Rodeo Baby

Eager to move off the topic of the diner owner with curves in all the right places, Sam said, “Chelsea and I are going to be staying with another of the women. Rachel McGuire.”

“Yep, she lives now with her husband, Travis Read. What do you mean, you’ll be staying with them?”

Sam explained about getting a job on the new ranch.

“A job?” Gramps picked up a cup from a small table and took a sip from a straw. “Doing what?”

“He’s going to be a cowboy, Gramps.” When had she become such a tattletale?

Orange juice sprayed from Gramps’s mouth and down the front of his shirt. Sam expected embarrassment or at the very least dismay, but Gramps laughed hard.

Chelsea giggled with him.

Sam blotted OJ from Gramps’s shirt.

When he finally stopped laughing, Gramps gasped. “What do you know about being a cowboy?”

Sam stiffened. “Enough to get by.” Not really, but he wouldn’t admit it. His pride was taking a beating in this town.

“There is no getting by in ranching. It’s hard work. You either know what you’re doing or you don’t. Where’d you learn about it? On your computer?”

Because that is exactly what he’d done, Sam didn’t respond.

“Dear Lord, I’m right, aren’t I? You looked at some pictures on the line—”

“Online, Gramps,” Chelsea said and Sam wanted to object. Don’t encourage him.

“And maybe read, what, a couple of books or magazines? Now you think you know how it’s done?”

Still, Sam didn’t respond. He wasn’t as naive as they thought. He knew he’d be faking a lot, but he was doing the best he could with the little he had.

“My God, don’t do this.” Gramps slammed his juice cup onto the table. “It shows disrespect for real cowboys. They aren’t some cliché you see in old movies. They’re real hard workers. I admire those men and women. They are as tough as they come but can be real gentle when they need to be.”

“What do you mean, Gramps?” Sam’s daughter, who didn’t care about anything Sam said these days, hung on her great-grandfather’s every word.

“They love their animals, but will put one down in the blink of an eye if it’s in pain. Tough people.”

“Put one down?” Chelsea squeaked.

“Yep, sweetheart. If they have to.”

“Even their own, like, horses?”

“Or dogs. Knew a kid, only thirteen, out plowing in the field. Ran over his dog. No one else was home. Dog was mangled, suffering something fierce, dying. That boy ran to the house and loaded a rifle. When he got back to his dog, he shot him. Put him out of his misery.”

Chelsea covered her mouth with her black-nailed hands. “He killed his own dog? Gramps, that’s awful.”

“Yeah, but it was the right thing to do. Showed compassion. Said it was the toughest thing he’d ever done in his life. ’Course, his life isn’t over yet. Who knows what else he’ll be called on to do before his life is over.”

Chelsea stared at Sam, the look in her eye clearly saying, “Could you do that?”

Chelsea and Gramps didn’t get that he could be as tough as he needed to be to protect his family.

Sam knew how hard the job would be, but he also knew he was strong. Maybe not in the same way but durable enough in spirit. He’d be damned before he let anyone in this town get the better of his grandfather.

“You think you can take on that kind of job?” Gramps watched him.

“I will do the job to the best of my abilities. I’m a hard worker, I don’t mind putting in long hours and I’m more capable than you think.”

Gramps’s expression softened. “Your parents were quick to share your accomplishments. They were always proud. I know how smart you are and all the things you’ve done, but this is another barrel of horseshoes altogether.”

Sam needed to steer away from this argument.

“Who are the other women? I forget their names.” He didn’t really. Sam had a mind like a steel trap, but he hoped Gramps might have some new information to help Sam get the job done.

“Nadine Campbell, Honey Armstrong and Max Porter. Oh, and a new one. Samantha Read.”

“Any relation to the guy, Travis, who we’re heading off to meet?”

“His sister,” Gramps responded. “New to town like him.”

“If these women are so keen to do something for this town, why don’t they create something of their own instead of taking over your fair and rodeo?”

“Because the fair is there and already set up. The rides, the concession stands, the fairgrounds, the barns and stables. All they have to do is renovate and update.” His grandfather stared out of the window again. “I never wanted it to lie fallow all of those years. It’s special, Sam.”

Before Sam could say anything, his grandfather glanced from his grandchild to his great-grandchild. “Go see the fairgrounds. It’s your heritage. Take Chelsea. It’s her heri­tage, too.”

“We did, Gramps,” Chelsea said. “I love it.”

“You saw it?”

“On the way over here.”

A slow smile spread on Gramps’s face. “You love it?”

“Yeah. It’s magical.”

“It sure is,” Gramps agreed.

The two of them talked like children, Gramps taking a childlike delight in Chelsea’s enthusiasm. While pleased to see him happy, Sam had to remember to bring it up with Gramps’s doctor. Was it regression?

To Sam, he said, “I never agreed with your father’s decision not to bring you home to visit.”

Sam didn’t like criticism of his parents, even if their values didn’t always jibe with his own.

“Don’t grimace, Sam. This should have been as much your home as New York was. It’s your heritage. And now you can finally get to know the place and the people.”

“Why didn’t Dad ever come home? He would never tell me when I asked.”