Chapter Two
“Mr. Sammy? Mr. Sammy, you home?” Landon stamped the mud off his boots, the rain just coming down in sheets. Lord have mercy, it was gon’ be sticky as all get out, once the storm blew over and the sun came in. He’d been out to M’sir Robechaud’s place, looking into a foundering mare for the last couple three days, and, Lord help him, he knew if he went to his home ’fore suppertime Laurel would have his ass in a sling, helping down at the barn.
Served to reckon that Mr. Sammy would be bored and hunting for something to do. Maybe they could go roping. Landon could always use the practice.
Beau Lafitte answered the door, and it was an amazing thing to have the current bull-riding champion right there in front of him, larger than life. Well, Beau wasn’t much bigger than him, so large as life, he guessed. Large as the scowl on the man’s round face. Lawd, lawd.
“Sam is sleeping, kiddo. How you doing?”
“Oh.” His shoulders slumped. “Been working down to the Robechaud’s. Just thought I’d say howdy.” Maybe get him asandwich and a visit. Put his feet up and tell a tale or three. Even if they didn’t go ropin’.
“Well, come on in. You let him sleep a bit and then you can jaw. Hell, right now you can entertain the clown. Coke! Dill! We got company.”
His eyes went wide. Mr. Coke was there? Well, shit. Bullfighter Fearless Pharris was like a fucking god among men—better than a bull-rider, maybe even better than the Cowboy King, Ace Porter. Coke Pharris was…shit. A hero.
And Dillon, well, that rodeo clown made big money for wearing makeup and shaving his legs, yessir.
“You sure I ain’t bothering y’all? I ain’t wanting that, not a bit. I just wanting to say hi.”
“Nope. Sammy gets tired sometimes, is all. Now, come on.” Beau motioned him on in, and a pair of long-eared, low to the ground hounds came barrel-assing around from a back hallway, leaping for him like he was a rabbit on the run. These weren’t Beau’s bloodhounds, no sir.
He chuckled and bent down, arms open as they hit him like fuzzy torpedoes. “Look at y’all babies!”
Loping along behind them, the biggest hound he’d ever seen jumped at him, licking his face while the little ones bowled him over. Lord.
“Boudreaux! You big ole beast! Come save me, you!”
The big old thing shuffled over, snuffling. There was never a shortage of dogs at Beau and Sam’s, but he’d not met the short ones, he didn’t think.
“Pansy! Jerome.” Dillon Walsh, the most major league rodeo clown in the world, wandered out from the kitchen, cracking up at Landon’s predicament of wiggling dogs.
“Pretty pups.” He kissed one’s nose, patted the other on the butt. “You reckon to breed ’em?”
“Nope.” Dillon held a hand down for him. “They’re fixed. No unauthorized breeding in Pharris Park.”
Landon grabbed that hand, let the clown haul him up. “Only if they ain’t half frog.” He liked himself dinosaur movies. The science of that Jurassic Park had fascinated him.
“There you go.” Dillon shook his hand before letting go. “You’re a friend of Cotton’s, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” He’d ridden in the big show more than once, here around home, but his ami Cotton was way better known by these men.
“He’s a good kid. Come on, Coke is making hamburgers.”
“Yes, sir.” He followed along, wishing like all hell that Mr. Sam was up and about. He followed Beau and Dillon to the kitchen, though, and took the root beer they offered.
“Merci beaucoup, Mister Beau.” He nodded, drank deep. “Lawd, that’s mighty nice.” Cold, sweet, sharp on the tongue.
“Not a problem.”
Mr. Coke turned and smiled at him. “Hey, Nutbutter. How do you like your hamburger, son?”
“Gramps. Cooked. I like ’em cooked.” He grinned. “Man, you were sure on fire in Albuquerque. You saved Biscuit’s heinie.”
“Biscuit needs to move his ass faster.” Coke flipped a couple of burgers on the big grill pan.
He tilted his head, and he could hear Sister in his head, muttering, “You look like a dog hearing a whistle,” while he stared, then answered, “Gramps, Biscuit is done broken all over. Like for real.”
“I know that. So am I.” Coke moved his head back and forth. Kinda. Not really. The whole thing barely moved. The man gave him a hard stare. “What you been up to? You look like hammered shit.”
