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

as a favor from Emma.”
    “Thank you.”
    “She seems like a nice lady. Real gracious.”
    I smiled at that. “Ma was born a hundred and fifty years too late.”
    “Maybe so.” He nodded. “It was a real shame about your brother. I’m sorry for your loss.”
    “Thank you.” I stood there for another uncomfortable second or two, staring at the floor. “Lucho said there are some barn boots on the porch I can borrow?”
    “Sure. Outside that door.” He gestured with the spatula. “I don’t want to tell you your business, but maybe you should steer clear of Lucho. He’s got some hard feelings about your dad.”
    “He’s got every right to feel how he does. He just needs to see I’m not my father.”
    “Wouldn’t it be easier for you to take job somewhere like Santa Fe? Down here, you’re likely to run into a lot of folks who think like he does.”
    “My ma is determined to stay here.” I shrugged. “I need a job close by home, for a while at least. I’m not asking for favors. I’ll earn my way.”
    “Go to it then, son. Good luck.”
    He nodded and picked up his plate, effectively dismissing me. As I opened the porch door, he called out, “If you feed the rescues, mind how you go. The gelding’s a spooky son of a bitch.”
    “Thanks. Lucho warned me.”
    I found two sets of well-used chore boots in a plastic bin next to a boot scraper. The black ones looked like they’d fit me. I pulled them on and stomped around a bit. They’d serve. While I walked back to the barn Threep trotted nimbly along beside me despite her missing leg.
    When I was a kid, we’d had a mixed breed mutt called Lady. I loved that dog so much. She had a run-in with a raccoon and I begged Dad to take her to the vet. Dad hated that dog. Hell, he probably hated me by then too. He’d looked me straight in the eye and said it’d be cheaper just to get another dog.
    I managed the nausea that memory always brought with it by sheer force of will.
    Threep and I led the horses outside, and she kept me company while I found a wheelbarrow to muck out the stalls.
    Strains of music drifted over from the bunkhouse. Lucho’d got himself a guitar from somewhere and it appeared he knew how to play. He noodled around with a few chord progressions, and then riffed on some flamenco, following that up with a sad Spanish ballad. He sang along, filling the air with a sweet-sounding voice. I didn’t recognize what he played, but the words I caught were about love and loss and longing for home.
    I closed my eyes and listened for a minute, hidden just inside the barn. I could have stayed there—wrapped in the purity of his song—but there was no time for that. There was only impressing Malloy and saving our place and the rest of the things hanging over my head now that Dad and Heath were gone.
    Still catching a few faint strains of Lucho’s song, I headed back to the stalls.
    Mucking is hot, dirty work, but it’s not exactly rocket science. It looked to me like instead of straw bedding or sawdust the J-Bar used some sort of wooden pellets. I was wondering about that when Crispin came inside the barn and joined me.
    “Hey.” He leaned against the wall, half in and out of the shadows. He was a good-looking man.
    “Hello.” I kept on shoveling, torn between the twin necessities of doing my job and making myself pleasant to one of the bosses. “You came just in time for me to ask a really dumb question.”
    “I don’t get to hear many really dumb questions. Shoot.”
    “Looks like you put pellets of some kind on the stall floors; how much? And where are they?”
    “Ah.” He went to a stack of bags. “Over here. You never used these before?”
    “I haven’t.” I felt like a dumbass. “I’ve never even seen those.”
    “We just started using wood pellet bedding here.” There was a green plastic wheelbarrow up against the wall, next to the stack. It was cleaner than the one I was using. “I’ll show you.”
    “Okay.” He left the