Sure enough, Ana’s smiling picture lit up the screen instead. “It’s about time you called to check in,” he scolded without a greeting. They’d texted a few times, but Ana hadn’t answered any of his calls since she’d arrived in Mexico.
“Sorry,” she said, sounding somewhat sincere. “Mamá’s been running me all over to reintroduce me to all of her friends. She’s making such a fuss, you’d think I’d risen from the dead.”
The statement landed a punch, folding him over to ease the rise of pain. She was joking but he couldn’t laugh, couldn’t say anything. Their mother loved her children. Even Andres. Maybe especially Andres, since he was the one she’d lost. How was he supposed to tell her that her son would never come back?
“Anyway,” Ana went on when he didn’t respond, “I finally snuck away for a few minutes so I could call and read you the letter Andres wrote.”
He looked at the picture again, at the smiles, at the hope on young faces. He’s dead. Mateo almost said the words to Ana because they were eating him up on the inside. Everly was right. He’d used her to cover the grief last night, to alleviate the pain, but it had come again, raw and exposed. Stronger because he carried it alone. But he couldn’t tell Ana over the phone. He couldn’t tell Mamá from thousands of miles away. He had to be there so she could lean on him, so he could hold her up. “I’m listening.” He might be shaky and queasy but he was listening.
“Okay.” Ana paused. “It’s kind of weird. The letter isn’t addressed only to mom. There’s no greeting. She thinks he meant it for the whole family. Not just for her.” Silence loomed as though Ana expected him to react.
“Maybe,” was all he could manage. He tried to picture it—his brother sitting down to write them a letter, but all he could see was Andres as a kid. Not a man who’d been down a road Mateo couldn’t imagine traveling.
“So he starts out with an apology.” Ana cleared her throat. “‘I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to tell you that all these years.’” Her voice quieted.
Mateo’s head fell forward as he slowly exhaled. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t Andres write that letter years ago? Before it was too late? Probably because he knew. Before Mateo had found out he was dead, he was going to tell him to go to hell.
“‘When I left, I always thought I would come back someday,’” Ana read. “‘I always planned to make something of myself so I could change everything for us. For all of us.’” His sister paused. “Do you think that means he left for a job or something?”
“Not sure.” The lie put a crack in his composure. But he would tell the truth. He would bring them out here as soon as he could and tell them everything.
“‘I know I failed you,’” Ana continued. “‘Eventually, I knew it was better if I didn’t come home. It’s not because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t face you after what I put you through. I don’t have much to offer. But I wanted you to know I’m sorry. I hope you understand I didn’t leave because I didn’t care. I was too young to know how much I would regret it later. I know it’s too late. My words probably don’t mean much to you now, but I had to tell you I love you. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I hope for it.’”
Silence expanded between him and Ana. For once, Mateo didn’t try to fill it. He couldn’t. He’d never thought about how similar he and Andres were. Always prided himself in being the better man. But his brother had wanted more for the family, too. At sixteen, he just hadn’t known how to help.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Ana finally said. “I thought maybe he wrote because he needed money, or he wanted to see us, but this letter makes it sound like he’s never coming back.”
Anguish caught Mateo by the throat. He wasn’t. Andres was never coming back. And from the sound of his words in the letter, his brother had known that. It was a last plea. A final request for forgiveness.
“Have you been looking for him?” An echo of fear hid in Ana’s question. She’d always been intuitive, but he couldn’t answer her over the phone.
“I’m working on it.” Mateo folded the picture in half and stuck it in his wallet. “In the meantime, do you think you could get Mom to come out here with you in a few days? I can book the tickets.”
“Why?” He was glad Ana couldn’t look at his face. She’d see the grief his voice disguised.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her,” he said. “I know the letter shook her up. I want to make sure she’s okay.” And he wanted to be able to comfort her when she found out her oldest child was dead.
“Is everything okay, Mateo?”
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to lie. “Sure. Everything’s great.” He only had to pretend a while longer. “I just want to see Mom. Spend some time with her.”
Ana sighed. She didn’t believe him. “Fine. I’ll get her to come.”
“Thanks, sis,” he said, emotion thick in his throat. “I’ll text over the info as soon as I book the tickets.”
Outdoor venues had always been Mateo’s favorite place to ride for a crowd. There was nothing like walking out into the arena, the blinding lights buzzing overhead, the smell of beer and peanuts and fried fair-style foods drifting on the air, the crowd noise rising all the way up to the night sky.
Mateo knew full well the crowds mainly cheered for him because he’d been one of Renegade Jean Company’s golden boys. Without that endorsement, no one likely would even know his name. Sure, he was a decent rider—always placed in the top fourth—but he wouldn’t call himself decorated by any means. Early on, Gunner had taught him that this sport was about showmanship as much as anything else, so, as he made his way to the bucking chute on the south side of the arena, he whooped it up, waving to the stands while he flashed his well-honed smile and stopped to sign little kids’ felt cowboy hats and the programs they had open to his bio page.
Adrenaline simmered beneath the wild-man persona he’d perfected, and truth be told, that’s why he rode. Not for the crowds or the cheers or even the money. It was the adrenaline, the high. Until the other night with Everly, no feeling in his life had ever come close to it.
His thoughts drifted away from him again, and he wondered what she was doing now.
Was Dev keeping an eye on her like Mateo had asked? Someone had to, and she hadn’t wanted him there. Not that he blamed her.
“Up next, Mateo Torres riding Major!”
Hearing his name echo over the loudspeaker ripped him away from his regrets about how things had ended between them. He jogged the rest of the way to the chute and hopped the fence. By the time he slid onto Major’s back, the crowds were chanting his name.
Major’s handlers held the bronc in place while Mateo waved and secured his grip on the lifeline that would ensure his success or failure.
“Give ’em hell,” Ty called from the other side of the fence. He stood with Charity and Levi, who were watching the ride from the gate like they always did. Even Gunner had shown up for this competition. He tried to come and support the four of them as often as he could, which seemed to be less frequently these days.
Mateo gave his old mentor a nod. The horse stood eerily still, his dark coat still slicked with sweat from the warm-ups. Major Dick, as Mateo liked to call him, was fifteen hundred pounds of pure rippling muscle, from his thick neck all the way to his hindquarters—beautiful from a distance, lethal when you found yourself sitting on his back.
The countdown always went too fast, but that was good because it didn’t give him time to think. He liked to ride with a clear head. Nothing about bronc riding was logical. It was all instinct, nerve, and grit, and he had plenty of that.
Right as the gate swung open, he strengthened his grip. Here we go.
Major Dick launched into the arena, arching his back end into the air with a kick. Seemed the horse was in a mood today. Mateo clenched his fist on the rope and raised his other arm over his head, moving with the bronc’s momentum instead of fighting it. The violent bucks rocked his body, whipping his head forward and back
, giving him fleeting glimpses of sky, then dirt, then the blurred-out crowd.
Major Dick whirled an airborne 180, wrenching Mateo’s elbow. Pain shot through the joint, hot and fast, locking it up. His grip weakened. Fuck. He fought to steady himself on the horse’s back but his elbow refused to cooperate. Major Dick arched and kicked, twice, three times and it felt like his arm was being ripped off. One more buck knocked him loose and sent him rolling across the dirt.
Mateo gritted his teeth and bit down on the pain. His other hand felt around the injured joint and his stomach gave a hard lurch. It was dislocated. The angle of his arm was all wrong. A groan punched through his lips as he sat up, cradling the damaged elbow to his chest. Pain sent waves of nausea crashing over him, threatening to push him back to the ground. No. He wouldn’t stay down, wouldn’t be forced into the ambulance. Holding his breath, he locked his hand onto the forearm just below his elbow and gave a hard tug, snapping the joint back into place. Sweat rolled down his temples and his stomach heaved, but he somehow staggered to his feet, even with the ground shifting beneath them.
The crowd had quieted the way it always did when there was a potential injury, but now that he stood tall again, the cheers rang out even louder. Mateo waved with his good arm, pretending he’d come through the failure just fine. That’s what you had to do, Gunner had told him. When things went south, you rose as the victor who’d beat out the pain and still claimed the crowd’s respect. Mateo waved a few more times, doing his best not to stare at the Jumbotron where his pathetic time had been advertised in lights. He hadn’t held out long enough to even qualify for a score.
The cheering continued as he made his way to the fence, arm throbbing and hanging limply at his side. The fans liked him. Probably figured it was one bad ride and he’d recover. But Mateo was starting to wonder. Without stopping to sign autographs, he continued to the staging area, where he did his best to pace off the pain between the horse trailers where no one would find him.
Charity, Ty, and Levi knew enough to leave him alone after a ride like that, but not Gunner. The old man ambled over and eyed the bruising that had started to spread down Mateo’s arm. “Need a medic?”
“Nope. I’m good.”
Gunner called him out with a look. “You just snapped your elbow back into place. Might want to have a professional take a look.”
“If I did that, they’d only tell me things I don’t want to hear.” Mateo fisted and unfisted his hand to stop the throbbing. They’d likely tell him his riding days were numbered, and then what would he do? Right now, riding was all he had.
Gunner chuckled. “You’re more like my son than my own flesh and blood.” That was true. Somehow Gunner’s son had left home at age eighteen to become a stockbroker in New York. He was already gone by the time Mateo went to live there, but he’d heard plenty of stories from Gunner. “How is Ryder, anyway?”
“He’s good.” Even though his son had gone about as far away as he could from the rodeo world, Gunner still looked proud. “A real yuppie now. But he’s happy and I guess that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah.” Mateo leaned against a horse trailer and forced his elbow to bend. At least it still worked. “I guess so.”
“Are you happy?” The old man had a knowing look in his eyes.
“Sure.” The word came out too fast to sound convincing. He had been happy. Before that night with Everly, he’d thought he knew what happy was, but her words had gotten to him. Everything you do is about avoiding reality.
“How’s your family?”
That question hit him below the belt. “They’re okay. Mom and Ana are coming to visit in a few days.” He wished he was looking forward to it, but he still hadn’t figured out how to tell them about Andres.
“What aren’t you telling me, Torres?” Gunner’s patience had apparently started to wane. The older he got, the less he seemed to have. “You lived with me for four years before you went out on the road full-time. I can tell when you’re hiding something.”
Yeah, for some reason he wasn’t as good at hiding things as he had been a few weeks ago. Maybe that was progress. He hadn’t been able to talk to anyone else about what he’d learned. Except for Everly, but she wasn’t exactly speaking to him at the moment. None of his friends even knew he had a brother. Ana didn’t know their brother was dead. He guessed Gunner was as good a person as any to help him work it all out in his head. “Andres is dead. I had a buddy on the force back home check up on him. After he left home, he joined a cartel. But he recently started working for the cops and someone found out.”
The old man nodded as though the news didn’t surprise him. He’d known of Andres, knew he’d left the family and that they’d never heard from him. “Your mom know?”
“Not yet. I have to tell her when she comes.” He’d have to stand there and watch her heart break all over again, helpless to do anything about it.
“Sorry, kid.” Gunner rested his hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “I know how much it hurt you when he left.”
For once he didn’t try to deny it. “I’ll never understand. How he could’ve chosen that life over his family.”
“Sometimes when you’re young, a certain life chooses you. He must’ve regretted it or he wouldn’t have helped the police. I’m sure he knew the risks.”
He must’ve known, but he hadn’t cared. That might’ve bothered Mateo more than anything else. His brother likely didn’t have much to live for. No family. No one who’d cared about him. How was that any different than Mateo’s life? He had his mom and his sisters, but beyond that, he’d avoided any significant relationships.
“I should’ve found him earlier.” Everly was right. He was too busy running from the past instead of dealing with it. “I could’ve convinced him to come home a long time ago. Or to move to the States.” He could’ve helped him run from the cartel. Instead, he’d let the anger hold him back. “I don’t know what to do with it. After all these years.” A dooming sense of too late ripped through him. “I guess there’s not much I can do now.”
“That’s a cop-out.” Gunner edged closer, his face as stern as it’d been when he’d caught Mateo sneaking out of the house the night before a competition. “Things like this’ll put you at a crossroads in life. Trust me, I’ve found myself standing there more times than I’d care to admit. Best you can do is accept your regrets and let ’em make you a better person.”
“I have plenty of regrets right now.” Letting his brother continue on a path Mateo had known would one day lead to his death, for instance. What other end was there for someone in a cartel? Then there were his regrets about how he’d treated Everly, about how careless he’d been with her heart.
“Then it’s time to face things, son,” Gunner said quietly. “Avoiding the medics ain’t gonna change a damn thing. You won’t be able to compete forever. That part of your life is gonna fade—the fame, the parties, the women. No more distractions to keep your mind off things. You need to figure out who you want to be when it’s all gone.”
Don’t get Everly wrong; she liked Deputy Dev Jenkins, all right, but over these last few days, he’d turned into her constant shadow whenever she was out doing chores.
“Bet you didn’t know this one,” Dev said, following her around to the goat pens. For the last twenty minutes, he’d been informing her of all the strange laws in Colorado that no one knew about. “Riding a horse while you’re drunk can get you a DUI.”
“Wow.” She dredged up an interested smile as she locked the padlock on the stable door. Inside, Trunchbull and Wormwood were stomping around and whining about the confinement. “I had no idea.” She turned and started the trek back to the chicken coop.
Dev ambled along by her side. “And in Colorado Springs, it’s only illegal to wear a holstered six-gun on Sundays, holidays, and election days.”
Everly glanced at his boyish face. “But it’s fine on Wednesdays?”
“I know, right?” Dev shook his head with disbelief.
She had to laugh. He might be awkward when it came to chitchat with women, but he really was a nice guy. Good-looking, too. Tall and broad, shy hazel eyes and decent hair—soft brown and neatly trimmed. And then there were the muscles that filled out his uniform nicely. But none of that did much for her. In the last two years, only one man had done it for her, with his dark eyes and thick black hair and sinful grin—but she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Mateo.
“Well, I’m about done here, so you can go if you want. You don’t have to hang out anymore.” The chickens were all bedded down for the night, but she checked the lock once again just in case.
Dev didn’t budge. “Mateo said you shouldn’t be out here alone. And I agree. The parks and wildlife guys still haven’t tracked the lion. Until they do, you’d best use the buddy system.”
And he was her new best buddy. Fighting the temptation to sigh, she glanced at her watch. “I’ll only be a few more minutes out here, so it’s okay if you have other things to do.”
Dev gave a stubborn shake of his head. “I’m stayin’ until you walk into that house. I promised Mateo.”
In that case…Everly grabbed a rake that was leaning up against the fence. If he insisted on sticking around, she might as well use the opportunity to get all the leaves up before the snow came. “Really, Dev. I’m fine. Maybe you should go on patrol or something. I heard there’s been some shoplifting at the market lately.” Hank had muttered something about it at the café a few days ago.
“Carla Holden’s toddler accidentally walked out with a pack of gum.” Dev grabbed the other rake that was leaning against the coop. “I’d hardly call that a crime wave.” He started to rake a few feet away, scraping up a huge pile of leaves in no time. “Besides, I wouldn’t feel right about leaving you. Did I mention Mateo has texted me at least four times to make sure I’m checking in on you?”
That made her smile in a wistful sort of way. It had been a long time since anyone had been so concerned about her. Then there was all the work he’d done in her cellar. She’d gone down to look for the sealant she’d used on the floor and noticed that the crack she’d been meaning to fix had been all patched up.
True-Blue Cowboy Page 18