Cowboys 03 - My Cowboy Homecoming (15 page)

Shit.
“I’m not my dad.”

“He’ll figure that out.” Stu came up on my other side. “In the meantime, I’d watch myself anytime Fausto is near them Elastrators.”

“Yeah.” Petey winked at me. “I hope you don’t sleep too sound.”

Well, that was one thing I knew for sure. “I don’t.”

I drove home that night exhausted. Another of the heifers calved, but she wanted nothing to do with her baby. I got to rub the little girl down with straw to get her circulation going, and after that, we bottle fed her colostrum milk until we could get her momma to accept her. The whole afternoon was awesome, but it meant I didn’t have time to take Lucho to visit Pio.

I saw him before I left and he said Fausto took him, but when he wouldn’t let Fausto get in the paddock with Pio, the kid got angry and wheeled him back. Gave him the cold shoulder. I commiserated. I’d failed my brother. At least Lucho was still in the game.

When I pulled up, Slade’s escalade was in the driveway. That was the last thing I needed. I was still hot and filthy. Tired. I could have used a shower and a sandwich and bed, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards at all because I smelled roast pork and spicy greens and my ma’s special cornbread. It was going to be a feast, and I knew I’d be expected to make nice with Slade while we ate it.

“Junior.” My mother said brightly. “Look who’s here.”

“Hello, Tripp.”

“Hello, Mr. Slade.” I froze, still holding my duffel, with my back to the door I’d just come through. “What brings you out this way?”

“Phew. You smell.” Ma shooed me past the kitchen. “Go get a shower and we can talk over dinner.”

Slade’s gaze followed me as I passed.

Dealing with Slade’s influence on Ma was on my to do list. Somehow in Dad’s absence Slade had wormed his way into the family. Apparently he’d given Heath a job for a while. If he was such a good friend, why didn’t he try harder to help Heath rather than let him go when he got out of control?

If he was such a good friend, why was he telling Ma an appeal could be successful?

“I’ll be back in a bit,” I said before heading down the hall to the bathroom, where I dropped my filthy clothes in my own mesh hamper and showered off the sweat and stink of a day spent at the ranch. I got back just in time to see my Ma set the table over a tablecloth in the dining room.

“Are we celebrating something?” I asked her, low-voiced, so Slade couldn’t hear.

“We have company.” She handed me a bundle of silver and I started laying it out next to the plates. “Turn the knives so the blade is toward the center, honey, I’m sure I taught you that.”

“You did. I forgot.” I went back and repositioned two of the knives. “What’s going on?”

“Does something have to be ‘going on’ for us to eat a civilized meal?”

“Ma—”

“Oh, all right. Yancy asked if he could talk to you, so I suggested dinner.”

“Talk to me about what?”

“I’m sure I don’t know—”

“It’s all right, Birdie. I can answer for myself.” Slade’s body filled the doorway to the kitchen. “I came to have a serious heart-to-heart with you about your father.”

I sighed, which—once I’d done it—felt more like something Fausto would do than something I should be doing.

“All right.” I laid the last fork down. “So talk.”

“You boys sit down, and I’ll get supper.”

Automatically, I turned to follow her. “I can help you with that.”

She shot me a look. “You men stay right here and sit. I won’t be a minute.”

I sat. There wasn’t any arguing with the look on her face. It was the same look she used when she caught me deploying a whoopee cushion while the pastor of our church was visiting. It said,
This is important
and
don’t mess this up
and
do not shame me
all at once.

“Yes ma’am.” No general could have inspired that kind of instant obedience in me.

“You’re a good son, Tripp.” I kept my eyes on the door my mother had gone through, while Slade sat himself down in my dad’s place at the head of the table. Goddamn. Why didn’t I think of sitting there first?

“Not really,” I muttered. From long habit I took my napkin and draped it over my lap. My hair was still wet. I doubt it was the A/C giving me goose bumps.

“To your mama,” Slade repeated, “you’re a great son.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Your dad wants to see you.”

“I want a moon rock.” I shrugged. “We all want something.”

He gave me a look that said
you’re not funny
and continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “I think it would be good if you were to visit him this Saturday.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can. It’s been a long time. Your dad’s not getting any younger.”

“It’s a moot point anyway. I’ve never filled out the required paperwork.” This was my trump card. I hated to play it this early in the conversation, but I was hungry and I wanted to eat in peace. “I couldn’t visit the old man, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

“Don’t worry about that. I made sure you’re on his list and I had Alice walk the paperwork through all the proper channels when I knew you were coming home.”

“You couldn’t have. You’d have needed my signature.”

His guileless look grated on my nerves. “Birdie?” He called into the kitchen. “Didn’t you say Tripp here had signed those papers?”

“What? I—” Ma came through the door with a platter full of roast and cornbread. “I—”

“I’ll get that.” I took the platter from her. “What’s he talking about? Did you sign my name to something?”

“I—” She looked at me like I’d slapped her. “I—”

“Didn’t you tell me you had Tripp sign that paperwork for the prison?”

“It’s fine, Ma.” I followed her back into the kitchen where she stood, both hands covering her mouth. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Your daddy said I should just sign for you. That you probably wouldn’t ever need the papers, but—”

“What else did you sign, Ma?” I felt cold prickles down my neck. “Did you sign my name on any papers about the house? Or—”

“No. Nothing. I swear. Daddy just wanted you to be able to visit him if you changed your mind, and so he had me sign your name. I practiced. It wasn’t like stealing your identity or anything. He asked me what if something happened, what if I died, and you had to tell him, and—”

“Shh.” I wrapped my arms around her. “It’s all right. It’s fine. No harm done. But don’t sign anything else Daddy tells you to sign, now that I’m home, all right? Let me look things over first. Just to make sure.”

“I will,” she said quietly.

I let her go and she wiped her eyes with her apron. “Will you go?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to see him.”

“Just once?” She pleaded. “Just one more time, to make peace? That’s all he wants, honey.”

“What about what I want?” I asked. “Why is it always about what he wants?”

“Because he’s your father.” She stated implacably. “He’s your father, and he wants a chance to tell you he’s proud of the man you’ve become.”

For other men that might be a dream come true. For me though . . . I despised everything my dad stood for. I don’t know if I wanted to hear him say how proud he was of me, because then I’d have to examine my life too closely, figure out all the places I’d gone wrong.

For me, earning his pride was my worst nightmare.

“All right . . . I’ll go this Saturday. If it means that much to you, I’ll go. But after that, it’s done, okay? No more. I’m moving on.”

“That’s all we ask, son.” I turned to find Yancy staring at me from the dining room doorway. He still looked unhappy, but as soon as my mom came into view, he put on a bright smile. “My god, Birdie. Are those collard greens? Nobody makes greens like you. You’ve outdone yourself again.”

“Stop. You know I like to cook when I have some appreciative men to cook for.” My mother handed him the serving bowl and we followed him to the table. Again it was surreal, as if I’d inadvertently become a character in a play I didn’t remember even buying tickets for.

“I’m appreciative.”

“Me too,” Yancy and I sat down next to each other. I was opposite my mother, who insisted on saying grace.

Some days I roll with the tide. This is one of those days.

***

I called Lucho as I got ready for bed. “’Lo?”

Just hearing his voice made me smile. “You too high on painkillers to talk?”

“No.” Fumbling noises. Maybe he was sitting up? “I don’t take those no more unless I absolutely have to. Just anti-inflammatories. Hang on. I have to get to the hall so I don’t wake Fausto.”

“I forgot.” There was the sound of fabric rustling and wheels whirring. “Is this okay? Can you talk?”

“Yeah. Fausto sleeps like the dead, but I wanted to be private, in any case. I’m heading to the TV room. What’s up?”

“My dad’s lawyer was here when I got home. He and my ma want me to go see my dad on Saturday.”

I heard a thud. “Ay.
Chinga
.”

“You okay?”

“Wall,” he explained. “What’d you tell them?”

“After trying to get out of it for a few rounds? I said yeah, I’d go.” At a hiss from him, I added, “My ma was crying. You’d have said yes too.”

“How’s that going to be?”

“I don’t know. It’s been eight years since I’ve seen him.”

“Maybe he’s changed?”

“So what if he has?” I snapped. “Is that supposed to make up for all the misery he’s caused?”

“Whoa, man. You don’t gotta tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” I sat on the edge of my bed and toed off my shoes and socks. “I know.”

“Why see him, if you’re not ready?”

“My ma wants me to. I don’t know what she thinks will happen. Maybe that we’ll make up and be a big happy family again. Maybe that Heath will rise from the grave.”

“What do you think will happen?”

“Slade says Dad just wants to tell me how proud he is of the man I’ve become.”

“You think that’s true?”

“I can see maybe . . .” I hesitated. “I think he’d be proud of my service record.”

“He should be. It was in the paper when you got the purple heart.”

“Anyone can get hit with shrapnel.”

“Don’t minimize your job over there.”

“I’m not.” I was there, mentally for a few seconds, feeling the impact—the burn melting the skin off my back and thighs. “I’m just saying things seem more complicated now that I’m back.”

Silence stretched out between us.

“I missed taking you to see Pio,” I said. “Was he being good?”

“Pio was. Fausto could use a little work.”

“I heard.”

“He was mad I let you in with Pio because he thinks you don’t know nothing about horses but he’s been around them all his life.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I had to tell him I didn’t care if Pio hurt you.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.”

“Hang on a second.” I stripped to a T-shirt and shorts and climbed into bed. “Okay. I’m back.”

“I also told Fausto that you’ve got some kind of magic with animals. Petey told me how you just walked right up to that calf and picked her up and her momma let you.”

“I didn’t realize that wasn’t how it’s done.”

Lucho laughed softly. “Stu’s all about roping them cause he’s got skills. Some folks run ’em down with ATVs. Petey says it was a lot less fuss when you were there to pick her up.”

“In the future, I’ll do whatever they tell me.”

“I think they’re going to tell you to get ’em any way you can get ’em, and that will be that. Seems like we got us a cow whisperer.”

“Right.” I wasn’t impressed.

“No, man. It’s good. Crispin likes you. Animals take to him right away too.”

“Crispin seems like a good guy.”

“He is.”

“You never did tell me how you ended up at the J-Bar.”

“I’ve been a seasonal hand for a couple years. When Mr. Jenkins died and Malloy stepped into his shoes, I came on full-time.”

“So not because you’re gay.”

“Nah. I was here for two calving seasons before Crispin came along. That’s when everyone came out. Nobody was more surprised than me. Especially about Malloy. Apparently, he took one look at Crispin and that was that.”

“That must have been something.”

“J-Bar’s like a telenovela now. People making it in the barn, can you imagine?”

“I am shocked.” I wasn’t above taking hold of my dick, now that my mind was on it. But wait—when
wasn’t
my mind on it, lately, with Lucho around? “Shocked, that decent young men would do such a thing.”

“Randy cowboys.” Lucho’s soft chuckle sped down my spine. “Who would believe it?”

“I should probably say goodnight now.”

“Mm.” Lucho said. “Now that I’m in the living room, all by myself with my hand in my pants?”

“
Sin verguenza
.”

“Yeah, you know it.”

“So, you got your dick out?”

“Maybe.”

“If I was there I’d suck it.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. I’d open so wide, let it tickle the back of my throat. Swallow around it. Maybe sneak a finger back behind your balls . . . how about that?”

“Oh, yeah.”

That little catch in his breath got my cock leaking and I used that to make things easier on me. My palms were getting callused from work, and it wasn’t hard to imagine it was Lucho’s hand down my pants instead of mine. “Oh yeah, baby. I’d want to suck your balls, take ’em in my mouth and then slip back behind them.”

“While you’re sucking my dick, man? Can’t be two places at once.”

“Shit. Okay, picture there’s someone else sucking your dick. Or like . . . I’m palming it while—”

“You’re crap at this. There’s no one else sucking my dick. Who else is going to be sucking my dick while you’re tonguing my balls?”

“Dude. Work with me, I’m not—”

“How’d you do on those mechanical aptitude tests they gave us in high school? One thing can’t be two different places at the same time? Two things can’t be in the same place at the same time.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll bet you ten bucks I can put my fingers and my tongue in your hole at the same time.” That shut him up I guess, cause the next thing I heard was a groan.

My hips shot up at the sound, shoving my dick through my fingers, and oh God, I was getting close just from arguing with him. We’d light the fucking bed on fire if I ever got him horizontal and slicked up.

“See, what I’d do is start with my fingers, right? I’d use flavored lube to slick you up and get you used to them one at a time, in and out. Deep, deep inside you, right on your sweet spot, so you don’t even know whether you’re coming or going, man. And then I’d shove a second and a third finger in. The pressure would build, and build. You wouldn’t know what was going to happen next, but just when you can’t take any more, I’d make room with my fingers and tongue you so good. Little licks, soft as silk. I’d pump you with my fingers. Lick and fuck you with my tongue.”