Cowboys 03 - My Cowboy Homecoming (7 page)

We spent the rest of the morning riding fences, which is apparently as endless a chore here as it was in Afghanistan, even when it’s scheduled neatly into a maintenance routine. Since I wasn’t going to be rounding up cattle, I’d be expected to take that on as one of my duties. I anticipated long hours spent alone in the wide-open country.

It sounded like heaven.

After a quick couple of sandwiches from Jimmy’s pack, we rode over to the scrub where some cows were grazing and Jim and Eddie gave me a baby lesson on how to cut a cow out of the herd.

Once we disturbed them, Ed had to shout to make himself heard over the animals. “Galleta there knows what she’s doing. She’s probably concerned you don’t.”

“She’s right.” I shouted back a little sheepishly.

“Don’t let her hear you say that, she’s smarter than both of us put together.”

“I know.” I kept my hands soft and my knees tight. Jim and Eddie told me what to do, and I did it, keeping pressure on the cow they labeled my “heavy” and pushing her where they told me to go. We kept at it until I could be counted on to pick out a cow and separate it from its pals. Once I got it loose though, it inevitably ran around trying to get back with its friends. Galleta and I darted and feinted, charging this way and that as we tried to prevent that from happening. After a while, Galleta and I moved like one being over those deeply wind-scoured hills. I’d never had a better ride, even though I was only starting to learn chores it would take a lifetime to develop.

Jimmy and Eddie spent a lot of time laughing at me.

Galleta knew what she was doing, so my only job was to make sure I didn’t get in her way. It was pure pleasure. The best time of my life, but when I dismounted at the end of the day, I could barely walk.

As we took care of the horses I refused to let the pain show on my face. In fact, after I put Galleta back in her stall, Eddie dropped his hand heavily onto my shoulder. “You did good for a tenderfoot who doesn’t know a cow from a VW convertible.”

“Thanks.” I pulled off my gloves as we walked out of the barn together. “I loved it.”

“Hey, Tripp. Eddie.” Crispin gave us a nod from the sheep pen.

“Hey, Crispin.” I said, waving.

“How’d it go?” he asked as we approached.

“Boy’s a natural in the saddle.” Eddie told him, surprising a soft gasp out of me. “I can teach him some rudimentary skills. If we need extra help with the cattle, he’s someone we can turn to.”

“For real?” I asked.

“Thank God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to advertise for a hand this far into the season.” Crispin pursed his lips. “We lost another of our seasonals.”

“We lost another one? Who?” Jimmy stalked over, his expression fierce.

“Sanchez called. He’s decided he won’t work for the J-Bar anymore. He says working here goes against his moral code.”

“What the hell?” Jimmy took his hat off and slapped his thigh, raising a cloud of dust. “It’s immoral now to do your damn job?”

“I just got the call. Apparently, he doesn’t feel comfortable working”—Crispin made air quotes with his fingers—“at the ‘Gay Bar’ Ranch.”

Jimmy eyed Eddie. “Well, shit.”

“Fuck him,” Crispin said.

Eddie nodded, but I saw pain on Jimmy’s face. Had he and Sanchez been friends?

Crispin turned to me. “You got a problem with that? Who we sleep with?”

“Nope.”

“Some folks around here don’t want to do business with a ranch run by gay men.” Jimmy hooked his hand around Eddie’s neck possessively. “They think it rubs off or they’ll learn to like it.”

“They’re right,” Crispin snarled. “If I rubbed off on one of them I’m pretty sure they’d learn to like it.”

I sputtered at that. “Jobs are too scarce these days for people to be so picky. They’ll regret it.”

“Yeah, well. I’m pretty sure he landed a new job before he made his mind up about his moral compass.”

I debated whether to out myself or keep quiet. Most of the time, I keep my private life and work separate. Hell, I was in the army, and I spent half my TOS under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. In the end, though, I wanted these men to know me. The real me. “My compass points the way yours does, just so you know. I don’t make a practice of telling people outright, but I don’t hide it either.”

“It’s Sanchez’s loss.” Crispin pointed to me. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn about cows damn quick now.”

“You’re still one man short.” I pointed out. “I was supposed to replace Lucho, remember?”

“Well, then.” Crispin’s eyes sparkled a little. Apparently nothing got him down. “You’ll just have to do the work of two men, won’t you?”

I stammered, “W-wait—”

“It’s all right. I’m just kidding.” Crispin reassured me. “I’ve asked Lucho’s younger brother to do the barn chores and feed while we get you up to speed as much as we can. He’ll be by as soon as he’s done visiting Lucho in the hospital.”

“How’s Lucho doing?” I asked, mindful that I’d put my mother’s casserole into the bunkhouse fridge and she’d expect me to deliver it to Lucho’s family somehow. “Is he all right?”

Crispin nodded. “They had to open his foot and put in drainage tubes, plus he’s on IV antibiotics. It’s not pretty, but so far, things are looking better. It’s a good thing you took him to the ER when you did. Thank you.”

“It’s not like it was my idea. They told me to at the clinic.”

“It’s all good.” Eddie slapped me on the back. “Learn when to say ‘you’re welcome.’”

I looked at my watch. “What do you need me to do before I leave?”

“Feed and check water. Make sure every critter is good for the night.”

I nodded and went to work, making sure all the horses were taken care of and repeating the process with the other animals. Threep was my constant companion. Her boundless enthusiasm made me long for a dog of my own. I was done in plenty of time to clean up and head for the hospital, and I whistled as I walked.

Just as I came back from the barn, a truck pulled up and a lanky Latino kid jumped out. I didn’t recognize the driver—a man in his forties with a straw hat and a pair of reflective sunglasses—but I couldn’t miss the resemblance the kid bore to Lucho Reyes.

This was the brother, then. I didn’t know his name, but I’d have recognized him anywhere. He looked to be about 15 or so—the same age Lucho had been in the picture I had at home. He was long and lean with a blade-straight nose, high cheekbones, and the same color eyes as Lucho’s. Black cherry, I thought. Coffee-dark with a hint of red . . . Like Lucho’s, the kid’s skin was golden brown. He stopped when he saw me, and his features froze into a blank mask.

“You’re Tripplehorn. My brother told me all about you.”

“What did he say?”

His eyes narrowed. “He told me to stay away from you, ’cause you like putting the moves on little boys.”

“He said no such thing.” Shock zinged through me like a bolt of lightning and fury lit the fuse on my anger. “He might hate me. But he’d never tell a lie like that.”

He wouldn’t, would he?

“What’s going on here?” Speed Malloy came down the steps of the ranch house. Apparently he’d heard us inside.

I let the kid talk first. He glared at both of us, and then lowered his gaze. “Nothing.”

“Tripp?”

“Nothing sir. Just a miscommunication.”

“Fausto? You have anything you want to tell me?” Malloy asked.

To his credit, the kid looked embarrassed. “No, sir.”

“Fine, then go see Jimmy and let him find you a bunk. The next few days will be busy until your brother gets back. You feed and water the animals and then Crispin will take you to school. I take it someone will bring you back here after?”

“Yes, sir. My uncle says he’ll drive me over in time to do the evening chores.”

“That’s fine, and thanks for helping us out. See if there’s a way to get credit hours for the job at school, will you? I’ll sign whatever paperwork you need to prove that you’re working here.”

“I’ll ask.”

The boss and me watched the kid run off.

“Are you going to tell me?” Malloy asked.

“Tell you what?” He was a big, quiet man, a rock, who seemed to resonate strength and calm. I caved. “He said Lucho warned him I’m a pervert.”

Malloy sighed heavily. “I thought I heard that.”

“I’m not. Just so you know. I don’t know where—”

“If Lucho really believed that, I think he’d have come to me, but I’m going to ask him anyway.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you, for your sake as much as Fausto’s. Plenty of folks around here are just waiting to make an accusation like that against one of us.”

“I understand.”

His lips thinned. “I so do not need this.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I thought I told you to call me ‘boss’ or ‘Malloy.’” He relaxed, fractionally. “If something gets under your skin, I need you to let me know.”

“It’s just a new take on the same old, same old. My dad did a lot of damage. He’s not around, so I’ll be the one that catches the fallout.”

Malloy nodded slowly. “I’d hate to be tried for my parents’ crimes.”

Without thinking, I turned to look at the ranch house. If Crandall and Emma ever committed any crimes, I’d never heard of it.

“Not the Jenkinses.” He followed my gaze. “They took me in when I was in my teens. My mother was an addict. She caused a lot of pain. She stole. Cheated. Manipulated. I never knew my dad, but I can’t help but believe he was no better.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “The past isn’t as important as what you learn from it.”

I agreed, in principal. “I thought a full-on escape would be my best bet, so I enlisted as soon as I was old enough. Now I’m back and I have to face the past all over again.”

“It’ll take time to win people over, but if you’re a decent guy, it will happen.”

“I wonder . . .”

“About what?” he waited.

“Whether I’m a decent guy. Deep down I doubt I’m as decent as I’d like to be.”

His smile made him look younger. Handsome. A light breeze ruffled his straight brown hair before he put his hat back on. “The fact you doubt you are is one reason I don’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” He grinned at me. “Plus, the animals like you. You can’t fake out a smart horse.”

“I hope that’s true,” I said. “About animals. They seem to like me.”

“Go home.” He urged. “Get some sleep.”

I nodded. I needed to clean up if I was going to visit Lucho in the hospital. Unfortunately, if I went to the bunkhouse I’d run into Lucho’s demon brother. “I need to wash up a bit. My mother—” Unhappily, I glanced back at the bunkhouse.

“No mother wants a man tracking horseshit on her floor. You’re welcome to keep clothes and toiletries in the bunkhouse. That way, you can shower before you go home.”

“It’s not that. Ma gave me a casserole for Lucho’s family. I’m not even sure they’ll take it, but I promised. And I think I should let Fausto cool off before we run into each other again.”

Malloy nodded. “Come on up to the ranch house and clean up. I think Crispin has been cooking. You can take Lucho some supper too.”

“Thank you.” I grabbed my duffel from the truck and followed him.

I felt like an ass running from Lucho’s surly little brother, but I didn’t want to make waves at the J-Bar. The job was too important.

That ride with Jimmy and Eddie gave me a glimpse of the kind of life I could have, especially since the J-Bar was having trouble with some of the hands because Crispin and Malloy were gay.

If they could only hire me seasonally, I would do construction work, fix plumbing, or paint houses, so that in the spring I could look forward to long days with the limitless sky, those big, gentle beasts, and the life of a cowboy. I wanted that like nothing ever.

“Thank you for everything,” I said.

The boss looked at me funny, but held the door to the mudroom open for me. “You’re welcome, Tripp.”

Inside, Crispin seemed to reign over steamy fruit-scented clouds. “Hey,” he said when we walked in. “Dinner’s ready, and I decided to put up strawberry jam.”

“Smells good.” Malloy leaned down and kissed him on the lips. They took an extra moment to enjoy it while I found something fascinating to look at on the floor. It’s not like I was embarrassed by their affection; on the contrary, it was hot. I’d pay good money to see men like that in bed together, but they weren’t porn stars. They were obviously in love, and it seemed like it ought to be private. It was a sentimental thing. Sacred, even.

I couldn’t help smiling when Crispin growled a huskier greeting. “Mm. Hello. I should make jam every day if that’s what I get.”

“Tripp here is going to the hospital to see Lucho.”

Crispin arched an inquisitive brow. “Really?”

“My ma made something for his family.” I’m sure my face caught fire because I wanted to see Lucho despite my legitimate excuse. “Casserole. You know.”

“I told him you probably had something to send with him too.” Malloy had hung his hat on the wall, but he raked his hands through his hair, sort of self-consciously. It was pretty funny, the way he acted around Crispin.

“I do.” Crispin pointed to a square thermal carrier on the counter next to a matching bag. “They say he’ll be in there for a few more days, and I thought he’d like a home-cooked meal.”

“I’ll be happy to take it, if you can point me somewhere I can get cleaned up?”

“There’s a bathroom with a shower off the mudroom, where we came in. First door on the right.”

“Thank you.” I took my duffel and headed for it. I heard murmurs from behind me and felt a blush burn my cheeks. I wasted no time getting there.

After I parked outside the hospital, I sat in the truck for a few minutes. This had to be one of the dumbest things I’d ever done. Inside, Lucho’s family was probably gathered around him—all except that little monster Fausto.

Was I ready to face Lucho’s mother down? Even for a chance to see him again?

He’d softened toward me a little when he was too sick to know better, but what if he was back to despising me? Was I prepared to see those dark eyes filled with contempt?

I grabbed my mother’s casserole, stacked the things Crispin added on top of it, and prepared myself for disappointment.

When I finally figured out how to find him, the door to Lucho’s room was open and goddamnit, he seemed to be
entertaining
. His mother, grandmother, and the man I’d seen drop Fausto off that afternoon were gathered around his bed in borrowed chairs. I cleared my throat before entering, because I had no hands free to knock.

Four similarly hued brown eyes stared at me as if I’d interrupted the Pope giving the last rites.

“Hello.” I cleared my throat again. “Tripp from the J-Bar.”

The older man spoke. “We know who you are.”

“I . . . uh.” I gestured with the food. “Brought you some things.”

Lucho took pity on me, I guess, because he punched a button to raise the head of his bed. “What is it?”

“Crispin sent a hot dish and some sides to go with it.” I handed over the carrier with his dinner, and the bag, which held biscuits and fresh jam. “He thought you’d like a home-cooked meal.”

“And that?” He nodded toward the cold casserole I still held in my hands.

“My—” I swallowed. “My mother sent this for your family. She says to get well soon.”

The older man snorted in disgust. “
Your
mother?”

“I’m sorry about this.” I shook my head as I looked around for somewhere to put things. Lucho’s bedside table held water and
hey . . .
The cacti I’d given him were right next to his head, all the little googly eyes facing his pillow. I stared at them for a second, surprised. “I should probably explain about Ma. She isn’t . . . she doesn’t relate to reality very well. I thought about leaving the casserole behind in the truck, but I promised her I’d bring it. I promised, so if you want just throw it away . . . that’s all right.”

Three pairs of eyes continued their blank accusations. How could I explain? I’d been stuck between a rock and a hard place since I’d come home: between keeping my mother happy and telling her the bitter truth. Between my attraction to Lucho and my desire to fade quietly into the background so I could make whatever life I could at the J-Bar. Between running like hell from the past and giving it a hard stare, and possibly turning into a pillar of salt.

“Anyway . . .” I glanced at Lucho, willing him to understand.
A man doesn’t break a promise to his mother.

Lucho said something softly in Spanish. His mother scowled. While they argued, I stepped outside the room and waited. Things got heated, but eventually, I heard Lucho call me back in.

His mother rose to her feet with great dignity. The others stood with her. They filed out of the room without saying a word, leaving Lucho and me staring at each other.

“I’m sorry about this,” I said.

“You’ve got some craptastic timing, army.”

I acknowledged that as I placed the cold casserole down on one of the now-vacant visitors’ chairs. “There was never a good time to bring your mother a casserole.”

Despite his huff of laughter, and the smile on his tan face, I thought he looked tired. “So are you kidding me? Crispin sent me food?”

“Yes.” I unzipped the thermal carrier and found a foil-wrapped plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. When he made a grab for it, I pulled it away.

“Give it here,” he reached out.

“You sure you don’t have any dietary restrictions? Maybe we ought to ask the staff. Get the doctor up here to okay this. In the meantime, I’ll just test it out to make sure it’s okay.”

“You do and you die,” Lucho growled.

“I’m kidding.” I handed the food over and searched the other bag for silverware. I found plastic utensils and a couple of napkins. “Here.”

As he picked up a chicken thigh and took a big bite, a look of pure pleasure bloomed on his face. I couldn’t help imagining what he’d look like in the throes of another kind of pleasure altogether.
God
. I had it bad.

I rubbed my damp hands on my jeans. “Someday, you’re not going to hate me—” I said firmly. “Someday—”

“I don’t hate you.” He chewed. Swallowed. “I don’t care enough about you to spend time hating you.”

Okay, that was harsh. My face went hot to the tips of my ears. “Is that why you told Fausto I like to fiddle with little boys?”

He did a classic spit take, chicken bits nearly spewing before he got his hand to his mouth. I grabbed another napkin for him but he waved it away, brushing his crumbs into a pile and dumping his chicken back onto the plate.

“Did he say I told him that?”

“Yeah.”

“That little shit.” Lucho laughed weakly. “Obviously, I didn’t. Even if I hated you I wouldn’t put that on you.”

“I figured.” That was something, anyway. “I rode Galleta.”

“Yeah?” As he grabbed for a biscuit, I braced myself for an outburst of some kind. It didn’t come. “I told Eddie that was okay. Galleta loves to work. She gets antsy when she doesn’t get a good long stretch, and he said you were good with horses.”

“She’s amazing.” I loved the way he said her name.
Guy-jetta
. It made me wish I had a name like that, foreign and mellow. Not Tripp and certainly not
Calvin
. “And so goddamn smart. I wish I had a horse like that.”

He ate a few more bites while I watched, then motioned for me to sit. “Take a load off, man.”

“Won’t your family want to come back?”

“They’ve gone home. They’ll come back in the morning.”

“You sent them away? For me?” I glanced at the door. “I never meant for you to—”

“Come on, they’ve been sitting around staring at me all day. I needed a break.”

I sat. “Okay.”

“Plus you brought me food.” He waved a chicken wing at me before biting into it.

“Yeah.”

Through some noisy chewing, which I found oddly endearing, he said, “Crispin’s cooking is awesome.”

I figured that was probably true because my mouth was watering. I hadn’t eaten since the sandwiches at lunch, and here was Lucho, eating homemade biscuits and jam like the Cookie Monster.
Nom, nom.

“Looks like,” I said.

He glanced sideways at me and handed me a drumstick. “Don’t ever say I didn’t give you anything.”

“Thank you.” I bit into it fast, afraid he was going to take it back.

He smirked at me and continued eating. “The rescue horse that stomped me could be like Galleta if we can turn him around.”

“The piebald gelding?”

“Yeah. His name is Pio. He’s a wreck. Real smart but savage as hell. You know what I mean? Wild. You win his trust, you’ll have the horse of a lifetime.”

“Me?”

“Just sayin’.” His eyes held a challenge. “Eddie told me you’re good with animals. If you’re up for a battle, that horse could be worth it. I could kick myself for letting him get the better of me like that.”

He eyed the rest of the food but seemed too exhausted to eat it. Whatever energy he’d had seemed to ebb away, leaving him deflated, somehow.

“Are you in pain?” I wrapped our now bare chicken bones up with a napkin and tucked them into the carrier.

“Starting to be.” He showed me he had a little button to push for pain medication. “When they take this shit away it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Can I get you anything else?” I saw there was water on the night table and a couple boxes of apple juice. “Juice?”

“Sure, thanks.” He shifted position while I put his food away. I poked a straw in his juice box and handed it to him. Eyes narrowed, he asked, “Why you gotta be such a nice guy?”

“I told you. It’s all part of my sinister plan.”

“It’s not a joke.” He took a few sips of juice and handed it back. “You’ve got an angle, I just haven’t figured out what it is.”

“Don’t you get it?” Frustration made my voice rise. “I’m not who you think I am.”

He lowered the head of his bed and stretched out. “Or maybe you’re
exactly
who I think you are, and you’re just biding your time before you strike.”

I let that slide. He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t. It was asinine. “Your mother didn’t take my casserole.”

“Did you honestly think she would?”

I laughed. “No.”

A long time passed.

He grimaced before finally pushing the button for his meds, and sighed when they delivered relief.

“I lied to you,” I admitted, because I wanted only truth between us. “I told you a lie, and I want to make things right.”

“Did you?” Brown eyes closed halfway. Opened. Blinked. “I knew it.”

“I said I never went with my dad on one of his raids.”

With effort, he focused his gaze on me. “You lied about that?”

“I went once.” I kept my eyes on my hands. “They took me to Las Cruces. I thought we were going to go drinking or target shooting or something. I’d just turned fourteen.”

He moved his free arm up to pillow his head. “That’s kind of young to be drinking.”

“Right. Well. Not to my dad. Men drink. Laws are stupid, right? They don’t apply to guys like him. Guys who know the score. That’s my dad.”

“Geez.” He shook his head.

“I knew my dad was an asshole even then, believe me.” I let my gaze drift to the ceiling. This was hard enough without looking right at Lucho. “What I didn’t know was that he and his pals conducted what they called ‘Homeland Security raids.’”

Lucho made a
tch
noise but gave me time to continue.

“They got a bug up their ass about a guy. I don’t know. He was an immigrant who got a job someone else thought they deserved. We went to his house in Las Cruces and my dad set fire to the trash cans next to it. It was supposed to be a warning. Just the trash, right? But the house was old and the eaves caught fire so easily. The whole place burned to the ground.”

“What happened to the people who lived there?”

“They got out.”
Barely.
Maybe it’s because I threw a flowerpot through the window to wake them, for which I caught unholy hell at the time.

I could still hear my dad screaming at me.
“Your fingerprints could get us all arrested, you puking shit. Is that what you want? You’re worse than a girl. What a pile of dog crap. I’m sorry you were ever born. Get him out of my sight, boys. He’s no son of mine. Take him out and show him what happens to pussies.”

“Shiiiiit. That’s fucked up.” He was drifting. I wished I was with him, floating on a cloud of Dr. Feelgood. No pain. No memories.

“I got sick in the bushes.”

“You would.” His eyes drifted closed. After a while, he opened his eyes again. “You like me, don’t you?”

What was this, high school? Two could play that. “How do you mean? Do I
like you
like you? Or just like you? ’Cause I—”

“
Callate
.” A slow smile curved his lips upwards. “You
like
me.”

I hesitated. Capitulated. “Yeah. I like you.”

“I
knew
it.” Oh, there was that goddamn smirk again. “You want my hot Latino ass.”

Fuck yeah, I did. “You like me too, I think. You don’t want to. You’d rather eat glass.”

“Maybe.” Brown eyes blinked heavily. “But my horse likes you, so I’m totally fucked.”

“Galleta’s pretty smart.”

“She’s smarter than you, anyway.”

Was I really contemplating kissing him? Was I really a glutton for the kind of punishment a man like this could dish out if he wanted, for my ignorance, for my family’s sins, for my stupid heart that couldn’t seem to beat when he was around?

I was.

I leaned over him until I was barely a breath away—so close I could feel the heat of his skin. Smell the earthy scent of his hair, and . . .

Nope. Not when he was fucked-up on drugs. Not when he would go along and barely remember later . . .

Lucho’s lashes lowered. Lifted. “Don’t, Tripp.”

I froze. “I wasn’t going to.”

He drifted for a few minutes and then woke up with a snort. “I am so high. Thought you were going to kiss me.”

“Now why would I do something crazy like that?”

“Because you feel it, don’t you?” He held his hand out and I took it. I let his fingers twine with mine and stared at our hands for a while before I realized he was watching me.

Electric tingles shivered through my whole body at his touch.

“There’s something there.” He shook his head. “When you touch me, I get chills.”

“I feel it,” I admitted.

“But you had to go and be fucking
Calvin Tripplehorn’s
son.” He spat the words.

“Sorry.”

That’s chemistry.

Electro-fucking-magnetic attraction. Gravity. Two bodies collide and the result feels like magic.

It couldn’t happen between two worse people.

I let go of his hand.

“We’re going to revisit this later, when your head is clear.” I ran a tentative finger over his cheek, felt the flutter of his eyelashes when he blinked, and smiled.

“Probably shouldn’t.” He drifted off to sleep again.

He was so goddamn beautiful.

Everything about him was So. Goddamn. Beautiful.

Three soft footfalls were the only warning we had before the door opened and a nurse walked in.

“Time to say goodnight—” She gave Lucho and me a professional smile. “Oh, my. You’re not supposed to bring food in here.”

“Sorry. I—”

“Mine.” Lucho fretted when I packed up the rest of his biscuits. I relented and took just the trash, leaving the bag with him. That earned us the hairy eyeball from his nurse.

“C’mon. It’s his foot, not his innards. A sick man needs something to look forward to.”

“I should make you take those with you.”

“Look at him . . . He’s a muppet. Can you deny him his dessert? ’Cause I can’t.”