A Cowboy's Duty

Mitch chuckled. “Getting your ass kicked by a wild bronc sure is a change.”

“It’ll come back to me.” Gavin and Nate had competed in rodeos throughout high school and during their military leaves, but admittedly Gavin was rusty and needed a heck of a lot more practice before he’d become competitive.

“You can’t rodeo forever. You got a plan B if you end up injured?”

“Not really.”

“When you get ready to call one place home, come see me. I could always use a good ranch hand.”

The word home generated an uncomfortable feeling in Gavin. Settling down was the last thing on his mind. “Nice to know there’s a place to hang my hat if I need one.”

“Take care.” Mitch walked off.

Now what? The next rodeo on Gavin’s schedule was in Chula Vista, California—a week from today. He should hit the road but a sixth sense warned him not to be in a rush to leave the Grand Canyon State. His years in the military had taught Gavin to never ignore his instincts.

He chalked up the doom-and-gloom thought to his recent nightmare. He sure in hell didn’t want a repeat of that terrifying hallucination. Maybe a drink would settle his nerves and numb his brain while he listened to eight-second stories. The one thing he missed about the army was the camaraderie of fellow soldiers.

“Hey, Waters.” Gavin called across the parking lot. “Where’s everyone hanging out after the rodeo?”

The calf roper tossed his gear into the back of his pickup. “Mickey’s. A few miles east of here.”

“Thanks.” Gavin got in his truck and checked his cell phone for messages. None. A short time later he parked at Mickey’s. Standard cowboy bar—a dump, save for the fancy red door. Neon beer signs brightened the windows, reminding Gavin that he was hungry and thirsty.

The smell of sweat, spilled beer and cigarette smoke greeted his nostrils inside. A thirty-foot bar sans stools stretched along one wall behind which a pair of bald, tattooed bartenders filled drink orders. The rest of the place was crowded with mismatched tables and chairs.

A country-western song wailed from the jukebox as Gavin zigzagged through the maze of rowdy cowboys. “Bud Light.” He tossed a five-dollar bill on the bar.

“You win or lose today?” asked the barkeep with a snake tattoo slithering up his neck.

“Lost.”

“Tough draw?”

“Not really.” He took his beer and strolled through the crowd listening to a country ballad of love gone wrong. Why the lyrics made him think of Dixie he had no idea. He’d regretted making love to her, even though it had been a long time since he’d been intimate with a woman. If only the taste of her bold kiss hadn’t drowned out the warning voice in his head.

He’d had a hunch he was the first cowboy she’d ever had a one-night stand with. Thank God she’d had a condom in her purse, because Gavin’s protection had been out in the glove compartment of his truck.

He moseyed over to a table near the dartboard where a pair of inebriated cowboys tried to hit the target.

“Hey, Kramer!”

Gavin’s senses went on high alert when he recognized the gravelly voice—Johnny Cash. He tuned his ears to the conversation behind him.

“You see my ride?” Cash asked Kramer.

“Yep. Too bad you didn’t win.”

“Sanders drew a better bronc,” Cash said. “You got a minute?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“You were at the Boot Hill Rodeo this past July, weren’t you?”

“I bit the dirt on Short Fuse.” Kramer chuckled. “Your sister rode a bull in that rodeo, didn’t she?”

Gavin tensed.

“Speaking of my sister,” Cash said. “Were you at the Spittoon that night after the rodeo?”

“Sure was.”

“You happen to see who my sister left the bar with?”

“If I did, I can’t remember.” Then Kramer asked, “Wasn’t Dixie supposed to ride in Piney Gorge this month?”

“Yeah. She withdrew.”

“Your sister plan to do any more bull ridin’ in the future?”

“Not for nine months.”

The blood drained from Gavin’s head and pooled in his stomach, making him nauseous.

Kramer lowered his voice. “You sayin’ some guy knocked her up after the rodeo?”

“Yep, that’s what I’m saying. I’d like to find the jerk and wring his neck.”

“If I hear any rumors, I’ll be in touch,” Kramer said.

“Thanks. And, Kramer?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep this to yourself.”

“Sure. No problem.” Kramer headed to the bar and Cash followed.

Gavin didn’t give himself time to think; he bolted for the door. Once outside, he cut across the parking lot, hopped into his truck and headed south. After he’d driven an hour he could no longer suppress his anxiety. He pulled off the road, turned on the flashers then left the truck and started walking.

The longer he walked the lower the sky fell and the higher the ground raised, compressing him until each breath felt like he was sucking air through a straw.

Damn his frickin’ intuition. If he’d ignored his sixth sense, he’d have been on the road to Chula Vista by now and been none the wiser about Dixie’s condition.

Chapter Three

Gavin pulled up to a pump at the Chevron station in Stagecoach. The sudden downpour he’d driven through ten miles back had left behind a rainbow in the sky, and the smell of steamy pavement and wet clay permeated the air. He filled the gas tank, then entered the convenience store.

“Howdy.” A slim man with gray whiskers and a toothy smile greeted Gavin. “Passin’ through or visitin’?”