Page 2 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
“Goddamn it, that kid.”
“I don’t think God has anything to do with what’s going on with that kid, boss.”
He was a believer, but poor Benji Whitehead had lost his parents to a car accident, gained five siblings to raise on his own, quit high school, and was trying to hold everything together. And he was fixin’ to be nineteen and working cowboy protection where he could, and riding roughstock when he couldn’t.
And now he’d got a broke pelvis, which for a rodeo man this early in his career, was tough.
“Now if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d cursed him somehow,” Ryder said.
“Yeah, there’s no accounting for taste. Can you get somebody out there? I’m going to run out to pick up the kids.”
“They going to fit in your truck, all five of them?”
Fuck. “No.”
“That’s what I thought. I know folks in Raton.” Of course Ryder did. Ryder knew everyone. “I’ll have somebody out there at the hospital in an hour to go sit with him. Bene, you say?”
“Yessir.” Someone should have stayed with Benji, dammit.
“I’ll have Kase call in the morning and read him the riot act. I bet he don’t know. He’s a good, good man. Come over here to the house, I’ll follow you in the Suburban, and we’ll head out. I don’t know where the trailer’s parked.”
Thank God for Ryder Chiara. The man was like Batman with a Stetson. “I’ve got an address. I’ve not been there.”
“All right, I’ll see you in a few. You got coffee making?”
“No, sir, I was asleep.”
“Yeah, me too, but there’s always coffee going here. I’ll bring you out a cup.”
“Black as my soul.”
“That’s what I thought, and Coop?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t call me boss. You’re a fucking legend, and we’ve known each other for twenty-five years.”
He cracked a smile at that. A legend. Him. Shit. “Sure, boss.”
Ryder didn’t bother to say goodbye, and that was fine with him. He needed to wake his ass up and get over there and pick up some kids. “Come on, beagles. Let’s ride.”
Jesus,the travel trailer was parked on a piece of dirt that had what added up to six hookups, and the thing was made for maybe two people. Coop studied it, shaking his head. There wasn’t even room for them to put a propane grill outside and have some lawn chairs.
In the dark, it probably didn’t look as shabby as it was, and that was saying a damn lot.
“Christ.” Ryder scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “If social services saw this…”
“I know. We need to get them out of here for good, boss.”
Ryder gave him a sideways look. “Coop, I am going to kick your ass.”
“Promise?” He snorted. “If a two-thousand-pound bull couldn’t, neither can you.”
“Yeah, yeah. You go talk to Ricky, and I’ll start unhooking. Tell me when everyone has flushed.”
“You got it.” Coop walked up to rap on the door.
“Who is it?” That suspicious voice made him smile, because those kids had been told over and over not to open the door to strangers.
