Chapter 2
Chapter Two
“Mr. Sammy? Mr. Sammy, you home?” Landon stamped the mud off his boots, the rain just coming down in sheets.
Lord have mercy, it was gon’ be sticky as all get out, once the storm blew over and the sun came in.
He’d been out to M’sir Robechaud’s place, looking into a foundering mare for the last couple three days, and, Lord help him, he knew if he went to his home ’fore suppertime Laurel would have his ass in a sling, helping down at the barn.
Served to reckon that Mr. Sammy would be bored and hunting for something to do. Maybe they could go roping. Landon could always use the practice.
Beau Lafitte answered the door, and it was an amazing thing to have the current bull-riding champion right there in front of him, larger than life. Well, Beau wasn’t much bigger than him, so large as life, he guessed. Large as the scowl on the man’s round face. Lawd, lawd.
“Sam is sleeping, kiddo. How you doing?”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Been working down to the Robechaud’s. Just thought I’d say howdy.” Maybe get him a sandwich and a visit. Put his feet up and tell a tale or three. Even if they didn’t go ropin’.
“Well, come on in. You let him sleep a bit and then you can jaw. Hell, right now you can entertain the clown. Coke! Dill! We got company.”
His eyes went wide. Mr. Coke was there? Well, shit. Bullfighter Fearless Pharris was like a fucking god among men—better than a bull-rider, maybe even better than the Cowboy King, Ace Porter. Coke Pharris was…shit. A hero.
And Dillon, well, that rodeo clown made big money for wearing makeup and shaving his legs, yessir.
“You sure I ain’t bothering y’all? I ain’t wanting that, not a bit. I just wanting to say hi.”
“Nope. Sammy gets tired sometimes, is all. Now, come on.” Beau motioned him on in, and a pair of long-eared, low to the ground hounds came barrel-assing around from a back hallway, leaping for him like he was a rabbit on the run. These weren’t Beau’s bloodhounds, no sir.
He chuckled and bent down, arms open as they hit him like fuzzy torpedoes. “Look at y’all babies!”
Loping along behind them, the biggest hound he’d ever seen jumped at him, licking his face while the little ones bowled him over. Lord.
“Boudreaux! You big ole beast! Come save me, you!”
The big old thing shuffled over, snuffling. There was never a shortage of dogs at Beau and Sam’s, but he’d not met the short ones, he didn’t think.
“Pansy! Jerome.” Dillon Walsh, the most major league rodeo clown in the world, wandered out from the kitchen, cracking up at Landon’s predicament of wiggling dogs.
“Pretty pups.” He kissed one’s nose, patted the other on the butt. “You reckon to breed ’em?”
“Nope.” Dillon held a hand down for him. “They’re fixed. No unauthorized breeding in Pharris Park.”
Landon grabbed that hand, let the clown haul him up. “Only if they ain’t half frog.” He liked himself dinosaur movies. The science of that Jurassic Park had fascinated him.
“There you go.” Dillon shook his hand before letting go. “You’re a friend of Cotton’s, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” He’d ridden in the big show more than once, here around home, but his ami Cotton was way better known by these men.
“He’s a good kid. Come on, Coke is making hamburgers.”
“Yes, sir.” He followed along, wishing like all hell that Mr. Sam was up and about. He followed Beau and Dillon to the kitchen, though, and took the root beer they offered.
“Merci beaucoup, Mister Beau.” He nodded, drank deep. “Lawd, that’s mighty nice.” Cold, sweet, sharp on the tongue.
“Not a problem.”
Mr. Coke turned and smiled at him. “Hey, Nutbutter. How do you like your hamburger, son?”
“Gramps. Cooked. I like ’em cooked.” He grinned. “Man, you were sure on fire in Albuquerque. You saved Biscuit’s heinie.”
“Biscuit needs to move his ass faster.” Coke flipped a couple of burgers on the big grill pan.
He tilted his head, and he could hear Sister in his head, muttering, “You look like a dog hearing a whistle,” while he stared, then answered, “Gramps, Biscuit is done broken all over. Like for real.”
“I know that. So am I.” Coke moved his head back and forth. Kinda. Not really. The whole thing barely moved. The man gave him a hard stare. “What you been up to? You look like hammered shit.”
“Foundering horse. That’s my thing, when I ain’t riding. I help horses.” Fix roofs. Change tires. Unplug toilets. Wrassle alligators. Whatever he could do to pay the bills for him and Laurel.
“Huh. Why don’t you sit? I’ll bring you a plate when they’re done.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
Beau gave him a raised eyebrow, Dillon chuckled and Landon went to sit, staring at his hands until the hounds caught up with him. Dogs was way easier than people. ’Course, by the time they brought out the burgers, he was mostly asleep, one dog behind him, one dog beside him, and one in his lap.
“Y’all let him eat,” Beau said, swatting dogs, and finally, finally, Mr. Sam came out from the hall, wearing sweats and a soft knit hat on his poor, broken head.
“Mr. Sam!”
Sam Bell, the best bull-rider on earth and a damn fine roper, grinned wide, clapping his hands in pleasure, and didn’t that make him feel like a hundred bucks? “Well, I’ll be. Hey, Nutbutter.”
“Hey, man. How you doin’?”
Sam shrugged, coming to sit across from him. The man still moved too carefully, but after the head injury he’d had, Landon thought he was doing right well. “You here to eat?” Sam asked.
“Gramps made me a burger. I came to say howdy to you, though. Been a while.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Not out much.”
“Yeah. You roping again, yet?” He so needed a roping partner. With Mr. Sam, he could make up some taxes and tires on his old truck, no stress. Better money in bull-riding, but he wasn’t as good at it, didn’t win as much.
“He’s not.” Beau held up a hand when Sam opened his mouth. “He’s still under doctor’s orders, kiddo. I’m sorry.”
“Merde. Still, it’ll come, hmm? Need you to be my heeler.” Mr. Sam and him, they did plumb good at ropin’ together.
Sam grunted. “Soon.”
“Sure. Until then, you ought to rope with one of the Taggarts,” Coke said. “Those boys live for that shit.”
His mouth went a little dry. That Adam Taggart made him stupid, which Mr. Sam probably knew. There was something about the tall, tanned safety man on a horse that made his eyes cross. He didn’t figure there was anything to do about it, but there it was…
Since that first beer, seeing that ink… He knew.
Not that it made a second’s difference to Mr. Adam, Lord no.
He’d made the mistake of going to play football with Cotton and them and, from that second, he wasn’t worth a lick, somehow.
Like he’d gone from something interesting to a silly kid.
He couldn’t reckon it, exactly, and he didn’t want to bring Sister’s hoodoo into it, iff’n he didn’t have to.
Sam slapped Beau’s leg. “You need for call Tag.”
“He’s working the minor league, since Brian broke his ankle. He’d have more time.” Coke leaned against the door frame, solid as a rock.
“Oh, I don’t know, y’all. Them are Taggarts, oui?” Landon didn’t think he could even spin a loop with Adam Taggart. It might distract him too much. He’d rope Adam instead of a steer.
“He’s one of the best, I reckon.” Coke chuckled. “Although I don’t know that he’s up to competing. The man’s getting plumb old.”
Beau snorted. “Not that damned old.”
Mr. Sam’s eyebrow arched. “Old ’nuff.”
“I’d hate to bug him. I know he’s real busy.” He didn’t want to be a pain in the ass, after all. Lord have mercy, he should’ve just rocked on to the house and texted Mr. Sam. He wasn’t one of the boys that was in the big show all the time, in the know and all.
“He’s gonna be in, uh, Denton this weekend, I think.” Dillon stole a chip off his plate.
Sam chuckled. “We go to there? Rodeo?”
Beau gave them both the fish eye, which made Landon scrunch his shoulders. Sam, though, well Mr. Sam just laughed, his weird, hooty sound just the same as it always was.
They all finished up their food, and he thought about just up and going, but Sam rose and put a hand on his shoulder. “My horse to come see.”
“Shit, yeah. I hear y’all been working it hard. I sure could’ve used your legs when I was walking horses down to the Robechaud’s.” Landon loved precious little better than them horses.
Sam just nodded and ambled toward the kitchen, motioning for him to follow.
“Sister says to tell you hi, by the way, and that she wants y’all to come down for a pig roast, next time we find us a good one.
” He grinned over. “You ever been at the corner of Airport and Milleux? I done clipped us a pig there a couple month back, but you was over at California and you missed it.”
Sam grunted, and he didn’t know if that meant yes or no, but it didn’t matter none. The man had never been too talky.
They headed to the barns, the dogs following. “I hope I didn’t bother y’all none. I was just…”
“Hidin’ from Laurel,” Sam said.
“Yessir.” He grinned. “Been long days, and you know how it is. ‘Bubba, the roof’s sagging.’ ‘Bubba, I need you to get me some craw daddies.’ ‘Bubba. Bubba. Bubba.’ It’s hell, having a twin sister that’ll curse your ass into next month, I swear to the good Lord himself.”
“Cajun woman.” Sam opened the barn door and led him in, until he was staring at the prettiest gray filly he’d ever seen. “Taggart stock.”
“She’s a beaut.” He went to her, humming low, the world sliding away as she batted her eyelashes at him. “So, cher, you got yourself a couple cowboys to love you, yeah?”
The filly nosed his shoulder, soft lips questing. Someone was spoiled on treats.
“Y’all gon’ make her fat, giving her sugars.” He winked back at Sam, who made that hooty sound again.
“Nope. Apples she wants for.” Sam pulled out a carrot from his pocket, not an apple, and Landon bit back a grin. He’d bet Mr. Beau hated doing laundry.
“Good on you.” It killed him, hurt his heart how that damn injury had made Sam’s words all wonky. “You gonna teach her to cut or to rope?”
“Ropin’. Left her with Tag for cuttin’.”
He nodded, sighed a little. He’d been watching Adam Taggart cut a swath through every cowboy that was even a little willing to get on their knees, but him? He was invisible. He wasn’t worth even a nod. Maybe the Taggarts didn’t go for Cajuns…
“You come some, work on her.”
“Sure, Mr. Sam. You know I’d love to.” He was more than happy to work with the horses, if it would bug no one.
“Good. Good. You do rope with Tag.”
“Mr. Sam, I cain’t.” He turned, stared at Sam, serious as a heart attack. “I. You know that me, I’m like you and Mr. Beau and… Well, I kinda cast my eyes on Adam Taggart and he don’t… He ain’t into Cajuns none and… I cain’t, huh?”
Sam’s eyes went wide, then the man gave him a huge grin. “He likes Cajun. I bet him thinking you’re too young, boy.”
“He ain’t even… Not even when I sorta was…overt and rude.” It was an odd man turned down a blow job. Especially one who so obviously liked them.
“Mmmhmm. You go wave yourself under his eyebrows.”
He blinked over, grinned a little. It was impossible not to trust that smile. “You think that’ll work? I mean, I done some wavin’.”
“He’s looking.” Sam nodded firmly, like he knew what was what.
“Yeah? ’Cause me… I could. You know.” He could just ride that particular pony all the way to the store and back.
He and Sam shared a grin, knowing and commiserating all at the same time. “I know,” Sam said finally, patting his back.
“Yeah.” God, this was weird. “She’s awful pretty, your new girl.” He went into the stall to check her over closer.
“Mmmhmm.” Sam let it drop, too, and finally Landon could relax and talk horses.
By the time Beau came down, telling them it was time for supper and he needed to call his sister to tell her he was going to be late, it was getting dark and him and Mr. Sam were sharing a beer, throwing loops at a dummy and laughing their asses off.
Landon sighed. He wasn’t ready to go home, but he wasn’t sure supper with the whole crowd at Sammy’s house was better than facing up to Sister. Lunch had been right hard.
“You stay?” Sam asked, and Landon shook his head.
“I’d better not, Mr. Sam. Laurel’s been home alone all week, and she don’t drive.”
Sam sighed, but then grinned. “See you in Denton.”
“If I can, yessir. Maybe I can ride a bull or two.” He might could come up with the entry fees and it couldn’t hurt, to show up to an event.
“Good. Good. Say bye to Beau.” Sam tugged him toward the house, Beau chuckling when they came into view.
“See you, Nutbutter. Thanks for coming by.”
“Thanks for not snarling when I did.”
“Hey, as long as you don’t get Sam hurt, I’m all for it.”
“I wouldn’t.” Not for anything. Anything at all. Mr. Sam was…the best of them.
Beau gave him a man hug. “You’re a good kid. If Laurel wants a puppy to keep her company, let us know.”
“Oh, she might. I’ll ask.” God, no. They only had about a zillion dogs up to the house. He waved to Gramps and the clown. “Y’all have a good one.”
“You, too, Nutbutter.” Gramps waved back. Dillon just grinned.
Landon climbed into the truck, then sighed at himself, then turned on the radio, Zydeco blaring. He hadn’t made it far at all before he was bouncing on the seat and singing along. Shit, life was too short for whining, and he had money to take home to Sister.
Maybe Cotton and his woman’d come down for a weekend. Play cards, drink some.
He turned off onto the highway and grabbed his phone, hitting Cotton on speed dial. “Boll! Boll, whatchoo doin’, cher? You and that gal busy making babies or what?”