Cowboys 03 - My Cowboy Homecoming by Z.A. Maxfield Read Free Book Online Page A

when I’ve seen how you handle the horses in the barn.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “Nothing’s fair,” he muttered. “But looks like I’m stuck with you.”
    After that, we walked to the bunkhouse without speaking. He used both crutches, thank God, and kept the weight off his foot the whole way. He grunted as he trudged up the porch stairs, where he flopped into one of several rockers. I got another chair and pushed it toward him so he could elevate his foot. He did that without speaking, but heaved a sigh of tremendous relief and leaned back so he could let his head rest against the wall. His face relaxed into handsome repose until a three-legged border collie bounded up onto the porch and demanded his attention.
    “All right,” he said, scratching her under her chin. “Yeah, I love you, all right.”
    “Who’s this?” I asked as she circled me three times before racing back to settle next to Lucho’s chair.
    “Threep.” He glanced up. “3PO.
Three paws only.
She’s Crispin’s dog. He found her on the highway after she’d been hit by a car. She’s been training to help us out with the cows.”
    “I’m sensing a rescue theme here at the J-Bar.”
    He smiled at that. “Crispin’s a soft touch. Whether it’s wounded animals or hard-luck ranch hands, he’s got a way about him that makes you feel—” He stopped himself from saying more. Must have remembered I was one of those Tripplehorn assholes. “She don’t bite. You like dogs?”
    “Yeah,” I held my hand out for her to sniff. She approached warily, giving me a little lick on the back of the hand. “She’s awful sweet.”
    “That she is.”
    I glanced back at him and laughed. “If you keep frowning at me like that, your face is going to freeze that way.”
    “Fuck off.” Lucho was not amused.
    I gave Threep one last pat. “Tell me where I can find those boots and I’ll get out of your hair. Unless I can get you something? You’re looking awful.”
    “I’m fine.” He was clearly not. “Back porch. There are a couple of pairs there. One will probably fit you.”
    “You okay here? You need some pills or a bucket to puke in?”
    He shook his head and went back to petting the dog. I gave up and went inside to find those boots.

Chapter Seven
    I felt like an intruder in the bunkhouse. It was fairly tidy, filled with the aromas of coffee and spices and men. I made a guess that to find the back porch I would have to go through the kitchen, and when I did, I surprised one of the hands, an older guy, who stood at the stove, cooking.
    “Well, now. Who might you be?” he asked.
    I took off my hat and tucked it under my arm. “I’m Tripp. I’m here on probation for a couple days.”
    “You’re the kid Jimmy picked up at the bus station yesterday?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He hmph’d and added a handful of grated cheese and a half can of green chilies to some scrambled eggs before holding out his hand. “Eddie Molina.”
    We shook hello. “I’m just Tripp.”
    “Hey, just Tripp. Boss hire you?”
    “Not yet. I’m hoping I can impress him in the next couple days.”
    “You ever work on a ranch before?”
    “No.” I answered truthfully. “But I’ve done plenty of new things in my life and most of those turned out okay.”
    “All righty, then. Ain’t you something. What are you up to now?”
    “I’m doing barn chores this morning, but I’m ready to do whatever needs doing. I intend to make myself indispensable.”
    He smiled at that. “In two days?”
    “It could happen. Theoretically speaking, anyway.” I had to stay positive.
    “I’ll keep you in mind if I find something needs doing.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You know . . .” He took the eggs off the fire and slipped them onto a plate before pouring a mess of hot sauce all over them. “I met your mother a few times.”
    “Is that right?”
    “She had to sell the animals after your old man went to prison. Me and Jimmy hauled the horses to their new owners for her. Kind of