No Ordinary Cowboy

“I noticed the Pony Express van parked in front of Gilley’s Tap House the other night.”

Never in a million years had Tony believed Lucy would start up her own business in Stagecoach. No one talked about it—at least not out loud—but it didn’t take a genius to understand that the free taxi service was Lucy’s way of honoring her brother’s memory. The van served as a solemn reminder of how Tony had failed his best friend.

“You’re awfully quiet,” his mother said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Still no leads on the Mexican gang smuggling girls across the border?”

“No.” But he was positive that if border patrol agents staked out the Durango Ranch, they’d catch the bastards transporting their human cargo through the desert.

“I hope you get a break in the case soon.” His mother pointed to Tony’s plate. “Do you have room for seconds?”

“No, thanks.” He carried his plate to the sink. “I’ll tighten the bathroom faucet before I leave.”

“You’re not staying?”

Unless he received an emergency call from work, Tony watched TV with his mother for an hour or two after supper. Approaching the anniversary of his best friend’s death, he wouldn’t be good company, so he fibbed. “I’ve got paperwork to catch up on.”

“I made the cake for you.”

“Juan will appreciate your chocolate cake.”

“He’s on a diet.” Juan was a big man who made no apologies for his big appetite.

While his mother cleared the table and washed the dishes, Tony went outside and unlocked the storage shed. His father’s tool kit sat on the ground inside the door. A half hour later, Tony had fixed the bathroom faucet, oiled a squeaky doorjamb and loosened the sticky window at the front of the trailer. Then he kissed his mother goodbye and headed to Yuma.

He’d only driven a few miles when he found himself parked in front of the Saguaro Cactus Lounge, staring at the blinking Budweiser sign in the window. Some days, life called for a beer.

Today was one of them.

* * *

“DON ’ T WORRY , H ECTOR . You stay home tonight and feel better. I’ll be out soon to pick up the van.” Lucy disconnected the call.

Poor Hector. One of his granddaughters was taking a culinary class in Yuma and had cooked a chicken sausage seafood gumbo for the family. Hector had barely made it back home before being hit with food poisoning.

Lucy left her office in the barn and returned to the house for her purse. Dinner would be on the run tonight.

“Where are you off to?” her mother called out.

Lucy put the brakes on outside the sun room where her mother sat reading. “Hector’s not feeling well. I’ll be handling the calls for the Pony Express tonight.”

The lines bracketing her mother’s mouth deepened, but she refrained from voicing her disapproval. “Call when you get to Hector’s.”

Lucy swallowed a sharp retort and left the house. A twenty-four-year-old shouldn’t have to report in to her mother, but Michael’s death had changed the family dynamic in more ways than size. Sonja Durango wanted to know every move her daughter made. Full of guilt, Lucy had been happy to keep her mother informed of her whereabouts, believing it would only be a matter of time before she got over her fear of something happening to Lucy. But months turned into a year, and now two, and still her mother hadn’t eased up on monitoring Lucy’s activities.

The drive to Hector’s took twenty minutes. He lived in the foreman’s cabin on the Ace of Spades Ranch, west of Stagecoach. Bill Gunderson no longer ran cattle on his land now that he and his wife spent half the year on the East Coast with their son’s family. In exchange for watching over the property, Hector lived there rent-free.

When she pulled up to the cabin, Hector’s mongrel dog emerged from his underground den beneath the porch. “Hey, Blue. It’s Lucy.” Holding out her hand, she approached the chained dog cautiously. Blue sniffed then wagged his tail. “You remember me, don’t you?”

The tail wagged harder. Hector had found the stray dog limping on the property. Blue had been suffering from mange and the vet had confirmed he was going blind. Losing his sight made Blue more aggressive and fearful of strangers, so Hector no longer took the dog with him when he left the ranch. Blue spent most of his days under the porch in the cool dirt cavern Hector had dug for him.

“Where’s Clementine?” Lucy glanced across the porch and spotted the gray cat lounging on the chair by the door. “Hey, Clementine.” The cat’s tail twitched once. Clementine barely tolerated Blue until the nights grew cold, then she slept with him beneath the porch.

“How about some fresh water, kids?” Lucy refilled the large water bowl from the spigot connected to the side of the cabin, set it on the bottom porch step then texted her mother that she’d arrived at Hector’s.

“Hector, it’s Lucy,” she called out as she let herself inside the cabin.

“Keys are by the door.” The muffled voice came from the hall bathroom.

“Hope you feel better soon.” She placed a set of keys to her truck on the table then left the cabin. After giving Blue one more pat on the head, she drove off in the Pony Express passenger van. She’d almost made it to the highway when her cell phone rang.

“Pony Express, Lucy Durango speaking.”

“Lucy, it’s Bob out at the Saguaro Cactus Lounge.”

“It’s only eight o’clock and you have a pickup for me?”

“Not yet but I figure he’ll need a lift by ten.”

“You’re prebooking a ride?”

“Yep.”

“Is he a regular?”

“Nope.”

If the cowboy wasn’t a regular, it usually meant the guy was drinking off a heartache. “Who is he?”

“Tony Bravo.”

Tony? At least he wasn’t on duty. “Did he say why he’s drinking?”

Bob chuckled. “Border patrol agents don’t need a reason to drink.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She disconnected the call then turned onto the highway. Tony had never been a big drinker. Even when he and Michael celebrated their twenty-first birthdays, the guys hadn’t gone on a bender because they’d had to rodeo the following day.

There were only a handful of vehicles parked in the lot when she arrived at the bar. As soon as she entered the tavern, Bob nodded to the stool where Tony sat hunched over a beer glass. He was drinking tap beer—the cheap stuff.

Lucy passed a pair of cowboys throwing darts and four more playing cards before she slid onto the stool next to Tony. She tapped a fingernail against the bar, keeping time with the George Strait song playing on the jukebox. Tony ignored her. After a minute, she broke the silence. “I’m sorry you didn’t make it to eight last weekend.”

Keeping his gaze on his beer, he said, “Thought you’d left the rodeo before my ride.”

“I stayed.” She’d missed watching Tony and her brother tangle with bulls. “Tough draw.”