When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  “Sir.” He hustled across the driveway with a hand out to shake—or ward off a blow, whichever came first.

  The man didn’t move. Just glared.

  “Daddy.” The word started low and went up at the end.

  The old man made a slight sound of disgust in the back of his throat, but held out a big hand and shook.

  “You two never did get properly introduced. “Stead, this is my daddy, LeRoy Taylor. Daddy, this is Steadman James.”

  “Thank you so much for allowing us to share in your Thanksgiving, Sir. I sure appreciate it.”

  He looked over Stead’s head and said, “Harp, you take him in the house. I’ll see to the other’n.” Then turned and walked off.

  Stead shook his head. “He’s gonna hate me forever, isn’t he?”

  Harper just laughed and tugged his hand. “Nah, he’ll get over it. Come see momma.”

  Stead’s face flushed, remembering her staring him down in the doorway of the cooler. “I sure didn’t make a very good impression on either of your parents, did I?”

  She proceeded him up the porch stairs. “Oh, I’d say you made a pretty memorable one.”

  He held the door for her. “In my enlightenment, I’ve learned those are two very different things.”

  She towed him past the staircase in the entryway, through the dining room of spindly furniture, the table set and draped in a tablecloth bordered in turkeys, to the kitchen. “Momma, Stead’s here.”

  The ample woman in an apron-covered dress looked up from stirring a pan on the stove, her face pink from the steam, her hair crinkling around her face. She broke into a huge smile, and spoon dripping, stepped over to hug him.

  He stood surprised to stillness, and only remembered to return the hug when she gave up and tried to step back. They did an off-balance release, and he had to grab her arm to steady her. “Sorry, Ma’am.” He snatched off his cowboy hat. “Thank you so much for allowing Ace and me—”

  “Happy to have you. When Harp said ya’ll had nowhere to go, I told her to get yourselves down here. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.” She stepped back to the chipped porcelain stove and resumed stirring. “Harp, I need your help to get all this on the table. You, Stead, gather up LeRoy and your friend and get washed up. Dinner will be ready in a half hour.”

  “Yes’m.” He shot Harper one raised eyebrow. She shrugged.

  He walked out the back door of the kitchen, to the back dooryard. Colorful chickens intent on pecking the dirt moved out of his way only when he almost trod on them. He strode for the barn, passing Ace on the way to the house. “Dinner in thirty. Go get introduced, and wash up.” Je didn’t know how he’d eat, with his stomach churning like it was. He kept his boots headed for the barn, while his brain looked for a lead-in. Sir, I apologize for us getting off on the wrong foot . . . Too vague. Sir, I’m sorry for taking your daughter’s virginity . . . No, he’d promised not to lie anymore, and damned if he was the least bit sorry. Sir, I—

  “Supper ready?” LeRoy’s voice came from the shade of the aisle.

  “Almost Sir.” Stead stepped in, took off his hat and stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

  “Don’t you Sir me. We both know you got no respect.” The man leaned on a stall door, halfway down the aisle.

  This was easier back when Stead had a chip on his shoulder. His anger had been his armor and his security-blanket excuse. Feeling defenseless, Stead steeled his guts and kept walking. The road to Harper led through this man . . . or around him. Time to find out which it was going to be. “Could I talk to you for a minute?” He fingered the brim of the hat in his hands.

  “Free country. At least here in Texas it still is.”

  He came alongside and glanced into the stall. A chestnut quarter horse mare stood nursing a few month-old foal. “Wow, you bred her late.”

  “Yeah. I keep her in all winter anyway. I figured, why not?”

  He leaned on the stall door. “Fine looking colt. Good confirmation.”

  “Oughta. He’s got Driftwood in his blood.”

  “Wow. You raise ropin’ horses?”

  “Used to train ‘em too, but that’s past me now.”

  “Sir, about Harper.” Stead’s swallow clicked loud in the quiet barn. “I was an idiot, last year. Stupid and full of myself, and... well, an idiot.” He took a breath and pushed down on the winged things in his stomach.

  “You’ll get no argument here, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”

  “No sir, I know it. And you weren’t wrong to punch me out.”

  “And I wasn’t looking for forgiveness.” He shot Stead a hard look, then turned back to the horses.

  “Yessir. I’m aware of that, Sir.” He put a foot on the slat of the stall door. “Do you believe a person can change?”

  When LeRoy looked up at the roof, Stead wasn’t sure if he was looking for patience or divine guidance. Maybe both.

  “In my experience, not without a mule’s kick to the head, or God’s intervention.”

  Hope straightened Stead’s spine. “Guess I needed both, on account of I’m so stubborn.”

  He explained what happened when he was young. He explained what happened last year at the finals. He explained what happened on his ‘apology tour’.

  LeRoy watched him like a bear watches a human, trying to decide which one of them will be dinner.

  Except for stolen glances, Stead watched the foal and tried not to falter from the truth. Because, if the truth didn’t work, it was hopeless anyway. He stumbled his way to the end of the story. “Sir, you were right to punch me. Because I didn’t see something precious, right in front of me. Your daughter is special in ways I’m still discovering. She’s smart and kind and deep-down good. But you know all this—you raised her.” He took a last deep breath and pushed out his last truth. “She has made me a better man for knowing her. And I’m so grateful. Because, for the first time in this washed-up cowboy’s life I understand what family is.”

  Stead made himself look the old man in the eye. “Because your daughter, she feels like home.”

  LeRoy sized him up, searching his face, his eyes, for what felt like hours. “I ‘preciate you telling me all this. But it doesn’t matter.”

  Stead’s muscles unlocked as hope plummeted to splat like used tobacco juice on the barn floor. Not good enough. Again. When was he going to learn? No decent person would choose him.

  “All that matters is what Harp wants. And for some reason, she’s got her heart set on you.”

  Stead breathed again.

  “My daughter has a good head on her shoulders, so I trust her judgment even if I don’t understand it. But let me tell you something, cowboy.” Eyes slitted, he tipped his hat back on his head. “If you hurt her again, you don’t have to worry about my fists. You worry about the aught six I keep in my truck.”

  Like a ninety-point ride at the finals, confetti shot from his brain to drift down in a blizzard of happiness. “Yessir. I hear you sir.” He tried to wipe what must look like a triumphant smile, but it was beyond his ability.

  LeRoy stepped back from the stall, the corner of his mouth quirking, and walked away. “Well, you coming to dinner, or eating with the horses?”

  Chapter 9

  “Self-realization is effortless

  What you are trying to find is what you already are.”

  Ramesh Balsekar - Zen for Dummies

  December 3:

  S: I was sweating it, but made the finals by like ten points.

  H: My Hero. Are you at all nervous, considering what happened last year?

  S: I’m more worried about bucking off everything.

  H: It’s on TV, so we’ll be watching!

  S: Even your dad?

  H: Are you kidding? He wouldn’t miss the roping! Just kidding. Yeah, he’ll probably watch. I don’t know what you said to him on Thanksgiving, but he seems to have mellowed a bit where you’re concerned.

  S: What can I say? To know me is to l
ove me.

  H: Ah, there’s that arrogant bull rider. Wondered where he’d been.

  S: You know I’m kidding. Please. Don’t make me resort to emoji’s. I’m begging you.

  H: ;) :p <3

  S: You are hurting me. You know that, right?

  H: Mom is planning for the food truck at Rodeo on the Rez. Have you heard back from that clown?

  S: ‘That clown’ is THE Wiley Galt, only the best rodeo entertainer on dirt. And yes, he’s coming. I can’t believe in a month, this’ll be in the past. I’ve been advertising at every rodeo I’ve been to, and have put up notices on all the Facebook boards I’m on. The stock contractors are passing the word…hopefully we’ll earn a ton of money for the Rez.

  H: You know you really are my hero, right?

  S: Aw, shucks, Ma’am.

  H: I was bummed about the sleeping arrangements on Thanksgiving. I lay awake most of the night, wanting to sneak into your room like a hormonal teenager.

  S: I’d have turned you down. No way I’d diss your parents under their own roof.

  H: I’m glad, but—sigh.

  S: Ditto the sigh. But I’ll see you in less than a month.

  H: I hate that I won’t see you over the Holidays.

  S: But I’ll give you your Christmas present when I see you.

  H: Well, I’ve got a big-old present for you, cowboy. But it’s going to cost you a hotel room.

  S: Ditto the sigh.

  Date: December 15

  To: Rafe Hosa

  From: Stead James

  Subj: Rodeo on the Rez

  Hey, kid. Hope you’re ready for Christmas. Got your list in to Santa? Yeah, I know you’re too old for that, but hey, you’re never too old for presents! I’ll bring you one when I see you in January. Nothing big, just something I think you can use.

  But it’s gonna cost you. I need your help during the intermission at the rodeo. I can’t tell you what it is yet, but I’ll tell you a couple days before, okay?

  Ace & I had a great time, teaching the roping clinic over Thanksgiving. Did I tell you? Ace is talking to Harp’s dad about buying one of his roping horses. Cool, huh?

  Well gotta go tie Ace’s shoelaces for him. You be good, so you don’t get coal for Christmas!

  Rodeo on the Rez -

  As he expected, his bull riding sucked at the finals. But that was all that sucked. Ace had ended up in the top five. And Stead had the chance to end his Apology Tour with a bang. They brought him out on the dirt the last night to acknowledge his retirement. He had a chance to thank everyone who helped him, and apologize to anyone he’d wronged. He’d have thought it would be hard to do, but Zen studying paid off . . . he walked out of that arena all choked up, but lighter. Much lighter. When he’d finished his online plumbing course, he’d scanned the catalog, and signed up for a Philosophy course.

  Who’da guessed a year ago, he’d be taking college classes? Lately, he’d been thinking about maybe trying for a degree, and—

  “Jeez, you’re worse’n a girl. Will you get your ass out here? They’re about to start the break.” Ace yelled into the horse trailer he’d borrowed to change in.

  Stead rubbed his boots on the back of his slacks, pulled up the turquoise stone slide on his bolo tie, and stepped out.

  “Duuuude.” Ace smiled. “You’re as shiny as a wet eyeball. I may just have to kiss you myself.”

  “Shut the hell up, and check the back of my collar, willya?” He shot the cuffs, to be sure the matching turquoise cufflinks would show. The black Western-cut suit, white shirt and dress boots, he’d been able to rent at an El Paso tux shop. The black dress hat with the colorful native-woven hatband, he’d bought. Ace fiddled with his collar. He fiddled with his hat and his nerves.

  He swallowed the coffee that surged from his stomach. Wouldn’t do to get vomit-splash on this get-up. “God, PT from an MCL tear is easy, compared to this.”

  “You’re a braver man than I, Kimosabe.” Ace thumped his shoulder with a heavy hand. “You know what they say, it’s easy to be brave from a safe distance.”

  “Says the man who’ll be standing on the sidelines.”

  “I didn’t say I was crazy.”

  “Thanks, Partner.”

  The blast from the arena speaker lasered through his jitters with a lightning bolt of fear. “Let’s bring down the woman who is responsible for all this. Harp Taylor, you come on out here.”

  Stead rolled his shoulders in a vain attempt to loosen the tension, then strode for the back of the chutes as the applause of the huge crowd rolled past him.

  “Thanks to the vision of this pretty lady, and your generosity, I’m proud to announce that we’ve raised over $75,000 for the after-school care and many other worthy charities on the Rez!”

  The cowboys crowded at the gate parted when Stead walked up. He ignored the whistles and catcalls, focusing on Harper, who made her way to the center of the arena.

  She wore a white, off the shoulder blouse, a colorful Mexican skirt, and cowgirl boots. Her hair was up, but as usual, was in revolt, with tendrils escaping to fall down her neck. He could see her blush from here, as she bent to the mic that Wiley held. The clown shot a look toward the in-gate and gave Stead a slight nod.

  “I want to thank you all. I’m overwhelmed by the generosity of the rodeo community, and my home town. You’ve done a good thing here, today. I also want to thank the many volunteers. This takes more manpower than I’d have ever guessed, and not one of them took a dime for all their hard work. I’d also like to thank my parent, for the food. Ya’ll know that Taylor-Made is the best around, right?” She waited until the cheers died down. “But none of this would have happened without the tireless planning, begging, and hard work of one special cowboy—Steadman James.”

  Wiley took back the mic. “Yeah, Stead. Where is that scruffy dogie? Just because you retired from bull riding doesn’t mean we’re not getting you in the arena. Get your butt out here.”

  That was his cue. Still, he stood frozen, hand on the gate. What if it was too soon? What if she said no, in front of two thousand people?

  Screw that—what if she flat didn’t want him?

  Someone unlatched the gate and pushed it open.

  “Get your raggedy ass out there, boy.” Ace nudged him from behind, then whispered, “This time, you’ll get chosen.”

  Only one way to find out. He stepped out onto the dirt.

  The crowd cheered.

  The closer he got, the bigger Harper’s eyes got. Her mouth opened in a small O of surprise. Wiley extended the mic.

  “Harper.” The crowd went silent when he dropped one knee to the dirt.

  She put her hands over her mouth. They were shaking.

  Was that good or bad?

  “You’ve taught me a lot in the past months. But more than anything, you’ve taught me about the man I want to be. If you’d do me the honor, I swear to spend the rest of my life trying to live up to that.” He pulled a black velvet ring box from his pocket and opened it. The delicate Black Hills Gold band had raised roses around a not-to-big diamond. He saw it, and thought it looked like her; feminine and unique. “Harper, will you marry me?”

  The crowd inhaled.

  Harper didn’t move.

  He dangled at the end of the drawn-out seconds.

  “He’s got a job with me, if you’re worried about havin’ to live in a tent.” Greg Paredes, Leroy’s best friend and owner of El Paso’s biggest plumbing business, yelled from the sidelines.

  “It’s okay, Harp. He’s a good guy!” A high strident voice cut through the silence. Stead cut his eyes to the side. His pen pal, Rafe grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

  At the sound of a choking sob, he looked back at Harper, his hope, his future and his breakfast in his throat.

  “I pick you, Steadman James.”

  His heart beat like a manic squirrel, trying to get out of his chest. But omission of the truth was still lying. She had a right to know what she was getting into. “Eve
n if I told you I’m half Comanche?”

  Her smile was soft and a bit wobbly. “Especially then. Don’t you know by now? I love a renegade.”

  He leapt to his feet, grabbed her and spun in a circle as the crowd went crazy.

  Laura has always been a storyteller. She began on her front porch, telling ghost stories to the neighborhood kids. They ran screaming, but kept coming back for more. If she wasn’t telling a story, she had her nose in one, bumping into students in the halls on her way to classes.

  Her settings are Western, but Laura grew up in the suburbs outside Detroit. Always tomboy, she’s always loved the outdoors and adventure. In 1980 she and her sister packed everything they owned into their Pintos and moved to California, sight unseen. There Laura met her husband, a motorcycling, bleed-maroon Texas Aggie, and her love affair with the West began.

  She rode a hundred thousand miles on the back of his motorcycle, propping a paperback on his back and reading on the boring stretches. But you can’t read all day and after awhile, her brain would empty of the day-to-day thoughts and cast about for something new.

  One day, riding into the small town of Kernville, California, a dog ran in front of the bike. After a gut clenching scare, he trotted back the way he came and they rode on. But she started thinking. What if someone came along and hit the dog? And what if a girl riding a motorcycle came along . . .

  The idea grew into Laura’s first novel, Her Road Home.

  Laura has since learned to ride her own motorcycle, and now owns two; Elvis, a 1985 BMW Mystic, and Sting, a 1999 BMW R1100. She’s in put over a hundred thousand miles of her own, riding the back roads, getting to know the western towns that are her book’s settings.

  On an annual pilgrimage to Texas, Laura was introduced to her first rodeo, and loved everything about it. She was even more excited to discover Pro Bull Riding was shown on television every week! She’s since attended any event within driving distance, three PBR National finals and has even attended a bull riding clinic – as a spectator. Several people in the industry have been gracious in sharing their knowledge with a city girl. Her love of this sport grew into ideas for her PBR inspired series, Sweet on a Cowboy.