Rough, Raw and Ready (28 page)

A shrine to his father, the great Tater Glanzer, and the man’s impact on the sport of rodeo.

Saddles, spurs, belt buckles, trophies, framed newspaper articles, framed magazine covers, more trophies. Trevor knew his mother picked this room in an effort to make Trevor feel inferior in the face of all his father’s accomplishments. It didn’t work. Not anymore. All it did was remind him how much of his life he’d wasted trying to live up to expectations that weren’t his own.

If only he’d been working, not rodeoing, not chasing someone else’s dream, then he’d have the money he and Chassie needed to buy Gus’s land.

“Stop beating yourself up.”
Chassie’s gentle voice drifted into Trevor’s mind like a refreshing breeze, washing away his frustration, if only temporarily. She had that calming effect.

So did Edgard.

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He wondered how the two of them were faring without him.

“What do you know about goat births?”

Edgard had joined Chassie and they were draped across the top of Greta’s stall in the barn.

His gaze narrowed. “Can’t be much different than foals or calves, can it?”

“I reckon they’re the same. That’s why I think Greta is in labor.” Chassie squinted at the nanny goat chomping on a pile of hay.

“Hate to break it to you, but Greta looks too bored to be in labor. She hasn’t lost her appetite a bit, which is a damn shame ’cause she’s gonna eat us out of house and home.

No wonder he was so anxious to get rid of her.”

“Not all females of the species bleat and moan and flop on the ground when their time comes, Ed. Some give birth with quiet dignity.”

Edgard’s mouth twitched. “My mistake.”

“So that’s why I think Greta’s behavior is mighty suspect. She hasn’t shown her hiney in the last half hour.”

“Thank God,” Edgard muttered.

“It’s probably swollen.” Chassie gave Edgard an arch look. “I know how that goes.”

“No sympathy from me. Maybe next time you’ll heed our warnings and save your poor hiney.”

She snorted. “I don’t remember signing on for gettin’ my ass smacked.”

“Comes with the territory—and two territorial males.” Edgard offered her a sunny smile. “No extra charge.”

“Maybe next time I’ll spank you.”

“Mmm. I’d consider it if you’ll kiss it and make it better afterward.”

Her face burned when she remembered how erotic it’d been having two mouths and two sets of rough male hands caressing her flaming skin. She hopped down from the fence. “I’m gonna check her.”

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“Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

“You sound like Trevor.”

“If you mean I’m concerned about your well-being,
querida
, then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I think I can handle one little goat.”

Greta lifted her head and
baaed
a greeting when Chassie entered the stall. Then she returned to mowing hay, allowing Chassie an opportunity to run her hand down the side of Greta’s rotund belly. Didn’t feel like it was pulling and heaving with labor pains.

“Well?” Edgard asked.

“I can’t tell. Need a better look back here.” Chassie kept stroking Greta’s rear right flank as she dropped to her knees.

“Chass, that’s not such a good idea.”

“Stop bein’ such a worry wart. Look how full her udders are.” Greta stilled when Chassie’s fingers brushed the closest teat. “You’re ready to be a mama, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

Greta
baaed
loudly.

“Lemme see how close we are. Okay?” Chassie inched sideways. The second she placed her hand on Greta’s rump, Greta panicked.

Her back end flew up, her legs flying high, and her hoof connected with Chassie’s forehead.

Chassie literally saw stars as she hit the dirt.

A thud sounded as Edgard jumped the fence, sending hay dust swirling around Chassie’s head. “Chassie?”

She forced her eyes open and Edgard’s face swam into view.

“Oh damn, baby, your forehead is really bleeding.”

“Shit.” Her vision was blurry and she had a vicious headache.

“Jesus. Hold still.” He stripped off his glove with his teeth and pressed it to where her pulse pounded up by her hairline.

“Jesus fucking Christ would you stop, that hurts!” So much for acting tough.

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“Sorry, but you hafta keep pressure on it.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Hang on.” Edgard slipped one arm under her knees and the other under her neck as he lifted her.

“I can walk.”

“Like hell.” Edgard kicked the stall door shut and carried her into the house. When Chassie tried to sit up on the couch, he pushed her back down. “Don’t move and let me look at it.”

“It’s probably just a scratch.”

“Let me be the judge of that, okay?” He sucked in a harsh breath when he gently pulled the glove away. “I think it needs stitches. She sliced you open good.”

That’s when Chassie started to cry. “I don’t want stitches. I’ll have horrible scars and I’m already not rodeo queen material and I’ll end up lookin’ worse than I do right now, probably like Frankenstein.”

“Chassie—”

“And we can’t afford a trip to the doctor’s office,” she practically wailed. “Maybe you should just take me to the veterinarian’s—”

“Ssh.” Edgard wiped her tears and dabbed at the blood. “Calm down. I’m taking you to a real doctor. We’ll get you fixed up. And there’s no way you could ever look like Frankenstein.”

Pain throbbed in her head. “I hate doctors. Hospitals. All that medical shit.”

After a minute or so of silence, he asked, “Because of your mother?”

Images of claustrophobic rooms and the stench of antiseptics caused her stomach to pitch. “How’d you know?”

“You never talk about her. You said she was sick. You sort of seemed embarrassed about it.”

Chassie nodded. “She was sick for a long time before she died. Most my life, actually. Because she was Native we ended up at the Indian Health Services hospital. No one cared whether she got better, except me. It was like we were both invisible and www.samhainpublishing.com 221

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unwanted. I hated roaming the hospital corridors wondering if I’d return to her room and find her…gone. The worst part was I figured no one would notice when she passed on, and that’s exactly what happened the day she finally died. She was dead for an hour before I could get anyone to come into her room.”

“I’m sorry.”

More tears leaked out even when Edgard’s touch soothed her. “You’re really gonna make me do this, aren’t you? Go to the doctor?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I am. But I’ll hold your hand the entire time. I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

“Thank you. You’re so sweet, you probably think I’m such a crybaby—”

“Ssh. I don’t think any such thing. It’s okay to lean on me.” He smoothed the hair from her cheek. “I want you to be able to count on me, Chassie, for whatever you need.”

“I’d like that.” In a rush, Chassie said, “But you can’t tell Trevor what happened when he calls.”

Frown lines appeared on Edgard’s forehead. “That’s not—”

“Please. He’ll freak out and there’s nothin’ he can do. He needs to stay and sort things out with his family. We both know he’ll come racing home if we give him a reason to.”

Edgard studied her. He bent down to kiss her cheek. “I disagree, but we’ve got more important things to do than argue. Stay put. I’ll pull the truck up and then we’ll go.”

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Trevor killed an hour in his room, alternating between staring out the window and scowling at the rodeo trophies. When he deemed his temper able to handle not only his father, but the rest of his family, he ventured downstairs.

They’d moved out of the doublewide trailer in Crook County and into this testament to Tater Glanzer’s ego the year Trevor turned thirteen. Hadn’t mattered to his father, uprooting his oldest son at the start of Trevor’s high school rodeo career, with one of the most respected high school rodeo teams in the state. Hadn’t mattered to his father that Trevor left behind his best friend and the family he’d wished he’d been born into.

Between Tater’s rodeo earnings, the untimely death of Starla’s father—who’d left every penny of his Wyoming oil money to his only daughter—they set to building the most flamboyant, gaudy house this side of the Big Horn mountains.

Tater demanded their new home be decorated country cabin style, with exotic and domestic animal heads from his various hunting expeditions mounted on the walls and the space littered with his collection of mostly tacky Western art.

Starla ignored Tater’s demands and decorated the house in the style of an English country manor, with chintz-covered chairs, plaid and floral couches, lace doilies, ruffles and bows.

The result was pretty hideous, an interior decorator’s worst nightmare—Laura Ashley meets Conan the Barbarian. The horse scenes painted on velvet clashed with the velvet draperies. The rusted barbed wire folk art sculptures did not complement the classic Greek marble figurines. The grizzly bear skin rug clashed with the Oriental carpets. Trevor and Chassie were on the same page for how they wanted their home to look. Hard to be picky when money was an issue. After they’d first gotten married, she’d www.samhainpublishing.com 223

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jokingly suggested they decorate in the theme of cowboy versus Indian to keep with their heritages.

What Brazilian pieces would Edgard add to their eclectic mix? Had he even brought any of his personal stuff over from Brazil?

While he was lost in thought, pondering the changes he wanted to make in his life even as he wondered if he had the guts to follow through with it, his mother had somehow snuck up behind him. “You always were a damn daydreamer.”

“Only way to escape from the shitty reality in this family. Besides, I always got my chores done on time. Can’t say the same for anyone else.” Trevor turned around. “I’m ready to see Pa.”

“You sure? He ain’t his old piss and vinegar self.”

“Like that’s a bad thing.” An emotion close to worry briefly appeared in Starla’s eyes. “How serious is this?”

“Serious enough for him to call
you
home.” She sniffed with disdain. “I’ll let you judge for yourself.” Cigarette in hand, she pushed open the door to the den without knocking. “Get up, you old bastard, Trevor is here.”

“Jesus, Ma.” Trevor brushed past her. The room was dark except for a lamp in the corner and the glow of the big screen TV mounted on the far wall.

Tater Glanzer was in bed. Trevor didn’t remember ever seeing his dad in bed past eight in the morning. Tater wore plaid pajamas, his face was pale and his yellowed hair stuck up like sections of straw.

At one time everyone commented on the resemblance between Trevor and Tater. As years passed and his father packed on weight, the likeness was less pronounced. But for Trevor, the only differences that mattered were those on the inside.

“Trevor.”

“Pa.”

“Come in, boy. Starla, shut the goddamn door behind you.”

“If I leave I ain’t comin’ back in here to wait on you.”

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“After thirty-six years you think that’s a big surprise to me? Send Lianna in here after a bit. Make sure she knocks first.”

The door shut hard enough to rattle the DVDs on the end table. His parents’ sniping and the door slamming barely registered. Trevor pulled up a folding chair, spun it around and straddled it, propping his arms across the back. “So I’m here. What do you want?

Now that I can plainly see you ain’t gonna die.”

“Ain’t got much sympathy for me, do ya?”

“Should I?”

“Hell yes. I’m your father.”

“Yeah, well, that’s something you said embarrassed you on a daily basis, so try again.”

Tater looked away. “We’ve all said and done things we ain’t proud of, son.”

That admission was the closest he’d ever get to an apology, but it didn’t soften Trevor toward the ornery SOB one iota.

“Speaking of…why didn’t your wife come with you? Ain’t none of us met her yet.

Makes me wonder if you’re ashamed of her.”

Rage erupted inside him, precisely the reaction his father goaded him into, so Trevor refused to grant it to him. “Leave Chassie out of this. You spewed a buncha racist bullshit about her once and you ain’t ever doin’ it again. So if you can’t be civil when you speak of
my wife
, I’ll walk out the fuckin’ door right now, old man, understand?”

The outburst appeared to have pleased Tater. “See? That’s why you’n me didn’t get along. You don’t have no problem speakin’ your mind.”

Trevor laughed bitterly. “Don’t you mean I ain’t never had a problem talkin’ back to you? And if I recall, my face met the back of your hand every goddamn time I was stupid enough to speak my mind.”

“Didn’t do no good. You’ve still got that same smart mouth.”

“I piss you off, you piss me off, old news. If you called me here because you needed someone new to fight with, I’ll be hittin’ the road. I’ve got lots of stuff goin’ on at home that I’d rather be doin’.”

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His father considered him in silence.

“Good luck.” Trevor stood.

“Sit your ass back down. Now.”

Trevor sat.

“Fine. You’re right. I ain’t ready to lay down and die. But this little spell has shown that I’ve been short-sighted in decidin’ the future for the Glanzer Ranch.”

“Again, I ain’t a lawyer. What does this have to do with me?”

“Simple. I’m askin’ you to move back here and take over. For real. No bullshit. No head games. I’d put you in charge one hundred percent.”

“In writin’?”

His dad squirmed, but he nodded. “In writing.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one with guts. Brent has no initiative. He’s no better’n a trained monkey; he’ll do whatever your mother or I tell him to do. Same with Lianna, though she’d like to tell us off, she don’t have the balls. And Molly and her husband are both dumb as damn posts so they ain’t any help.”