Big Chance Cowboy

by Teri Anne Stanley

  “Unfortunately, no. It’s either the dance contest or the teenage talent contest.”

  Adam shuddered. “Talk to you later, Mr. Mayor.” He hung up and turned into his driveway, looking forward to knocking out a few more home repair chores before collapsing on the couch and kicking some virtual zombie ass with Talbott and Jake.

  Through his open window, he heard music and saw a speaker on the edge of the porch, near a small pyramid of beer cans. His right temple started to throb. Talbott sat on the porch steps, cooler at his feet, clearly the architect of the great Coors pyramid, talking to Emma. Whatever the topic, she wasn’t buying his line of bull, because she shook her head and waved a dismissive hand his direction as she walked away.

  Adam hoped there wouldn’t be drama—it was bad enough that he had company. On the plus side, the scent of freshly mowed grass tickled his nose. The yard had been cut, and the fence line was clean.

  Jake leaned on the handle of a rickety lawn mower that Adam didn’t even know he owned, wiping sweat and grass from his face with his T-shirt, pulled up to expose his stomach. Jesus. One of them needed to start actually cooking, because the kid was looking better, but he needed to regain some of the meat that had fallen from his bones over the past few months.

  And then Adam saw Lizzie. She stood in the paddock, a pair of filthy yellow shorts exposing miles of tanned, curvy leg, and an equally dirty white tank top clinging appreciatively to her torso. Maybe a little unexpected company wasn’t so bad.

  Then he saw the dog. What the—? A golden retriever, crouching and wagging in front of her, barking to encourage Lizzie to toss the tennis ball she held. Instead of throwing the ball, she aimed a hesitant smile in Adam’s direction and picked up the leash dangling from the dog’s side.

  In the passenger seat, D-Day, already quivering with excitement, barked happily, because Lizzie was coming their way with another dog. D-Day tried to climb over Adam to greet Lizzie and the new arrival. Adam heaved the big lug back to its side of the truck and gave a stern, “No.”

  “Hi. We left you a parking spot.” Lizzie pointed to the side of the barn, where her SUV and Talbott’s ride rested. “We’re having a party.” Her wary smile tugged at emotions he normally kept deeply buried but that seemed to be reaching up out of the dirt in his soul more often lately. He wanted to tell her there was no reason to feel awkward, that even though he’d kind of avoided her for a few days after spilling his guts to her, he was thrilled that she’d come to the ranch.

  Her uncertainty might have been more about the big hairy fluff ball than it was about him, though.

  He was almost afraid to ask. “What’s with the dog?”

  Her eyes shifted from left to right, and she tugged the dog so it was behind her. “Dog? What dog?”

  He suppressed a smile but rolled his eyes and let the truck roll forward to park next to the other vehicles. The ancient grill had been pulled out of the horse shed and stood next to the equally old picnic table. A few bags of groceries and a bag of charcoal sat waiting. They really were having a party. He shook his head and turned off the truck.

  Whatever the deal was with the new dog, it was a chance for D-Day to practice restraint, so Adam gave a “stay” command and got out of the truck. D-Day stayed but worked the sad puppy look like a champion. Lizzie had followed the truck and now handed Adam a beer, all the while trying to keep the big yellow dog behind her.

  “Thanks.” He eyed the animal as he pulled the tab. He took a long swallow. His headache eased a little—until the dog nudged Lizzie out of the way and rose to its hind legs, nose to nose through the window with D-Day.

  “What’s with the dog?” he asked again.

  “Get down,” she hissed at the retriever. It got down but whined up at D-Day, who whined back. Lizzie’s eyes widened in fake innocence. “I don’t see a dog.”

  Lizzie’s face bore almost as many smudges as her clothes, but her cheeks had been kissed by the sun, and she looked…happy. “How was your day, wherever you went?” she asked.

  As distraction techniques went, it was pretty pathetic, but he gave her a pass while he let D-Day out of the truck. He choked up on the leash, since there was no telling how the two dogs would react to each other within touching—or biting—distance. He had to remind D-Day that when Adam stood still, dogs were supposed to sit, but after one quick correction, D-Day sat sniffing vigorously toward the other dog, which had wrapped Lizzie in a spiral of leash and sniffed back.

  “Did you guys have a good trip?”

  He ignored her blatant fishing trip for information—she wouldn’t be interested in his trip to the shrink—and stayed on topic. “My day was fine. It might be better if you tell me you didn’t bring another stray here for me to deal with.”

  In mock sincerity, she said, “I did not bring another stray here for you to deal with.”

  Hmm. Maybe she didn’t. “Then who did?”

  Jake sidled up and took the leash. He crouched down to pet the retriever. “We did.”

  “I found him tied to your mailbox this morning.” Talbott had risen from the porch steps and ambled over. “You should have seen him before we got him cleaned up.”

  Lizzie nodded in agreement. “Ick.”

  Adam squeezed the bridge of his nose. D-Day took advantage of the lapse in attention to pull away and sniff exuberantly at the retriever, which accepted the other dog’s interest with patience.

  “No more dogs,” Adam said.

  He caught Lizzie, Talbott, and Jake exchanging a look that asked if he meant no more after or before the retriever?

  “Did it have a collar?” he had to ask.

  “Nope. We took it to the vet and no chip, either,” Talbott said.

  “Great.”

  “So anyway,” Lizzie said, like the subject was closed, “I ran into Marcus, Jake, and Patton here when I went to pick up Loretta and the kids, and we decided to have a little celebration.”

  He didn’t know which issue to address first. “Loretta and the kids?”

  She pointed at a small kiddie pool that had been hidden behind a bush until he walked closer to the house. Granddad dozed on a rocking chair next to the dogs. “The pit bull,” Lizzie said. “I named her Loretta, remember?”

  Did he? It didn’t matter.

  “The kids are Taylor, Reba, Faith, Travis, Lyle, and Garth.”

  Vaguely aware that Lizzie was using names of country music artists he should recognize, he eyed the dusty cowboy boots on her feet. She probably knew how to line dance and would participate in Mayor Joe’s dance contest next weekend.

  “And now we have Patton, too.” She smiled and pointed at the new dog, who was allowing D-Day to chew on its ears.

  Adam said, “Leave it,” and D-Day reluctantly sat. “Patton, huh?”

  “I named him,” Jake said.

  Oh good. They probably got Jake to name the damned thing because next to Lizzie, Jake was the person Adam would have the most trouble saying no to.

  “Oh, well in that case…” Adam didn’t finish the sentence. He was so screwed.

  Lizzie smiled and bumped Adam with her shoulder, a move that shouldn’t have been so sexy, but the contact cranked up his awareness of her a few notches. “I think I need another beer,” she announced, a little too emphatically. It dawned on Adam that she’d already had a couple. “Do you want another?” she asked him.

  Adam shook his can and scowled. His first was already empty. “Yeah, I guess I do.” Maybe if he had a buzz on, things would make more sense.

  * * *

  “What do people do for fun around here?” Marcus asked Emma while Lizzie picked at the tomato and cucumber salad she’d scooped onto her plate.

  “Oh, you know,” Emma said, not looking at him. “The usual. Watch haircuts. Listen to the grass grow.”

  “That sounds fun,” Marcus said, not missing a beat
. “Maybe you can show me where the barber shop is some day.”

  Emma did look at him then, raising an eyebrow at the baby dreadlocks sprouting from Marcus’s head. “It’s on Main Street, next to the tattoo place,” she said, rising. “I’m going to get Granddad’s meds.”

  Marcus just smiled and watched her walk away before tuning into a conversation Adam and Jake were having about something that had happened on a patrol while they were deployed together.

  Adam took a big bite of the juicy hamburger while Lizzie tried not to drool on the burgers remaining on the plate. She shoveled in a bite of tomato, but it wasn’t exactly satisfying. Not only was the salad less than filling, it was doing very little to take the edge off her three-beer buzz. She tried never to drink on an empty stomach—though to be honest, until recently, she hadn’t had an empty stomach since breaking up with Dean. The first thing she’d done after leaving him was stop at Baskin-Robbins. She’d showed him, by God—gained ten pounds in two months. She pushed a piece of tomato from one side of the plate to the other before giving up and shoving the plate away.

  She’d come home to find herself, but damned if she meant to find so much of herself.

  Adam stopped talking and looked at her. “Why aren’t you eating?” he asked.

  “I ate,” she said, pointing at her half-eaten salad.

  “That’s not food,” he told her. “That’s…filler.”

  She smiled. “I’m fine, really. I had most of today’s calorie allotment about three days ago.”

  Adam frowned while he ran over her words, then shook his head and pointed at the platter of burgers, melted cheese singing its siren song in her direction. “Eat. Please.”

  “Oh, whatever,” she said and grabbed the bag of buns from the other end of the table. Salad wasn’t doing much to sober her up anyway.

  After she’d eaten and listened to the umpteenth story about people she didn’t know anything about, she decided it was time to go home. Lizzie wasn’t an integral part of this gathering. If it wasn’t for the guys adding “sorry” or “pardon my French” after every “motherfucker” or “cocksucker,” she might have thought she was invisible. Good thing she’d stopped at home for her own car after fetching the puppies from the vet—she could leave on her own schedule.

  D-Day, who lay on the ground between Lizzie and Adam, decided he’d had enough good behavior. He stretched and wiggled from beneath the table, rising to his long legs and giving a good shake, but was stopped short. He’d somehow managed to tangle his lead with Patton’s. While the newer dog sat patiently waiting for rescue, D-Day limped in a circle and whined.

  “Hold on, big guy,” she told D-Day. She ducked beneath the table to unwind the nylon from the legs of the table and was greeted with three sets of long, human male legs. Adam was directly across from her, wearing jeans and work boots. Jake was next to Adam, in shorts and trainers, his thin legs pale and covered in dark hair—though the Texas sun and a fair amount of yard work did wonders to bring him closer to healthy. It was Marcus’s feet, however, that drew her notice. One of them was discolored. Darker than the rest of his normally brown skin, it was almost purple. As though aware of her notice, he shifted his legs.

  She quickly unwrapped the leash and straightened, her eyes automatically going to his face. He was pretending to pay attention to the story Adam was telling, but the lines of pain radiating from the corners of his mouth and eyes told another story.

  “Marcus, your foot’s purple,” she blurted.

  He jerked like she’d smacked him, which only made the pain on his face intensify.

  “Dude, what the hell?” Adam asked, looking under the table. Marcus shifted as though to turn himself away from Adam’s perusal but didn’t get far.

  “You’ve been sitting here too long,” Jake said.

  “I’m fine,” Marcus shot back. “Keep track of yourself, would you?”

  Jake was unfazed. “I’m trying. It would be…easier if you followed your doctors’ instructions.”

  “What are you supposed to be doing?” Adam asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “He’s not supposed to sit for long without…walking, because of his…blood flow,” Jake supplied.

  “Jesus Christ,” Marcus muttered. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Then let’s get up and move.” Adam rose, gathering a few empty beer cans. He took D-Day’s leash in his free hand while Lizzie sat on Patton’s leash and reached for the used paper plates. Jake shoved condiment bottles into a plastic grocery bag. Even Granddad, who had appeared to be napping, moved the container of cookies—onto his lap.

  Marcus didn’t move, other than to drain his beer and reach for another.

  “Marcus?” Adam asked. It seemed somehow significant that this was the first time he hadn’t called his friend Talbott—at least not in Lizzie’s hearing.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, shoulders slumped as though his entire world—perhaps his façade of good health was his entire world—had been yanked from under him. “Give me a minute.”

  Lizzie felt terrible. The last thing she’d ever want to do was make someone feel bad about himself. She grasped for something to make amends—being useful usually helped her. “Can you hold onto Patton while I put these in the trash?”

  Marcus reached for the leash, and the dog gladly moved around the table to a new sucker willing to scratch behind his ears. Patton sat on his haunches and raised a rear foot to swipe at his neck. “What’s the matter, buddy? Collar too snug?” Marcus fiddled with the buckles, then shoved his hand under the nylon. “That’s better.” The dog stood, pulling Marcus to his feet as he moved.

  “Hey,” Jake commented. “That’s the fastest…you’ve gotten up…in six months. Maybe you need…a dog to remind you to move.”

  Marcus regarded Patton. “So, what? I agree to take him for a walk every fifteen minutes, and he yanks me up off my broken ass?”

  “Exactly,” Jake said.

  “There you go,” Adam said. “Train it to be a service dog, and get it to earn its kibble.”

  “I don’t need a damned seeing eye dog,” Marcus said, stepping forward gingerly on the discolored foot.

  “Not a seeing eye dog. Stability, mobility, whatever,” Adam told him.

  Emma, who had returned from the house, said, “Patton’s a sturdy guy. I bet he could do it if the vet says it’s okay.”

  “Dr. Chance said…he has good hips,” Jake said.

  “I’ve read about service dogs for veterans,” Lizzie said. “They do a lot—from helping people remember to take medicine to easing anxiety issues from PTSD.” She couldn’t help looking at Adam when she said this, but he didn’t return her attention.

  “Wow, Sar’nt,” Jake said. “You could train service dogs…as easy as you trained Tank. Tank could even…help you.”

  Even the dogs froze under the immediate, oppressive silence. The crickets stopped warming up their nighttime instruments to hear Adam’s response. He stared at Jake, jaw ticking, expression shuttered, before he took a breath and said, “Yeah, Lieutenant. Maybe he would.” Without another word, he picked up the platter of leftover burgers in his non-leash hand and stalked to the house.

  No one else spoke until the front door closed. Jake looked at Marcus and asked, “I messed up…again, didn’t I?” Not waiting for an answer, Jake said, “Excuse me,” then disappeared into the barn.

  Marcus recovered and called, “It’s okay, man,” after Jake, but Jake didn’t come back. “Shit.”

  Lizzie had no idea what had just happened. “Who’s Tank?”

  “He was Adam’s last dog,” Emma told her.

  Marcus added, “He got blown up with the rest of us, but he didn’t make it.”

  “Oh no.” Lizzie looked at the house, as if it would spit Adam back out so she could see if he was okay.

  “Here. This stuff nee
ds to be refrigerated,” Emma said, handing Lizzie a couple of grocery bags with leftovers. “I’ve got to get Granddad home. Tell Adam we said goodbye.”

  Lizzie appreciated Emma’s obvious effort to give her an excuse to go after Adam but wasn’t sure he’d welcome her presence. She went anyway and found him in the kitchen, fighting with a roll of aluminum foil. The foil, with a roll-hindering crimp along one end, was winning, and the sheet tore the wrong way. “God damn it.” Adam wadded up the offending foil and slammed it into the trash can. D-Day watched with interest.

  “Here,” Lizzie said and put the bags she’d carried on the counter. “I’m good at this.”

  He looked like he didn’t want to let it go—like he needed to prove his supremacy over inanimate objects—but with a disgusted sigh, he gave it to her.

  “I brought in the rest of the food,” she said, pushing at the bent edge with a thumbnail.

  Adam didn’t say anything but started taking things out of the bags and putting them in the fridge.

  “Emma’s taking your grandpa home. She said to tell you goodbye.”

  Nothing.

  “I was thinking about entering the Miss Nude Big Chance contest next week. Do you think I should get a Brazilian first or go natural with a hint of landscaping?”

  “Jesus Christ, Lizzie! Can’t you tell when a man doesn’t want to talk?” Adam crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at her, but she could see that he was working to suppress a smile.

  Trying equally as hard to hide the triumph she felt at getting through that tough hide, she said, “Well, I really can’t talk to anyone else about this.”

  He snorted. “You really can’t talk to me about it, either.” But now his eyes twinkled.

  “I don’t know why not.”

  He scanned her from top to toe, and she thought his cheeks might be the slightest bit flushed when he shook his head and growled, “When are you going to sell this place for me?”

  She had no idea whether the thought of seeing her as Miss Nude Big Chance grossed him out or turned him on, but at least he was talking to her. “I’ll list this place when you finish the improvements I suggested.” So far, he’d started several (probably unnecessary) jobs but had yet to paint the house, fix the roof, cut down the massive jungle that nearly overgrew the driveway, or shore up the sagging porch roof.