Cowboy Outcasts
Authors: Stacey Espino
Evernight Publishing
Copyright© 2012 Stacey Espino
ISBN:
978-1-77130-066-7
Cover
Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor:
Marie Medina
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
I’m dedicating this book to
my husband Marden and my youngest son Julian.
They both have to live with
Tourette’s Syndrome. Hopefully, one day there will be a cure…or at least more
public awareness.
COWBOY OUTCASTS
Stacey Espino
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
Tourette
Syndrome (TS) is a neurological disorder characterized by tics: involuntary,
rapid, sudden movements or vocalizations that occur repeatedly in the same way.
The cause has not been established and as yet there is no cure.
“Ms. Watson, I don’t have time for this now.”
Carl Fischer adjusted his glasses as he continued down the hallway of the
university. Hailey tagged along behind him, balancing a pile of heavy textbooks
in her arms.
“Sir, please. I need more funding for my
research. If you read my proposal, you’d see the validity of what I’m trying to
achieve.”
The professor turned a corner, keeping up his
hurried pace. “Everyone’s proposal has validity, Ms. Watson. The university
would be bankrupt if we funded every shining star.”
One of her books dropped to the ground. She
struggled to pick it up, attempting to bend down without spilling the rest of
her load. The professor had made it to the other end of the hallway, about to
escape into the stairwell. “Sir! The hogs are going wild. Something has to be
done.”
He pushed open the door and then turned to face
her. “Then I suggest you find a way to deal with it.
Without
university funding.” The door eased shut behind him,
leaving her standing alone in the quiet hallway. She never expected him to
agree. She’d already applied for every grant in the state, to no avail.
Hailey exhaled, her shoulders slumping as the
slim hope she’d held onto faded away into nothingness. The right side of the
hallway was all windows, looking down onto the courtyard. She set her bundle on
the ledge and watched the students walking along the various paths. Only two
years ago she was doing the same thing, rushing to classes, studying day and
night. Some days she didn’t know why she bothered at all, but then she’d
remember her research. Understanding the human mind was her passion, and she
wanted to take it as far as possible. But until now she’d only dealt with
horses and dogs.
Hailey quickly learned that a Master of Science
did not equate to a six-figure income. In fact, she barely made enough to pay
her rent at the boarding house. She wouldn’t complain if they’d only give her
enough money to continue her animal behavioral research. Her options became
fewer each day.
She made her way to the parking lot. Her old
jalopy waited for her in the same spot every day, its mix of rust and layers of
old paint making it the talk of the campus. Luckily she was usually the last to
leave each day because her pickup was in desperate need of a new muffler. The
two mile drive to the boarding house was enough to wake the dead.
“Hales, wait up!” Peter ran across the parking
lot towards her, waving a few pages of paper.
She dropped her research books into the bed of
her truck and waited. Peter was a good friend. He’d graduated alongside her,
but his focus was on agricultural management and pest control.
“What is it?”
He was slightly winded, bending over to catch
his breath. “I thought these might interest you.”
She took the papers from him. “What are they?”
“They were posted in the local feed shop just
south of here. I thought it would be a good way for you to do your research…on
a budget.”
She smirked. “You knew Fischer would say no,
didn’t you?”
Peter shrugged. “I feel bad. It’s not fair that
my project got funded and yours didn’t.”
“That’s because there’s money to be made in your
case. The pesticide market is huge around here,” she said. “Besides, I’m glad
at least one of us got funding. One day I’ll be able to say I was best friends
with a Nobel Prize recipient.”
“Sure, Hales,” he scoffed. When a distant group
of students called out his name, he tapped the papers he’d given her and
started jogging down the manicured lawn. “I’m booked to tutor a group of
second-year chemistry students. Five minutes ago.”
“Thanks, Pete. See you tomorrow.”
Hailey climbed up into her truck and slammed the
stubborn metal door shut. She sorted through the papers. Several local ranchers
had placed ads in the feed store requesting professional help to rid them of
their pest problem. Most sought archers and huntsmen. The need only confirmed
what she’d been trying to prove to her superiors—hogs were having a major
negative effect on the farming industry in their state. There had to be a
better balancing act between keeping the animals safe and the farmers
profitable. It seemed like the perfect symbiotic relationship. Hailey would be
able to conduct hands-on research in the field, and she’d hopefully be able to
help a farmer save his crops.
****
“You seen that brother of yours lately?” asked
Howard.
“Uh-uh,” said Callum. He scanned the ads on the
bulletin board in the feed store, not paying much attention to the owner.
“How long’s it been now?”
“Nearly a year since I last saw him,” he said
dismissively. “You take down my ad, Howard?”
“I never touch the board. There was a student in
here yesterday asking about fertilizer and pesticides. One of those
tree-huggers from the university. He took a few ads with him.”
“The whole damn ad?” Callum ran a hand through
his hair, wondering what a student would want with his advertisement. “Now I’ll
have to print off another copy.”
“Don’t be too hasty. I know plenty of ranchers
who got free services through the university. Their students are just itching
to get their hands dirty.”
“They could help with my hog problem?”
“Can’t see why not. Unless you have top dollar
to pay a professional, you can’t go wrong using a student.”
He pondered the idea as a couple entered the
store, the glass bells clanging against the glass door. They made a wide arch
around him, not making eye contact. He stood tall, staring them down until they
reached the other end of the aisle.
Three,
two, one. One, two, three. Three, two, one.
Howard came from around the counter and
whispered, “Callum, you’re grown now. Overgrown, if you ask me. You’re
intimidating when you look at people like that. How do you expect to make
friends?”
He scoffed. “I don’t need friends. Certainly not
the likes in this God-forsaken town.”
The older man tsked, shaking his head. “I don’t
know where you steered wrong but your parents wouldn’t approve.”
Three,
two, one. One, two, three. Three, two, one.
“You think the lovely townsfolk have been good
to us? They treat their fucking livestock better.”
“Lower your voice,” he whispered harshly. The
only reason Callum allowed Howard to speak so forward was because he’d been one
of the few rocks in his life. He’d taken Callum and his brother under his wing
after their parents died over a decade ago. He wasn’t sure why the old man
bothered to care. Nobody else did.
Callum’s cheek began to twitch, signaling it was
time for him to make his exit. He had to get his nerves under control before
they controlled him. The stares and whispers were nothing new. And worrying
about his ranch wasn’t going to help anyone. Born and raised a cowboy, he knew
only steadfast hard work would change a thing.
Everything just seemed to be adding up lately,
and he was doing it all on his own since
powerless to protect them. He couldn’t be everywhere all the time. His land was
vast, and he needed to sleep, even for just a few hours a night. Expensive
surveillance equipment and fencing were out of the question, and he didn’t have
the experience to hunt the hogs down, bringing him back to square one. He
needed help, and he needed it free.
“I’ll bring a new ad by tomorrow,” said Callum,
dipping his hat as he turned to leave.
“Call the university. It’s worth a try.”
He left the claustrophobic confines of the feed
store, taking a deep breath of country air—a mix of pine, barley, and burning
wood. The feed store was located on the periphery of town, the last stop before
the open road.
