Cowboy's Law

by B. A. Tortuga

  “I think that’s cool, about TAG.”

  “Me too.” Keira was already fading. “She gets to do that every Tuesday instead of class.”

  “Yeah? I bet that’s worth it, but I can see where some folks might be jealous.” He let her crawl into his lap when she wanted to. He got it. She was feeling woozy. Not safe. “I’m surprised they didn’t tell your uncle.”

  “She signed his name.”

  Oh, naughty. “Yeah. He wouldn’t be mad. He would be happy for her.”

  She leaned on his chest. “He would. He loves us so much. Pistol said so.”

  “Pistol knew stuff.” He hugged her, then let her drift. Maybe it wasn’t his business, but he would mention it to Seth later.

  Maybe he’d talk to Bethany, let her know that being smart was great and forging signatures was not.

  Then she could tell her Uncle Seth, and that would go way better for her. Yeah. No one liked a tattletale.

  And he wanted to make things easier, not harder, dammit.

  He grinned. Look at him feeling like a family member for the first time in years.

  “Love you, Law. Thank you for fixing my owwies.” She was almost asleep.

  “Love you too, honey. You’re welcome. I’ll make sure you don’t miss anything.” He might nap a few.

  She nodded and cuddled in, sighing as she dozed off.

  He grinned, winking at Seth when he looked over, mouthing, “She okay?”

  Yeah, she was fine as frog hair, as Pistol would say.

  She was good, and weirdly enough, so was he.

  5

  Seth spread one more round of lemon-juice poultice on Keira’s arm and leg before he put her to bed, then checked in on the oldest two just to make sure they were in pajamas and headphones or whatever.

  It had been a great day. Having one extra set of hands in Law had actually made everything easier.

  Jordan had been sound asleep for an hour, and Bethany was reading, happy as a clam in the window seat in her room.

  God, okay. It was time for one more beer and to take off his boots. “You want a drink, Law?”

  He didn’t even know if the man was here, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “I would love some tea, yeah.” Law was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a little plate of brisket and slaw. “Want any food? I haven’t put it away yet.”

  “There any pie?” He went to grab a couple glasses, poured tea.

  “Yep. I was going to have that next.” Law rose to dump his now empty plate. “You can have a beer, you know. It won’t bother me. I’m on a few meds it doesn’t agree with.”

  “I know. It just feels weird.”

  “Okay.” Law smiled for him. “Reddi-wip?” The can was out and in Law’s hand anyway, so why not? “Can we do dessert in the front room or is that off-limits?”

  “God yes, and I could totally sit in one of the recliners and take my boots off.”

  “Then let’s go.” Law put all the food away and handed him his bowl with pie and whipped cream. The cherry stuff in there smelled like heaven. It was funny how Law hadn’t even asked if he wanted cherry or the chocolate pie the kids had begged for.

  “God, I might have to have another piece after this, you know? It smells just right.” He used the boot jack by the laundry room to pull off his boots and then collapsed in his chair.

  “It does. It’s so bright too. I ate a bit of the crust. That’s yummy stuff.” Law stretched out a little on the couch, groaning.

  “You’re welcome to the other recliner, if you want.” He didn’t care. This chair fit his ass groove.

  “No, this is fine. It feels good.” Law leaned on one arm, pillows propping him up, then took a bite of pie. “Uhn. Even in the better messes, Army food is never like home.”

  “Yeah? I always felt like that about concession food. I swear to God, if I never see another pile of chips with Day-Glo cheese…”

  “Band dad,” Law teased him.

  He totally was too. Just like he was a rodeo dad for Dawn, and he would be whatever the others needed him to be.

  “That’s my job, I guess. I rode things for the first thirty years. I’ll raise things for the next thirty.”

  “That sounds so cool.” Law sounded a little wistful. “I still have no idea what to do. I had this plan of who I was.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine. We’re bad about that, those of us in jobs that aren’t for old men. We like to pretend we’ll be healthy forever.” He’d had a better reason to retire than injury. He’d inherited a family that needed him.

  “You know it. I figured I’d ride a desk my last five-ten years and retire. Not so much.” The disability discharge process seemed grueling and humiliating, even in the modern Army.

  Seth wasn’t sure why exactly Law couldn’t work for the Army still, doing paperwork, and he sure as shit wasn’t going to ask. “Well, I guess you got time to make up your mind, huh?”

  “I guess?” Law licked his fork. “Look, I hate to ask, but I get a check. I could pay rent, if you think I could stay a little while. Get to know the kids again, get my feet back under me. I’ll do whatever work I can too. The therapist I had at the hospital said there were some nerves that will never come back, but that I’ll be mostly stiff after a while.”

  Wow. Rent. That meant long-term, which… okay. Pistol would have approved. Pistol adored Law, so… “Maybe you could buy some groceries for us. Help like that. Shit, do a little driving, because it’s going to get wild and wooly between now and Christmas.” There was band, junior rodeo, riding lessons, Girl Scouts, guitar lessons, dance recitals, choir concerts, 4-H…

  “I can totally do that. My pedal leg is the good one. If it’s a problem, I can find a place in town.”

  “Why would it be? You’re family.” That would be stupid.

  “Oh.” Law relaxed visibly. “Thanks, man. If you need the casita for visitors, we can talk about me getting a travel trailer or something, but I’ve been kinda freaking out about where to go.”

  “If we have visitors, they can use the guest room.” There was a guest room, in theory. It was filled with boxes and shit that he didn’t know what to do with, but there was a bed.

  “You tell me what’s easier.” Law finished up his pie. “That was delicious.”

  “Maybe I’ll get you to help me clean the room out.” It wasn’t all of Pistol’s things, but there was some. Honestly it was mostly his things that he’d moved out.

  “I can always move in there too, if it’s easier to have me in the house to help with the kids.”

  The way Law’s face lit up, Seth thought that might be the solution. The casita probably did seem all alone out there.

  “Sure, man. If you don’t mind the noise and the constant sound of ‘Law, can you do this thing for me? Law, what’s seven times seven? Law, are there cookies?’”

  “I kinda like it.” Law gave him a wry grin. “No camp or installation is ever quiet. Ever.”

  “Then come on. We’ll clean the room out tomorrow. It’s on Wiley’s hall, nearest to my room.”

  “Thank you, Seth. You have no reason to accept me like this, and I really appreciate it.” Law met his gaze head-on.

  “You’re Pistol’s brother.” And he seemed called to bring all Pistol’s siblings into his house.

  “Yeah. I know how special he was to you.” Law stretched and joints popped loudly.

  “He was one hell of a bull rider and a damn good friend. I miss him.”

  Law frowned at him a little but didn’t say anything, so he let it go. Maybe the pie wasn’t settling.

  “You want to watch Forged in Fire? I love to watch them make shit.” There was no reason to stress TV.

  “I’ve never seen it! Pistol ever tell you we have an uncle that’s a farrier?”

  “No shit? I want to learn how to make knives and shit when I retire.” He was too fucking busy for hobbies right now.

  “Yeah. He makes basic knives in his spare time. I’d love to watch.”
/>
  It sucked that Law had all this family still alive but none of them seemed to want him. They hadn’t wanted Pistol, either, not on the dad’s side. Still, Law had a brother and four sisters who would love him. All Law had to do was let them.

  “You ever talk to him?”

  “At Christmas. He’s a good guy, just kind of a loner.”

  “Ah. I know people like that.” He wasn’t the high lonesome type, and thank God for that, because he sure was surrounded by folks.

  “I thought I was, but man, all that time in the hospital taught me better.” Law chuckled, a dry sound. “I love being here with the kids. It’s like fresh air.”

  “They keep you young. Or busy. A little insane…”

  “A lot, maybe.”

  They laughed together, mostly a slow, happy thing. Law was nothing like Pistol in personality, really, but Seth was starting to like him. Law was stable, steady, and lonely, he thought.

  Seth got that. He’d been at loose ends before he’d started to travel with Pistol. That had given him some purpose. They’d been neighbors for a while—his people and the Pecinas—and he’d been the first to offer to ride with Pistol when he was starting out.

  They’d got along like a house afire, and he wasn’t sorry, not one little bit. This was his calling.

  “You’re smoking,” Law said.

  “What?” He didn’t follow.

  “The thoughts in your head, Seth. Smoke is billowing out your ears.”

  “Sorry. Just rabbiting around.” He yawned, surprising himself. “I guess I ought to head to bed.”

  “Yeah. I need to go on to the casita.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll get you moved in, settled here.” Where he belonged. “You want me to walk you out?” Something in Law’s expression spoke of uncertainty.

  “Do you mind? I’m not sure where I left my cane.”

  “Of course not.” God, he hoped Jordan wasn’t sleeping with it.

  “Thanks.” Law levered up off the couch, not teetering, but not steady.

  He hurried over and offered Law an arm. “I got you, buddy.”

  “Thanks. Sorry. Sorry, it was a good day, but busy.” Law leaned on him, warm and smelling like smoke. “Hey, let me get the pie dishes.”

  “Nah, I’ll get them in the dishwasher on the way to bed.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Totally. You… you want me to clean off the bed in the guest—in your room so you don’t have to walk it?”

  Law gave him this look that made him feel ten feet tall. “That would be amazing. Hell, I can sleep on top of the covers if I need to.”

  He nodded, and then thought about all those fucking boxes and the dust and… “You know what, I got a king. Come on. It’s not like either of us never had to bunk with somebody, and I know my sheets are clean.”

  “You sure?” Law looked surprised, but he thought that was it. Not upset or worried. “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem. Seriously. We’ll get you back there, and I’ll come throw those dishes in and grab a couple bottles of water.” It was no big thing, and he knew his bed was solid.

  “That sounds great.”

  Seth nodded, steering Law that way. His bathroom was the easiest too.

  He got Law into the bathroom with a toothbrush and a towel and washrag. “I’ll get some water.”

  “Thanks. What side do you take?”

  “You’ll see all my shit on the nightstand. Hey, do you need any pills or anything?”

  “No, I take them all in the morning unless I need a pain pill, and I took one of those with the brisket.”

  “Good deal. I’ll be right back.” He checked on the kids, locked up, finished loading the dishwasher, and grabbed two water bottles.

  When he came back, Law sat on the bed, hands on his thighs, sweating a little.

  “Okay. Here’s water. Let me grab a cold cloth.” Poor son of a bitch.

  “Thanks. Sorry. I made it, though.” Law winked.

  “You so did.” Seth grabbed a cloth and ran it in cold water. “Drink you some of that water.”

  “Okay.” Law had a sip of the water, his hand shaking a little. Thank God they hadn’t tried to get him to the casita.

  He got the cold cloth on the back of Law’s neck, then went to get one for his head. That was a mix of pain and queasiness. He’d been there.

  “You’re okay, man. You ready to lean back?”

  “I am, yeah. Sorry. Sorry, I slid sideways in the bathroom and whacked myself.”

  Ah. There it was. “Okay. I’m going to get the ice packs. The heating pad is next to the bed. We’ll keep switching back and forth.”

  “You’re good at this. I guess you know how it is, huh?” Law groaned when he lay back. “I still don’t know what to do when.”

  “I do. Breathe.” He started with heat before hustling over to the kitchen to grab one of the three ice packs in there. He wrapped it in a kitchen towel and headed back to the bedroom.

  It took about half an hour, but Law finally relaxed down, his body no longer a hard line of pain. Seth pulled the comforter up over him, and Law grabbed his wrist gently, blinking at him, half-asleep. “Thanks, Seth. Thanks.”

  “Of course, buddy. Anytime.” He squeezed Law’s wrist. “You rest. You’re home, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Law closed his eyes and fell asleep like he was falling into a well.

  He watched the man for half a minute, and then he went to change and brush his teeth. Lord love a duck.

  6

  Law watched Jordan build something out of Lego, a little worn-out and amazed at how Seth ran this ship.

  He’d offered to do a sort of ride along today to get a feel for the schedule, since Seth had gone to such amazing lengths the last few days to get him settled in the house and get his room all fixed up.

  The man had made him a little man cave, making sure he could get around. He even had a little powder room and access to Seth’s walk-in shower at will. It was perfect and unbelievably kind.

  Seth sat at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop, answering emails. He’d wondered why the man only worked in his office when the kids were gone or asleep.

  Now he knew.

  “Uncle! I can’t figure out this math problem!”

  “Uncle! I need you to sew the patches on my vest!”

  “Uncle! Someone stole my book!”

  Law fielded one of those, which made him proud. He’d learned to sew before he left home, since his mom was gone, and his series of stepmoms had been… not domestic.

  Bethany came stomping in, frown like a fierce thing. “Someone used my jar of spaghetti sauce! It’s my night!”

  “Oh fuck,” Seth whispered. “No, honey. I gave it to Bonner for the Hendersons. Maria’s got a sick baby with cancer, and Joe lost his job. They’re hurting. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too, but… Uncle? What do I do?”

  “Do we have canned tomatoes?” Law knew there was garlic and onion and Italian spice blend. He knew how to make sauce, so he could help. Go him.

  “Yeah, in the pantry. There’s tomato sauce too, but not for spaghetti.” Seth rubbed his forehead. “I don’t even know what you do to make tomato sauce spaghettified.”

  “Well, lucky for y’all, I do! Come on, Bethany. Lead me to the canned goods.”

  “Thanks. I hate when it’s my day, but Uncle says it’s important.”

  “You don’t like to cook?” Okay, how could he make this interesting for her? Law followed her to the kitchen. “What’s your favorite subject at school?”

  “Reading. Then language arts.”

  So, he needed to find stories, then. Right.

  “I like to read thrillers and adventure a lot. So I get it.” He pulled out canned tomatoes that had no chiles, as well as a few small cans of tomato sauce that were plain, and a big can of mushrooms. “I love to make this sauce. How are you at browning meat?” He knew they had a chunk of hamburger that wasn’t called for this week.

  “I can do that.
I’m good at it.” She looked at him. “Can I open the cans?”

  “Yep.” Law grabbed the meat out of the fridge, then found an onion to chop. “So, this buddy of mine in the Army, his name is Anthony Miggliozzi, his mom taught him to make this sauce. It’s more Italian American than really Italian, because she was this Irish girl from Baltimore, and she could never make his grandma’s sauce to his satisfaction.”

  “Miggliozzi? Whoa.” Bethany’s eyes went wide. “Salt and pepper, Law?”

  “Yes, please.” He got the cutting board out of the drain rack. “We’ll have to get some real garlic so I can show you how to whack it.”

  “Whack it? Why?”

  They started making dinner, and she was chatting with him, and Keira was right—Bethany was viciously smart.

  Turned out she liked to cook, too, as long as there was an actual recipe and she got to toss noodles at the ceiling to see if they stuck. “That way you know they’re done,” he told her seriously. Opening jars was not for this girl. He would have to see if Mom’s cookbooks were still around.

  She made the salad and started the garlic toast, talking idly about one of the teachers who wanted her to put a poem into a contest.

  “So, are you in the TAG program thing?” he asked, keeping it as casual as he could.

  She looked at him, side-eyed. “Why? That’s for the smart kids.”

  “Well, you’re awfully smart, and I know teachers don’t have a lot of time for poetry in the regular classes.” He carefully didn’t look right at her. “And if I can figure that out, so can Seth.”

  “I—I just don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “I know. I was always the one doing stuff in a rush and then getting yelled at.” He watched her stir the sauce. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Uh-huh.” She blinked at him, eyes wide.

  “They yell way less if you tell them instead of a teacher.”

  “Can I tell you a secret too?”

  “Absolutely.” He would never tell the kids no on that.

  “Pistol said we had to make things easy on Uncle Seth. No waves.”

  This was easy?

  “Ah. Well, it’s never easier to find out things from other people. I promise.” He knew she wouldn’t understand that now, but maybe she would take his word for it.