When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  “This truck rides rough, and after last night I thought this might help.” She winced, watching him climb in and settle gingerly.

  “If there were only pillows for my pride.” Her vanilla and spice scent filled the still, dusty air of the truck. Her hair was mostly caught up in a pink bandana that matched her silky tank. He liked that she wore no makeup. She didn’t need it. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of you.” He clicked the seat belt.

  “I could feel the thud when you hit from where I was sitting.” She stepped on the gas, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “I didn’t know you were watching.” Redheads blushed more than other girls. Or maybe it just showed more, because of her pale skin.

  “I just took a quick break. It was sheer coincidence that bull riding was on then.”

  He couldn’t hold in the grin. “Yeah, probably.” She’d come to see him ride! The smile wilted. Not ride—wallowed like an upended turtle, mostly. He held the window casing to keep from bouncing on the sprung seat.

  “Don’t change the subject, cowboy. You were going to tell me—”

  “Tell me about the Tribal Council. I need some background so I know what I’m likely to face.”

  She glanced over. “You really are nervous, aren’t you?”

  “Please?”

  “Okay. They are the Tigua tribe of Pueblo Indians. You know I teach third grade at the school there. They own about twenty-six acres here in El Paso. They run a Bingo parlor, but the state is blocking a casino and it’s tied up in the courts. In the meantime, the Council is always looking for ways to entice tourists as a revenue source. That’s why I suggested the rodeo.”

  “What are they like?” They rolled through city streets. Hard to believe there was an Indian Reservation nearby.

  “It’s made up of a medicine man, Governor, Captains, and other elected officials. But the toughest, by far, is the War Captain, the Lt. Governor, Miguel Hosa.”

  “Tough? As in I need to worry about my scalp?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be rude. I’m just saying he’s likes playing devil’s advocate, and loves a good argument.” A soft smile curled the corner of her mouth. “But he’s not as tough as his son, Rafael.”

  “What, he’s on the council, too?”

  “No, he’s eight. A real scrapper, that one”. She shot him a frown. “Enough stalling. You were going to explain why you don’t want to go out there.”

  The landscape was opening up with houses and stores giving way to barren, dusty land. He studied it, realizing he’d backed himself into a corner. He didn’t talk about his past. Ever. The only one who knew it was Ace, and only because he’d been there. But he’d promised.

  Besides—Harper. He studied her soft but strong profile. Her plain-spoken honesty made him want to dig deeper; made him want to make amends for his old shit. Not to stockpile good Karma but because it was the right thing to do.

  And that scared the crap out of him. What would happen if he dredged up all that old shit?

  Harper jerked the wheel and the tires dropped off the pavement. When she braked, dust swirled into the cab. She shut down the engine, propped her back against the door and crossed her arms. “Spill, Dude. If you’re going to say something out there that puts my reputation in jeopardy, besides the virginity thing, I need to know.”

  No way to run away. Literally or figuratively. Still, he chewed on his thoughts for a minute before unlocking his jaw and letting them fall out of his mouth, mangled and nasty. “I grew up in an orphanage in Livingston, about seventy-five miles outside Houston. Dropped off as a baby.”

  “Oh--”

  He held up a hand. If she interrupted, he’d never get through this. “It wasn’t so bad. Me and Ace, we’d been there longest, so we were the top of the food chain. By the time we were thirteen, we had that place wired. Had the younger boys doing our chores, taking extra food from the table, nothing big, just enough to make our lives cushy.” He smiled, remembering.

  “You never were adopted?”

  He pushed his shoulders back and tapped his fingers on the window frame. “Nah.”

  “Why not?”

  “They said I looked like trouble.” He gave her a wink, to keep things light. “I always thought Stead was short for ‘instead’. You know, they adopted somebody else, insteada me.”

  There it was, that look girls got when they saw orphaned puppies. Anything but that. He rushed on. “I guess the nuns agreed, because they sent Ace and me to ‘Father Paul’s Boys Ranch.”

  “You say it like it was bad. Were you abused?”

  “It was really just a labor camp to keep us exhausted so we couldn’t get into trouble. Well that and brainwashing, pushing religion on us all the time.” His fingers beat wipeout on the window frame. “Actually, that part wasn’t so bad. Ace and me got to work the cattle. Outside all day and lots of times, all alone.

  “But Father Paul, he was big on helping those in need. He’d send us out to the Alabama-Coushatta Rez, to ‘do good deeds for those less fortunate’. We worked our asses off, digging footings for houses and laying pipe in ninety-five degrees, ninety percent humidity.”

  “Did they give you enough to eat?”

  “Yeah.” Bland, cheap, institutional food, but there’d always been enough.

  “Sounds like a brilliant idea to me.”

  “That’s because you weren’t there.”

  “Did you learn anything from the experience?”

  “Aside from how to sweat?”

  She nodded.

  He thought a moment. “Cow savvy, I guess. And a bit about plumbing.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” She whipped out her fingers and started ticking off points. “You got three meals a day. You weren’t mistreated. You learned some skills that you admit are helping in your career. All while helping people who needed it.” She threw her hands in the air. “I give up. What was so bad?”

  The way she put it, nothing. But she didn’t know how it felt. Always separate, always unwanted. He wore it like a hair shirt in one of Father Paul’s Bible stories. It chafed back then, wearing through his bravado to the anger beneath it. “You don’t get it.”

  “I’m trying to, Stead.” Her earnest look half pissed him off, half had him wanting to drop his head in her lap and let her pet him.

  He squirmed in the seat and searched for the words that had no chance of describing how he felt. “Over the years, all the people who came out to adopt a kid, every one walked away with a kid who wasn’t me. I mean, after a while, you gotta take that personally. It grew in my mind and in the dark at night. By the time I was fourteen, I’d built up a pretty big rock I was toting around on my back.

  “Then Father Paul sends us out to the Rez. I’ve got nothing, but I’m supposed to go out and help somebody else? Who had ever helped me? Oh man, I was a stereotype—your typical ‘angry young man’.” He shook his head. “Which is really just another word for ignorant.

  “I worked on laying pipes for the foundation of a community center. They were going to have a place to get together with their friends. Their family. More things I didn’t have. And they looked down on me, like I was a stray dog. Man, I hated going out there.” He stared through the windshield, trying to look past the picture in his mind. “One day I was sweating my ass off, digging a ditch to lay pipe. I look up, and there’s four kids around my age beating up on another kid. They were whaling on him and when he fell in the dust they kicked him. I thought about climbing out of the ditch and stopping them, but what was it to me? Why should I risk getting my ass kicked for some kid who had more than me anyway?” He put his fingers to his brow and pressed, trying to not see. “Besides, I told myself the kid probably had it coming.”

  He didn’t realize he’d stopped narrating the film in his head until she asked, “What happened?”

  “I went back to work and didn’t think anything about it until it came time to leave. I was in the back of the pickup when the guy in charge of
us lowered the tailgate and told me to move over. He helped the kid that got beat up into the back of the pickup. Said we were dropping the kid off home, first. Whatever, I was chill. Every bump, the kid grunted. Eventually, he moaned, holding his back. I tried to ignore him. Not my problem.

  “We pull up to this . . . well, I can’t call it a house. It was more a lean-to, made from plywood and corrugated tin. Little ones crawled around in the dust in front of it. The truck stopped and the kid eased off the tailgate. When he closed it, he looked at me. I can’t describe the pain in that look, and I’m not talking physical. It cut through my hardass. I knew that pain. Turns out this kid had less than me. At least I knew I’d have a shitty meal at the end of the day. From the looks of this place, he didn’t even have that. I realized then, that all those people on the Rez who looked down on me, that was pride. Their way of hiding it. I knew a lot about that, myself. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even acknowledge him; I just stared. I had to be cool. Couldn’t admit . . .” He coughed into his hand. “The next day, it was all over the Rez. The kid had died. Ruptured a kidney and bled out before they could get him to a hospital.”

  “Oh, God.”

  The look of horror on her face woke him up. He’d said too much. Enough that she could guess why he hated going to the Rez—that he’d have to face what he didn’t do—who he was.

  Who he feared he still was.

  He brushed dust off his jeans. “Yeah, well. Look. I come off as arrogant sometimes, but—”

  “I’m onto you, Stead James. You act like an ass to keep people from getting close. I’ve seen that in my students who come from tough home lives. In fact, the War Captain’s son reminds me a lot of you.”

  “Oh great. You think I’m as mature as a second-grader.”

  “Don’t feel bad.” She grabbed the steering wheel and cranked the engine. “From what I’ve seen, most men don’t advance past that.” She checked the mirrors, then pulled back onto the pavement. “Thank you for telling me.” She shot him a look that was hard to decipher: part pity, part . . . something harder. Disgust? No, but something not far from it. Disappointment, maybe.

  He ran his tongue over his gritty teeth. He was such an idiot. If he’d just cowboyed up and agreed to go out here to begin with, he wouldn’t have had to tell his poor-little-orphan, nobodywantsme story. To bear her judgment.

  Ever since he’d woken up from the wreck, he’d been on uneven footing, not sure which direction to turn to get to solid ground. He may have been an ass before but at least he was a confident ass.

  She turned at a low adobe wall. A sign announced tribal lands and that tourists shouldn’t proceed further. They bounced down a dirt road, Stead with a death-grip on the window frame and back of the seat.

  “I’m sorry. This truck needs new shocks.”

  He thought it needed a car-crusher more, but he kept his mouth shut, wishing he’d thought to put some aspirin in his pocket back at the hotel.

  “There’s my school.” She nodded to a low-slung red brick building with plenty of windows.

  “Cool. Which one is your room?”

  “Second from the end.”

  He imagined her standing up in front of a roomful of kids hanging on her every word. “I’ll bet you’re a great teacher.”

  A smile softened her profile. “I love it.”

  What would it be like to have gone to college? To have a career that you could be happy with the rest of your life? “Boring, that’s what.” He muttered under his breath.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” His stomach was way more jittery than a bumpy ride could account for.

  “These are a very proud people, and you didn’t make any fans by last year’s no-show. The money was the only reason they agreed. Even so, we’re lucky if one of the Council shows.” She pulled up at a weathered two story adobe building and they got out.

  WhatamIgonnasay? WhatamIgonnasay? The words ran through his mind in an endless loop, blocking thoughts that might actually be helpful. He held the door for her, took a deep breath, and walked in.

  Coolness and the smell of old carpet brushed his face. They were in a long hall with huge old log beams supporting the wood ceiling two stories up. The rough adobe walls were hung with weavings and framed black and white photos of tipis and war-painted warriors.

  “Whoever is coming is in the Council Chambers. Follow me.” Harper had obviously been here before. She strode down the hall like she owned the place.

  Maybe some of the goodwill they felt for her would rub off on him.

  She pulled open a door halfway down the hall and he followed her into what looked like a wood paneled boardroom. A large conference table faced them. A man and a boy sat on the opposite side, drilling him with their stares.

  He probably should have prepared a speech. Was it too late to go to the john?

  “This is Miguel Hosa, the Lt. Governor, and his son, Rafe.”

  He studied the man’s face; weathered, strong and closed. He was dressed casually in button down shirt and blue jeans. He forced his feet forward and though it was an awkward stretch, reached across the table and shook the man’s hand. Then the kids’.

  The boy glared and squeezed Stead’s hand so hard his nose wrinkled.

  “This is Stead James, the bull rider I told you about who will help with the Rodeo on the Rez that we talked about last year.” Duty done, she pulled out a chair and sat.

  That’s okay. He’d pay his dues. He could do this. He didn’t take the chair that Harper pushed toward him with her boot.

  “Thank you for seeing me today, Sir. As Harper said—”

  “Her name’s Harp.” The boy’s voice bounced off the walls. “Because she’s our Angel.” He sat and crossed his skinny arms over his narrow chest. “And you’re an asshole.”

  What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

  The stoic face opposite him broke into smiles.

  “I think what my son is referring to,” the War Captain said “Is, why should we believe that you’ll follow through with this when you didn’t last year?”

  He addressed the boy. “You’re almost right. I was an asshole.” He kept his attention on the kid, but was talking to the man. “I made a mistake. A big one. I’m hoping you’ll allow me to make up for that.”

  “Why?” The father asked. “You owe us nothing.”

  “Let’s just say I’m trying to make something right that I messed up, years ago.” He’d had no idea what he was going to say until the words were out of his mouth, but once said, he realized it was true. It was as if, somewhere on the trip out here, the chip he’d held on his shoulder all these years had loosened its hold. He felt lighter.

  He straightened. “Now, let me tell you my ideas for making this a big deal and a big moneymaker.”

  He did his best. Somewhere in his impromptu speech he started pulling stuff out of his butt . . . getting the best bullfighters in the business, offering a spot in each event to a kid on the Rez. Getting sponsorships, granting scholarships.

  And in middle of spouting bullshit, he started believing it. Why not go big? Aim high, and if he could pull off half the stuff, he’d be a hero.

  This wasn’t about him—he knew that. But Harper seeing him as a hero? Sweet perk for doing the right thing.

  When he finished, the room was much warmer than the ice cavern he’d walked into a half hour earlier.

  The War Chief stood. “You can bring the cowboys, and the white money. But this is our rodeo. We’ll say how it runs. That’s non-negotiable.”

  There was that pride Stead remembered. “Yessir, of course.”

  He’d finished shaking hands and was waiting for Harper to finish talking to the War Chief, when the kid came up. “He might believe you, but I don’t.”

  The kid didn’t look anything like Stead, but the belligerence sure was familiar.

  He wanted to squat to the kid�
�s level, but knew he’d see it as condescension. Instead he hooked his fingers in his belt loops. “Hey, you could ride in the rodeo. We could have mutton busting. Or you could ride a bull. I’ve seen seven-year-olds do it. You game?”

  The kid squinched up his nose like he smelled something bad. “Bull riders are dumb. I wanna be a tie-down roper. That takes brains.”

  Stead coughed into his hand to hide his laugh. “Just so happens that my best friend, Ace, is a pretty fair roper. You coming to the rodeo tonight? I could introduce you. You could get his autograph.”

  The kid had the ‘you’re an idiot, aren’t you?’ look flat down. “I don’t want his autograph. I want pointers.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. You come out an hour before the rodeo starts tonight and I’ll see what I can do. Okay?” He held out a hand.

  The kid studied it like he was looking for crossed fingers. Seeing none, he shook. “Okay, I’ll ask my dad.”

  Harper appeared at Stead’s side. “You ready to go?”

  “Oh yeah. We’re done here.” He put a fist out for a bump.

  The kid rolled his eyes, said, “Lame-O,” and walked away.

  Chapter 4

  The second greatest, is being happy with what you find.

  Zen for Dummies

  On the way back to town, Stead’s mood lightened. The heat didn’t seem to press on him as much. Hell, even his butt almost didn’t hurt. Maybe it was because he stopped and faced his fear. Maybe it’s because he took responsibility and was going to try to make amends. Or maybe it was just telling his story to a soft heart.

  Maybe this Karma thing worked. Maybe, someday, if he gave enough, worked hard enough, he’d be able to forgive himself.

  Harper drove, hands ten and two on the wheel. He liked watching her move. Her knee flexed, shifting gears, and she let go of the gearshift to pull a strand of hair from her lips. Her nails were clipped short, but clean and neat. Her hands were strong—capable. He liked that. He liked most everything about her.

  “You did well back there. I thought they were going to eat you for lunch.”