Page 5 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
She nodded. She didn’t say a word. Just watched him.
“I talked to Benji, and I made sure that somebody’s gonna be there at the hospital with him. I didn’t want him to be alone. As soon as they’ve knit him back together, we’ll have him brought up to the house. He’ll be able to get better there, okay?”
She nodded, and Mason, who was short and built stocky and strong like a bulldogger, piped up. “We gonna stay with you too, Mr. Coop?”
“Yessir. Y’all will be safe as houses.”
“All of us?”
“I swear to God. All six of you are welcome as the flowers in May.” And he meant it.
This little family had been floundering worse than he’d known, but he knew now. They would be safe with him.
He had promised, and his word was his bond.
Coop grabbed his phone, ready to call the bakery. “Now, y’all tell me what kind of doughnuts you like.”
Chapter Two
Brooks Whitehead blinked at the luggage carousel, his eyes gritty and his body aching. Lord, that trip back from Australia was a shit one, and he’d had to cobble it together on the fly, so there had been some long-assed layovers in Paris and Atlanta…
Thank God the Albuquerque Sunport was a small airport, and at this time of night there was only one flight to deal with as far as luggage went.
He just hoped to hell they hadn’t mangled his damn saddle.
Forty-eight hours ago he’d been in New South Wales at a cutting horse competition. As head trainer for a wealthy horse and rodeo enthusiast, he’d been turning out and training cutting and reining horses in Australia for three years.
And then some Aussie bullrider had asked him, “So, are you related to that roper who just died? Andy Whitehead?”
And his whole damn world had crashed down.
Andy was dead. So was Nora. A trucker’d had a heart attack at the wheel and had veered into their lane. Their truck had flipped and killed them both in aheartbeat.
And their six damn kids had been alone for?—
His bag came up, so he grabbed it, trying not to think too much about all that. Not yet. First he had to go to oversize baggage to get his saddle. Then he had to rent a truck until he could buy one.
Then he had to get to Chama, which was the kids’ last known address. Benji had rented a space at some trailer park there.
And maybe get some damn food. And a freaking phone that worked in the States.
Almost two hours later he was finally on the road, and he waited until he was past the I-40 junction to hit a Blake’s and get a Lottaburger and some onion rings, along with a strawberry shake.
He grabbed a burner phone at a convenience store, and then called the one person he thought might know his nephew Benji’s number.
Wacey Bene would answer, even at this time of night. He’d been one of his and Andy’s rodeo buddies, and he was a good guy.
“Bene.” Wacey Bene always sounded like he was awake, no matter what time of day or night you called. “This better be important.”
“Wacey. Mate. It’s Brooks Whitehead.”
There was a moment of silence, then, “Well, I’ll be damned. Brooks. I ain’t heard from you in a month of Sundays. What the hell have you been up to?”
Living my life the way I wanted to. “I’ve been in Australia. I’ve been working there for quite a few years training for a few guys.”
“Nice, nice. You’re a good horseman. They’re lucky to have you.”
Coming from Wacey Bene, that meant something. Everybody in the know knew that Wacey Bene could whisper ahorse down out of a tree. “I appreciate it. I just got into town. I just flew in, I mean.”
