Cowgirl, Unexpectedly

by Vicki Tharp

  I stepped away, threw my leg over my bike, and kicked the engine to life. Jenna climbed on the back.

  As I stomped the bike into gear, Hank said, “Be safe.”

  * * * *

  Jenna and I rolled back to the ranch less than an hour later. I managed not to kill us, and somewhere on the road when we’d banked into a hard curve, I realized I was a hypocrite.

  Why that put a small smile on my face, I’m not quite sure, but it had. Maybe it was because then I couldn’t shift all the adultery blame to him. Not that finding out your partner was married was ever a good thing to find out after you’ve had sex with them, but I had to admit I didn’t know he was married because I’d never asked. Yes, he should have told me, but if it had been so freaking important to me, then I should’ve asked the hard questions instead of assuming what I had wanted to.

  I didn’t know why he was still married, since he’d barely had any contact with Becca for most of Jenna’s life. But I didn’t feel like I was coming between them because it was clear on his face when she’d walked into the cabin that he didn’t love her.

  There was a blue crew cab pickup parked near the house. The visitor had his back to us, talking to Hank down by the remnants of the barn. He turned toward us when he heard the rumbling of the bike. I killed the engine, barely getting the kickstand down in my scramble to get off.

  “Boomer!” I hollered as I ran at him. His teeth were a flash of white behind his short, dark beard. He braced as I launched myself at him. He caught me mid-air as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He spun us around, his laugh warm and deep in my ear.

  Then his step hitched and lurched and we hit the ground with a loud oomph from Boomer.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He kissed me hard on the lips with an audible, platonic, smack. He glanced down at our bodies—he’d protected me in the fall and I was sprawled out over his body—he waggled his eyebrows. “Couldn’t be better.”

  “You two done here, or should we give you privacy?” Hank carefully schooled his expression as if he were afraid his true emotions would leak out. He tugged his hat down farther on his head and his mouth flattened.

  I punched Boomer in the shoulder. “You’re such a dog. Especially for a married man.”

  His grin widened with the insult and I rolled off him.

  “Yeah.” Jenna had a smirk on her face. “Well, that didn’t stop—”

  “Enough,” Hank said, steel in his voice.

  Hank was quick to give me a hand up and then offered a begrudging one to Boomer.

  Crossing his arms over his chest again, Hank lifted his chin toward my friend. “So, what’s all this?” In my head, it sounded a whole lot like, “Who the fuck is he?”

  “A friend. He’s here to help.”

  Hank eyed me, then appraised Boomer with a jaundiced eye. Boomer had always been a large man, but I could tell he’d been working out since he’d been back stateside. His blue T-shirt banded his biceps, with USMC branded across his wide chest. His tan cargo shorts did nothing to hide the sickle-shaped piece of carbon fiber that stood on the ground where his right foot used to be.

  Hank swallowed once, gave Boomer a brief nod, then caught Dale’s eye and flagged him to come over.

  After the introductions, I said to Jenna. “Why don’t you tell everyone what the sheriff down in Laramie told you?”

  “The man who brought the cattle to the auction gave a description of the man he bought them from. Sounded a lot like Sheriff Tate to me. The name the seller had given was a fake so that was a dead end, but the description of the truck pulling the trailer was an older white Ford with a light bar on top.”

  “Interesting,” Dale allowed.

  “Why would he do that?” Hank wondered aloud.

  “Money?” I said.

  “Or revenge,” Boomer added.

  “Or love.” Jenna had one of those smiles on her face, the kind where you’d expect to see a light bulb in a cartoon speech bubble above her head.

  “What do you mean?” Hank asked.

  “This morning when I went with Grandma to bring eggs to Doris, Sheriff Tate’s truck was parked at her place. Grandma and…w-well,” Jenna stuttered as if she didn’t know what to call her mother, “they went inside and I went over to his truck to see if maybe there’d be something that would link it to the stolen cattle. Guess what I found?”

  “Come on, out with it,” Dale said in reaction to the smug expression on Jenna’s face.

  “Okay, okay. I touched the hood of the truck and it was cold.”

  Boomer held a fist out for her to bump. “He spent the night there.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Jenna said.

  “If Sheriff Tate is seeing Doris, that could explain why Link has been on such a tear lately,” Dale said. “They haven’t been separated long, and the man is Link’s cousin. I still don’t see the link to stealing the cattle or burning the barn. Tate has too much to lose if he’s caught. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “And it doesn’t explain your friend, here,” Hank said to me.

  “I called him from the auction house last night after Jenna told me her suspicions about the sheriff. If the sheriff is involved, we can’t count on support from him. If Link is involved as well, then we have one less on the good guys’ side and one more on the bad. Boomer can help us even out the odds. I meant to tell you last night, but it was late, and then this morning—”

  “So what do we tell the guys about Boomer?” Hank pointedly ignored the direction my conversation had turned.

  Dale turned and whistled loud and shrill and waved his hat at Link when the man looked up. “We tell them he’s hired.”

  “Let’s hope he can sit a horse better than Mac,” Hank said.

  “I grew up on a ranch in Colorado,” Boomer said.

  “What about the leg?” Dale asked. It was a fair question, and Boomer didn’t seem to take it personally.

  “Not a problem…sir.”

  Boomer glanced at me. I shrugged. Dale had that quiet authority about him that made the “sir” almost automatic. At least from people with our background.

  “I think we use the horse roundup to our advantage.” Dale leaned in, his voice dropping conspiratorially as Link came nearer. “Draw these bastards in once and for all.”

  * * * *

  It was late. Stars peeked through patches of high clouds and the wind had kicked up a bit. Not bad enough to make the bonfire in front of me dangerous, but enough to cool the skin and make the fire enjoyable. I dozed in the dirt, my back against a log. Boomer was to my left with his prosthetic leg propped against the bark. He was rubbing his stump after being on his leg all day helping clear the last of the rubble from the barn’s foundation.

  This was the Lazy S version of a party. Everyone gathered around the fire as the last vestiges of what used to be the barn turned to ash at our feet. A beer in our hand, at least, those of us old enough to drink. Even Becca ventured out, though she’d laid a blanket on the ground because her jeans weren’t the kind made to get dirty, though I didn’t know why she bothered. From what I’d heard, her venture capitalist fiancé was loaded. Surely, she could afford to send them out for cleaning.

  We were all on the upwind side of the fire, but in small clusters. Jenna, Dink, and Quinn stood a little off by themselves. Santos, Alby, and Link were on the far side of them. Dale, Lottie, and Becca to my right. Hank was in no man’s land. Too antsy and not in the mood to settle in, but not organized enough to be able to call what he was doing pacing either.

  Conversation lagged and in the void, Jenna asked Boomer, “So how did you lose your leg? An explosion or something?”

  “Jenna,” Lottie hissed quietly as if she didn’t want anyone to hear her, but she was almost on the other side of the fire so it was loud.

  “It’s okay,” Boomer slurred t
he words together so it came out sounding more like “soh-kay.” He drained the beer he had in his hand in two large swallows, reached into the cooler beside him, and snagged another.

  He had everyone’s attention. Hank settled on the log beside me and absentmindedly rubbed a hand up and down his thigh. Dink lifted his head off his cast and cocked his ears as if he were interested too—birds of a feather and all.

  “It was a bad deal. I was at a meeting on base with two other officers and an Iraqi interpreter we’d been working with for over a year. He’d proven himself and he was trusted, but something happened. I don’t know. He snapped, or maybe that was his plan all along.”

  I folded my legs to me and wrapped my arms around them, suddenly feeling colder than I should in front of a blazing fire.

  Boomer sucked down another long drag of beer, his focus on the flames as they danced over the beams. “He shot our commander in the head at point-blank range. Shot another guy in the chest who wasn’t wearing his body armor. I grabbed his arm and we fought for the gun. It went off. Shattered my tibia beyond repair. Took another round through the armhole of my body armor.”

  His voice held no edge, no emotion, as if he was reciting a recipe he’d memorized. You had to do that sometimes, say the words without actually focusing on the meaning so you could get through it. Boomer siphoned off the rest of his new beer.

  “So what happened to the guy?” Jenna asked. She didn’t understand she should leave well enough alone.

  I could feel Boomer wanting to grab another beer because the urge grabbed me too. He glanced at me a little too long and a little too hard. I shook my head so slightly if he hadn’t been primed for it he wouldn’t have seen it. They didn’t know my story.

  He turned his attention to Jenna, maybe as a way to make sure he didn’t accidentally focus on me and give it away. “Someone came in and saved my life.”

  “How could that guy do that?” Jenna asked. “How could no one not see it coming?”

  I should have known.

  I should have seen it coming.

  It was my fault those men died. I tried to suck in air because my lungs felt empty and used up, but it caught on the lump in my throat. Hank stilled beside me then nudged me with his leg. I glanced up and he raised his eyebrows asking if Boomer was talking about me. If I was the one who’d saved him.

  I hadn’t wanted to tell Hank, at least not yet, but I wasn’t going to deny it either. I let my silence speak for me. Hank shifted closer, placed his hand on my shoulder, and traced small circles on the back of my neck with his thumb.

  Boomer said, “He was a gentle man. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. At least, he was good at making people believe that. No one suspected, no one knew.” Then the pitch of his voice changed, got louder, and I knew he’d turned his head my way. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  Somehow, I managed to suck in a low, shallow breath, but my chest hurt like someone had caved in all my ribs and had used them for drumsticks. Moisture gathered behind my eyes, then sprang a leak, and flowed down my cheeks. It was dark so I didn’t think anyone would see them and I was afraid if I swiped them away, then everyone would see the truth.

  It was the kind of story that left people speechless, and an awkward silence fell over us. The fire was burning low.

  Hank squeezed my shoulder and said, “I’m going to grab the truck and bring over more wood.”

  “Need a hand?” Boomer offered, even though his leg was still sitting a couple feet away from him.

  “Naw, sit tight and catch up with Mac.” Hank waved him off, but I could see he appreciated the offer. “Quinn, come help.”

  They’d been gone about fifteen minutes and I’d sunk a little further into my beer buzz. My muscles ached from carrying the bags of cement and fence posts, and my bad shoulder was pitching a hissy fit like a five-year-old at bedtime.

  “I meant what I said.” Boomer leaned in toward me, his words a hair above a whisper so the others wouldn’t hear. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  A dry laugh, caked with grief and iced with guilt, forced its way out. “If anyone should have known, it was me. I was practically sleep—”

  “Bullshit.” Everyone’s heads popped up, but when he didn’t say anything else, they turned their attention back to their own conversations. “You’re not a mind reader. I was his friend too. We lifted weights together. We ate together. There was nothing to see because he was that good.”

  I nodded, but in that slow way a person does when they don’t really agree.

  “You took a bullet meant for me, Mac. And you took him out. You’re the hero here, not the villain.”

  Something heavy slipped off my shoulders like the straps on my body armor had been sliced in two. Like my guilt crashing to the ground. The tightness in my chest eased. I glanced at Boomer. Embers from the fire reflected in his eyes, but I could see the heat of the truth burning in them. He believed every word he’d said.

  Maybe it was time for me to believe them, too.

  * * * *

  The engine on Hank’s truck roared, and the headlights danced as his truck bounced over the ruts. He was coming in hot. He slid to a stop, the back wheels caught on gravel, and the back end fishtailed toward us then lurched to a stop. Hank’s door flew open and he stalked around the hood, a white bag in his hand, and wrenched open the passenger door and yanked Quinn out by the collar of his shirt. He gave Quinn a hard shove, propelling him across the uneven ground. Quinn stumbled but caught himself.

  “Dad! What—” Then she saw the bag in his hand. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes owl-wide.

  Hank pitched the bag to her, hard and impossibly fast like Nolan Ryan in the World Series. She fumbled the catch, bent, and picked it up.

  “What is that?” Hank bellowed. Dink whined and tried to wedge himself under the log. Jenna eyed the hideout as if she was contemplating the same.

  “Hank—” Becca said.

  He rounded on her. “Stay out of this.” He turned back to Jenna, hands on his hips, his chest heaving like the bellows on a steam train. “Why do you have birth control pills?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Becca stepped closer to them.

  Hank narrowed his eyes at his wife.

  “She’s obviously trying to be responsible. At least give her credit for that,” Becca said.

  Hank pinched the bridge of his nose as if staving off a headache. I thought I saw steam billowing from his ears, but it was probably just smoke from the fire.

  Alby, Santos, and Link slunk into the darkness as if they’d never really been there. Dale tugged Lottie away with him. Quinn tried to follow, but Hank grabbed him by the scruff, buckled his legs with a boot to the back of the knee, and dumped him on his ass. Quinn scooted back to a log crab style and sat.

  Ignoring her mother, Jenna’s eyes darted to me, then back to Hank. Hank’s head popped back and then he turned to me.

  Oh, shit.

  “You knew about this?”

  I stood. Boomer did too, gripping his prosthetic as if prepared to use it as a club.

  “Go on,” I told Boomer. “It’s okay.”

  Hank was hurt and pissed and protective and besides a little manhandling of Quinn, I wasn’t concerned he’d lose control. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Boomer gave Hank one of those guy-to-guy stares, all silent threat and promise before he hopped away. I figured Boomer would stop and put his leg back on once he was out of earshot. There was a process to it. It wasn’t as simple as slipping on a loafer.

  “So you’re having sex with him?” Hank glared at Jenna.

  “No.” Her voice was confident. Sure. She wasn’t going let her father back her down. “Not yet anyway.”

  “I will not have my daughter—”

  “I’m above the legal age of consent, Hank,” she said, emphasizing his name, the kid in her tossing out a hurtful jab. �
��You don’t get a say in this.”

  Hank pinned Quinn with a glare. “Do you love her?”

  “I…umm…I…” Quinn glanced from Hank to Jenna, running his hands up and down the front of his jeans.

  “Don’t answer that,” Jenna told him.

  “I think it’s a valid question,” Hank said.

  “Wow. That’s rich.” Jenna laughed as she backed away, her hands raised in mock surrender. “And hypocritical. Do you love Mac? What about all those women on the circuit you slept with? Did you love every one of them or any of them? And my mother. Did you ever love her?”

  “That’s different.”

  “How is that different?”

  “I’m an adult. I can deal with the consequences of my actions.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Her voice rose, until she was just south of yelling. “Like you did when you made me? There’s more to being a father than sending a check every month. I thought you’d figured that out by now.”

  The hard lines on Hank’s face fell away and his head dropped between his shoulders. Firelight danced on his features, a dance of light and shadow, of love and remorse.

  Then she stepped up to her father and glanced at her mother as if wanting to make sure the woman was paying attention before she spoke. “And when I do have kids someday, I don’t want them to ever doubt for one second that they were wanted. I don’t want them thinking they were a mis—” Her voice cracked and she sawed in a shaky breath. “A mistake.”

  Hank’s head shot up, and in the glow of the fire, I witnessed the brutality of her words strike a mortal blow to his heart. He kneaded the muscles at the back of his neck and searched her face as if he might find something else there besides the truth. “Is that what you think? That you were a mistake?” His voice was strained thin with emotion.

  “You were seventeen. Mom was sixteen when she got pregnant. So what else could it be?”

  “Mistake isn’t the word I’d use. Unplanned, or unexpected, maybe.”

  “Thanks. That’s so much better.” If her words dripped with any more sarcasm, she’d have doused the fire.

  “We were very young.” For the first time, Hank glanced at his wife. She nodded, a tender smile on her lips before he turned his attention back to Jenna. “Scared. We were still kids ourselves, but from the moment I’d made you, I’d wanted you. You were not a mistake, Jenna.”