by Carly Bloom
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Maggie yawned and put the windshield wipers on to get rid of the mist droplets coating her Jeep. Thanks to Travis’s X-rated story time, she hadn’t gotten a bit of sleep last night. Playing with the wolf had only served to make her more restless. And even worse, she felt kind of ick about it.
Travis had made it clear that they weren’t in a relationship of any kind, so why did she feel like she’d cheated on him with the Big Bad Wolf? And for that matter, why did she feel like she was leading the wolf on, seeing as how he’d shown no interest in ever actually seeing her again, much less, removing his mask? Because he’d gone all sweet on her last night, that’s why.
He’d called her his moon. She sighed dreamily, and then jumped when Pop barked. They’d just come around the curve and the apple orchard was filled with mother-luvin’ cows!
She slammed on the brakes and honked the horn. As usual, the cows looked up briefly, then went back to what they were doing, which was destroying the orchard. It was a good thing her window was up, and Pop couldn’t get out to start a stampede.
She texted Claire. Going to be late. Cows in the orchard. AGAIN.
As soon as she set the phone on the seat, it rang. It was Claire.
“Why don’t you call your cowboy and have him fix his fence?”
“Ha! Who says he’s my cowboy?”
“JD. And everyone else.”
“Who is everyone else?”
“Me. Anyway, I’m going to call my dad. His boys can have that entire fence line replaced in a few hours.”
“Travis won’t allow it.”
“Just quote another agricultural penal code, summon the Chupavaca, whatever you have to do. Tell Travis he has no choice.”
It was tempting. Maggie was tired of dealing with his cows. “Okay. Call your dad.”
* * *
Travis’s belly was nicely stuffed with huevos rancheros, and he had a sack lunch in his hand, filled with homemade pimento cheese sandwiches, pickles, chips, and cookies. Mrs. Garza patted his cheek. It felt good to be mothered.
Happy Trails was a hub of activity this morning. Men climbed up and down the scaffolding, putting the final coat of paint on the outside of the house. The inside was finished, and Mrs. Garza was busy hanging pictures like she owned the place.
Henry swung in the big tire that hung from the giant live oak out back, content for the moment. It was a crying shame Travis had to go work at Anna’s. It was a good day to get some stuff done at the ranch. All the activity around him made him want to join in.
“How do you like the white?” Mrs. Garza asked, looking out the front porch window. “My cousin thought the personality of the house called for classic white.”
Travis agreed. “I like it.”
“He’s getting a bid for central air conditioning,” Mrs. Garza continued. “He thinks you might be able to work something out with the Jenkins brothers. They help out with St. Anthony’s church picnic every year, and they’ll need meat for the BBQ plates.”
Travis hoped he didn’t run out of cows. “We might have to hold off on that for a while.” He grabbed his keys and headed for the door. “Listen, we’ll talk about this later. I’ve got some work to do at Anna’s. If my brother comes by, don’t let him in. Okay?”
“Okay. Will you see Maggie today?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You should invite her to Thanksgiving.” Mrs. Garza stared silently at him for a few seconds before adding, “Henry says she’s your girlfriend.”
“That little turd…”
“Well, I sure don’t believe she’s your wrestling partner.”
Travis tried not to grin. This had escalated quickly. His heart started a weird rhythm—a fucking flutter—at the idea of Maggie here, in his house.
“I’m baking a turkey,” Mrs. Garza continued. “And all the sides. You just need to get Maggie here with an appetite.”
Mrs. Garza was having Thanksgiving at Happy Trails? “Don’t you have plans with your own family?”
“My sister’s daughter had a baby. First grandchild for her. The whole gang is going to East Texas, but my hip aches. I don’t want to ride in the car that long. We’ll just have Thanksgiving here. You, Henry, me, and Maggie. Smaller than I’m used to, but we’ll have fun. You just wait and see.”
Before he could say anything else, the old lady shooed him out of his own house. His head was still spinning as he stood on the back porch. Thanksgiving. He didn’t usually celebrate, but he should probably do something now that he had Henry.
Lost in thought, he climbed in the truck, headed down the lane, and almost didn’t notice the activity at the east fence.
“Whoa,” he said out loud. To his fucking truck. As if he were thirteen years old again, dreaming of being in the saddle. Which he wasn’t.
There were half a dozen guys working on the fence. Cedar posts were piled up on a flatbed trailer, and a tractor with an automated post hole digger was going gangbusters. Shit, it looked like half the fence was done. Who the hell…
And there she was. One hand on her hip and the other waving around in the air as she flapped her gums at Gerome Kowalski, who was leaning against a fence post, staring at the ground, and nodding silently, as cowboys were prone to do when women talked.
Travis stopped the truck and got out. He took a deep breath and starting walking.
“Oh, hi, Travis,” Maggie said as he approached. She had a smile plastered on her face, but insecurity clenched her brow and shone in her eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind me replacing this fence,” Gerome said. “I understand you’ve got your hands full.”
Maggie had complained about his cows to Gerome? “Not at all,” he lied, wondering how he was going to pay for this. His current bartering tool of beef didn’t make much sense. “I feel bad about putting you out this way, though.”
“It’s nothing. We’ll be done in no time, and then you won’t have to suffer any more of Maggie’s rage.” With a wink at Maggie, he added, “And won’t that be a relief.”
Travis attempted a smile.
Silence settled in, except for the hum of the post hole digger and the clanking of hammers nailing wire to the fence posts.
“I’m not real sure when I can pay you for this fence,” Travis finally blurted.
“See that bull out there?” Gerome pointed to a huge Black Angus in the pasture, swishing his tail at flies. Travis didn’t know much about bulls, but he admired the straight back, large neck, and powerful shank of the animal.
“You need to trade him out. It’s a shame, though; he’s a producer. I should know. He used to be a real pain in my ass, visiting my herd regularly. I figure I owe you for all the calves he’s sired. So, don’t worry yourself over this fence.”
“Are you sure?”
“If I said it, I’m certain of it.”
Travis was overwhelmed. And grateful. Because it really would be a fucking relief not to have his cows traipsing into Honey’s apple orchard. He looked at Maggie, who was gnawing her lower lip and twisting her hands.
“Does this mean the threats will stop?” He tried to stare sternly at her, because watching her simmer tickled the hell out of him. Possibly turned him on a little, too.
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” she said.
Gerome looked at Maggie, glanced at Travis, and went back to contemplating the Black Angus. “Your daddy sure had an eye for bulls. I loved to watch him at the cattle auctions. He was rarely buying, but he’d advise anyone and everyone about which bulls to bid on, and they almost always took his advice.”
“Are you shitting me? Dad didn’t know a damn thing about cattle.”
“I beg to differ. He had good instincts.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I figured you didn’t.”
Travis swallowed a knot in his throat. Learning something new about his dad, seeing him through the eyes of someone else, caused a small chunk of rese
ntment to thaw and break away.
“In my experience, it runs in families,” Gerome added.
And if Gerome said it, he was certain of it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Maggie unlocked the front door of Petal Pushers, and Pop sprinted in. It was eleven thirty, so she had about half an hour before customers began showing up. People liked to do Sunday projects, and fall was a good time to plant shrubs and perennials. She wished she could get out to Anna’s today. All the dirt had been spread, and it was time for the shrubs and trees to go in. Norbert had delivered them yesterday.
She walked through the garden center to the counter, where she booted up the computer. Then she went into the back to retrieve some more wind chimes to display by the cash register.
As she pulled a fourth box out to add to the stack, the bell on the door jingled and Pop went off like a car alarm. Claire was supposed to have the day off, but Maggie smelled Chanel. She came out of the stock room, carrying boxes, just as Claire slipped behind the counter.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were rock climbing today.”
“Canceled,” Claire said. “Everybody but me had other plans. I figured if I came in and worked in the shop, you could get back out to Anna’s and hurry that project along.”
“Sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. And I’ve been meaning to talk Thanksgiving with you.”
“No worries. I’ll bring a vegetable tray again.” She’d spent last Thanksgiving with Claire. And she assumed she’d spend this one the same way.
“I’m going to Abilene with Ford for Thanksgiving. But my folks say you’re still welcome—”
“Did you just say you’re going to Abilene with Ford for Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“Ford Jarvis the Cowboy? That Ford?”
“Good Lord, Maggie. Unless you know some other guy named Ford who happens to be a working cowboy, yes, that Ford.”
“Does your daddy know?”
Mr. Kowalski’s parenting advice to every new mother in Big Verde was basically Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to date cowboys.
Claire drew her mouth into a thin line. Finally, she sighed. “Nope. Grown woman. Going anyway.”
“Good for you! Also, I knew it! I knew you had more than just the hots for him.”
“Who says I have more than just the hots?”
“Thanksgiving, that’s who. You don’t do Thanksgiving with someone unless it’s serious, Claire. And don’t worry about me. I’ll go to JD’s. Or maybe Bubba and Trista’s.”
“Speaking of cowboys, I hear yours is getting a fantastic new fence.”
“Once again, he’s not my cowboy. He’s not anyone’s cowboy. He’s selling the ranch and moving to Austin.”
Claire laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“My dad says Travis is a cowboy. And you know he doesn’t say that lightly. Travis isn’t going anywhere.”
Maggie was filled with hope. Gerome Kowalski was never wrong.
* * *
Travis stood and wiped his hands on a rag as the rumble of tires on the gravel road made its way in from the distance. He’d finished early at Anna’s and decided to paint the Happy Trails gate. It seemed a shame, with the house painted and the new straight fence lines in, to have a rusty gate at the entrance.
He took a big swig of water and wiped his sweaty face on the sleeve of his shirt.
The tire noise grew louder. Maybe it was Maggie coming down Peacock Road to get to her place. The cloud of dust made it difficult to make out the vehicle, but he was disappointed to see it wasn’t a yellow Jeep.
It was a blue pickup. And it was slowing down.
With dread, Travis watched it turn in. All the painters had left, and nobody was coming back until tomorrow. The setting sun reflected off the windshield, concealing the driver’s identity. But it had to be Scott.
The door opened, and a pair of grubby boots hit the dust. Travis inhaled and steeled himself for a confrontation, but the man who emerged was not his brother. “Hey there, runt, remember me?”
Runt. That brought back memories. Travis hadn’t seen lowlife John Sills since he was seventeen. Because he didn’t know what else to do, he offered a hand. “Hi there, John. What are you doing out here?”
“Shit. Look at you. I heard you got big, but damn, boy, I don’t think I’d pick a fight with you now.”
Walking up to someone who wouldn’t fight back, smacking them in the face, and breaking their glasses was not a fight. And those were the kind of fights John picked. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” Travis said. “I hit back now.”
John laughed and pulled his hand away. He hollered over at the truck. “You were right! He’s a badass.”
An arm dangled out of the passenger-side window, flicking ashes off a cigarette. Travis recognized the tattoos. “Are you going to get out of the truck, Scott?”
The cigarette was flicked to the ground. “Howdy, little bro.” Unlike John, his brother was not grubby or disheveled. Menacing—yes. Messy—no. He could emerge from the flames of wreckage with his shirt pressed and hair combed. Today was no exception. He opened the door of John’s decrepit truck with the cracked windshield and busted-out headlight as if he were climbing out of a Mercedes-Benz.
Scott walked over and thumped Travis on the back. “I feel like we’re drifting apart. You never call or come by anymore. And when I stopped by yesterday, your sancha wouldn’t let me in the house. She’s a little old for you, by the way.”
John laughed again. Travis just stared Scott down. “What do you want?”
“Maybe I just want to see my kid.”
Travis worked at keeping his face blank. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“I need a phone. Then maybe money for a place to crash, unless you want me at Shitty Trails.”
Travis broke out in a sweat. In addition to paying the back taxes, he’d have to buy out Scott’s half of the ranch if he ever wanted to be rid of him.
“My wallet’s in my truck. I’ll give you some cash for a prepaid phone and a motel room. But then you’re on your own.”
Travis walked to his truck to get some money.
“Somebody’s coming,” John said.
Indeed, there was another dust trail headed their way, and a yellow Jeep was the cause.
“Who’s that?” Scott asked.
“The woman who lives down the road,” Travis said, pressing a wad of cash into Scott’s hand. “This should take care of things. I have to get back to work.” Just leave.
“That crazy old lady who fought with Dad all the time? What was her name…Sweetie? Darlin’? It was something stupid.”
“Honey,” Travis said through clenched teeth. “She died. Somebody else lives there now. You should get going.”
Travis nearly groaned as the yellow Jeep slowed down. Maggie stuck her arm out and waved. Then she turned in.
“Is that the little somebody?” Scott asked as Maggie pulled up behind John’s truck. “She’s cute.”
Pop shot out the window. He pissed on all four of John’s tires before trotting over.
“There’s a good dog,” Travis said. Scott bent over to pet him, but Pop responded with a low growl.
“Pop, stop that,” Maggie said.
She wore her usual work jeans and long-sleeve polo with a flannel over it. But the flannel was open, exposing a pair of perky breasts. No bra. Travis glanced at Scott. He’d noticed, too, but wasn’t openly staring. John, however, was not as suave as Scott. He leered, and Travis’s pulse pounded like a jackhammer in his head.
“Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” Scott asked pleasantly.
Maggie smiled at him. She had no clue who she was dealing with. Scott was good looking, smart, and practiced at playing a nice guy, but Maggie’s brows furrowed. She was wary.
“This is Maggie Mackey. She’s a landscape architect.”
Scott raised his eyebrows. “Holy shit.
Mighty Mack grew up.”
Maggie frowned. “Scott?”
“He’s just leaving,” Travis said.
Scott shook his head and laughed. “Received loud and clear, bro. Let me know when you get this place sold. I’m assuming you came up with a plan to pay the back taxes?”
Travis hadn’t really wanted to do this in front of Maggie, but he was planning on telling her everything anyway. “I’m working on the back taxes,” he said. “But I’ve decided not to sell Happy Trails. I’m staying on the ranch.”
There was a deep intake of breath, and Travis looked to see Maggie with her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in surprise. Then those same eyes crinkled a bit as a smile crept out from behind her fingers. That was the reaction he’d hoped for. He winked at her.
Scott’s face was a mirror opposite. Lips drawn. Nostrils flared. Vein pulsing next to his right eye. Travis dared a glance at his brother’s fists. Both were clinched, and Travis took a step back. He wouldn’t be surprised if Scott threw a punch, so he stuck his chest out and clenched his own fists, ready for it.
Scott raised an eyebrow.
That’s right, motherfucker. I can take you now.
Relaxing his demeanor and adopting an easy smile that would have been pleasant on anyone else, Scott reached out and squeezed Travis’s shoulder. Still wearing the smile, he said, “Sell the ranch, or you’ll regret it.”
Travis snorted. “Is that a threat?”
Scott stopped smiling. “Tell my son that his daddy will be back to see him real soon. It’s time he and I got to know each other.”
Travis tried to remain passive. Blank. Stoic. But the confirmation of his failure was reflected in his brother’s satisfied gaze.
He’d just given away his weak spot.
* * *
The sun was setting in a brilliant Texas Hill Country display of orange, pink, and blue. Travis had pulled Maggie into his truck to talk, and it could have been the moment he’d been waiting for—the one where he confessed his feelings and his secret—but he was too frantic.
“He doesn’t want Henry,” he spat. “And he couldn’t possibly take care of him.”