Page 9 of The Cowboy's Bullfighter
Brooks was surprised to look down and see his plate was empty.
“I do. Thanks. I missed green chile, man. A lot.”
“I hear you. Although every now and again I want Tex-Mex. Don’t tell Mama.”
“All those years in Austin will do that to a man.”
“Yeppers.” Wacey hooked him up, and this time he was going to be able to slow down and taste it.
He would eat lunch in Chama or in whatever town was closest to the Chiaras, then go get the kids packed up and head back this direction in the morning.
“Thanks, man. I should get my shit together and get going.”
“Shower and shave.”
“I showered last night.”
“Yeah, do it again.” Wacey grinned. “I been on those thirty-hour travels.”
“Sure. Can you get me something to put in the GPS? I’ve never been to the Chiara place.”
“You bet.”
“Thanks, Wacey. I really appreciate all this.”
“Hey, they’re your family. Just—don’t be surprised if they’re wigged. They don’t know you.”
“But they will.” He headed for the bathroom to take that shower and shave. Wacey had washed his damn clothes. He was a good guy.
And Brooks was going to be the same kind of man. A stand-up guy.
For those kids.
ChapterThree
“Uncle Coop? Uncle Coop? I need a Band-Aid!” Little Mina ran in, her finger held in the air.
“What did you do, girl?” He pulled the My Little Pony bandages out of the first aid cabinet. He also had Hulk ones, Spiderman ones, and neon-colored-y ones. He’d learned about the importance of options.
“Johnny bited me.”
“Bit.”
“Johnny bit-ted me.”
“John Whitehead, get your butt in here.” He didn’t allow hitting, biting, spitting, or pinching. It was a thing. He checked the toothmarks on the little finger, finding he hadn’t even broken the skin. Still, the bandage wouldn’t hurt anything, so he’d just put it on.
“Uncle! I didn’t mean to—” Where Mina was dark-headed, Johnny was about as tow-headed as they came, dark eyes shining.
He held one hand up, cutting the little boy off. “Whatdoes the sign say?”
He pointed to the sign on the wall, the words big and bold.
Johnny sighed dramatically. “No biting. No hitting. No spitting. No pinching. No lying.”
Coop had been forced to reprint the sign twice in the last six months. He’d learned that he had to be super specific for the under-thirteen set.
Sometimes he had to be super clear with the over-thirteen set.
