Ride A Cowboy: Romance Novel Read online

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2017 Jamila Jasper Romance.

  All rights reserved.

  Prologue

  The fog was rolling back over the road, and Steel Gray felt, in some strange way, the symbolism of the whole thing. These last few years he'd been in a fog of his own. The army had been his life for so long, and he had the scars- some physical, some internal- to show for it.

  Now it would be different. He was opening a new chapter. As he held the wheel of his truck steady, he recalled the conversation he'd had with Carson Tucker, his cousin.

  "You watch, Steel," Carson had chuckled. "Country life ain't all bad. Give it a month, you'll be singing a different tune."

  Carson had given Steel the use of Tucker Ranch, an enormous piece of land in Boyd, Virginia, which Steel would be seeing for the first time in only a couple hours. He'd spend the next year there, perhaps longer, since Carson seemed to want nothing to do with Tucker Ranch or Boyd, Virginia, ever again.

  "I just need to clear my head," he'd told Carson. His cousin had chuckled.

  "Boyd's the perfect place. Nothing to think about, and shit-all to do."

  He liked the sound of that.

  At 9AM, he stopped at a rest stop in Denburg. The deeper he drove into Virginia, strip malls gave way to forests, and forests became rolling blue mountains capped with clouds of mist. He saw less towns with less people in them. The gas station was completely empty, like the fast food restaurants next to it.

  "Ain't you a handsome one," said the aging station attendant. She eyed him approvingly. Steel was a large man, towering at six-foot five. Still in his early forties, His frame was densely packed with muscle; his hands were large and calloused. His height alone could intimidate, but his chiseled features, curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes made him striking to look at indeed.

  "Where you from, honey?"

  “New York.”

  She eyed him up and down. “Naw, where you really from?”

  "Texas," he amended, amused.

  She chuckled. "Now that’s right. I see country all over you.” She squinted. “Bet you don’t scare easy. You in the force?"

  "I was in the army," he confirmed, a little thrown by her assessment. Steel had grown up on a ranch in Texas, herding cattle with his Uncle Samuel until he was old enough to go to college. He had left the prairies of Texas and never looked back. "I know hard work. Is it my size?"

  The attendant swiped his card. "Maybe. You've got a common look about you. I seen city folks, and they don't look like you."

  That made him smile. "Thank you for your service," she called as he retreated to the car.

  He was soon back on the road. He wasn't hungry, really. He didn't feel anything but a distant, fading ache. He forgot about the gas station lady and the beautiful blue mountains. He forgot about the last six months, the past disappearing as quickly as the miles disappeared under the wheels of his Toyota. That was his greatest talent, probably, Steel thought. Forgetting.

  ***

  Boyd was exactly as he'd pictured it: small. Like a town frozen in time, with hand-painted storefront signs, wooden buildings, and a desolate feeling, all against a stunning backdrop of the Shenandoah mountains. The nearest port of civilization was forty-five minutes away- he'd counted.

  Steel loved it.

  What he didn't love, he soon discovered, were the outright stares. Some looks he got verged on hostile. They stared at his car, they stared at his New York license plate, and they stared at him, as he exited the truck and headed to the grocery store. Carson had left Steel three instructions before they'd parted ways.

  "Number one," he'd said, "The keys to the house are with Jerry. Old fella. Bald. Works at the grocery. Tell him I sent ya."

  “Two, use anything in the house you want. Do what you want with it, just don’t burn it down. Got it?”

  Steel laughed. “Sure.”

  "Three. Avoid the Robinsons."

  Then Carson had changed the subject.

  ***

  Steel found himself entering a quiet convenience store that doubled as the local grocery. The man behind the counter could have only been Jerry. Jerry was old, bald, and gruff. He didn’t give Steel a warm country welcome; he seemed completely disinterested, in fact. But he handed Steel the keys, which were in a rusty tin on the counter, without a fuss.

  "So you're Carson's kin."

  "Yep."

  "He owes me money," Jerry grumbled. His bottom lip was distended by the pouch of tobacco he’d plugged in there. Steel eyed another rusty can on the counter, this one filled with brown spit.

  “Really.”

  "Yep. Wonder if he remembers that, while he's muckin' around in that bed of sin called California." Jerry looked at Steel accusingly.

  "Sorry," said Steel, at a loss for how to respond. Jerry eyed him beadily all the way out of the store.

  ***

  The road to Tucker Ranch was narrow and winding, but his truck made it easily. The Tucker House was a massive obstruction to the view of the mountains. Three stories tall, and almost as wide, it’s design was grotesquely out of order with the modest wooden buildings he’d seen in Boyd.

  As he pulled in closer, he noticed movement in front of it.

  There was an old black man, sitting on a stump. The man had cloudy white hair, a liver-spotted face, and a bottle in his hand that he was scowling at intently. When Steel’s truck pulled in he got to his feet.

  "Hello," said Steel, climbing out of the truck. " Who are you?"

  "Don't you worry about it, " snapped the man. For someone so small, he snapped power and authority with every word. He said nothing for a minute, surveying Steel's enormous frame, from the old leather boots to the curly gold hair.

  "Hmmph. Ah already know who you are. You look just like 'em." He fell quiet again, his jaw working.

  "Look like who? Who are you?" Steel demanded, his irritation mounting.

  Before he could blink, the old man raised the bottle and smashed it hard against the stump. Glass flew everywhere. Liquor splashed on his shirt.

  "You sure do look like them lyin' Tuckers," he said viciously.

  Then he turned around abruptly and shuffled away, clenching the jagged neck of the bottle like a knife.

  Stunned, Steel watched the man creep out of sight. He moved across the property towards an old fence that had once enclosed a horse pasture. Steel watched, mystified, as young black kid appeared and took the old geezer by the arm. They spared no glance for Steel. The two limped over the hill together and vanished.

  ***

  Steel spent the rest of the week exploring the ranch, recollecting the days of his youth. There was a lot of work to do in the way of repairs. But luckily there were no animals to tend. He was a little disappointed, having entertained a romantic notion of himself riding astride a horse again. In no time he realized he was glad that the only living thing in this isolated wilderness was himself. The Tucker property was immense and lonely. That was good. He'd done enough worrying about other people to last him a whole lifetime.

  So Steel worked. His city living hadn’t purged his basic knowledge of how to fix things, how to hammer a nail, how to lay a board evenly. He’d always been a stubborn, do-it-yourself kind of guy, the value of hard work instilled in him from young by his old Uncle Samuel. Steel went to Jerry's once, to pick up food, which he prepared and ate himself. Then he got back to tinkering around the house.

  The nightmares barely touched him that week. But when the sun went down on Monday, they came again.

  He woke covered in sweat. He’d twisted around the blankets in his sleep. The light of dawn was peeping through his window. Of course. His body was still trapped in military time.


  "Shit."

  He went outside to meet the early morning. Dawn came clear and cold in the Shenandoah. Birds chorused in the trees. Spring flowers were opening under the cover of the dew, which would soon dry once the sun rose to meet the middle of the sky.

  Steel noticed none of that. His mind was still on combat, thinking of torn uniforms, shouting, blood in the dust. It was always the same nightmare, but it always left him shaken. Not many things could shake Steel Gray.

  He rolled his shoulders. Flexed his arms. Hell. He needed to relax. Only three things helped the nerves: a smoke, coffee, or a woman. He only had a cigarette.

  And he discovered, as he lit it, that he also had a visitor.

  "Hi," said the young black boy. Steel was always stunned by how soundlessly young children could move.

  It was the same kid who had led the old man away a few days ago. Like the old man, the kid was sitting on the old stump, where only yesterday Steel had cleaned up the broken glass from the old man’s bottle. He was a small kid, skinny, with very neat cornrows, wearing a pair of old battered jeans and Nikes. He had dark skin and very large blue eyes. The contrast should have been unsettling, but it wasn't.

  "This is the second time you've trespassed on my property," said Steel, more amused than irritated. Curiosity got the better of him. He took a seat on the stoop.

  "Yeah? So?" said the kid.

  "Was that old man your grandpa?"

  "Yeah. Crazy Buck, they call him in town. But he ain't so bad."

  "Why are you here?" said Steel. He guiltily ashed his cigarette. Couldn't smoke in front of a kid.

  "I got a right to be here," said the kid boldly.

  "Oh? You know Carson?"

  "Carson Tucker? Yeah I know him. Y'all look alike."

  Steel asked a question that had been on his mind since meeting the crazy old man with the bottle.

  "Are you a Robinson?"

  The kid looked surprised by the question, as if Steel were an idiot for asking.

  "Uh, yeah. Drew Robinson."

  Huh, thought Steel. Carson's warning rang in his ears, but it sounded ridiculous now. The insolent expression on this kid’s face didn’t seem particularly frightening. Steel Gray, military man, afraid of an old man and some kid?

  "I got two brothers too," said Drew. "Daniel and Travis. And a sister.”

  He smiled impishly. “You was pretty jumped-up the other day. Didn't think a military man scared like that." .

  "You got a smart mouth, huh?" said Steel. He found himself liking the kid. "How old are you?"

  "Twelve."

  Steel glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 AM. Shouldn't this brat be getting ready for school?

  "Guess it's time you went home."

  "You kicking me out?"

  "Maybe. You wanna find out?"

  They eyed each other. Steel got a tingling sensation in his gut. The kid looked so damn familiar. Yeah he'd seen him a week before...but up close... there was something else.

  "You know," Steel added, when the kid didn't move, "I don't mind you coming by. There's a lot of space out here. I'm sure you and your...grandpa...are used to running around here. But I'm a private man. And I don't like surprises."

  "You gonna call the Sheriff on me?"

  Steel had to laugh. The thought of calling anyone over some harmless mouthy kid was absurd. But then again, who knew how this town operated?

  "Of course not."

  "You met the Sheriff yet?"

  "Nope," said Steel.

  "He's a dickhead," pronounced Drew, seeming to relish the word. Steel raised his eyebrows, amused.

  “A dickhead,” he repeated.

  "Aw, that's just what Travis says. Don't tell grandpa I was cussin', cus it's the truth. He won't leave my sister alone. An' he's always lookin' for trouble with me."

  "Really?" asked Steel, interest piqued. One thing he knew for certain- kids could always sniff out a bully better than adults.

  "Don't believe me? You'll see."

  "Sure, I believe you," said Steel. "How old is your sister?"

  Drew eyed him. "Twenty-eight."

  "The Sheriff likes her?"

  "Yeah, something like that." Drew waved his hands dismissively. "He's a creep. We're the only black folks in town, you know. He picks on us."

  Steel nodded. There wasn't a note of dishonesty about this kid, he seemed to like telling it as it is.

  "Well, if you ever need any help with him, I'll stick up for you."

  Drew looked skeptical. "He's about your size. Maybe bigger, I dunno. He's got a gun."

  A smile crept across Steel's lips. "Well, so have I. This is America, last I checked."

  Drew gave Steel another appraisal, checking to see whether he was carrying the aforementioned gun. Steel was not. Drew looked disappointed.

  "Okay, Mister."

  “Mr. Gray. Steel Gray.”

  “Okay, Mr. Gray.”

  "Yep, that's a promise. And now, it's about time you walked on home and went to school."

  Drew blinked. He hopped off the stump. "Well, bye."

  "See ya."

  The kid gave a mocking salute, and strolled back down the path.

  Steel followed him a ways. He ducked under the fence of what had once been the horse pasture, and disappeared.

  ***

  Steel took the rest of the day to go through the whole Tucker estate. It was huge.

  The Tuckers owned enormous sprawls of land, and part of the mountainside too. The exact dimensions of their estate were framed in the living room, next to a hand-drawn map.

  The house was labeled, as was the barn, the shed, and the stable. There was a little building to the West, which Steel had not known about, labeled "The Help". He found that curious, but not as curious as the multiple sketched portraits of six generations of Tuckers. They lined the hallway to the kitchen. Each portrait portrayed typical farm people. There were some women and some men. It went all the way up to the present day, ending with Carson Tucker.

  Steel's people did not have portraits. This was not surprising. His relation to Carson was rather distant. Steel's branch of Tuckers had left Boyd in the early 1900's for life elsewhere. He guessed it had not been a popular decision.

  Carson had reached out to Steel shortly after Steel left the military. Carson had inherited the ranch from his Aunt Fiona, as the last surviving male Tucker. It seemed the Tuckers had a habit of either dying young and suddenly or living to extreme old age.

  Carson had dug through the family records, made a couple calls, and found Steel, the only other Tucker relative. They'd gotten along well, but they both wanted different things. Steel wanted to retire from the world, Carson wanted the opposite. A deal was struck- Steel could stay at the ranch while Carson tried his luck in L.A.

  Steel moved through the house, feeling the weight of its secrets. The Tuckers were rich and old. All rich and old families had secrets- but what were they?

  He poked through cupboards, pulled books from the shelves. He almost broke his neck on the rickety staircase in the south wing- another thing to add to the mounting list of repairs.

  Before he called it quits, he came to a stuffy room that he could only guess had been Aunt Fiona's. It was pristinely decorated. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything. A large bible- as identified by flowery gold lettering- sat on the bedside table. Strangely, the bible was untouched by the dust. Someone could have placed it there that morning.

  Steel Gray didn't get creeped out easily. He picked up the bible. When was the last time he'd been to church? Perhaps he should start going.

  Several pages were bookmarked- by braided locks of hair wound with gold wire. Thick, russet, Tucker hair. Now that was creepy.

  He flicked idly through the pages, stopping at one passage from the Book of Job, which was underlined no less than three times:

  "He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and bringeth out to light the shadow of death."

  Steel wasn't sure if he believed that. He'd s
een his fair share of injustice. Sometimes, the bad people won.

  "Pessimist," he muttered to himself. He placed the bible back on the dusty table, and closed the door behind him.

  Night came rapidly after that. In the army his whole day had been structured. It was constant pressure, performing in front of others. In the heat of Afghanistan he could have died at any moment. He had watched it happen to others- even his friends. Now, with total freedom and endless time on his hands, he felt like a curious child. Perhaps he felt a little foolish too. But so what? He could do whatever he wanted. He had the money, and the time.