Big Bad Cowboy Page 11

  “Mrs. Garza, you didn’t have to do that.” He sure was glad she had, though.

  Mrs. Garza, wearing jeans with rhinestones on the back pockets and a shiny purple blouse, continued packing foil-wrapped packages of tamales into an old, beat-up ice chest. “It was no trouble. And Henry helped.”

  Travis was certain it had been a lot of trouble. And he also knew that Henry’s help generally amounted to the job taking twice as long as it should. But looking at Henry’s face, beaming with pride, Travis realized he needed to let the kid help with ranch chores more often. Even though it was a pain in the ass.

  “I didn’t even know I liked tamales!” Henry said. “But the ones I made are real good.”

  “You have the magic touch, mijo,” Mrs. Garza said.

  “I do?”

  Mrs. Garza stopped what she was doing and put her hands on her hips. “I said so, didn’t I?”

  Henry had something that looked suspiciously like chocolate on his chin. Travis grabbed a paper towel and wiped it off.

  “We made cupcakes, too.”

  “I see that.”

  “I gots the magic touch for all kinds of cookin’.”

  “You have the magic touch.”

  “That’s what I said,” Henry replied, with no attempt at hiding his irritation. “And it’s a good thing, too, because you can’t cook.”

  Travis couldn’t argue with that. Mrs. Garza had no doubt noticed all the frozen food in the freezer and the fast-food bags in the garbage. When she babysat for Henry, she almost always made dinner.

  Beneath the aromas of cumin, garlic, and chocolate was the faint lemon scent of furniture polish. Looking around the house, it was clear that the one with the magic touch was Mrs. Garza.

  “I don’t expect you to cook and clean while you’re here taking care of Henry.” He didn’t pay her near enough for that. He didn’t really pay her near enough for anything.

  “Well, the child has to eat,” Mrs. Garza said. “And he needs a clean, safe place to play.”

  Mrs. Garza had zero filters and spoke her mind. She and Henry were alike in that way. You were getting the truth whether you liked it or not.

  He picked up the mail from the counter. The notice from the tax collector’s office glared up at him. He should open it. Face the music. See exactly how much he owed. He took a deep breath and…set it back on the counter. Covered it with a flyer from the local tractor dealership. Front-end loaders were on sale.

  “I talked to my cousin about painting this place,” Mrs. Garza said, closing the lid on the ice chest. “He says he can do it.”

  Travis gulped. He hadn’t asked her to do that. The house needed painting, but he couldn’t afford it. “I’m sure he’d offer me a good deal, but—”

  “He wants a quarter.”

  Travis couldn’t have heard that right. “A quarter?”

  “That’s for the interior. If you want him to do the outside, too, then he’s asking for a half. He’ll tell you how he wants it.”

  “How he wants it?”

  “Is there an echo in here?” Mrs. Garza asked. She shook her head. “Anyway, I told him to stick with skirt steak for fajitas, some ribs, and to get the rest ground.”

  Beef! The man wanted beef. Travis might not have time or money, but he had sixty-two head of cattle, which was too much for the property in its current state. He’d forgotten how folks in Big Verde purchased large amounts of beef directly from the rancher. Almost everybody had a chest freezer on the porch for that specific purpose. Families went in together to buy a quarter, half, or even whole cows. Why hadn’t he considered using beef to barter?

  “Martinez Meat Market will process it,” Mrs. Garza said.

  Travis’s bump of optimism took a dive. He didn’t even have the cash to pay for processing. His concern must have shown on his face, because Mrs. Garza patted his arm. “Beto Martinez is my brother. He’ll work something out.”

  Mrs. Garza was related to at least half the people in Big Verde. “You don’t happen to have a cousin or a brother down at the tax office, do you?”

  “Sorry, but no.” She smiled and continued patting his arm. “Everything will be fine. You just keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Ignoring things. Putting off unpleasant tasks. Sure, he’d just keep doing what he was doing.

  A few minutes later, loaded with tamales, cupcakes, and an ornery five-year-old kicking the back of his seat, Travis headed down the lane. Movement caught his eye in the east pasture. About twelve cows—he’d nicknamed them the Dirty Dozen—were walking in single-file, toe to tail. And they were headed straight for the weakest spot in the fence and Honey Mackey’s motherfucking apples. He’d already come home to one note with a thinly veiled threat of poison. No doubt there would be another one tonight.

  * * *

  Maggie pulled to a stop in the back lot of Petal Pushers. She was pooped from her day at Anna’s, having sweated her ass off in her stupid clothes while Travis paraded around half naked. Between his hot, gleaming torso and the wolf’s dirty texts, she could use a cold shower. Too bad she didn’t have time for one. The first frost of the season was on its way, and she had a ton of plants to move.

  She got out of her Jeep. Norbert and Claire were already loading up carts.

  “Can you believe this weather?” Norbert asked. “Hot as hell all day and dipping into the freezing zone tonight.”

  “That’s Texas for you,” Claire said.

  Maggie picked up the handle on a cart loaded down with pallets of perennials and gave it a yank. What they couldn’t haul inside would have to be covered with tarps.

  As tired as she was, Travis had to be way worse. He’d chipped away at the limestone forest all afternoon, one rock at a time. He’d made a decent amount of progress, but there was still so much more to do. Stubborn man.

  Maggie dragged the cart backward, being careful not to trip on any hoses.

  “Let me help you with that,” Norbert said.

  “I’ve got it. You just make sure all the faucets are dripping.” She could damn well drag a heavy cart as well as any man, and the last thing she needed was frozen pipes.

  She gave a huge tug on the handle, lost traction in the mud, and fell flat on her ass, which was apparently today’s theme.

  Claire covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide, and nostrils quivering as she tried not to laugh.

  “Not funny,” Maggie said.

  Claire held out a hand. “A little funny. And if you were wearing heels, this wouldn’t have happened. Mine are dug in like anchors.” To demonstrate, she lifted a foot. Clumps of dirt and roots hung from the narrow heels of what were ruined and probably very expensive shoes.

  “Those are more like tent stakes,” Norbert said.

  Claire yanked Maggie up. “Either way, I’m not going down.”

  Maggie wiped herself off, picked up the cart handle, and went right back to grunting.

  “Why do you have to do the heaviest and hardest job when you’re the tiniest person here?” Norbert asked.

  “Because she’s trying to prove she can do everything Travis Blake can do,” Claire said.

  “He’s the one who thinks he can do everything himself,” Maggie said, noting with satisfaction that once she got the wheels out of the ruts, she could drag the damn cart quite well, thank you very much. “There’s just no reason for it,” she said, wiping her brow and leaving a smear of mud on her face. “We have a crew. We have equipment. He just has himself. Anna just wants him around because he looks good.” Boy, does he.

  Claire had finished covering the citrus trees and picked up a handle on a cart of succulents. “He is easy on the eyes.”

  “But he’s not qualified. You can’t hire someone just because he’s hot.”

  “Men do it all the time. They have their secretaries and assistants in their short skirts running around. Why can’t women have a little fun, too?”

  “Because it’s wrong,” Maggie said. “No matter who does it.”

/>   She deserved the contract. The full contract. This project was right up her alley, and she didn’t appreciate having to share just so Anna could have a boy toy. Although he did work ridiculously hard. She’d give him that.

  “Anna and Travis have a bit of history, you know,” Claire said.

  “Really? What kind?”

  “The high school kind.”

  How could Anna and Travis have high school history when Maggie didn’t even remember Travis from high school?

  “They dated?”

  “I don’t think you could call it dating. But he used to mow her family’s lawn after school. I heard they messed around.”

  “He was literally Anna’s lawn boy? And now he is again?”

  “You could say that. And supposedly Travis stole jewelry from her. God, Maggie, did you ever lift your head out of the dirt and look around when we were in school?”

  She’d noticed lots of things in school—like JD, for instance. But oddly, she hadn’t noticed Travis. “There’s no way he stole anything. He’s not that kind of man.”

  “Know him well, do you?”

  “Are you absolutely sure he went to school with us?”

  Claire laughed. “He’s a pretty amazing case of metamorphosis. He’s a hunky butterfly.” She parked her cart next to Maggie’s. “I think that’s it. We’ve got all our babies inside.”

  “Yuck,” Maggie said, lifting a boot. “Look at our feet.”

  “At least it’s just mud,” Claire said, taking the rag offered by Norbert and wiping off her heels. “We’ve stepped in worse. And that reminds me, you did have a run-in with Travis in high school.”

  “I did?”

  “Remember when Danny Moreno put cow patties in your locker and they fell out when you opened the door?”

  Yes, she remembered. It had gone splat onto her shoes, then she’d screamed and dropped her books in it, and then the vice-principal had walked by and told her to clean it all up. Danny was a pharmacist now, but Maggie still didn’t trust him.

  “The kid who helped you clean up the mess was Travis.”

  Maggie dropped the cart handle. “Get out,” she said. “That was not Travis. It was some new kid.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because I’d never noticed him before.” Or after, for that matter. Had she even said thank you? She tried to remember the boy who’d stopped to help her. He’d been small. His backpack was bigger than he was. He’d had brown hair and wore glasses—she’d been startled by his magnified blue eyes and oh my God it was Travis.

  “Bingo,” Claire said. “I can see from your dumb expression that you remember.”

  “This does not compute.”

  “It computes all right. He had a growth spurt. Lost the glasses. Hubba hubba.”

  “Wow. I mean, wow.”

  “I know.”

  Norbert pulled the outside gates shut and locked them. “We knocked it out with just the three of us.”

  “Is there a big party or something going on tonight?” Maggie asked. “I texted Derek and Frank to see if they could help, but they were both busy.”

  Derek and Frank were high school seniors who sometimes helped out at Petal Pushers.

  Norbert’s naturally dark complexion darkened some more. “Yeah, there’s a…thing,” he mumbled.

  “What?” Maggie said.

  “They’re working at the library,” Claire said quietly.

  Maggie snorted. Derek and Frank didn’t strike her as being big readers. Stoners? Yes. Readers? No. “Good one. What’s really going on?”

  “No, really. The library is redoing the children’s reading garden and—”

  “Redoing it how?” The library was city property, and Petal Pushers had the contract for landscaping.

  “A gazebo is going in. And some new play equipment.”

  “Oh. That sounds nice. I should swing by and have a look. I bet we can propose some new landscaping to make it even nicer.”

  “Yep,” Claire said, and then mumbled something over her shoulder as she headed for the garden center doors.

  “What did you say?”

  “She said Travis Blake is in charge of the project,” Norbert said.

  Maggie was speechless for almost two seconds, which felt like an extremely long period of time. Travis was going to ruin her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  Norbert shook his head.

  “How did he land that? Is every single person in this town so easily swayed by a bare chest?”

  Norbert furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  Maggie didn’t have time to explain her theory about the gigolo lawn boy. Instead she held her fist in the air and proclaimed, “I’ll go to City Hall! I’ll stage a protest—”

  “Hold on there, Norma Rae,” Claire said. “I don’t think we’ve lost a contract just because Travis is building a gazebo and installing playground equipment. Neither of those things are services we provide.”

  “He’ll weasel his way into that contract. He’ll be very polite about it. He might blush stupidly and say aw shucks and then, he’ll take off his shirt!”

  “Okaay…” Norbert said.

  “And when he does that,” Maggie continued, “nobody can think straight and there goes our contract.”

  She stomped over to the utility sink to wash the mud off her hands. He had weaseled into her business. He couldn’t keep his cows on his side of the goddamn fence. “Enough is enough,” she spat.

  “Are you about to make a big scene at the library?” Claire asked.

  “Don’t try to stop me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Hold up while I put on some lipstick.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Maggie pulled into the library at the same time as Claire. She wasn’t quite ready to go in like the Terminator, so she waved Claire over. They needed to strategize.

  It was after hours, but the small lot was filled with cars and bikes. Mark Polinsky’s monster truck had its tailgate down, and two girls sat on it, legs swinging. An ice chest with its lid propped open was behind them in the truck’s bed.

  “It looks like a tailgate party,” Maggie said as Claire climbed out and closed the door. “Travis has no idea how to direct a crew of young people. He thinks he can just turn on some loud music and set them loose.”

  They weren’t exactly running around loose. Several were unloading bags of concrete while another group stacked lumber. Travis came around the corner. He wore a black T-shirt. Its hem rose when he hoisted a bag of concrete onto his shoulder, exposing nice ripped abs. Claire made a barely muffled sound of approval in her throat.

  Something settled in Maggie’s belly. It quivered and shook and sat at attention. Apparently, irritation and annoyance had slinked off like a twitchy-tailed cat, and dumb, dark desire had bounded in like a dog in heat.

  “It looks like he’s doing pretty well to me,” Claire said. “Very well, in fact.” She raised an eyebrow in a manner that suggested she was thinking of all kinds of non-concrete-related things.

  Travis dropped the bag next to a wheelbarrow. He had to be dying after all he’d already done today. Yet here he was. Her eyes narrowed.

  They must be paying him big bucks.

  Alice came out of the library with a bag of books. Her face lit up when she saw Maggie and Claire.

  “Oh no, she’s going to ask me about book club again,” Claire said.

  “Just tell her no. Do you even read?”

  “You know how hard it is for me to say no.”

  Maggie was so upset about Travis and his business-stealing bullshit that she let that little gem slide.

  “Would you come to book club with me? You can read the book and tell me about it like you did for Honors English.”

  Maggie sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to read. But she didn’t relish the idea of talking about a book with a bunch of women who, like Claire, probably hadn’t even bothered to read it and were just there for the wine.

 
Alice tapped on the window. Maggie rolled it down. “Hello, Alice. Heading home, are you?”

  “Goodness, no. Not with this party getting started. Are you here to help us get the gazebo put together before the front blows in? We’re expecting some freezing rain and whatnot—Travis doesn’t want the lumber getting warped.”

  Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, he wants everybody to help, does he?”

  Alice shifted her bag to her other shoulder. “Of course! And everybody seems happy to do it. Travis even brought tamales.”

  Travis, Travis, Travis.

  “That sounds nice,” Maggie said through gritted teeth. “Claire and I were just going to check out a book, and I see we’re too late so—”

  The Jeep shook as Claire’s door slammed.

  “Where are you going?”

  Claire shrugged. “Travis brought tamales.”

  “What book did you need?” Alice asked, opening Maggie’s door.

  Maggie’s mind drew a blank. “What are you reading for book club?”

  Alice bounced on the balls of her feet. “Are you coming to book club? We’re reading Bound and Determined, Reyn Taylor’s latest. It’s just delightful—”

  “Isn’t she a romance author?” Maggie asked. She didn’t think she’d ever read a romance novel.

  “Yes, she is.” Alice glanced around to see if anyone was listening and then whispered, “A dirty one. The genre is erotica.”

  “Sign us up!” Claire said.

  “Wait—no—”

  “We have one left and I’ll put it on hold,” Alice said. “Can you two share?”

  “That won’t be necessary—”

  “You bet we can,” Claire said with a wink at Maggie. Then she whispered, “I’m just going to read the dirty parts.”

  “Oh, goodie,” Alice squealed, clapping her hands. “We could use some fresh blood. Between you and me, Miss Mills isn’t going to last much longer. Of course, we’ve been saying that for twenty years.”

  “Miss Mills is reading erotica?”

  “Yes. When she’s not teaching Sunday school at First Baptist.”

  Maggie snorted.

  “This evening she’s helping Travis by handing him nails—and no doubt a bit of heavenly advice—while he hammers on the gazebo.”