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  COMEBACK

  TRAIL

  BROKEN SPUR: BOOK TWO

  Carolina Mac

  Copyright © 2020 by Carolina Mac

  COMEBACK TRAIL - 1st ed.

  ISBN 978-1-989827-03-1

  All rights reserved

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  To: Rodeo Cowboys

  Don’t practice until you get it right.

  Practice until you can’t get it wrong.

  ―WWW.DISCOUNTSTABLE.COM

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monday, May 18th.

  McKenna Ranch.

  THE Texas sun is beating down hard on the roofers this morning as they put the finishing touches on shingling the roof of the new McKenna bull breeding barn.

  I’m sitting on the porch with my brothers, Clay and Jack, drinking coffee and staring at our beautiful new barn paid for by fire insurance money we didn’t know we had.

  A few weeks ago, we were devastated by a chain of events that left us hurt, wounded, depressed and almost ready to give up. But a month later after a lot of frustration and perseverance, a little bit of light is shining at the end of the tunnel.

  Luckily Daddy had kept up with all our bills before he passed on, and even though, Jacky, Clay and I thought we were broke and headed for the poorhouse, that wasn’t the case.

  Daddy shocked the shit out of us and left us in good shape at the bank. Now we’ve got a foothold in the business of bull breeding and with a little help from some kind and intelligent people, we’re learning as we go. Hands on.

  With Daddy’s three bulls—Crusher, Thor and Presto—who retired from the PBR with the distinction of never being ridden—all we have to do is produce some healthy young bulls and we’ll be able to make a name for ourselves in the rodeo world.

  I finished my coffee, set the mug down on the step and stood up. “Better get Bowie saddled and get back to the pasture field,” I said to my brothers. “I’ll never make a comeback sitting on the porch on my ass.”

  Jacky grinned. At twenty-four he was the youngest of the three of us. Clay was twenty-seven and I was over the hill at thirty-one. I’d quit the rodeo over a year before when things were going badly in my life, but with the encouragement of my two brothers and Linda Loudon, a champion barrel racer that I happened to be in love with, I was trying for a comeback.

  “See you in a couple of hours, Logy,” said Clay. “I’ve got therapy on my shoulder at eleven, but Jacky can take me to the hospital if you’re not finished your workout.”

  “I’ll finish up at ten-thirty and drive you, Clay. Last time when you finished your therapy, your arm was too sore to drive home.”

  “I remember. My therapist is a bully.”

  “We should all go to Preston,” said Jack. “I have to talk to Sheriff Tucker while Clay has his therapy, then we could all go to the Spur for lunch and a drink a cold one before we come home.”

  My brothers would make up any excuse to drop by the Broken Spur roadhouse for a pitcher of beer. It had been Daddy’s hangout of choice and we hung there with him most of the time. Right up until the day he died.

  One of the reasons Daddy was always there, was the lady who ran the roadhouse, Miss Janey O’Brien. Daddy was in love with Miss Jane and the feeling was mutual. She was like our second Momma.

  I strode over to the corral, picked up my saddle and got Bowie ready to go for a couple of hours of practice. I’d been giving lessons to a couple of younger guys who were keen to compete in steer roping and tie-down, and they were coming along real well. They were entered into a couple of the rodeos coming up shortly and we all intended to go and cheer them on.

  AFTER my practice round in the hot Texas sun, I was dog tired and drenched in sweat. I handed off Bowie to Jay, one of our hired hands and ran into the house for a quick shower. I dressed in clean clothes to drive Clay to the hospital for his therapy.

  He’d been shot in the upper arm by a girl named Harper Gabriel, a wild red-haired cowgirl who’d once worked for us and was crazy about Clay. Her trial was coming up at the end of the week and nobody was looking forward to testifying against her in a courtroom, least of all Clay.”

  The other victim of Harper’s shooting rampage was Bonnie Sue Dempster, Deputy Sheriff in Preston. She’d been shot in the chest, almost died, and only recently had she been released from the hospital.

  Clay had gone to see Bonnie Sue almost every day since the shooting and they had become close—kind of a bonding thing—over both of them being shot.

  The boys were leaning on Daddy’s old pickup smoking while they waited for me to clean up and get ready to go. “We were ready to leave without you, Logy,” said Jack with a little smirk on his face.

  Jack was the lady killer of the three of us. Girls swarmed around him like bees to honey, and most of the time he paid them no mind. Once in awhile he’d pick one he liked, date her for a couple of days and move on.

  “Hey, I hurried.” They stamped their butts out in the dirt, hopped in my truck and I slid behind the wheel.

  “How was your practice session?” asked Clay.

  “Good, but it was hotter than the hubs out there in the field. Later in the week I need a timer. I want to know exactly what I’m doing before Saturday.”

  “I can do it,” said Clay, “or one of your wannabees can do it. What days are they coming for their lessons?”

  “Tomorrow and Thursday.”

  “Gonna be a great weekend,” said Clay. “I’m singing at the Spur too. Butch called and asked me to come on Friday night.”

  “Fantastic,” I said. “You’ve missed that.”

  “For sure we’ll come watch you,” said Jacky. “Nothin will make me miss it.”

  Sheriff’s Office. Preston.

  WE left Clay at the front entrance of the hospital and drove down the main street of Preston to Sheriff Tucker’s office. He’d called Jack and asked to speak to him in person. Jack didn’t know what it was about, and he was a little nervous, so he asked me to go with him.

  The sheriff, a big guy not in the best of shape but with a lot of years in law enforcement stepped out of his small office and greeted us with a big smile. That in itself was a bit unusual, because Sheriff Tucker wasn’t that kind of a guy. More like gruff and tense and by the book. We’d gotten kind of used to him glaring at us every time we popped into his office to ask him a question.

  “Come on in, Jacky. Glad to see you, boy. You can come along too, Logan, although this has nothing to do with you.”

  “I can wait out here if its private.”

  Jack shook his head and motioned me to come with, so I followed my little brother into the small office and sat down.

  Sheriff Tucker sank down into the well-worn leather chair behind his cluttered desk and didn
’t waste any time getting to the point. “As y’all know, and everybody in Preston and Preston County knows, we’re short-handed here at the sheriff’s office.”

  Jack listened and didn’t say anything.

  “Going over all the possibilities in town, in my county, and for miles around, I decided that you, Jack McKenna, are the most likely candidate to be a crackerjack deputy sheriff.”

  “What?” Jack seemed to choke and I thought he might need water.

  I tried not to laugh at the surprised look on Jacky’s face.

  “Yep.” The sheriff nodded his head. “I can see that you’re a little surprised by my decision, but I’ve thought it over carefully, and you, Jack McKenna, have all the qualifications I want and need. The only thing we’d need to sharpen you up on would be your shooting skills, of course.”

  “I’m not much of a shooter, Sheriff,” said Jacky. “In fact, I might be in the terrible category.”

  Ignoring the facts laid bare about Jack’s shooting skills, or lack of them, Sheriff Tucker didn’t pause. “When can you start, son? I need you right away.”

  “Yeah, but we’re busy, Sheriff.” Jacky put up a fight. “Me and my brothers are full-time ranchers and we’re getting our bull birthing business going right now.”

  “I know all that,” said the sheriff. “I know what every last person in my county is doing. But you can fit this in. I know you can.”

  Jack turned and looked at me and I shrugged not knowing what to say to save my brother. I thought fast and spit it out. “Can he have a probation period, Sheriff?”

  “Oh, sure he can, Logy. Thirty days. If he don’t work out, or the job doesn’t work out for Jack, we can go our separate ways. No hard feelings on either side.”

  “Thirty days,” said Jacky boy. He seemed to be thinking hard. “Okay, I guess I could try it for a month. I don’t know much about the law, Sheriff. Sorry to say.”

  “Got a couple of books here for you to read up on, son. Be best if you scanned through them before tomorrow.”

  Jack raised a dark eyebrow. “I’m starting tomorrow?”

  “Today’s pretty well under way, ain’t it?”

  “What do I have to do, Sheriff?” asked Jack. “Like swear on a bible and like that? I’ve seen a few old westerns.”

  “Uh huh. Give me a minute to get organized and I’ll swear you in.” The sheriff fumbled around for a few minutes getting everything ready and then he administered the oath and swore Jack in. “There you go. Now you’re official.”

  He opened a locked drawer in the filing cabinet behind him and gave Jack a badge and a gun. “Sig Sauer is what we’re shooting here in this county, and you’ll have a shotgun in the trunk of your squad for emergency use. You can spend an hour at the range this afternoon with an instructor. I’ll set it up for you, Jack.”

  “I could use the practice, Sheriff. I’m not bad with a shotgun, but a handgun ain’t in my wheelhouse.”

  Sheriff Tucker grinned. “It will be soon, Jacky boy. You’ve got what it takes. I’m a great judge of potential deputy talent.”

  Jack nodded, looking a little dazzled by the whole thing.

  “See Mrs. Graham in the front office and she’ll issue you three uniforms in your size and a hat and utility belt.”

  “Okay,” said Jack. “I forgot I’d have to wear a uniform.”

  “Clean uniform every day, son. We don’t want to look like bums when we answer a citizen’s call for help.”

  “No, sir.”

  Jack picked up a load of stuff from Mrs. Graham after she raided the supply closet and we were finished.

  Broken Spur Roadhouse.

  SITTING outside in the designated smoking area surrounded by nurses chatting him up, Clay gave us the stink-eye as we arrived late at the hospital to pick him up from his therapy. “Where were you guys?” he asked with his lip a little curled. “I been done for twenty minutes.”

  “It was Jack’s fault,” I said. “He got himself deputized and we had to get his gun and badge and all that.”

  “What? I don’t believe a word y’all are saying. You were drinking in one of the bars on main street and you forgot about me. Tell the truth.”

  “No, honest,” said Jack. “We didn’t forget about you. I’m Sheriff Tucker’s newest deputy.” Jack flashed Clay a wide grin. “You can call me Deputy McKenna.”

  “Shut up.” Clay punched Jacky in the gut. “Don’t screw with me, Jacky. I’m your brother.”

  The boys argued back and forth as I parked at the Spur. “I’m getting lunch. Any takers?”

  “Hell, yeah, Logy. I’m starving. That therapy nurse like to kill me with her exercises. My arm is sore and stiff as frozen turd.”

  “You’re not dead yet, Clay, and soon you’ll be able to play your guitar again.”

  “Can’t be soon enough for me. That’s how I get my best dates.”

  “My boys are here.” Miss Jane hurried from behind the bar when she saw us come through the double doors and gave us each a hug. “Want lunch or just a beer?”

  “We’ll take the lunch special,” I said. “We’ve had a bit of a hard morning. What are we having?”

  “I just wrote it on the blackboard,” said Miss Jane. “Half a rack of ribs with coleslaw and potato wedges.”

  “I’m in.”

  Both my brothers nodded. We’d all have the special.

  “Jacky has news,” I said with a grin.

  “Do you have a new girlfriend, Jack?” asked Miss Jane. That was usually the news Jack had to share.

  “I wish that was what it was, Miss Jane. Honest I do.”

  “What then?”

  “I’m Sheriff Tucker’s new deputy.”

  “Oh, poop.” Miss Jane made a face. “You don’t want to work for Wade Tucker.”

  “Why not?” asked Jack. “He seemed keen to have me today. Said he was a good judge of deputy material.”

  “Wade Tucker is a lazy lump,” said Miss Jane. “That man will run you ragged doing all his work and won’t give you a lick of credit. I’ve known him all my life and believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to work for him.”

  “I’m on a thirty day trial run, Miss Jane.”

  “At the end of thirty days, Jacky, you just say ‘thanks, sheriff, but I’ve got better things to do.’”

  Jack smiled. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind while I see how it goes.”

  Miss Jane turned to Clay and asked, “When is Bonnie Sue going back to work for the slave driver?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll be talking to her later,” said Clay. “Can’t wait to tell her my little brother is her new backup.”

  “Are you seeing Bonnie Sue seriously, Clayton?” asked Miss Jane.

  “In a way.”

  “What way would that be?” Miss Jane raised an auburn eyebrow.

  “Kind of a casual way until she’s better. She’s got a lot of healing to do—like on her body.”

  Miss Jane smiled. “I get it. You can’t get up close and personal yet. Is that it?”

  “Umm… might be it, but I’m not sure.”

  “I bet her mama doesn’t want her to be one of Tucker’s deputies anymore,” said Miss Jane.

  Clay grinned. “Nope, Mrs. Dempster sure doesn’t. Nags on it every single day. Her mama wants her to get a different job and Bonnie Sue doesn’t know what she should do.”

  Miss Jane giggled. “Bonnie Sue will be heading back to work in a big hurry when she finds out our Jacky boy is going to be riding shotgun.”

  Jack chuckled. “I told the sheriff I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn and he said a guy will tune me up at the range this afternoon.”

  Miss Jane frowned as she put a pitcher and glasses down in front of us. “Is Wade putting the rush on you for a reason? Is there a big crime wave about to hit Preston County?”

  “Don’t think so,” said Jack.

  “I think we already had the crime wave working for us,” I said. “The trial is starting this week.”

&n
bsp; Miss Jane gave us each cutlery rolled up in a napkin and taped with a little Broken Spur label. “Everybody in town will be fighting for seats to see what happens to the girl who shot Bonnie Sue.”

  “I’m not looking forward to the trial,” said Clay.

  “Me neither,” I said. “Sitting in the courtroom will be days wasted. Right now, we need every minute at the ranch to get things sorted out. The roofers should be finished by the time we get home this afternoon. The painters are coming tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget tomorrow we have to go to the DA’s office to go over our testimony,” said Clay. “That will be hours wasted too.”

  Miss Jane made a face. “My poor, sweet boys. That’s way too much bother for y’all. I’ll be glad when it’s over and all those horrible people go to jail.”

  After we polished off our ribs and were about to leave for home I noticed Fiona Lonnigan sitting on the other side of the roadhouse having lunch alone. We hadn’t had much contact since Linda Loudon and I had gotten back together and it was best to keep it that way. I gave Doctor Lonnigan a little wave as we left, and she smiled at me.

  McKenna Ranch.

  THE roofers were taking a break in the shade when we got back home to the ranch. The middle of May could be sweltering hot in Texas and I didn’t envy those guys their job up there closer to the sun. Working without their shirts, the entire roofing crew had great tans.

  “I’ve got to get going,” said Jack. “Don’t know how long I’ll be at the range.”

  “I guess until the shooting guy thinks you can hit the target,” I said. “Might not be seeing you for a while, Jacky.”

  He chuckled. “Guess not. Hope I make it back for supper.”

  Clay and I sat down on the porch to cool off and our two cowboys, Clint and Jay, joined us to catch up. “We’ll soon have our barn back,” said Clint with a smile. “Smells all new and clean inside.”

  “That won’t last long,” I said. “Y’all pick up the order at the mill?”