A Rodeo Man's Promise

Maria was one of five teachers in the city whose students had dropped out or had been expelled from high school. Except for a few instructors, society had written off the troublemakers. Education, not gang affiliation, was the path to a better life. Once the teens joined a gang, leaving alive wasn’t an option. Maria’s job was to help at-risk teens earn a GED then enroll in a community college or a trade program. Most days she loved her work, but there were times—like now—that her students tested the limits of her patience.

Yesterday, three of her charges had skipped class. When she’d stopped by their homes this afternoon to check on them, their families had no idea of their whereabouts. As she left one of the homes, a younger sibling confessed that his brother, Alonso, had gone to meet the Los Locos at Estefan’s Salvage.

As Maria raced toward the junkyard, the plane dropped from the sky and touched down, bouncing twice before racing across the bumpy desert toward the chain-link fence enclosing the property.

He’s not going to stop in time.

The aircraft rammed into the fence, ripping several panels from the ground before the nose of the plane crashed into a stockpile of rubber tires, spewing them fifty feet into the air. Amazingly the aircraft came to a halt in one piece.

After parking near the downed fence, Maria clutched the lead pipe she stowed beneath the front seat. This wasn’t the first time—nor would it be the last—that she rescued one or more of her students from a dangerous situation. Her father insisted she carry a gun, but after her brother had been shot dead by a gangbanger ten years ago, Maria wanted nothing to do with guns.

Sidestepping scattered debris, she hurried toward the plane. Her steps slowed when the cockpit door opened and the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on stepped into view.

He tipped his cowboy hat. “Howdy, ma’am. Sorry about the mess I made of your place. I’ll cover the damages.”

This past March Maria had celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday. Entering her mid-thirties was tough enough without being “ma’am’d” by a sexy young cowboy. He grinned and she swore her heart flipped upside down in her chest. Embarrassed by her juvenile reaction to the stranger she stopped several yards from the plane.

“You wouldn’t happen to have the name of a good aviation mechanic, would you?”

Chapter Two

Stomach tied in knots, Riley walked around the plane, assessing the damage—flat tire. Minor dents. Oh, man, that couldn’t be good—two mangled propeller blades. Only a bird the size of a hawk could have done that much damage.

Despite a breeze, sweat dripped down his temples as the harrowing descent replayed in his mind. At least his radio hadn’t shut off and he’d been able to communicate his safe landing to the control tower at a nearby airport.

“Are you all right?”

The sultry voice startled Riley. He’d forgotten about the woman. He gave her a once-over. Out of habit he catalogued her features, placing them in the plus or minus column. Her voice made the plus column—the raspy quality reminded him of a blues singer.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He moved toward her then stopped on a dime when she lifted the metal pipe above her head.

“Don’t come any closer.”

This was a first for Riley. Usually, he was the one beating off the women. “I’m no threat.”

Keeping hold of the weapon, she crossed her arms in front of her bosom—a well-endowed bosom.

Plus column.

She had curvy hips unlike the skinny buckle bunnies who squeezed their toothpick legs into size-zero Cruel Girl jeans. This lady filled a pair of denims in a way that made Riley want to grab hold of her fanny and never let go.

Three pluses—home run.

“Engine trouble?” she asked.

“Bird strike. I’d hoped to make it to Blue Skies Regional—” the municipal airport was located seven miles northwest of the central business district in Albuquerque “—but I lost altitude too quickly.”

“Who are you?”

The female drill sergeant needed to loosen up a bit. He spread his arms wide. “A cowboy.”

“Aren’t they all.” She rolled her eyes.

Amused, Riley tapped a finger against his belt buckle. “Standing before you, ma’am, is a bona fide world-champion bronc-buster.”

“Don’t call me that.” Almond-shaped brown eyes flashed with warning.

“Call you what?”

“Ma’am.”

So the lady was a tad touchy about her age. The tiny lines that fanned from the outer corners of her eyes hinted that she was older than Riley by more than a few years. She was on the short side, but there was nothing delicate about her. The arm wielding the pipe sported a well-defined bicep. His mind flashed back to Dirty Lil’s—he’d give anything to watch this woman mud wrestle.

“I’ve never met a real cowboy who wears snakeskin boots and flies his own plane. My guess is that you’re a drug dealer, masquerading as a cowboy.”

Whoa. “Sorry to disappoint you, ma’—uh, miss. I left Canon City, Colorado, earlier today after competing in the Royal Gorge Rodeo.” She didn’t appear impressed. “Go ahead and check my plane for contraband.” He dug his cell phone from his pocket. “Or call my agent. He’ll verify that I’m Riley Fitzgerald, current NFR saddle-bronc champion.” Soon to be dethroned if he didn’t get his rodeo act together.

“Agent?” she scoffed. “Is that what they’re calling drug cartels these days?”

The lady appeared immune to his charm. Riley couldn’t remember the last time a woman had rejected him. Her feistiness and bravado intrigued him and he found her sass sexy. “Why would a drug runner risk landing his plane in a salvage yard?”

“I’ve seen bolder displays of arrogance.”

Now he was an arrogant drug dealer? “As soon as I locate a good mechanic I intend to fly the heck out of Dodge.” He removed a handful of hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “Put this toward the damages. You can send a final bill—”

One of her delicately shaped eyebrows arched.

“What?”

“Cowboys don’t carry around hundred-dollar bills.”

“Take the money!”

Riley jumped inside his skin and scanned the piles of household appliances, searching for the location of the mystery voice. “Who’s there?”

“Alonso Marquez, get your backside out here right now.” The woman marched toward the graffiti-covered cinder-block hut with broken-out windows and a missing door. The word Office had been painted across the front in big red letters. Rusty refrigerators, washing machines and water heaters sat outside the building. “Victor and Cruz, I know you’re there, too.” The pipe-wielding crusader halted a few yards before the door when three teens waltzed from the building.

They were dressed the same—baggy pants that hung low on their hips. Black T-shirts. Each wore a bicycle chain lock around their necks and another chain hung from the pocket of their pants, down both sides of their legs, ending an inch above the ground. The baseball caps on their heads were turned sideways—all facing to the left—and their athletic shoes had no laces.

“You guys better have a good reason for skipping class yesterday and missing the quiz.”

Quiz? He’d crash-landed his plane, been accused of drug trafficking and now the crazy lady discussed schoolwork with three troublemakers from the ’hood.

“We’re not comin’ to class no more.” The tallest kid of the bunch spoke.

“You’re quitting, Cruz? The three of you are this—” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together in front of the boy’s face “—close to earning your GEDs.”

“We got a better gig goin’ on.”

“Does this gig have anything to do with the Los Locos, Victor?” She tapped the end of the pipe against the boy’s chest.

“What if it does?” The teen grimaced, the action stretching the scar on his face. A line of puckered flesh began at his temple and cut across the outer corner of his eye, dragging the skin down before continuing along his cheek and ending at the edge of his mouth. “Hanging with the Locos is better than sitting in class learning stupid stuff, Ms. Alvarez.”

Ms. Alvarez was a teacher. Riley didn’t envy her job—not if her students were as difficult as these punks.

“Victor—”

“Mind if I butt in?” Four heads swiveled in Riley’s direction.

“Awesome landing, dude.” The kid named Victor made a fist pump in the air.

“Thanks, but I prefer using runways when possible.” Keeping one eye on Ms. Alvarez and her lead pipe and the other on the teens, Riley joined the crowd. “You guys didn’t get hurt by flying debris, did you?”

Three heads swiveled side-to-side.

“I’m Riley Fitzgerald.” He held out his hand and one of the teens stepped forward, offering his fist. Riley bumped knuckles with the kid.

“Alonso Marquez.”

Next, Riley nudged knuckles with the tall teen, who said, “Cruz Rivera.”

The kid with the scar kept his hands in his pockets and mumbled, “Victor Vicario.”

Riley offered his knuckles to the teacher, but she held out her hand instead. “Maria Alvarez.”

Pretty name for a pretty lady. He eyed her weapon. “That’s for show, right?”

“No.” She smiled and Riley’s breath hitched in his chest. She had the most beautiful white teeth and dimples.

“When did you figure out I wasn’t a drug lord?” he asked.

Her gaze dropped to his waist. “When you pointed to the horse on your belt buckle.”

“I’ll be happy to cover the damages if you tell me who owns this place.”

“My dad owns it.” Cruz and his homies snickered.

“Yeah, Cruz’s dad’s gonna be ticked when he sees the busted fence,” Victor said.

Riley was being conned, but played along. “I’ll pay you guys to straighten things up before Cruz’s father gets word of the damage.” He handed each boy a Ben Franklin. Eyes wide, mouths hanging open, the teens gaped at the money. They’d probably never seen a hundred-dollar bill before.

“Absolutely not.” Maria snatched the money from their fingertips. “None of their fathers owns this business, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

Mr. Fitzgerald? The only person he’d ever heard called Mr. Fitzgerald was his father.

“Alonso, Cruz and Victor are enrolled in a high school program I teach for at-risk teens.”

Cruz attempted to mimic his teacher’s voice. “Ms. Alvarez is our last chance to change our ways before we land in prison or fall under the influence of gangs.” Laughing, the boys decked each other with playful punches.

“That’s enough.” Maria scowled. “Get in the car. We’ll discuss the ramifications of your actions in a minute.”

The boys shuffled off. When they were out of earshot, Maria said, “You landed your plane in an abandoned salvage yard that’s rumored to have been taken over by the Los Locos. The boys were hanging out here, waiting for the gang.”

“You think the thugs will show up tonight?”

The sexy cowboy pilot was worried about the plane being vandalized. “I don’t know.”

“Mind if I hitch a ride with you? I need to make arrangements to have the plane towed.”

The last thing Maria wanted was a handsome cowboy distracting her while she reprimanded her students. She clearly hesitated too long in answering, because he added, “You don’t have to go out of your way. Drop me off wherever you’re taking those guys.”

She couldn’t very well leave him alone in the junkyard with night approaching. “Sure. I’ll give you a lift. And I can give you the name of a reliable mechanic.”

“I’ll fetch my gear bag.” He jogged to the plane and Maria had to drag her eyes from his muscular backside.

You’re old enough to be his mother. That wasn’t exactly true—an older sister, maybe. Regardless, it irked her that a man as young as Riley had thrown her for a loop. With all she’d been through and seen in her thirty-five years she should be immune to a handsome face and a sexy swagger.

“Is the cowboy dude coming or what?” Cruz asked when Maria returned to the station wagon.

“Yep.” She settled behind the wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror. The three musketeers sat shoulder-to-shoulder. The boys were all bright and funny, and deserved a chance to escape the gang violence of inner-city life. If only they believed in themselves. Maria was doing her best to nurture their self-confidence and encourage them to study. They had to excel in the classroom if they wanted any chance at a life away from gangs and drugs. The boys’ actions today proved that her efforts were falling short.

“We’re giving Mr. Fitzgerald a ride into town. You three better mind your manners.”

“Are we gonna get to make up the quiz?” Alonso asked.

Of course they would. Maria bent and broke the rules to help her students succeed. “We’ll see.” Wouldn’t hurt to let them stew.

“C’mon, Ms. Alvarez,” Victor whined. “We know the material.”

Victor and Alonso glanced at Cruz, expecting their buddy to chime in but Cruz remained silent. Of the three, Maria worried she’d lose Cruz to a gang. A few months ago his younger brother had gotten caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs and had been killed. Maria sensed Cruz wanted revenge. She knew the feeling well, but when she’d attempted to share her personal experience with gang violence, Cruz had shut her out.

“Who gave you guys a ride out here?”

“A trucker dropped us off at the exit ramp on the interstate. We hiked the rest of the way,” Victor said.

The passenger door opened and the cowboy tossed a duffel onto the front seat. “Sorry,” he said.

“What’s in the bag, mister?” Alonso asked.

“Change of clothes and my rodeo gear.” He removed his hat and rested it atop his knee.

“Mr. Fitzgerald—”

“Call me Riley.” His smile set loose a swarm of butterflies in Maria’s stomach.

“Riley,” she repeated in her best schoolmarm voice. “Please fasten your seat belt.” Once he’d completed the task she made a U-turn and drove away from the salvage yard.

“You ride bulls for real?” Victor asked.

“Nah, I’m not that crazy. I bust broncs.”

“You famous?” Cruz asked.

“I won a world title last year at the NFR in Vegas. Ever heard of that? The National Finals Rodeo?”

A resounding “no” erupted from Victor’s and Alonso’s mouths.

“It’s the biggest rodeo of the year. The top fifteen money-making cowboys in each event compete for a world title.”

“Does the winner get a lot of coin?” Victor asked.

“Depends on your definition of a lot.”

“A thousand dollars,” Victor blurted.

“Idiot.” Alonso elbowed Victor in the side. “He flies a plane, so he’s gotta make more ’n a thousand dollars.”

“How’d you learn to fly?” Victor asked.

“Went to flight school while I was in college.”

Maria’s ears perked at the word college.

“Why’d you go to college?” Victor asked.

“What else was I going to do after high school?” Riley said.

Victor’s eyes widened. “You coulda hung out with your homies.”

“Yeah, but that would get boring after a while.”

The teens exchanged bewildered glances.

“The truth is,” Riley said, “my old man insisted I earn a college degree so I’d be prepared to help with the family business.”

Intrigued, Maria joined the conversation. “What does your family do?”

“They breed horses.”

Her hunch had been correct. “You live on a ranch.”

“No, my family lives on a horse farm in Kentucky.”

“You don’t have a Southern accent,” she said.

“Lost the accent when I went to college at UNLV in Las Vegas.”

“I’d go to college if the school was next to topless dancers and casinos,” Cruz said.

“I was too busy rodeoing to gamble.” Riley winked at Maria and darned if her heart didn’t pound harder. She strangled the steering wheel and focused on the dirt road leading to the highway.

“What do you guys do with your spare time?” Riley shifted in his seat. “Are you into sports or clubs?”

“Yeah, we’re into clubs.” Cruz snorted.

Maria caught Alonso watching her in the rearview mirror. The teen held a special place in her heart—he reminded her of her brother, Juan. Desperate to fit in, he was a follower not a leader. Alonso had much to offer others and she hoped to convince him to attend college after he earned his GED.

“What clubs are you involved in?” Riley asked.

“What do you think?” Cruz said. “We’re going to join the Los Locos.” The teen acted too tough for his own good.

“Gangs are for losers. Most of those guys land in prison or they get shot dead on the street.”

“Gangs are cool,” Victor said.

“Then how come all they do is break the law, sell drugs, use drugs and shoot people?” Riley countered.

Maria decided to intervene before the boys went ballistic. “A few of the gangs in the area have unusual talents.” She took the on-ramp to the highway. “Members of the Los Locos gang are accomplished artists.”

“If they’re that good, why aren’t they in art school? Or a college program where they can put their creativity to good use?” Riley asked.

“The kids come from disadvantaged backgrounds and—”

“Disadvantaged means poor,” Victor interrupted.

“The families can’t afford to send their son or daughter to a special school let alone an art camp during the summer months.” Maria merged with traffic and headed toward civilization. “Do you know where you want to stay for the night?” she asked Riley.

“Take him to the Lamplight Inn down the block from our house,” Victor said. “My sister works there. She’ll show you a good time for one of those hundred-dollar bills you got in your wallet.”

Riley ignored Victor’s comment. “Any motel is fine.”

Motel? Maria doubted this cowboy had ever slept in a motel. She’d have to go out of her way and drop off Riley downtown at the Hyatt Regency.

The remainder of the trip was made in silence—the gang wannabes brooding in the backseat and Riley staring at the Sandia Mountains off to the east. When they entered the Five Points neighborhood, Riley tensed. Maria was used to the rough-and-tumble areas in the South Valley, but this Kentucky-bluegrass cowboy had probably never seen urban decay the likes of what he viewed now.

Maria’s parents lived in Artrisco, not far from the Five Points, and she’d moved in with them a year ago after ending her relationship with her fiancé, Fernando. Living with her folks was to have been temporary but Maria delayed finding her own place because she felt responsible for her mother’s continued decline in health. She turned off of Isleta Boulevard and parked in front of Cruz’s home.

The yard was strewn with broken furniture and garbage. The plaster on the outer walls of the house had peeled away and several clay roof tiles were broken or missing. Good thing Albuquerque received less than nine inches of rain per year. Maria unsnapped her belt.

“I don’t need an escort,” Cruz said.

“I want to speak with your mother.”

Cruz hopped out of the car. “You know my mom won’t be in any shape to talk.”

Sadly, the teen’s mother was a methamphetamine addict—all the more reason to make sure Cruz stayed away from gangs and earned his GED. “Promise you’ll attend class on Monday.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Cruz,” Maria called after him.

“What?”

“Be a man of your word.”

After Cruz entered the house Maria spoke to Victor and Alonso. “I want you guys to keep your distance from the Los Locos. And both of you had better be ready to take that quiz on Monday.”

The boys didn’t register a protest as Maria drove them home—two blocks from Cruz’s house.

“Thanks for the ride,” Alonso said when he got out of the car.

“See ya.” Victor followed Alonso into his house.

Maria left the Five Points and made her way toward the river. She drove across Bridge Boulevard then turned on Eight Street. “The Hyatt Regency is on the other side of the Rio Grande.”

“Do you do this all the time?” Riley asked.

“Do what?”

“Drive through questionable neighborhoods?”

“Yep. Comes with the job.” She also lived in one of those questionable neighborhoods Riley referred to. She turned on Tijeras Avenue then stopped in front of the hotel.

Riley faced her, his mouth curving. Maria swore she’d have to ingest a dozen bottles of antacid medicine before her stomach recovered from her run-in with the flying cowboy.

“Let me buy you dinner as a thank you for helping me today,” he said.

Dinner…as in a date? It had been months since she’d sat across the table from a man, never mind that Riley Fitzpatrick wasn’t just any man. He was a sexy young cowboy…man.

“How old are you?” She winced when the question slipped out of her mouth.

“Twenty-five. Does age matter if we’re only having dinner?”

Oh, God. Maria’s face flamed. Had he guessed she’d been thinking about sex? She really needed to get laid. “Dinner would be nice, but I’m not dressed for the Hyatt. How do you feel about Mexican food?”

“Love it.”

“I know just the place.” Maria drove back to the other side of the Rio Grande and parked in front of a narrow brick-faced storefront with Abuela’s Cocina on the sign, sandwiched between a Laundromat and a liquor store. “‘Grandmother’s Kitchen,’” Maria said. “Consuelo makes great enchiladas.”

“Is it safe?” Riley asked, eyeing the car filled with gangbangers at the corner. The guy in the driver’s seat glared at them.

“No riskier than the wild horses you ride.” Rodeo could be violent at times, but at least the horses and bulls didn’t shoot at the cowboys who rode on their backs.

They made it as far as the restaurant door when a gunshot went off. In a move so quick it snatched the air from Maria’s lungs Riley opened the café door and shoved her over the threshold, catching her by the waist when she tripped on the welcome mat in the foyer. Before the door had even shut behind them, Riley had Maria pressed against the wall, his body shielding hers.

“Did you get hit?” he whispered.

Shock kept her tongue-tied.

“Don’t move.” Riley settled his palm against her hip, exerting enough force to keep her pinned in place. The heat from his hand burned through her jeans, warming her skin. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you finished playing hero?”

“Hola, Maria.” A young woman entered the hallway, carrying two laminated menus. She stared at Riley’s hand still attached to Maria’s hip. “¿Quién es el vaquero?”

“This cowboy is Riley Fitzgerald. Riley, Sonja. Her aunt owns the restaurant.”

Riley tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am? Sonja was nineteen. Maria snorted.

“Sígueme,” Sonja said, disappearing through a doorway.

Maria followed the hostess into the dining room, stunned that a twenty-five-year-old man made her feel as if she were a carefree young girl and not a woman who had seen and experienced a lifetime of tragedy and heartbreak in thirty-five short years.

Chapter Three

Riley lost his train of thought as he drowned in Maria’s brown eyes.

“Do I have food stuck to my face?” She reached for her napkin.

He covered her hand with his, pinning the napkin to the table. “No. Your face is fine. As a matter of fact it’s perfect.”

Maria’s cheeks reddened and Riley chuckled.

“What?”

He released her hand. “I make you nervous.”

“No, you don’t.” The denial lacked conviction.

He eyeballed her fingernail tapping the table and Maria fisted her hand. “Why do I make you uneasy?” he asked.

“Besides the fact that you’re a complete stranger?”

“Yeah, besides that.” He popped a tortilla chip into his mouth and chewed.

“Let’s see.” Maria held up one finger. “First, you’re sexy and attractive.”

Wow. He hadn’t seen that one coming. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A second finger rose in the air. “You’re wealthy.”