My True Cowboy Read Free

to have heart surgery.”
    â€œI’m here for testing,” Hank said, lifting up his left hand. Two ID bracelets were wrapped around his wrist. And two tiny bruises decorated the back of his hand. Obviously the kid had had an IV lately.
    Cal was taken aback. Here he’d been so focused on his own source of pain and aggravation, he’d forgotten to look around a bit. “I’m, uh, sorry.”
    Completely oblivious to the tension between the two adults, the boy said, “My mom’s name is Susan. Susan Young.”
    Cal nodded in her direction. “Pleased to meet you.” Though he wasn’t pleased at all. Not by a long shot.
    â€œWe just moved here from Ohio. We had to move ’cause we need more money.”
    Cal pocketed that little bit of information all while noticing that finally Ms. Susan Young didn’t look quite so smitten with her pain-in-the-ass son. “Is that right?”
    â€œUh-huh,” Hank muttered. “Who are you?”
    â€œCal Riddell. Junior.”
    Before he stopped himself, he held out his hand andshook hers. Carefully, he curved his palm around hers. She had a slender hand with long fingers and long pale pink nails with little rhinestones at the tips of each.
    Hank screwed up his face. “Junior’s your last name?”
    â€œNo, Riddell is.” He waited a moment, waited for the significance of his last name to register. But neither boy nor woman so much as blinked.
    After Hank swallowed another bite, he said, “So are you Cal or Junior?”
    That boy could try the patience of a saint. “Both. I’m named after my dad, so most people just call me Junior.”
    â€œI’m Henry, but everyone calls me Hank instead. I like Hank. I hate Henry. What do you like being called?”
    Cal had never taken the time to analyze that. Actually, no one had ever given him a choice. “Cal.”
    When Hank looked to be preparing to ask another twenty questions, Susan placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Hush, now. Mr. Riddell is leaving. He doesn’t want to talk to us.”
    Perversely, now he wasn’t in such an all-fired hurry to leave.
    But it was time to go. He stood up and grabbed his mug and uneaten snack. “Goodbye.”
    As Hank waved a free hand, Susan replied, “Goodbye to you, too. And don’t worry—I’ll make sure I never make the mistake of sitting anywhere near you again.”
    If he was in a different situation, he might have tried to smooth things over. If he was a different man, he might have apologized for his remark about her coming on to him.
    If he wasn’t so worried about his father, he would have apologized for swearing in front of her, too. His mother had been a good woman, and she and that bar of Dial had taught him better than that.
    But at the moment, he wasn’t anything but what he was. So, with that in mind, without another word, he turned and walked away.
    And hardly thought about looking back at Susan and Hank Young at all.
    Â 
    S USAN WATCHED THE COWBOY walk off and wondered how it was possible for a man to look so good and be such a jerk, all at the same time.
    â€œWhat that man needs is an attitude adjustment,” she muttered.
    Hank picked up a carrot stick and bit off the top as he swiveled around to look at the cowboy’s retreating form. “He sure was grumpy.”
    â€œYou’re right about that. Oh, well. He’s not our problem. All we can do is hope his dad feels better soon.”
    Something changed in her son’s expression, and Susan wished she could bite her tongue. Now that her boy was seven, he’d taken to letting her know often that he wasn’t real happy about his fatherless state.
    Telling him that he didn’t need a daddy wasn’t doing much good, either.
    Of course, neither would telling him the truth, that his dad was little more than a glorified sperm donor. He’d moved on to another girl