Cowboy Rebel--Includes a bonus short story

by Carolyn Brown

  “Give it a couple of hours. The place gets to hoppin’ about the time the bars close down.” She smiled up at him.

  He had to either get out of there or else he was going to kiss her again, and unless he was dead wrong, all those faces peering through the window in front of him were her coworkers. He might not mind the gossip that would spread like wildfire, but he didn’t want to put her job at risk in any way.

  “Okay, then, see you around,” he said bluntly, and left without looking back.

  When he reached his truck, he started the engine and turned on the radio. Leaning his head back, he thought about the night his best friend Duke had died. The two of them had been badass—and look where it had gotten them both. Duke was dead and here he was about to turn thirty before long.

  “Give me something,” he said to the DJ who was talking about the weather. “I don’t care if it’s going to rain or storm. I want a song to help me like Tim McGraw’s has all these years.”

  Grow up and move on. Duke’s high voice popped into his head. For a big guy, he sounded like a girl most of the time. But then his tone did have advantages—he could mimic Vince Gill so well that it was downright uncanny.

  “And now we’ve got an hour of slow country classics comin’ your way,” the DJ said. “And we’ll be playing five for five. Keep track and be the fifth caller. Tell me the song and the artist, and you’ll win two tickets to Six Flags Over Texas.”

  The music started and Tag sighed. “That’s Vince Gill and Patty Loveless singin’ ‘My Kind of Woman, My Kind of Man.’ I’m not sure I’d ever be the kind of man any woman could trust, not with my past.”

  His phone rang just as that song ended. Hoping it was Nikki, his hands trembled as he dragged it out of his hip pocket. But it was Billy Tom.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “You out on some old dirt road listenin’ to country music with a woman?” Billy Tom chuckled.

  “I’m in the emergency room parking lot listenin’ to music all by myself,” Tag answered. “Was there something you wanted?”

  “Well, the boys and I have a little plan.”

  “I don’t want any part of your little plans anymore,” Tag answered coldly.

  “Aw, c’mon. You used to be fun. Besides, all we’re asking is to borrow your truck for a little bit. Hell, you should come too—for old times’ sake.”

  “Is what you’re about to do one hundred percent, guaran-damn-teed legal?” Tag asked.

  “Hell no!” Billy Tom answered.

  “Then my answer is hell no. I’ve got too much tied up in my ranch to be gettin’ in trouble with the law again.”

  “You’ve gotten soft and old,” Billy Tom complained. “When I come to see you on a brand-spankin’-new Harley, you’ll be sorry you didn’t buy into our venture.”

  “Maybe so, but when I come to see you in jail, you’ll be sorry you didn’t grow up,” Tag told him.

  Billy Tom ended the call without another word.

  Tag turned the radio louder, put the pickup in gear, and backed out of the parking lot. His thumbs kept time on the steering wheel as he listened to Bebe Rexha singing “Meant to Be.” When the song ended, he shut off the engine, got out of the truck, and walked across the yard. He wasn’t ready to go inside yet, so he sat down on the porch. A redbone coonhound puppy settled in beside him.

  “Where’d you come from?” Tag scratched the pup’s ears and it crawled right up into his lap.

  “Are you lost or did someone dump you?”

  The dog whimpered and looked up at him with begging eyes.

  “Hungry?”

  “I thought I heard someone talking out here.” Hud came out of the house and joined him. “Guess you didn’t get lucky since you’re home before daylight. See you’ve met our new hired hand. He’s promised to protect the cattle if we feed him and scratch his ears every now and then.”

  “Where’d he come from?” Tag asked.

  “Lady at the rodeo brought a litter in the back of her truck. She was giving them away. This was the last one and we felt sorry for him. We haven’t named him yet. Thought we’d make that decision together.” Hud sat down in a lawn chair on the porch. “Tomorrow evening we’re going to decide for sure that we’re going to name the ranch Canyon Creek or something else and we’ll name this dog.”

  “Guess we’re really puttin’ down roots, aren’t we?”

  “It’s time,” Hud said.

  “What’s meant to be will be, and what’s not meant to be might be anyway,” he muttered.

  “Granny says that all the time. What made you think of that when we’re talkin’ about roots?” Hud asked.

  “Just a song I heard on the radio.” Tag wondered if that statement his grandmother said about “what’s not meant to be might be” could ever involve someone like Nikki.

  Chapter Six

  Nikki yawned as she got into her vehicle Monday morning at 1:00 a.m. Stars twinkled around the quarter moon, which looked like it was hanging right in the middle of her windshield. It had been the worst kind of weekend—slow and steady. The cubicles were never filled to capacity, and yet there was at least one patient all the time. The shifts went by faster when she was hopping busy and tired to the bone when she dropped to sleep.

  She rolled the kinks from her neck and stuck the key in the ignition. Just as she put the car in reverse, her phone rang and startled her into hitting the brakes so hard that she flew backward against the seat with a thud. Her heart was thumping around in her chest like a bass drum when she finally found her phone in the bottom of her purse.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Someone is trying to break into my house,” her mother whispered.

  “Did you call the police?” Nikki whipped the car around and headed toward her mother’s house on the other side of town.

  “No, I called you,” Wilma answered. “They’re cutting the screen door. I can hear them.”

  “Is it locked?”

  “Of course. Both locks on the screen door and four on the big door,” she answered.

  “Where are you?”

  “Hiding in the bedroom closet. I’ve got a quilt over my head so whoever it is can’t find me.”

  Nikki jacked it up another five miles per hour. “I’m on my way. Stay where you are. You call the police. They should be there by the time I am.”

  “If I’d wanted the police, I would’ve called them, not you. And turn off your lights and kind of coast into the driveway. If Mrs. Thomas sees or hears you, she’ll come runnin’ over here. She stays up all hours of the night and watches television. She’s really fat, so you know she’s eating the whole time,” Wilma whispered.

  “Hang up, Mama, and call 911,” Nikki almost shouted.

  “I will not!” Wilma yelled right back at her.

  Nikki called the number herself, and the patrol car must’ve been in the area because a policeman was already there when she parked her car. She met him halfway between her car and the house. Her phone rang, but she ignored it.

  “It was just a raccoon. He ran when I started up on the porch,” the policeman said. “I walked all around the house but didn’t see any signs. I think everything is all right.”

  “Thank you,” Nikki told him as her phone rang again.

  “Call if you need us. Better to be safe than sorry.” He headed back to the patrol car.

  “Yes, sir,” Nikki said as she answered the phone.

  “I told you not to call the police,” Wilma said. “Thank God Mrs. Thomas didn’t see the police car.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ladder-back chair beside the door. Why it was there had always been a mystery because Wilma never went outside to sit in it. “It was a raccoon scratching at the door, not a person. He’s gone now. Open the door and let me in.”

  “I’d have to undo all the locks and put my dentures back in and my hair is a mess. I can’t let you in or Mrs. Thomas might still see the lights and come over here. Weren’t you list
ening when I told you that she’s up all night watching television? You just go on home and get some sleep. We’ll talk tonight at seven like we always do,” Wilma said. “I’ll get this quilt folded and put back on the shelf, and take one of my anxiety pills before I go back to bed. Now go away before Mrs. Thomas realizes you’re here.”

  Nikki shook her head slowly and added paranoia to the list of her mother’s disorders. “Four locks on the door. If she dies in that house, we’ll have to break the door down.”

  She made her way from the house to her car and tried to close the door as quietly as possible so Mrs. Thomas wouldn’t come rushing out of her house. Then she drove straight to her apartment. Once she was inside, she left a trail of clothing across the living room floor and was naked by the time she reached the bathroom. A three-minute shower took the smell of the hospital off her body. She dried off and didn’t even bother with underpants or a nightshirt, just curled up between the cool sheets naked and was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

  The digital clock beside her bed rolled over to six-fifteen just as she opened her eyes, but she wasn’t sure if it was a.m. or p.m. Surely she hadn’t slept over fourteen hours! Light peeking through the mini-blinds made her realize she’d done just that. Her mother would call in less than an hour, and there was no way she could talk to Wilma without a cup or two of coffee. She pulled on some pajama pants and a tank top, plodded barefoot to the kitchen, and put a pot on the stove. While the water dripped through the grounds, she gathered up her dirty scrubs from last night, shoved them into the washing machine with two other sets from her suitcase, started the cycle, and then checked her phone.

  There were two messages from Emily: Got tied up. Moving in Monday night.

  The second one read: Please come after you talk to your mama.

  The third one was from Rosemary: Can you take an eight-hour on Wednesday? Four to midnight?

  She hurriedly sent one to Emily: Be there at eight.

  Then one to Rosemary: Of course.

  She ate an energy bar and a banana while she waited on the coffee and was on her second cup when the phone rang. “Hello, Mama. Did you sleep well after we got rid of the intruder last night?”

  “Don’t you make light of that, young lady,” Wilma scolded. “My heart was racin’ worse than it does when I mop the kitchen. I swear if that woman you hired would do a better job of cleanin’ this place, it would be nice. You should fire her and hire someone else. I liked that first lady. She did things right.”

  Nikki bit her tongue to keep from reminding Wilma that she’d hated the first lady and complained about her constantly. “Mama, I’m not firing Sharon. She does a fine job. Besides, what would Mrs. Thomas say if Sharon didn’t show up every Friday? You want gossip going all over your neighborhood about you?” Nikki put the phone on speaker and brushed her teeth while her mother ranted about Mrs. Thomas being so nosy.

  “When did you have four locks put on your door?” Nikki asked when she could get a word in edgewise.

  “If you’d come over here to see me more often, then you’d know when. An old woman like me livin’ alone needs to be protected.”

  Nikki got fully dressed and pulled her hair up in a ponytail while Wilma went on and on about a newspaper article she’d read where a ninety-year-old woman’s house was broken into.

  “She shot the man right in the leg and held him at gunpoint until the police came,” Wilma said.

  “You want a gun?” Nikki asked.

  “Good Lord, no. I believe in Jesus and He’ll protect me.”

  So why all the locks? Nikki thought.

  “Speakin’ of Jesus,” her mother was saying. “You missed a good sermon at church yesterday. I just wish our new pastor would get married. Folks are goin’ to talk about the way he’s so friendly with the single women,” Wilma said. “And those brothers of Emily’s were there too. That one they call Tag is pure trouble. You can tell by his eyes, and I heard that he kissed you at a rodeo. I hope that’s all he’s done. You stay away from that boy, Nikki. You set your cap on the preacher. If I was a healthier woman, I’d invite him and you to lunch so you could meet him. I wouldn’t mind you marryin’ a preacher.”

  Yeah, right, Nikki thought. I might not be ready for a rebel like Tag Baker, but I’ll never be preacher’s wife material—and there’s another line that goes right behind it that says I don’t want to be, either.

  “Mama, you are only sixty-one years old, and Dr. Richards told you that you’re very healthy for someone your age,” Nikki said.

  “What does he know? He’s not even a real doctor. He just works in the emergency room like you do, and he only runs the clinic two days a week. It takes forever to get an appointment, and I need him to check my blood again. I’ve been taking calcium and a whole bunch of other supplements, but I think I might need something to keep my hair from falling out.”

  So let’s see, Nikki thought, we’ve covered the preacher and Mama’s hair. We still have the phone service and her newspaper not arriving on time, and then I’ll try to set up a supper and she will give me some absurd reason why she can’t go.

  Nikki picked up her purse and phone, made sure she had her keys, and locked the door behind her.

  “Have you called the news office about my paper?” her mother asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s gettin’ here later and later, and that boy who delivers it knows he’s supposed to lay it on the chair, but he just throws it from the road and hits my door.” She stopped for a breath. “I want it laid on the chair at three thirty so I have an hour to go through it before I have supper.”

  “You call and tell them. I’ve got a job, too, Mama,” Nikki said.

  “I never thought a child of mine would talk to me the way you do,” Wilma pouted. “I don’t ask that much of you, and you won’t even call the newspaper for me.”

  No guilt trips today, Mama, Nikki thought. I’ve been on too many as it is.

  “How about I pick you up for supper tomorrow night? We’ll go to the Mexican place.” She got into the car and hurriedly started the engine so she could turn on the air conditioner.

  “I hear a car motor. Are you coming over here? You know the last show I watch comes on at eight. This is a bad time for you to visit.” Wilma’s voice was so high-pitched that it was squeaky.

  “Then tomorrow evening?” Nikki backed up and headed toward the ranch.

  “You know very well I can’t eat that kind of food. My stomach is too delicate, and besides, you always want to eat later than four thirty, and if I don’t take my meds on time, then I don’t feel good the next day. We’ll have to do it another day. It’s eight o’clock. Good night, Nikki,” Wilma said.

  “Good night, Mama.” The only way Nikki could actually visit her mother was to drop in unexpectedly somewhere between one and four, and even then it upset Wilma’s schedule. It had been a while since she’d seen her mother in person so she made a mental note to go see her that week.

  She turned on the radio and scanned through the stations until she found the one out of Dallas that she liked. “Here’s an old one for y’all this evening,” the DJ said. “Trent Tomlinson singing ‘One Wing in the Fire.’”

  Nikki smiled as she drove through Sunset and turned to head east. The lyrics talked about a man’s father being an angel with no halo and one wing in the fire. That made her think of Tag and hope that he was at Emily’s that evening. He certainly didn’t have a halo, and there was no doubt that one of his wings smelled a lot like smoke, but still she liked the way easy banter between them lifted her spirits. After listening to her mother, for what seemed like eternity, she needed it, or maybe a shot of Jack Daniel’s—or better yet, both.

  The prickly feeling on the back of Tag’s neck told him that Nikki had arrived. No other woman had ever affected him like that, but all his senses heightened whenever she was near. He and Hud were moving an old upright piano into Justin and Emily’s place that had come all the way from Tulia when the movers brought
Emily’s things. It was the last big piece of furniture, and it weighed as much as a baby elephant.

  “You’re going to owe me”—Tag stopped to catch his breath—“a chocolate cake when this is done.” He and Hud set the piano down where Emily wanted it. He glanced around the room, and he couldn’t locate Nikki, but she had to be somewhere. His neck hairs did not lie.

  “And Granny said to tell you that it will definitely need to be tuned after it’s been hauled around like this.” Hud pulled a bandana from his hip pocket and wiped sweat from his brow.

  “There’s a chocolate cake already made and on the kitchen counter,” Emily said. “And I’ve got a piano man coming this week to tune it. I thought we’d have way too much stuff, but I was wrong. This is one big house.”

  Justin wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and buried his face in her hair. “We’ll pick out one antique a year on our anniversary. How’s that sound?”

  She turned around and hugged him tightly. “That’s so romantic. I love it.”

  A streak of pure jealousy shot through Tag, something he’d never felt before, not even as a child when he had to share everything with a twin brother. But right then, he wanted someone to look at him the way Emily looked at Justin.

  Holy crap! What’s happening to me? He raised his hand to his forehead. There must be something in the water that’s causing my brain to deteriorate.

  Then there was Nikki. She came out of the bathroom at the end of the hall. Wearing jeans, a cute little off-the-shoulder cotton top, and flip-flops, she looked fantastic.

  “Looks like you big strong men have been workin’ hard today.” She smiled.

  Dammit! Why did the clouds part when she grinned? She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever set his eyes on, so what was it about her that jacked his pulse up several notches?

  How many women have ever turned you down? His granny’s voice was clear in his head. Go on, count them.

  He dropped his hand and thought about the question, but he couldn’t hold up a single finger. So what to do about this sudden attraction? Maybe do his best to get her to spend a night in his bed? Surely that would get her out of his system, and then he could go back to being his normal self.