Nice Shootin', Tex!
Cyndia Rios-Myers
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
About Cyndia Rios-Myers
Other Titles by Cyndia Rios-Myers
Connect With Cyndia Rios-Myers
Chapter One Preview of Summation of Love
Acknowledgements
A great, big kiss goes to my little man for being so patient while mommy worked on her books. Thanks go to my husband Colby as well. The inspiration for this story came from two different areas of my life - from my TV watching, and for a friend who expressed how I never had blond haired heroines in my stories (this one’s for you, Jen!).
I also wanted this story to show that even though some women and some men can go toe-to-toe in some areas of life, we are still inherently different and this is just fine!
All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be re-sold, given away, or reproduced in any other manner without the written permission of the publisher.
For The Artists
This book is dedicated to the people who choose to share their emotions and feelings with others through the power of paint, words, and song.
Chapter 1
The canvas was my voice. The oil paints in their tubes in differing colors and shades were the emotions I conveyed. The paint brush in my hand was my mouth. Sometimes I would yank my arm across the canvas in angry strokes to express my frustration. At other times, I would carefully stipple my paintbrush across the panel in order to communicate my sensitivity.
This morning, the subjects of my painting were boots - my boots. They were a light tan in color. The laces were a brighter orange. The rubber soles were in a tannish-yellow color that was very difficult to duplicate. The dark brown color of the hardwood planks underneath the boots was easy to reproduce, as was the mud covering the boots. The blood red color of the hog's lifeblood I had killed late last night was easy to reproduce as well.
I set my paintbrush down on the easel as I glanced at my boots again. Their current state of repose made them appear to be quite innocent. But they weren't. I wore them every day and night that I went out hunting for hogs with my dad and brothers. I wondered what the pigs thought as their poor eyesight focused in on my boots during their final moments of life. Did they smell me on my boots? Did they smell the blood of other long-dead pigs on there? Did they know that my boots would be the last thing they would ever see?
I didn't know the answer to that. I had lost count of the many times I had tried to figure out what a dying pig's final thoughts might be. The artist in me cared. But the hunter and the business woman in me did not. I wasn't out to torture or to needlessly make the hogs suffer, but I did have a job to do. Monetary damages incurred annually by feral hogs in the state of Texas alone were in the hundred millions. They were hurting the livelihoods of fellow ranchers in agricultural damage, environmental damage and in predation. Feral hogs were not native to our country and they had to go.
That was where our family business fit into the scheme of things - hog removal. Swine-Be-Gone, our unfortunately named business was my dad's idea. About eight years ago, my mom and dad saw the swine problem explode in our county and thought to cash in. My mom passed away about five years ago, leaving me, my dad, and my two older brothers Tim and Arnold behind.
"I don't have time for this," I said to my boots.
I wasn't in the mood nor did I have time to mourn my mom again. What I did have time to do though, was hide my canvas and painting materials from my dad and brothers. They didn't know I painted. I didn't understand why I had to keep it secret, but I did anyway. My dad and brothers were traditional cowboys and ranchers. They expected the same out of me and would probably condemn my artistic leanings.
Right after shoving my canvas and paints into a hidden panel in my small closet, I heard my dad calling for me from the hallway outside of my bedroom.
"Lauren?"
Sighing, I pulled my long blond hair out of the back of my robe after closing my closet door.
"Yeah Dad?"
"Is the coffee on?" he asked from outside my door.
Of course it was. I set the timer on the coffee maker for 6 a.m. every single night. Glancing at red glowing numbers in the white alarm clock on my nightstand, I saw that the coffee had been done for twenty four minutes.
"It is," I loudly replied.
I heard him grumble as he walked away from bedroom door and down the hallway that ended in our kitchen and great room. Sighing in relief, I looked at myself in the mirror. I cringed as I looked at the shadows under my blue eyes. Last night's hunt of the three feral hogs on John Thomas' ranch had really taken it out of me. The three guys we caught were closer to Eurasian hogs than they were to released domestic hogs which made them smaller and wilier. It took all four of us five hours to catch the ones we did. As it was, we would probably have to go back there tonight to collect the other two.
Looking at my face again, I liked what I saw there. My skin was fair and my straight blond hair was long. My nose was straight and fit my face well. My lips were a bit larger than I'd like, but they were good for whistling for dogs. I didn't even mind the small wrinkles that had shown up around my eyes. Sure, it was taking me just a little bit longer to bounce back after all-nighters due to my twenty six years of age, but I was still doing quite well. My short and slender five foot frame belied my ability on a horse, my ability to rope a hog and my ability to shoot. I was good at all of those things.
"Lauren? You gonna cook some breakfast for us?" hollered my dad.
I watched myself as my expression turned from one of peace to one of anger. I allowed myself to sneer and growl at the mirror because I was in my room alone. I couldn't act like that in front of my dad and brothers. My dearly departed mother wouldn't have approved. Composing myself I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before releasing it.
"I'll be right there, pa." I called out.
More quietly and to myself, I added, "We have to talk, after all."
I had just finished scrubbing the bacon pan when my dad spoke to my back.
"Lauren. Spit it out. What is on your mind?"
I turned to face my dad. He was still handsome, I thought to myself. We shared the same blue eyes, although my hair was my mom's. His hair was black, but had a lot of grey in the temples. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth had deepened considerably in the past couple of years.
I know that he missed my mom something fierce. We all did. The cervical cancer diagnosis took her from horseback, to her bed and to the hospital bed in less than a year. I was twenty at the time. She had so much to say to me on her deathbed. She also had lots of apologies for all of the things she didn't have time to tell me and for all of the things she would miss. "Lauren. Your dad has soft insides, okay?
Don't forget that, hard as that might be. He will probably get rougher around the edges as time goes by. Please forgive him for that, okay?"
I cried and told her I would. The memory was timely as my dad impatiently prompted me.
"Well? What is on your mind?" he said as he waved his fork at me.
"I think that it's time that I moved out, dad."
I watched as my dad's mouth dropped open in shock. Nervously, I tapped my foot as I waited for him to address my comment. He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee mug before setting it down to answer me.
"I don't understand why you would want to do such a thing."
"I'm twenty five years old, dad. It is time that I was out on my own."
"So what? You ain't married. You don't have kids. All you have to worry about is yourself and your truck."
That angered me. I took another deep breath before responding.
"That is not true at all, dad. I have to take care of you and of Arnold." Tim had gotten married a few months ago and had moved with his wife Linda to a small house just outside of our ranch. Thankfully, that was one less person to feed and do laundry for.
My dad didn't argue with that.
"I know it. But that is why I pay you a good salary. Thirty five thousand dollars a year isn't bad at all for Olney."
I knew that he would bring up my compensation as a reason for me to stay, which was why I did research on what fellow hog hunting companies were paying their employees.
"Daddy, we have a four way partnership - or at least we are supposed to. I do just as much work as you, Tim and Arnold do, yet you are paying them $45,000 a year! They don't even keep house like I do!"
"There are reasons for those differences. I'm not a miser! Tim's got a family to tend to now, Lauren. Arnold repairs our farm equipment."
"And I keep house, don't I?" I tiredly replied.
My dad rolled his eyes before replying. "Do you want a raise? Is that what this is about?"
I sighed in frustration and set my hands down on the counter before me for support.
"Yes and no."
"Well, which one is it?" he impatiently asked.
I then heard my brother stirring in his room. Great. The last think I needed was his two cents in the conversation; I needed to hurry up and put this topic to bed.
"Thirty-five thousand dollars as a salary is fair, dad - fair for hog catching. But not fair for keeping house and hog-catching. I want to move out dad. I need to move out," I implored.
My dad stood up from his bar stool and took another sip of his coffee. Looking out at the window next to the dining room table, he answered me.
"Will a raise get you to stay?"
He sounded so small just then - so small and lonely. My eyes welled up as I remembered my mother's words on her deathbed. I almost said yes, but then reminded myself that my mother wasn't around. I had to take care of me.
"No, dad. I need my own place." I gently replied.
I watched movement out of left side of the great room. It was my brother Arnold, leaning on hallway wall. His blond-haired head was flat on one side and curly on the other. He was also watching me and my dad with his big blue, wary eyes. My dad stiffened before reaching for his hat on the stool next to him.
"That's fine then, Lauren. You can keep your current salary and you can get on outta here too."
He then stalked to the storm door leading to the front porch, letting his boot heels slam on the hardwood floor.
"Dad - ", I tried to get him to stay.
He didn't listen, though. He slammed the screen door and walked out to the barn, I presumed. Still, I stared after him.
"Happy?" asked Arnold as he walked to the coffee maker.
I sneered at his tall form, and immediately all feelings of guilt dissipated.
"No, I am not happy at upsetting dad. But I am happy to finally get my own place where I only have to cook and clean up for myself - and not two grown men." I replied.
Arnold turned to face me as he took a sip of coffee out of his mug.
"Mom never seemed to care," he reproachfully replied.
I felt my eyes widen in shock. I felt them stay that way as the shock gave way to anger.
"I am NOT your mother!! I am NOT a housewife!"
"But momma wanted you to help out around the house, Lauren. What's so wrong about that?"
His voice sounded reasonable, even if his words did not. Suddenly, I felt like a villain. Suddenly, I was mad at my mom for not being here.
"Mom isn't here, Arnold! Her desires might have carried weight for the first year or so, but she's been gone for five years."
My brother stiffened at the sound of my harsh words. The words needed to be said, I knew. Still, I could have been more gentle with my delivery. Sighing, I rephrased my words.
"I miss her too, Arnold. But I am not her. I've got to do my own thing."
Arnold said nothing, but gave me his back as he opened the stove, looking for the leftover pancakes and bacon.
"I guess this conversation is done," I muttered to myself.
Still feeling like the bad guy, I grabbed my own cup of coffee and headed back to my room where I could lick my wounds in private.
Chapter 2
It had been two days since our breakfast talk and my dad was still not talking to me. I was getting the cold shoulder big time. Arnold had warmed up to the idea, though. He'd asked if I would get a place with two bedrooms. We were in the barn where I was watching him put oil in the tractor when we had the conversation.
"I don't know. I guess. I think that I'll probably rent a house instead of an apartment."
"Don't you want to live near the city?"
I shrugged at that. The closest city by us was Randall which boasted a Walmart, a movie theater and a few restaurants. That was about it, though.
"I don't know. I want to be close to the ranch - I'm not trying to get away from it."
My brother looked up at me from his position near the oil tank.
"No, you are just trying to get away from me and dad."
I sucked at my teeth and sighed. Shifting my boot clad feet, I pushed myself off the side of the tractor.
"No, I am trying to get away from the work that comes with taking care of you two."
"We aren't that bad," protested Arnold.
"No. For mom, you weren't. For me, you are. I love you guys and I love working with you, but I just don't want to clean up after you anymore."
Arnold rubbed the back of his clean hand on his forehead before turning back to the tractor engine. After a minute, he spoke.
"I guess I can see that."
Smiling, I patted him on the back.
"Great. I'm glad I can count on you."
"Just as long as you get a place with two rooms. I have to be able to have a place to bring the ladies to after a night on the town."
"Eww!!! Gross!" I yelled, throwing a greasy rag at the back of his head.
He laughed at me as he took the rag of his now greasy blond curls. I laughed too. It felt good.
My brother Tim and his wife Laura took to the idea a lot quicker than my father had. I was with Laura in the kitchen washing dishes when she brought up the subject.
"I think that it's great that you are getting a place on your own, Lauren," she said as she handed me a white dish to dry.
I smiled as I considered my brother's very pretty wife. I'd known her in high school; she was a very popular brunette who'd cheered for our high school's football team. Because we were only a year apart in age (and because our names were so similar), we were close.
"Thank you, Laura. It has been quite the job to convince everyone here of that."
Laura nodded.
"Plus, you'll never find a man while you are living here on the farm."
I froze as I held the now-dried plate over the stack of other plates in the wall cabinet. I then set it down and turned to face her.
"I'm not moving to get a man, Laura."
"I didn't mean it
that way," she said with a contrite expression on her face.
Actually, I had considered how much easier it would be to meet and date a guy if I lived away from home. Most eligible fellows my age were scared of my brothers and my father. Some of the more vocal ones that had taken an interest in me had already been warned off by my brothers, I suspected.
"I know, Laura."
She smiled again and gave me another dish to dry.
"Do not tell Tim I told you this. They make a sport of it." she stage whispered to me.
My brow furrowed as I glanced at her again.
"A sport of what?"
Laura cringed before replying. "They make sport out of scaring guys away from you."
I set down the dry plate with a loud clang on the counter next to the drying rack.
"What? How?" I spat out.
Laura turned around and saw that the men were out on the porch. Satisfied, she turned back to face me.
"A lot of the eligible, good looking guys in the county have come up to your brothers for permission to ask you out. They always say no. When they think it's funny, they make up lies about you."
Anger coursed through my veins as I considered my lack of a significant other. I had been lonely. I had not been on a date in almost six months. I had not had sex in almost a year and a half. Forcing myself to calm down 'til I knew all of the details, I spoke again.
"Go on," I prompted with clenched teeth.
"Well, Cole Manning came by asking for you a couple of months ago when he was here on leave."
My mouth dropped open in shock. I had such a crush on Cole Manning before he left for the Army. He was tall and had a quick smile. I'd spent so much time in my home economics class trying to commit the brown of his hair and the green of his eyes to memory. Swallowing, I nodded.
"Well, Tim told him that you'd become a mail order bride to some guy from Russia."
I blinked a long blink at that.
"A mail order bride for Russia?" I carefully asked.
Laura nodded at that. "Jackson Ricciardi? Remember him from high school?"
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