?”

  “No. Not really.” They were in a province where there was a very real chance some of them wouldn’t make it out. And if they did, it could be with a good amount of shrapnel inside them. The fact he hopped on a bull a few weekends a month didn’t seem all that important in comparison. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d care. I did tell you I met Becca at a rodeo.”

  “Yeah. I thought you were there to watch. Not, you know, do. A bull rider? Jesus!”

  Tuck had played football in school. He wondered if he’d get shit for not telling Conseco about that as well. “Anyway, now you know.”

  “Yes, I do. And from now on, your name is Cowboy.”

  “Oh, no.” Tuck shook his head. “You’ve been calling me Jenkins since I got here. No need to change now.”

  “Only because I was waiting for the proper nickname to present itself. Now it has, don’t think I’m not taking full advantage of it.”

  “Come on. Everyone is not going to start calling me something different a month into my being here.”

  “Yes, they will. Do you know Jinx’s real first name?” Conseco looked a little too smug for Tuck’s liking.

  “No.” He had a bad feeling his answer was going to work against him.

  “Exactly.” Conseco gave him a single nod of victory. “And I didn’t give him that name until we were a good month into the deployment.”

  “And how exactly did he earn his handle?” He was almost afraid to ask.

  “Every damn patrol the kid went on got hit. Meanwhile, there were other patrols going out without him who never saw any action at all. After about the third time, I finally said, ‘You know what, kid? You’re a jinx. That’s going to be your name from now on.’ And that solved the problem. After I gave him that name and we all started calling him Jinx, he went out on another patrol and not a shot was fired.” Another nod from Conseco told him the story was over and he had no hope of getting rid of his new name.

  Conseco pulled a marker from a pocket, making Tuck wonder what else he had in there, but only until he was distracted by what the man was doing. He grabbed a grenade and wrote in big bold letters COWBOY. He handed it to Tuck. “There. Now the bastards will know who’s shooting at them.”

  Tuck accepted both the grenade and the nickname with a sigh. “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” With a grin, Conseco flung himself back onto the mattress, his torture obviously done for now.

  Thompson came through the door with a bang and a curse, stripping out of his gear and shirt as he walked. “Why is it still so fucking hot out there? Isn’t it like September or October? Shouldn’t it be cooling off?” He glanced up and nodded to the two of them already inside. “Conseco. Jenkins.”

  “It’s Afghanistan. Nothing happens like it’s supposed to. And we call Jenkins Cowboy now,” Conseco informed him.

  “Okay.” Thompson barely spared a look for Tuck and then flopped backward onto his bunk. He closed his eyes, apparently accepting the name without question so he could take a nap.

  With Thompson napping and Conseco back perusing his magazine, Tuck was left to read the letter that had come in the envelope with the poster. Jace wasn’t exactly a wordsmith, but he got his point across. Tuck was laughing out loud reading Jace’s description of how he’d gotten on a practice bull to show the kids how it was done, only to end up hanging from the rails as the bull came after him. He had just opened his mouth to relay the story to Conseco when an explosion in the distance had all three of them on their feet.

  There wasn’t time to wrestle into his wet T-shirt. Tuck pulled his body armor on over his bare torso and reached for his weapons.

  As the three ran out the door, there was the sound of answering fire.

  Conseco was right. Tuck should have told Becca how he felt, but there was no more time for regrets as they ran for the Hescos and dove for cover behind them.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Becca barely cleared the doorway and had just dropped the handle to her suitcase when Emma enveloped her in a huge, sisterly hug. “I’m so happy to have you home.”

  “Thanks, Em. Me, too.” It felt good to be back in New York, where everything seemed as familiar and comfortable as an old pair of shoes. And where she didn’t imagine she saw Tuck’s truck driving down the road, and she didn’t get sad while trying to eat her take-out dinner because it reminded her of him.

  “I’m still mad at you for not letting me pick you up at the airport, though.” Emma finally released her so she could take off her coat and scarf.

  “I told you, there was a special deal on rental cars for the holiday weekend. It made sense for me to get one so I can run errands while I’m here.”

  “I guess, but you know I would have driven you anywhere you wanted to go.”

  “I know.” But she probably also would have had comments to make about Becca driving over to Vassar on the way from the airport to say hello to her former coworkers—and see who’d replaced her.

  It was well worth the eighteen dollars a day plus tax for the rental just to have the freedom from Emma’s lectures.

  Now all Becca had to do was free herself from the demons of her recent past. It seemed she was more obsessed with them than ever. Especially one in particular. Tucker.

  She hadn’t heard from him in what felt like months. Not since that one and only call. Though it was probably closer to just a month since he’d called, it was still too long. All that time left her wide open to obsessively worry about him. About whether he was all right.

  That worry had soon turned into anger. Why hadn’t he called? Surely he could get one little communication out. He had before.

  While she was angry with him, she remembered how mad she’d been about being let go from Vassar. And since she was back in New York, why not obsess about her old job? It was all a vicious cycle.

  But as she stood inside the warmth of Emma’s home, the anger faded. Acceptance had begun to set in. Her job was gone. Tucker was gone. Holding on to anger wouldn’t change any of that. Seeing how the rest of the professors had all taken on extra classes in addition to their usual workload because of the budget cuts and her dismissal, she really couldn’t be angry about that anymore.

  It was as if she’d gone through the stages of grief. What were they again? Denial. Anger. Acceptance. There were a bunch more she couldn’t remember right now, but she was fairly certain she’d run through them all since Tucker had told her he was leaving for Afghanistan.

  Now she simply felt tired. Exhausted really. It came on suddenly. As if she’d walked into Emma’s house and all the hot air keeping her balloon afloat whooshed away, leaving her deflated. Her energy and her spirits sinking after she’d worked so hard to keep both up for her students and for Tucker’s sake.

  Maybe being back in a familiar place amid people who loved her had done it, allowed her to let go. She felt too tired to even remain upright any longer. “Can we sit?”

  “Of course. Sit. I’ll open wine and then we can catch up.” Her sister headed toward the kitchen.

  Becca accepted Emma’s offer of a seat, but catching up with her sister might be beyond her at the moment in her current state. “We talk at least once a day on the phone. What do we have to catch up about?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll find something.” Emma returned with a corkscrew in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other, and Becca had no doubt her sister was right.

  “Oh, my God. I knew I had something I had to tell
you.” Emma planted the bottle on the table so hard, Becca feared it would break. She spun toward Becca on the couch, hand on her hip. “You won’t believe who I saw this morning while I was out running errands.”

  “I don’t know. Who?” The sofa back cushioned Becca’s head nicely. It was so comfortable, she could probably fall asleep right here. If Emma wasn’t still talking . . .

  “Jerry.” Emma announced it with a scowl.

  That name got Becca’s attention. Tired or not, she sat bolt upright.

  Jerry—the one loss of her past she had managed to not obsess over. Unlike her former job and her former . . . whatever Tucker had been or currently was, she had no regret that Jerry was gone from her world. She didn’t even like the intrusion of his name being mentioned now, keeping her from the wine her sister had yet to open.

  “And?” Becca cocked a brow.

  “And he was feeling me out for information.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  Oh, this was not good. “Emma. I seriously hope you didn’t give him any.”

  The rotten bastard didn’t deserve any information about her.

  “Becs, I had to tell him something. He was being such a cocky ass.”

  What else was new? Becca groaned. “Oh, God. What did you tell him?”

  “Just that you’d gotten a great new job at OSU with an advancement to associate professor.”

  All right. That wasn’t so bad, but knowing Emma, that wasn’t all. “What else?”

  “Well, after he started saying how he was sure you’d taken a huge loss selling your condo in this market, I had to tell him you didn’t sell. That you rented it fully furnished to a wonderful tenant and were making a nice monthly income from it.”

  Not exactly true, but the rental income covered the monthly mortgage and that was really all she wanted.

  “All right. That’s fine. You didn’t say anything else about . . . anything, did you?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Tuck,” Becca accused. She held her breath, hoping the subject hadn’t come up. That sneak Jerry shouldn’t have the privilege of knowing anything about her personal life . . . such as it was.