Marin Thomas - The Cowboy Next Door

“’Bout time Dixie worried a little.” Johnny climbed the farmhouse steps and strolled to the opposite end of the porch where Gavin Tucker sat on the swing. Leaning a hip against the rail he said, “Now she knows what I went through all those years keeping track of her.”

“Must be tough being the eldest,” Gavin said.

“At least you took one of my siblings off my hands.” From an early age Johnny had felt a sense of responsibility for his siblings. He recalled a middle school psychologist once telling him that he should start acting like a brother instead of father. He’d thought the woman was nuts, but he’d never forgotten that conversation and at times wondered if his need to protect and guide others was rooted in a suppressed desire for his own father to show interest in him.

“You look tired.” Johnny guessed nightmares were robbing the former soldier of sleep. Dixie had told him that her husband had been diagnosed with PTSD after he’d served in Afghanistan, and a few mornings when Johnny had left the bunkhouse before dawn he’d found Gavin asleep on the porch swing.

“Did Dixie tell you Shannon Douglas’s father offered me the foreman’s job at the Triple D?”

“She did. Congratulations. When do you start?”

“Not until the end of the month. I was over there today helping Clive train a cutting horse.”

“Are you quitting the rodeo circuit?”

“I’m cutting back on events until I get a handle on running the Triple D.”

The squeak of the screen door interrupted the men and Dixie stepped onto the porch. She smiled at Johnny. “I thought I heard your voice.” She joined her husband on the swing, curling up against his side. “Did you see Shannon yesterday?”

He wished he could blame his serious lapse of judgment last night on Dixie’s insistence he check up on Shannon at the rodeo. But he was a big boy, and no one had forced him to follow the lady bull rider into her motel room.

“Shannon didn’t make it to eight on her bull but she’s fine.” Uncomfortable with the conversation he pushed away from the railing. “I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

“Wait. The other day you never said whether or not Charlene was moving into the foreman’s cabin with you.”

He might as well get this over with. “Charlene and I broke up.”

Dixie gasped. “What happened? You two have been together forever.”

Gavin kissed the top of Dixie’s head. “Think I’ll grab a bite to eat.” He disappeared inside the house.

“You’re not leaving until you tell me what happened.” Dixie patted the empty spot next to her.

When had his baby sister become so bossy? He sat down. “This feels weird—you listening to my problems.” In the past, he played the role of Dear Abby.

“I’m sorry about Charlene.” Dixie hugged him.

Through the years Johnny had been the hugger, consoling his siblings when their grandparents had been busy with the farm or their mother had been out of town chasing the next love of her life. Johnny had grown to resent his mother for putting her own wants and needs before her children’s and when Aimee Cash had passed away the day before his eighteenth birthday, he hadn’t shed a tear. How could he cry for someone he’d barely spent any time with?

“Why did you two break up?” Dixie asked.

He repeated his standard line—because it sounded good. “Charlene and I have been growing apart for a while.”

“It’s my fault.”

“How’s that?”

“You were worried about me when I got pregnant last summer, then I miscarried and I was such a mess that you wouldn’t leave me alone for a minute.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dix. I ignored the writing on the wall.” And Shannon had been his wake-up call.

“What do you mean?”

“You put years into a relationship, then one day you look at the other person and wonder what you have in common.” And when there’s no zip, zap or zing left in the kisses, it’s time to say goodbye.

“How’s Charlene taking it?”

Pretty damn well. “She’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

Shannon’s face popped into Johnny’s mind. What would Dixie say if he told her that he had the hots for her best friend? “I’ll be too busy at the Triple D to mope.”

“Are you sure you want to move into the foreman’s cabin? It’s not that far of a drive between the farm and the ranch.”

“I’ll be back to visit, especially if Gavin’s cooking chili for supper.”

“Who’s going to run herd over the rest of our brothers?”

“It’s your turn to keep everyone in line, Dix.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“If any of them give you trouble let me know and I’ll bang a few heads together.”

Right then the bunkhouse door flew open and Porter, the youngest brother, stepped outside and ducked as a cereal box flew past his head. “I didn’t know you were going to ask her out!” he shouted.

“Looks like you’ll be knocking heads sooner rather than later,” Dixie said.

“Better see what Porter did this time.” Johnny skipped down the steps and cut across the yard to referee the latest fight between his caterwauling brothers.

* * *

“THE DOG FOOD is in a plastic bin beneath the kitchen sink.” Roger McGee dropped the key to the foreman’s cabin into Johnny’s hand. The end of August had arrived and with it a changing of the guards at the Triple D.

“I’ll make sure Hank gets fed twice a day.” Johnny felt bad for the old man as he watched the cowboy struggle to say goodbye to thirty years of his life. If dogs could talk, Hank would say he didn’t like his master’s departure any more than Roger did. The hound lay in the dirt next to the Ford pickup as if he intended to ride along to Florida.

“Sure you can’t take Hank to your sister’s?” Johnny asked.

“Animals ain’t allowed in the condo units.”

“If you ever move into your own place, I’d be happy to drive Hank to Florida.”

“That’s right nice of you.” Roger’s eyes glistened as he descended the porch steps. He stopped at Hank’s side and patted the dog’s head.

Johnny went into the cabin to retrieve the leash, giving the foreman and his dog some privacy. After a minute, he stepped outside and clipped the tether to Hank’s collar. The dog refused to budge.

“Best tie him up for a week or two after I’m gone. He might run off.”

“Will do.” Johnny would have to keep close tabs on Hank. A jaunt through the desert in the August heat might kill the twelve-year-old hound before he reached the highway.

Roger hopped into the truck and gunned the engine. The ranch hand and the boss had said their farewells earlier in the morning, so there would be no big send-off this afternoon.

“Be sure to check in with Clive during your trip.” Johnny leaned through the open passenger window and shook Roger’s hand a second time. “Take care of yourself.” He’d miss the geezer. Roger had taught him everything he knew about cattle and horses when he’d first hired on as a part-time wrangler for the ranch fifteen years ago.

The Ford pulled away and Johnny tightened his grip on the leash when Hank whined. After a quarter mile, a dust cloud obscured the truck from view. “Well, boy, it’s you and me now.”

Inside the cabin the dog went straight to his bed pillow in the kitchen corner, where he watched his new master through sad, droopy eyes. The pathetic stare prompted Johnny to fetch a Milk-Bone from the cookie jar Roger left behind, but the dog wanted nothing to do with the treat. “I’ll leave it right here, boy.” He set the bone on the floor. “In case you change your mind.”

Johnny stood in the middle of the cabin, facing the front door. The kitchen sat to his right, the family room to his left. Behind him was a short hallway with a door to the bathroom and one to the bedroom. The cabin had come furnished and included a washer and dryer, dishwasher, and a full set of cookware, dishes, utensils and linens. There was also a satellite dish and internet access. All he’d had to bring was his clothing, toiletries, laptop computer and his iPod.