A Cowboy's Duty

by Marin Thomas

  “But you’ve never dated anyone, except for that guy in the high-school band.”

  “Rick McKee? He wasn’t my boyfriend.” But Rick had taken her virginity in the backseat of his car the night of the junior prom—an unremarkable experience.

  “You’re not supposed to have sex with a guy if he’s not your boyfriend.”

  “I bet you’ve had sex with a girl and you never saw the girl afterward.”

  “It’s different for guys.”

  “You’re such a chauvinist.”

  “Jeez, are all pregnant women as crabby as you?”

  “Sorry.” Dixie had kept her emotions bottled up inside her since she’d discovered she was pregnant. If only her grandmother were alive to help her navigate this uncertain time. “I’m scared, Porter.”

  He turned down the radio. “Scared of what?”

  “Of losing my dream.”

  “What dream?”

  “Never mind.” She rarely shared her plans for the future with her brothers—mostly because they wouldn’t understand. Dixie’s dream was really her grandmother’s dream. When Ada Cash passed away, Dixie had stood before her open casket and vowed to find a way to make her grandmother’s family soap recipes famous.

  “I used to have a dream,” Porter said.

  “What was it?”

  “I wanted to be a monster truck driver.”

  Dixie’s dream had a better chance of becoming a reality than her brother’s.

  “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he said.

  But dreams did matter. Grandma Ada had wanted to sell her soaps to Colgate but Grandpa Ely had insisted she was “plum off her rocker” if she believed a big corporation would buy a few fancy bars of soap from a nobody. Dixie was determined that even in death her grandmother would not remain a nobody.

  “Why monster truck driving?” she asked.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.” None of her brothers had been able to get her to confess the name of her baby’s father and all of them had given it their best shot.

  “Remember back in March when I drove up to Phoenix?”

  “You said you were helping a friend move into an apartment.”

  “I lied.” Porter lowered his voice. “I went to the Phoenix Monster Truck Rally.”

  “Why do we have to keep it a secret?”

  “Because I did something stupid.”

  Dixie couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to accompany Gavin Tucker to his motel room. If Veronica hadn’t hounded the handsome cowboy, Gavin would have never given Dixie the time of day.

  She’d had no intention of sleeping with Gavin, but when she’d awoken the following morning to find herself staring him in the eye she hadn’t had the power to resist kissing him. When she’d pressed her mouth to his, he’d returned the kiss and the rest had been the stuff of her fantasies.

  Porter remained silent, so Dixie prodded him. “Don’t leave me hanging. What stupid thing did you do?”

  “I wanted to impress a girl I’d met so I told her I was a mechanic for Bob Patton’s monster trucks. She asked me why I was in the stands and not with the crew.”

  “So you snuck your way into the pit area,” Dixie said.

  “Yeah. Everything was cool until one of the mechanics handed me a wrench and told me to tighten a screw or bolt—I can’t remember which—on one of the trucks. I stood there like a dope.”

  Dixie winced. “What did they do when they figured out you were an imposter?”

  “They flung mud balls at me. The TV cameras were playing the video on the JumboTron. The announcer told the fans that this is what happens to boys when they pretend to be monster truck drivers.”

  Ouch. Wanting to lighten the mood, Dixie changed the subject. “What’s everyone doing this weekend?”

  “Conway said he’s driving to Tucson to visit an ex-girlfriend and Buck and Willie might go with him. Me, Merle and Johnny are heading up to the Growler Stampede.”

  Dixie wondered if Gavin would be at the stampede. Didn’t matter. She’d track him down once she decided how she’d support herself and the baby, while at the same time launch her internet business. She wasn’t afraid to tell Gavin he was going to be a father, but she worried what role he’d insist on playing in their baby’s life and the possibility that he’d interfere with her entrepreneurial plans.

  If Gavin had been a normal cowboy, she’d take for granted he’d try to do right by her. He’d try to send her money for the baby. He’d try to visit between rodeos. Cowboys tried at everything but usually came up short—at least the ones she’d lived with all her life. Gavin was a different breed—a soldier cowboy. She had no experience with soldiers, but she didn’t need a high IQ to understand that to be successful in the military a soldier had to be dependable, courageous, loyal and unselfish. The unselfish trait worried Dixie—she didn’t want or expect Gavin to change his future plans for her or the baby.

  “Why are you shaking your head?” Porter asked.

  “I was thinking about how to convince Susie to increase her inventory of my soaps.” Another fib. They sure slid off her tongue easily these days.

  “Don’t know why you’re gung ho on selling soap.” Porter pointed to her stomach. “When you marry the father, you won’t have time to make soap.”

  Not if Dixie could help it. She tried to summon a smidgeon of anger toward Gavin. For what—being handsome? Charming? Behaving like a gentleman? Shoot, he hadn’t forced her to get into his truck and drive off with him. No one had put a gun to her head and insisted she shuck her clothes at the Shady Rest Motel. She was the sole proprietor of the mess she was in.

  Regardless, she wanted nothing to do with marrying a martyr. The fact that Gavin had apologized profusely after they’d made love was proof he’d regretted the act. Why suffer through the pomp and circumstance of a wedding ceremony when a few months down the road they’d end up divorced—a divorce she’d have to file for because Gavin was too principled to initiate the split.

  “Look out!”

  Dixie slammed on the brakes. If not for Porter’s warning she’d have blown through the four-way stop on the outskirts of Yuma.

  “Didn’t realize being pregnant impaired a woman’s driving.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Dixie drove six more miles, then swung into the Desert Lanes Bowling Alley. “I’ll text you when I leave Susie’s,” she said.

  “Take your time.” Porter nodded to a bright yellow Mustang parked near the entrance. “Hailey’s working. She lets me bowl for free.”

  If only Dixie had her brother’s charisma she might have talked the online marketing company into setting up her business website for free. When she reached Yuma’s historic Main Street, she parked in the lot behind Susie’s Souvenirs.

  “Susie? It’s Dixie,” she hollered, stepping into the shop.

  “Be right down!” Sandals clacked against the stairs that led to an apartment above the store. Susie greeted Dixie with a smile. “You look good.”

  “I do?”

  The older woman moved closer and studied Dixie’s face. “Your skin is glowing.” Susie dropped her gaze to the wicker basket in Dixie’s hand. “Which one made your complexion so radiant?”

  She’d used the same olive soap this morning that she’d washed with the past three years and until today no one had ever used the word radiant to describe her.

  It’s because you’re pregnant.

  Dixie set the basket on the counter and selected the organic peppermint soap. “This is what I’m using.” She held the bar beneath Susie’s nose.

  “That smells amazing. What’s in it?”

  “Sunflower, palm, coconut and peppermint oils.” Along with wheat and barley grass, alfalfa, parsley and grapefruit-seed extract. “I also brought along a Christmas soa
p I’m experimenting with.” Dixie handed Susie a star-shaped bar.

  “How pretty. I love the threads of red and green that run through the soap.” She sniffed. “Pine boughs, fresh fruit and spices. Very nice.”

  “I was hoping you’d consider using a display instead of leaving the soaps next to the register.”

  “I won’t know if I have room for a stand until I finish stocking the Christmas merchandise,” Susie hedged.

  Dixie’s soaps were available in other stores along Main Street, but Susie’s Souvenirs was the most popular tourist shop in Yuma and Dixie made more money here than the other places combined. “Can you find room if I pay you a fifteen-percent commission instead of the usual ten?”

  “What else did you bring?” Susie peered inside the basket.

  “Eucalyptus and spearmint.” Dixie lined up the soaps on the counter. “Lemongrass. Desert Sage. Oats and Spices.” Each bar was a unique shape wrapped in colored tissue paper and a frilly ribbon with a hand-stamped label—Dixie’s Desert Delights, Inc. $6.99.

  “I’ll find room for a display.”

  “Thanks, Susie. I put extra business cards at the bottom of the basket.”

  “I’ll give you a jingle when inventory gets low.”

  Dixie could only hope she’d sell all forty bars before Christmas.

  * * *

  WHERE THE HELL WAS HE?

  Gavin stood in the dark shivering. He knew he was in the desert, because coarse grains of sand pricked his feet. But where in the desert? And what had happened to his weapons? He wore nothing but his sweat-soaked fatigues. The booming sound of a rocket-propelled grenade sent him running, his lungs burning with each gasp of air.

  The target exploded in the distance and streaks of bright light lit up the night sky.

  Nate! Nate, where are you?

  Gavin glanced over his shoulder and a second explosion illuminated the darkness. In that instant of clarity Gavin spotted Nate a hundred yards behind him.

  Run, Nate! Catch up!

  Something wasn’t right—Nate wasn’t moving. Gavin turned back, determined to reach his friend, but with each step, his feet sank deeper into the ground as if the desert had turned into an ocean of quicksand.

  Nate reached out his hand for help and time passed at a crawl as Gavin pressed forward, muscles burning, sweat stinging his eyes. Fifty yards from Nate another explosion rent the air and suddenly half of Nate disappeared. Gavin stared in horror. Where were Nate’s legs?

  A thud hit the ground by Gavin’s combat boot. He looked down. Half buried in the sand was Nate’s leg.

  Gavin woke with a start and bolted from the motel bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, ran the cold tap and splashed his face, choking on the water that hit the back of his throat.

  Damn it.

  He lowered the toilet cover and sat with his head in his hands. He hadn’t had a nightmare like this in weeks. Why now?

  Maybe he was pushing himself too hard.

  Or maybe you’re not pushing yourself hard enough.

  Whatever the reasons behind his recurring nightmares, as long as Gavin ignored them they’d eventually go away.

  * * *

  “ANOTHER TOUGH NIGHT for Gavin Tucker,” the announcer said at the Growler Stampede Rodeo in Growler, Arizona.

  Gavin picked himself up and dusted off his jeans, then waved his hat at the crowd as he jogged out of the arena. Dumb bronc. Thunder Rolls had tossed him on his head as soon as he’d cleared the gate. Ignoring the twinge in his wrist, Gavin stuffed his gloves into his gear bag.

  “Better luck next time, soldier.” Mitch Farley, a Colorado rancher approached.

  Gavin shook hands with the retired marine. Mitch’s son had been stationed with Gavin in Afghanistan. “How’s Scott? Still overseas?”

  “Yep. He’s coming home for Christmas.” Left unsaid...if he doesn’t get killed first.

  “What are you doing in Arizona?” Gavin asked.

  “Drove down with a neighbor to watch his nephew compete in bull riding.” Mitch cleared his throat. “What made you decide not to reenlist?” The older man had spent twenty-five years in the military before taking over the reins of his family’s cattle ranch.

  Gavin didn’t mind discussing his military career with fellow servicemen and women, but he didn’t care to share the information with his rodeo competitors. He grabbed his gear and motioned for Mitch to walk with him. “After Nate got killed nothing was the same over there.” Nate had been Gavin’s best friend. They’d gone to high school together and had joined the army on a whim.

  “Is it true one of the villagers you were helping planted the roadside bomb?”

  “Yeah.” After that day, the goodwill Gavin possessed toward the Afghan people had died a quick death. Gavin thought of the sacrifices he and Nate had made while living in the hostile region. And for what? Nate had given his life and Gavin couldn’t shake the dreams that had followed him home.

  “You did good work in Afghanistan, son.” Mitch clasped Gavin’s shoulder. “Don’t let one idiot take that away from you.”

  “After Nate died—” Gavin shrugged off Mitch’s touch. The last thing he wanted was pity “—I knew I wasn’t going to be any use to the army, so I checked out.”

  “What about a military position stateside?”

  Staying in one place wasn’t an option. Keeping on the move was the only way Gavin felt as if he could breathe. “I wanted a change.”

  Mitch chuckled. “Getting your ass kicked by a wild bronc sure is a change.”

  “It’ll come back to me.” Gavin and Nate had competed in rodeos throughout high school and during their military leaves, but admittedly Gavin was rusty and needed a heck of a lot more practice before he’d become competitive.

  “You can’t rodeo forever. You got a plan B if you end up injured?”

  “Not really.”

  “When you get ready to call one place home, come see me. I could always use a good ranch hand.”

  The word home generated an uncomfortable feeling in Gavin. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. “Nice to know there’s a place to hang my hat if I need one.”

  “Take care.” Mitch walked off.

  Now what? The next rodeo on Gavin’s schedule was in Chula Vista, California—a week from today. He should hit the road but a sixth sense warned him not to be in a rush to leave the Grand Canyon State. His years in the military had taught Gavin to never ignore his instincts.

  He chalked up the doom-and-gloom thought to his recent nightmare. He sure in hell didn’t want a repeat of that terrifying hallucination. Maybe a drink would settle his nerves and numb his brain while he listened to eight-second stories. The one thing he missed about the army was the camaraderie of fellow soldiers.

  “Hey, Waters.” Gavin called across the parking lot. “Where’s everyone hanging out after the rodeo?”

  The calf roper tossed his gear into the back of his pickup. “Mickey’s. A few miles east of here.”

  “Thanks.” Gavin got in his truck and checked his cell phone for messages. None. A short time later he parked at Mickey’s. Standard cowboy bar—a dump, save for the fancy red door. Neon beer signs brightened the windows, reminding Gavin that he was hungry and thirsty.

  The smell of sweat, spilled beer and cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils inside. A thirty-foot bar sans stools stretched along one wall behind which a pair of bald, tattooed bartenders filled drink orders. The rest of the place was crowded with mismatched tables and chairs.

  A country-western song wailed from the jukebox as Gavin zigzagged through the maze of rowdy cowboys. “Bud Light.” He tossed a five-dollar bill on the bar.

  “You win or lose today?” asked the barkeep with a snake tattoo slithering up his neck.

  “Lost.”

 
“Tough draw?”

  “Not really.” He took his beer and strolled through the crowd listening to a country ballad of love gone wrong. Why the lyrics made him think of Dixie he had no idea. He’d regretted making love to her, even though it had been a long time since he’d been intimate with a woman. If only the taste of her bold kiss hadn’t drowned out the warning voice in his head.

  He’d had a hunch he was the first cowboy she’d ever had a one-night stand with. Thank God she’d had a condom in her purse, because Gavin’s protection had been out in the glove compartment of his truck.

  He moseyed over to a table near the dartboard where a pair of inebriated cowboys tried to hit the target.

  “Hey, Kramer!”

  Gavin’s senses went on high alert when he recognized the gravelly voice—Johnny Cash. He tuned his ears to the conversation behind him.

  “You see my ride?” Cash asked Kramer.

  “Yep. Too bad you didn’t win.”

  “Sanders drew a better bronc,” Cash said. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “You were at the Boot Hill Rodeo this past July, weren’t you?”

  “I bit the dirt on Short Fuse.” Kramer chuckled. “Your sister rode a bull in that rodeo, didn’t she?”

  Gavin tensed.

  “Speaking of my sister,” Cash said. “Were you at the Spittoon that night after the rodeo?”

  “Sure was.”

  “You happen to see who my sister left the bar with?”

  “If I did, I can’t remember.” Then Kramer asked, “Wasn’t Dixie supposed to ride in Piney Gorge this month?”

  “Yeah. She withdrew.”

  “Your sister plan to do any more bull ridin’ in the future?”

  “Not for nine months.”

  The blood drained from Gavin’s head and pooled in his stomach, making him nauseous.

  Kramer lowered his voice. “You sayin’ some guy knocked her up after the rodeo?”

  “Yep, that’s what I’m saying. I’d like to find the jerk and wring his neck.”

  “If I hear any rumors, I’ll be in touch,” Kramer said.

  “Thanks. And, Kramer?”