Cowboy's Law
Cowboy’s Law
BA Tortuga
For Andrew Gordon and Cinders Osborne. Love you both.
Special thanks to Desi, Alexandria, and Jaymi for their help.
As always, to my girl.
BA
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
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About BA
Afterword
Also Available from BA
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Cowboy’s Law
Copyright © 2020 by BA Tortuga
1380 Rio Rancho Blvd #1319
Rio Rancho, NM 87124
Cover illustration by AJ Corza
Published with permission
Edited by Blue Ink Editing.
ISBN: 978-1-942831-68-0
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
First electronic edition published April 2020
Printed in the USA
Created with Vellum
Prologue
“I’m here to see Pistol McMann.” Seth Rodgers stood at the nurses’ station, hat in his hands. God, he hated this shit. He hated the smell of antiseptic that just covered the scent of death. He hated the beeps and boops of the machines. And more than anything, he fucking hated the pain and worry written on every single person’s face, except for the nurses, who seemed like the gate pullers of hurting. Nobody remembered their names, but you couldn’t function without them.
“Ah. Our resident cowboy. I should have known you’d be here for him.” The young man at the desk offered him one of those awful pitying smiles. “Name?”
“Rodgers. Seth Rodgers. I was riding with him when he fell.” God knew, it had been the weirdest thing too. Pistol had been doing good, was reaching for the eight, and instead of bucking off, he simply collapsed. Right there on the arena floor. And he didn’t get up again.
“Ah. Three forty.” The kid indicated a hallway, which Seth chugged down, his feet feeling like lead.
He wasn’t sure what had happened, but Doc said his periodic traveling partner was awake, so he was fixin’ to find out.
The room was a single, and he wasn’t at all surprised to find Pistol in one of them halo deals. Shame, but lots of guys came back from a broken neck.
Hell, Pistol was young enough and good-looking enough to work with the announcers, he couldn’t ride anymore. Do autograph sessions.
“Hey, kiddo. How’s it hanging?” he asked when Pistol gave him a squinty-eyed, groggy glance.
“Hey.” The kid looked fucked ten ways to Sunday. “You came.”
“Duh. ’Course I did.” He twirled his hat in his fingers like he was twiddling his thumb. “Ain’t we friends?”
Pistol would have nodded, he thought, because that grimace said he was fighting to move. “Thanks, Seth.”
“You mind if I sit?” He hated the feeling of someone standing there staring at him, and he’d been the one in the bed a lot.
“Sure. It hurts to look at you.”
“Well, I know I’m ugly…” He pulled over a chair.
“Butt ugly.” The kid started laughing, and Seth made it a point to ignore the tears streaming down his face. “I’m hurt bad, buddy. Real bad.”
“You can move your hands, huh? I saw you.”
“I can wiggle my toes too, but that don’t mean nothin’.” Pistol sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About what? You know I’m here for you, man?” He leaned forward, stretching out his lower back. “How can I help?”
“It’s cancer. In my bones. My neck just… some of the bones just dissolved.”
“What?” No. No fucking way. Pistol was twenty-two fucking years old, taking care of his five siblings after his momma and stepdad got themselves killed. Cancer was a filthy bitch, and no one Pistol’s age needed that.
“Yeah. I been hurting some in my chest, and I was gonna come in and get tests.” Pistol’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I had it before. When I was a kid. I was in remission a long time.”
“Fuck. Okay. What do you need?” Where the fuck were they? Yuma? Pistol’s people were up in the east mountains, near him. “You want me to take you closer to home?”
“I don’t know if I can get there.” Pistol stared him right in the eye. “They’ll take my brother and sisters and split them up.”
“No, buddy. We’ve talked on this. I’ll see to the kids until you’re back on your feet.”
“You’re not hearing me, Seth. There’s no going home for me.”
He shook his head. No. No fucking way. Pistol was a baby. And his best friend, truth be told, which Seth reckoned was sad for a cowboy his age.
“Seth. Promise me.” Pistol took a deep breath and something rattled. “Tell me you’ll take care of them. Law won’t do it. He’s overseas, and he never did want to take care of us. Miz Garcia is fine watching them on my riding weekends, but…”
“I hear you.” He’d heard a lot about Pistol’s older brother, who’d stayed with Dad when Mom married and started her second family. Not a lot of it made him think the elder McMann could handle the lot of kids. “You know I will, buddy, but you can’t give up. You can’t.”
“There’s a lawyer coming. I got my will. I need you to sign some papers with me. I need this, man. The kids need you.”
“Pistol.”
“Seth.” That voice cracked like the kid’s name. “I’ll do my best to make it until the older kids can see me, but I’m sinking. I ain’t gonna lie, and you ain’t either. That ain’t the cowboy way.”
“No. Okay. I’ll sign.” He wasn’t ashamed, but Pistol was right. He needed to cowboy up, because Pistol sure thought he was a goner. “But I’m taking you home. If this is it, you can come home where you belong.”
“Thank you. I got money, and there’s college funds for all of them from when Momma and Dean passed.”
“Shh. Don’t stress it. I’ll sign whatever and talk to the doctor about getting you out of here.” God, how was he going to do this? How was he going to get Pistol back to New Mexico?
“Okay.” Pistol closed his eyes. “You’re the best, Seth. The best friend a man could have.”
“I try, buddy. You rest. Want me to read to you?” Pistol loved to read but hated TV and such, unlike most kids his age.
“No. Just talk to me, huh? Tell me—I don’t know. Tell me that cowboys go to Heaven.”
“Shit. Heaven was made by a cowboy.” Pistol was breaking his heart. “The horses run wild, there ain’t no fences, and the green chile stew pot’s never empty.”
“Yeah. I do love me some green chile stew. My momma’s was so good. She’s gonna make it for me again.
I have faith.”
“With homemade tortillas, buddy.” Seth rambled, the tiny smile on Pistol’s lips worth the sore throat he was earning.
There was no way this kid who was riding J354 this afternoon was dying. Pistol had been Rookie of the Year the same finals Seth had won his third championship. He was the asshole who was long in the tooth, not Pistol. Pistol was the rising motherfucking star.
When Pistol nodded off, he went to find someone he could talk to. The doc could tell him what to do about getting Pistol home now, couldn’t he?
Someone fucking would. He wasn’t going to be the one who headed home to tell those babies they had to weather another loss.
Pistol had to be wrong. God wouldn’t do this to them all. No way.
It was wrong, and dammit, it wouldn’t happen. Those little ones wouldn’t lose their big brother if he had anything to do with it.
No way.
1
“Uncle Seth! Uncle Seth, I cain’t get my hair in a bun, and Miz Delores is going to be here to pick us up for dance in five minutes, and Jordan says she’s not coming!” Keira ran up to him, tears sliding down her face, brandishing her hairbrush like a goddamn Samurai sword.
“Okay. Okay, baby girl. Chill. You bring your scrunchie?”
She ran off again, then slid into him like a runner into third base half a minute later, dragging her furious twin along with her.
“I hate dancing, Uncle! Tell her!”
“You have to come! Sister, I can’t go by myself!”
Oh fuck, here came the waterworks. “Jordan, get your leotard on. You go one more time, and if you still don’t like it, we’ll find you something else to do.”
She looked at him, so suspicious. “You promise to God?”
“I do. Get on now.” At least he didn’t have to fix her hair. Jordan had hacked it all off in a snit about two weeks ago.
God save him from having identical twins who were anything but.
Seth grabbed the brush, the scrunchie, and the hair and did the complicated magic Dawn had taught him to do when she wasn’t there, his premature arthritis be damned.
“Thank you.” Keira grabbed him in a hug, kissed his cheek. “We’ll be home for supper. Are you cooking?”
“It’s Wiley’s turn.” He made the older teens take one night a week in the kitchen and the younger set help him out on the other days.
Keira’s face fell. “Hot dog day again?”
Jordan, who looked so much like Pistol it hurt, with her white-blonde hair cut short and bright blue eyes—ran up in Spider-Man pajamas, a pair of Keira’s rubber boots, and a headband with disco ball bouncy deals from New Year’s, cheering her damn fool head off. “Hot doggies!”
Sartorial elegance, ho.
“Mac and cheese. He’s branching out.” He winked. “Now go on. I’ll see y’all later. Love you.”
“Can she wear that to dance?” his Miss Priss asked, and Seth rolled his eyes.
“Sure, baby. Knock yourself out.” Who the fuck was he to judge?
Man, Miss Keira could roll her eyes. One day he would pick them up and roll them right back.
“Love you!” they called back in concert as Delores Maez honked the horn. Delores took the kids to dance and Girl Scouts. He was in charge of 4-H, and barrel racing. Wiley got himself to band, thank God, and driver’s licenses.
Fuzzy, their Great Pyrenees dog, followed them almost to the car before stopping to pout. Fuzzy was utterly fascinated by Jordan, maybe because she dropped a lot of crumbs.
Seth peeked in at Bethany, his sweet little blonde middle girl. She was reading Harry Potter again, curled up on the sofa. “Homework done, baby girl?”
“Yes, sir, and it’s Dawn’s turn to feed the chickens, and Wiley’s turn to cook, so I’m reading.”
“Good deal.” She knew the chore rotation by heart. She never shirked, but she did only what she was required to do and spent the rest of her time reading or making crazy good art projects. She got paid for her extra chores in Michaels gift cards.
She smiled at him, and then she was gone, back to her book. Such a neat girl, but so different from the rest.
He needed to run up to the office and get a few emails sent before supper. “Dawn! Dawn Ellen!”
“Yeah, Uncle?” She wasn’t calling from the chicken coop. Someone was in with the horses.
“I need you to come feed the chickens for me, honey.”
“I’m brushing Petunia, though.”
“I know. I need you to do this first, then you can play with Tunie until supper.” He tried to be patient. Thirteen was a hard age, and Dawn was nothing if she wasn’t a cowboy. She rode barrels Fridays and Saturdays, and she was already saving money for another, better racing horse.
Petunia would always be her best friend, though.
“Coming!” She trotted out of the barn. “You going to the office?”
“Yeah. Got to get a few papers done. I won’t be long. Half an hour.”
“It’s hard to be a working man, isn’t it?” she teased. “Don’t work too long.”
“You won’t let me.” He knew her. Thirty-one minutes from now, she’d be at his office door.
“Nope.” She twirled, and he laughed out loud. He headed to his office, just whistling. He’d never in a million years envisioned this as his life, but he loved it.
“Hey, buddy. Come sit with me.” His old black lab, Domino, followed him, tail moving. He was glad to have Seth home full-time.
It had been a long fucking eighteen months since they’d lost Pistol, but he had been able to get his friend home for damn near three months to say his goodbyes and I love yous. Now Seth had two ranches to run, five kids to raise, and he was… happy.
Not being on the road all the damn time suited him to the bone. He still did autograph sessions if they were near home. Denver. Albuquerque. Sometimes Texas.
He tried never to be gone overnight, though. Weirdly it wasn’t the littlest ones who stressed that. It was the two oldest. They’d lost so much that they both worried over every second he was gone.
He sat at his desk, laughing when he saw this morning’s coffee cup half full sitting there. Yeah, he’d gotten up early to work at his desk, but that had lasted twenty minutes after he got coffee made.
“Lord have mercy.” He logged on, answered a handful of emails, returned at least twenty-seven phone calls, and when he looked up, the sun had started to set.
“What the hell?”
A little flood of panic hit him, and he double-timed it down the stairs.
Where were all of his kids?
He heard a deep voice rumbling in the front room, and he skidded in there ready to beat someone down if his kids were being threatened.
What he saw was a big man with light brown hair, wide shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a stubbly jaw. The man wore jeans, an OD green T-shirt, and carried a cane.
“Who the fuck are you, and why are you in my house?” He put one hand on the chunk of pink marble that sat on the mantle.
“Uncle Seth! Dude! Chill.” Wiley grinned at him, rolling his eyes. “This is Law. He’s our brother.”
He blinked at Law McCann, a man he’d never met and had seen only childhood pictures of. “What do you want?”
Law’s smile slid into a frown. “I came to see the kids. Meet you.”
Who didn’t call first? Jesus, his heart was going ninety to nothing. “Nice to meet you. Wiley, you need to start supper, man. Dawn, is your homework done?”
“Yessir. It’s on the kitchen table.” She gave him an uncertain look.
“I tried to call, but I must have an old number for you.”
“You must.”
“Is there enough stuff, Uncle?” Wiley whispered. “Should I make hot dogs?”
“No! No, Uncle promised you wouldn’t!” Bethany looked devastated.
“There’s nothing wrong with hot dogs, you freak!”
“Enough.” He’d learned this part. No yelling. Just quiet and firm and th
ey listened. “Bethany, chill. Wiley, do not call your sister a freak. You go double the recipe for the mac and cheese. Keira, do not start crying. Jordan, I will have Wiley show you how to make hot dogs.”
He didn’t even have to look for the crocodile tears, any more than he knew Dawn would be headed for the barns when he lifted his head, and Keira would be—“Oof.”—grabbing his leg.
“I can buy something for supper, if you want,” Law offered. “I know I turned up out of nowhere.” The man said it quietly, and Seth was damned if he was gonna feel bad.
“No. It’s Wiley’s turn to cook.” And this was a delicate fucking balance between the three eldest right now. “How about tomorrow night, if you’re here. It’s a home game, so we’ll be trekking down to watch.”
“Sure. Sure. I was planning to be here.” Law gave him a ghost of a smile. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Be my guest.” He nodded to the sofa. “You want a beer?”
“Uh, do you have a Coke or something? Or some iced tea?”
Okay, so brother Law didn’t drink. He made a mental note.
“Sure. Give me a sec.” He walked, Keira on his leg still, Jordan following with her face damn near in his butt. Ah, classy.
He grabbed a can of Dr Pepper from the fridge. “Jordan, take this to Law. Do. Not. Shake. It. Understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good girl.” He sighed at Wiley. “Man, Law scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know who he was.”
“Yeah, he’s been gone a long time. He got blown up, yeah? So what do I do?”
“Twice the macaroni in the Instant Pot. I’ve got that little ham we can toss in the oven for a—”