A Rodeo Man's Promise

“Money makes you anxious?”

“Didn’t your mother teach you that money is the root of all evil?”

“Actually, my father taught me that money solves all problems.”

Third finger… “You’re young.”

He’d read the occasional magazine article that testified to the sexual compatibility of older women and younger men. Made sense to him. He waggled his eyebrows. “Youth has its advantages.”

The waitress arrived with their meals and the women spoke in Spanish. Riley guessed they discussed him because the young girl glanced his way more than once. “The enchiladas are great,” he said, disrupting the conversation.

“I’ll tell Aunt Consuelo you approve of her cooking.” The waitress disappeared.

“The whole family works in the business?”

“Years ago Consuelo won the lottery and used the money to open a restaurant. Since then, most of her nieces and nephews have worked here at one time or another.”

“I hope she kept part of her winnings and bought a new car or treated herself to a vacation.”

“No car or vacation, but she did send her only son to college.”

“What does he do?” Riley asked.

“He’s an investment banker in Los Angeles.” Maria sipped her iced tea. “Pablo visits once a year and attempts to coax his mother to move to California, but Consuelo refuses.”

“Why?”

“This is where she was born and raised.” Maria smiled. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“What’s that?”

“This neighborhood is a far cry from where you were raised.”

“True.” No sense pretending he felt at home in the ’hood.

“Consuelo can’t retire or close the restaurant because she’s the only stable influence in her nieces’ and nephews’ lives. Without her, the kids would be out on the street running with gangbangers. She pays the kids more than minimum wage, but keeps half their paycheck and deposits the money into a savings account for their college education.”

Riley had never had to save a dime in his life. Heck, the day he’d been born his father had opened an investment portfolio in his name with five hundred thousand dollars. Today, the account was worth millions. When it came to college, his father had written a check each semester to the university—not one financial-aid form had been filled out the four years Riley attended UNLV. “Consuelo’s a generous woman.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Riley sensing Maria was eager to end the evening. He wasn’t. “You like teaching?” She nodded but didn’t elaborate. He’d never had to work at engaging a woman in conversation. “How long have you been a teacher?”

“I taught six years of high school English before volunteering the past five years with the district’s at-risk kids. The classes are part of the city’s antigang program.”

“The boys you gave a ride home earlier…were they expelled from school or did they drop out?”

“All three were expelled. If they fail my class, the educational system writes them off for good.”

“Do you have the support of the families?”

“Not as much as I wish. We have students who don’t even know who their fathers are and a few with dads in prison or running with gangs.”

Riley had experienced his share of disagreements with his father, but the old man had always been there for him; and Riley couldn’t imagine not having a male role model in his life. “Tell me more about the boys you’re working with.”

“Alonso lost his father when he was seven—gunned down by police in a drug raid. Alonso’s mother cleans offices at night and works at a convenience store during the day.”

The kid’s mother worked two jobs in order to feed her family and keep a roof over their heads. Riley’s mother had never worked a day in her married life.

“Why did Alonso get expelled from school?”

“He skipped too many days, but he was between a rock and a hard place. When one of his siblings became ill, Alonso’s mother made him stay home to care for them so she wouldn’t miss work.”

“How often do his brothers and sisters get sick?”

“His little sister Lea has asthma and is prone to pneumonia.”

“That’s too bad.”

Maria narrowed her eyes and Riley resisted the urge to squirm. “You really do feel compassion for Alonso, don’t you?”

Riley was the first to acknowledge he led a privileged life. He bought what he wanted, when he wanted and without considering the cost. And why shouldn’t he? He had an abundance of money at his fingertips. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t had to work for a dime of it. Even though he had nothing in common with Alonso and his family, Riley wasn’t so coldhearted that he couldn’t sympathize with their daily struggles. “What kind of student is Alonso?”

“A good one. Alonso loves to learn. He’s smart and organized with his studies and grasps new concepts easily. He’s ready to take his GED test but I’ve held him back because I haven’t devised a financial strategy to pay for his tuition at a community college.”

“Alonso wants to go to college?”

“He plans to enter the medical field.”

“Nurses and technicians make decent salaries,” Riley said.

“And the jobs come with health insurance and benefits. Alonso realizes that if his mother had health insurance his sister would have access to better care.”

“What about the boy with the scar?”

“Victor is bright, too, but he’s very self-conscious of his face.”

“Did a gangbanger cut his face?”

“His mother did that to him.”

His own mother?

“She attacked Victor’s sister after the girl announced she was pregnant—” Maria shuddered “—by the mother’s boyfriend. Victor tried to protect his sister and got himself hurt.”

“I hope the woman went to jail.”

“The hospital called in the cops after they’d stitched Victor’s face but Victor changed his story and said he didn’t know his attacker.”

“What does Victor want to do with his life?”

“He’s not sure. All the kids take career assessment tests and Victor displayed decent math skills and an aptitude for electrical work and plumbing but he’s not interested in those fields—which is too bad because a local business has offered to employ students while teaching them the trade.”

“What’s the deal with the smooth-talker?”

“Cruz Rivera.” Maria wrinkled her nose. “Like you, he’s popular with the ladies.”

Riley placed both hands over his heart. “Was that a compliment?”

“You know you’re a good-looking man.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For calling me a man.” Twenty-five was considered young in many minds; but, at every age, Riley’s parents had demanded a level of maturity far beyond his years. In truth, he felt a lot older than twenty-five.

“Cruz prefers to use his muscle over his brain. He’s stubborn and bullheaded.”

“The kid has the makings of a good rodeo cowboy.”

“His father rode bulls before he—”

“Cruz’s father was T. C. Rivera?”

“Yes.”

Riley had heard stories about Rivera. The man had taken the rodeo circuit by storm when Riley had been in high school. But T.C. had thrown away his chance at a world title when he’d gotten into a brawl in South Dakota and killed a man. “Where’s T.C. now?”

“South Dakota State Penitentiary in Sioux Falls.”

“Was he close to Cruz?”

“Yes. Cruz is his eldest child. T.C. and Juanita have…had four children.”

“What do you mean had?”

“Cruz’s younger brother by one year was the victim of gang violence.”

“Shot to death?”

“A few months ago. He’d been sitting on his front porch with Cruz when a fight broke out between two gangs and shots were fired. A stray bullet caught him in the chest.”

Unable to imagine witnessing a sibling’s death in such a violent manner, Riley suspected Cruz’s tough-act demeanor was a facade hiding a hurt and angry young man. “Does Cruz ever visit his father?”

“No. Juanita doesn’t have a car and she can’t waste hard-earned money on bus fare to take the kids to South Dakota.”

“How long is T.C.’s sentence?”

“He won’t be eligible for parole for another twenty years.”

Cruz would be close to forty when his father left prison. Steering the conversation back to Maria, Riley asked, “What do you do when you’re not chasing after delinquent kids?” He really wanted to ask if there was a man in her life.

“Nothing as exciting as flying airplanes or busting broncs.”

“Have you flown before?”

“I’ve never been on a plane.”

“Bet you’d enjoy the experience.”

“Why would you think that?”

He shrugged. “You’re a thrill seeker.”

“Hardly.”

“Sure you are. Your job is one big thrill. You have no idea what you’re going to face when you roll out of bed each morning.” She didn’t refute his charge. “Any brothers, sisters, nieces or nephews?” A significant other?

“Afraid not.”

“I have one sister,” Riley said. “Bree’s twenty-eight.”

“What does she do for a living?”

“Manages the horse stables at the farm.”

“Stables?”

“The Fitzpatricks breed racing horses.”

“What kind of racing horses?”

“The Kentucky Derby kind.”

Maria’s fork clanked against the side of her plate.

Depending on their personal agenda, this is where women either pushed Riley away or attempted to get closer. “Our family’s been involved in horse racing for generations.”

“That explains the plane, but not the rodeo.”

Before Riley had a chance to speak, the waitress appeared with dessert. “What are they?” he asked.

“Polvorones. Almond cookies,” Maria said.

Riley sampled one. “They melt in your mouth.” He helped himself to a second cookie. “When I was in eleventh grade I had the chance to attend the Lyle Sankey Rodeo School—he’s a famous rodeo cowboy. I got hooked on the sport.” He chuckled. “My father has since regretted giving me that birthday gift.”

Maria smiled and Riley’s eyes were drawn to her full lips and enticing dimples. “You have a beautiful mouth.”

“Good grief, stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Flirting.”

“How old are you?”

“You’re not supposed to ask a woman her age.”

“Why not? Is your age a big secret?”

She scrunched her nose. “I’m thirty-five.”

“You’re only ten years older than me.”

“Only?” She glanced at her watch. “Hurry and finish your dessert.”

“Why the rush?”

“I need to check on my mother.”

Riley stuffed the remaining cookie into his mouth. “You mentioned that you knew a good aviation mechanic. I’d prefer to contact him tonight. Do you have his number?”

At first Maria acted as if she hadn’t heard his question then her shoulders slumped. “Why don’t I take you to see him.”

Hot dog. “I’ll pay him to drive out to the salvage yard and inspect the plane.” Tomorrow Riley would lease a plane to fly to the Payson rodeo.

Riley grasped Maria’s hand and squeezed her fingers. He expected her to pull away, but she didn’t and the longer their skin remained in contact the hotter the heat that raced along his forearm and spread through his chest. If touching the schoolteacher’s hand created such an intense reaction then kissing her would be a thrill unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

She cleared her throat. “We’d better get going.”

He set a hundred on the table.

“Is that all you carry in your wallet…hundred-dollar bills?”

Riley moved behind her chair and whispered in her ear, “Would it matter if I said yes?”

Maria squirmed, the movement bringing Riley’s mouth closer to her cheek. The smell of lilies teased his nose and he resisted pressing a kiss to her warm skin. He pulled her chair back and she bolted from the dining room.

Riley followed, doubting she’d claim ten years was too great an age difference after he gave her a real kiss—the slow, hot, wet kind.

HANDSCLENCHINGTHESTEERING wheel in a death grip, Maria turned onto her parents’ street. She hoped her father was in a good mood and her mother hadn’t finished off a fifth of vodka—a habit she’d begun after her son died.

Maria parked beneath the carport next to her father’s Chevy pickup. He’d forgotten to turn on the outside lights. For once she was grateful. The three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch was in sad shape. Years of neglect had transformed the flower beds and green grass into dirt and weeds.

“This is where the mechanic lives?” Riley asked.

“Yep.” Maria led the way up the front walk. She slid her house key into the lock.

Riley grabbed her arm before she opened the door. “Is the mechanic your…?”

“Father.” She stepped inside.

A moment later Riley shut the door and flipped the dead bolt. Obviously he’d noticed the neighborhood wasn’t the safest. Twenty years ago the area had been crowded with young families and working couples. Once California gangs began infiltrating Albuquerque, the families that could afford to relocated to the suburbs.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Maria disappeared down the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms. She knocked on her parents’ door then poked her head inside the room. Her mother’s snores greeted Maria and a half-empty bottle of booze sat on the nightstand. Maria returned to the living room. “Mom’s asleep.” At her age she should be immune to embarrassment, but she was relieved Riley would be spared meeting her drunk mother.

“Dad’s outside in the shed.” They left through the sliding glass doors off the kitchen and walked along the brick path that ended at the rear of the property. Light shone through the windows of her father’s workshop. “Dad,” Maria called.

The shed door opened. Her father wore his favorite cowboy hat—one given to him on his birthday by Maria’s brother right before he’d been shot. The brim of the Stetson was frayed and the crown covered in sweat stains. She doubted her parents would ever let go of their dead son—the Stetson and vodka constant reminders that Maria had failed her family.

“Dad, this is Riley Fitzgerald.” She spoke in English even though her father preferred communicating in Spanish. “Riley, this is my father, Ricardo Alvarez.”

“How do you do, Mr. Alvarez.” Riley shook hands with her father. “Maria tells me you’re an airplane mechanic. My Cessna suffered a bird strike and I had to make an emergency landing. I was hoping you could check the plane and assess the damage.”

“Where is the Cessna?”

“Estefan’s Salvage,” Maria answered.

“Lucky for me your daughter was out there searching for her students at the time or I would have been stranded.”

Maria focused on Riley, ignoring her father’s heated stare. Her parents resented Maria for working with delinquent teens, believing her actions sullied her brother’s memory.

“I’ll pay you for your time,” Riley said. “I need to rent another plane from the Blue Skies Regional Airport until the Cessna’s repaired. I’ll be in Arizona for a rodeo tomorrow evening, but, barring bad weather, I’d return to Albuquerque on Sunday.”

The sooner Riley and his crippled plane left the state of New Mexico the better. Maria hadn’t drawn a deep breath since he’d emerged from the cockpit earlier in the day. “Dad, will you be able to inspect the plane before Sunday?”

“Sí.” Her father had once been a gregarious man but his son’s death had left him bitter and remote.

“Thank you, Mr. Alvarez.” The men shook hands.

Back inside the house, Maria asked, “Would you care for a drink?” Call her fickle. One moment she couldn’t wait to dump Riley off at the hotel, the next she didn’t want the evening to end.

“Sure.” Riley sat on a stool at the countertop then ran his fingers through his hair—gorgeous, black hair.

“Fitzgerald is Irish, right?” Maria placed a can of cola in front of him.

“Wondering why I don’t have red hair?”

Maria laughed. “Mind reader.”

“I’m Black Irish.”

“What’s that?”

“My mother traced her lineage back to the Iberian Peninsula, which means my redheaded relatives cohabitated with the Indians and through the centuries each generation has produced an offspring with black hair.”

“Are you the only one with dark coloring in your immediate family?”

“My sister’s a carrottop. Dad has brownish-red hair and my mother’s hair is a blondish-red.” He chuckled. “As she ages, she goes blonder to cover the gray.”

Maria fingered the ends of her dark hair. She couldn’t recall when she’d had her hair professionally colored and she was certain a few gray strands were visible.

“What about your family?” Riley asked. “Are you Mexican, Spanish, or a mixture of both?”

“My great-grandfather was a bricklayer in a small town outside Mexico City. He married my great-grandmother there then they moved to the States and became U.S. citizens. My father and uncles learned to lay brick from their fathers but after high school my dad went into the air force. When Dad retired from the military, he hired on at the regional airport and has worked there ever since.”

“I bet your grandfather was proud his son served in the military.”

“He was.”

“If your father would rather not have to deal with my plane, I’ll find a different mechanic.”

This is your out. Suggest Riley find another mechanic to fix his airplane, then you’ll never see him again. The thought made Maria sad. She was too old for Riley and they lived very different lives. But the cowboy was a flirt, and he made her feel fresh and young inside. She hadn’t felt this invigorated since before her brother had passed away. What could it hurt if she saw Riley one more time?

“Dad will be happy to help.” She glanced at the wall clock. 10:00 p.m. “You’re probably ready to check in at the hotel.”

Maria wrote her cell phone number on a piece of paper. “Call me when you know what time you’ll arrive on Sunday and I’ll arrange for my dad to meet you at the airport.”

Riley took the paper, his fingers caressing hers. A zap of electricity spread through her hand and suddenly Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.

Chapter Four

“Ladies and gents, welcome to Payson, Arizona, home of the Gary Hardt Memorial Rodeo—the oldest continuous rodeo in the world!” The announcer’s voice boomed across the Payson Event Center outdoor arena late Saturday afternoon. Over three thousand people packed the stands.

“This here rodeo began in 1884 and hasn’t missed a year since.” Whoops and hollers followed.

“You ol’-timers out there might recall the original rodeo venue was a meadow near the intersection of Main Street and Highway 87. Back then wagons circled ’round to create the arena.”

Riley dropped his gear bag in the cowboy-ready area. As was his M.O. a cab had driven him from the local regional airport to the rodeo grounds and he had less than fifteen minutes to prepare for his ride.

“Hey, Fitzgerald, heard you had trouble with that fancy plane of yours.”

What the hell was Stover doing here? Riley thought the man had been headed to Texas this weekend. Ignoring the question about his Cessna, Riley straightened his chaps. “You stop riding for the big money?”

“You oughta know by now—” Stover’s smirk widened “—I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Stover had entered every rodeo Riley had since the beginning of the year—not unusual. The serious contenders followed the money trail. Riley had chosen to ride in Payson because he needed a win to boost his confidence and he’d wanted to get the hell away from Stover—the braggart annoyed the crap out of him.

“You tagging along when I head back to Albuquerque?” Riley asked.

“There’s no rodeo in Albuquerque,” Stover said.

“Who said anything about a rodeo? There’s a lady waiting for me in the Duke City.” Riley doubted Maria pined for him, but that wouldn’t stop him from chasing what he wanted—and he wanted her.

“You’re so full of wind you could fly to New Mexico without your plane.”

“Jealous?” Riley grinned.

“Women and rodeo don’t mix,” Stover said.

No kidding. Most cowboys learned that lesson the hard way.

“You go see your lady, Fitzgerald. Have a nice long visit with her.”

Maria wasn’t Riley’s lady—yet—but Stover’s words reminded him that he’d better watch his step around the sexy señorita lest he forget his goal of winning a second title. “That’s the plan, Stover. I’m gonna drown myself in drink and women.”

“Rawlins came out of nowhere last year when he should have retired.” Stover fisted his hands. “Then you won the title even though you didn’t earn it. This year—” Stover poked himself in the chest “—I’m takin’ home the buckle.”

Riley turned his back on the cowboy and focused on his ride. He’d drawn a gelding named Blackheart—a veteran bucker.

“We got plenty of ropin’, rasslin’ and bustin’ activity,” the rodeo announcer proclaimed, disrupting Riley’s concentration. “As a matter of fact last year’s world-champion bronc rider, Riley Fitzgerald, is goin’ first today!”

World champion…world champion…world champion…

Repeating the mantra in his head, Riley envisioned Maria’s pretty face and flashing brown eyes. She had as much guts and determination as a rodeo cowboy. Tangling with delinquent teens was tougher than riding a wild bronc. He worked three or four times a week for eight seconds. Maria faced gangs and kids living on the edge 24/7 and he doubted her record of success was as good as his.

Today, Riley wanted to impress Maria with a win. He didn’t understand why her admiration was important to him—he doubted he’d see her after the Cessna was repaired.

“Folks, the action’s at gate number five. Let’s see if this world-champion bronc rider can tame Blackheart!”

The roar of the crowd faded in Riley’s head as he climbed the chute rails. The familiar pungent smell of livestock calmed his nerves. As soon as he attempted to settle into the saddle, Blackheart rebelled, forcing Riley to hop off. Once the gelding calmed, Riley claimed his seat.

After the dink he’d drawn in Colorado, he was ready for a fight and prayed Blackheart wouldn’t let him down. Riley squeezed the buck rein, secured his hat on his head and slid deeper into the saddle. One. Two. Three. He signaled the gateman and the chute door opened. Riley’s body tensed in anticipation then the horse burst from his metal prison.

Riley raked fur—rolled his spurs high on the gelding’s shoulders, inciting the animal to buck harder. Blackheart responded to the taunt by thrusting his hind legs into the air. The horse hit the ground then twirled left, right and back to the left again in quick succession.

Eight seconds passed in a blur. The buzzer sounded but the ride wasn’t over until his boots hit the dirt. Dismounts were tricky and had to be timed perfectly so the cowboy didn’t break his neck or worse—get his head stomped on. Riley vaulted from the saddle. Luck was with him. He landed on both feet, stumbled once then regained his balance.

“Our world-champion cowboy gave us a world-champion ride. Fitzgerald scored an eighty-six!”

“You lucked out, Fitzgerald,” Stover said when Riley returned to the cowboy-ready area.

Before he had a chance to refute Stover’s charge, another competitor shouted, “Hey, Fitzgerald! Those kinks the press said you needed to work out just got ironed flat!”

Riley chuckled.

“Don’t get cocky. Your eighty-six is about to bite the dust.” Stover stomped off.

As Riley stowed his gear, his cell phone rang. He checked caller ID. His father. Perfect timing. “Hey, Dad.”

“Where are you?”

“Arizona. Tamed a little booger called Blackheart. I’m in the lead with an eighty-six.”

“Congratulations. Got a minute to talk?”

“Sure.” Riley grabbed his bag and retreated to a quiet corner away from the bucking chutes.

“I’ve got a potential buyer coming in sometime mid-October. I want you to show him around Belle Farms.”