On the way back to town, Stead’s mood lightened. The heat didn’t seem to press on him as much. Hell, even his butt almost didn’t hurt. Maybe it was because he stopped and faced his fear. Maybe it’s because he took responsibility and was going to try to make amends. Or maybe it was just telling his story to a soft heart.

Maybe this Karma thing worked. Maybe, someday, if he gave enough, worked hard enough, he’d be able to forgive himself.

Harper drove, hands ten and two on the wheel. He liked watching her move. Her knee flexed, shifting gears, and she let go of the gearshift to pull a strand of hair from her lips. Her nails were clipped short, but clean and neat. Her hands were strong—capable. He liked that. He liked most everything about her.

“You did well back there. I thought they were going to eat you for lunch.”

He put on his best drawl. “I ride a ton of pissed-off animal for a living. It’d take more than an old man and a kid to intimidate me.”

“You could’ve fooled me on the way out.” She didn’t smile.

A mule’s kick reminder of asshatism hit him in the chest. “Hey, I’m kidding. And speaking of lunch, how about showing an out-of-town boy what’s good to eat around here?”

Her eyes didn’t leave the road. “Duh. My dad’s smoked meat is the best in El Paso.”

“How about second best, then? My treat. I know you had better things to do this morning than haul my carcass to the Rez.”

“I’ll just let you do that, cowboy.” Her small smile warmed places the temperature outside couldn’t touch.

“So, what’s the deal with the kid?”

“Rafe? Ah, that’s a sad story. His parents met in school. Classic case of opposites attract. She was a wild one. He’s the straightest arrow in the quiver. So, when she got pregnant he did the ‘right thing’ and married her despite everyone’s advice, including his parents and her friends. They got a little place in town, and everyone crossed their fingers, hoping the baby would settle her.”

“It didn’t?”

“Within a week of giving birth, she was back in the bars and staying out all night. That girl had the maternal instincts of a spider.” She shook her head, setting her red curls bouncing. “When Miguel started pressuring her to grow up and stay home, she lit out.”

“With the baby or without him?”

“With. But frankly, he’d have been better off if she hadn’t. Miguel went nuts. Spent every spare penny, trying to track her down, but there was no word. For years.”

Stead felt bad about whining earlier. At least he’d known no one was coming for him.

“Miguel didn’t find them until a Houston detective called about a Jane Doe O.D. they had in the morgue. She’d changed her name, cut all ties with El Paso and slid into prostitution, then drugs.”

“What about Rafe?”

“They found him sleeping on a filthy mattress on the floor of a known crack house.”

“Jesus.”

“I’m pretty sure Jesus had no hand in it. Rafe has been with his dad now for four years, and acts like he can’t decide which parent to take after. He’s a good kid, inside, but makes really dumb decisions at times.”

“He told me he wanted to be a roper.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s great news. Maybe his dad is having an influence after all.”

“I told him that if he came out tonight, me’n Ace could give him some pointers.”

She shot him a poisoned-tipped dart look. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why the hell not? This could be a good thing for the kid. Turn him in the right direction.”

She was shaking her head before he finished talking. “I appreciate you caring, but he’s a fragile kid. And you don’t stay.”

He froze the muscles of his face to hide the wince. “Well yeah, I’ll be on the road Monday morning, but I wouldn’t mind emailing him. And I’ll be back.”

“Look, no offense, but the council and I can handle it when you pull a vanishing act. But Rafe—”

“I’m not always on the road. I have a place in Banderas.”

“Really? A house? Do you own it?”

“Well, no. It’s an apartment over a buddy’s garage, but—”

“A place to hole up in the off season and heal up.” She shifted gears. “Look, I’m not judging. But you have to admit, you have no roots. Nowhere you’re committed to.”

“Okay, so that may have been true before. But I’m changing.”

“Hmmm huh.” It was the sound a mother made while trying to ignore a toddler’s chatter.

He pictured his tiny apartment. Nothing on the walls, and not much of his stuff left behind. It had a lot in common with the hotel rooms he stayed in while on the road: generic, well-used and disposable. Funny, he’d never thought about it that way before. It had been just ‘home’. After all, what the hell would he know about a home?

She pulled in at a Mexican restaurant. “You’re going to love this place. La Mission has the best salsa in town. The tamales are awesome, too.”

They walked into a walled courtyard crowded with wrought iron tables topped by splashy beer-slogan umbrellas, baking in the hot sun. “Please tell me we can eat inside.”

“Big bad bull rider gonna melt? Yes, we can eat inside.”

He didn’t care if it made him crass; the sweet curve of her hips swinging ahead of him made him happy. He may believe in Zen, but had no interest in a career as a monk.

It was two; past the lunchtime rush. A waitress in traditional peasant garb sat them in an empty air-conditioned room with sarapes on the wall and piped in Mariachi music. She dropped off chips and salsa, and took their drink orders.

Harper dipped a chip. “You may want to go easy on this. It’s got good flavor, but it’s a bit warm.”

He took a deep scoop with a chip. “How bad can it—Holy crap!” He fanned his face. “That stuff is volcanic.” The waitress brought their iced tea and he took a huge swallow.

“Wimp.” She crunched the lightly coated chip.

“If that’s the test, then I surely am.” He pushed the basket of chips to her and opened the menu.

“You know, you could be part Native American.”

His head snapped up.

She watched him, head cocked like a curious bird. “I’m serious. The black hair, the tawny skin . . . the blue eyes aren’t, but I’ll bet you don’t have to shave real often, do you?”

Her words stirred his sludge pit of old shit—for the second time today. “I’m not.” He flipped the menu closed.

“How do you know? “You were dropped at an orphanage not far from a Rez, right?” She dipped another chip. “You could have your DNA tested. It’s not even all that expensive—”

“I’m not.” The knee-jerk words were a reaction to the mule-kick thud of possibility in his chest. Could he be? He’d never done much wondering about his parents. Figured if they didn’t give a shit about him, he wasn’t wasting time thinking about them.

“Hoookay.” She crunched another chip.

Saved by the waitress, who returned to take their order. When she left, an awkward silence took over.

He knew it was his to dispel. “Harper. That’s an odd name. How did you get it?”

“My dad wanted to name me Agnes.” There was a shudder in her voice. “Thank God my mom insisted that if she had to go through labor, she got to name me. It’s after Harper Lee, the author of her favorite book.”

He shrugged. “I got nothing.”

“You know, To Kill a Mockingbird.” She took a sip of tea.

“Oh, that was a great movie.”

She choked a bit on her tea, then got it under control. “Mom read it to me over and over when I was a kid. I thought it was just a story of a little girl like me, but the deeper message must’ve sunk in, because I grew up wanting to help people.”

“Is that why you became a teacher?”

She nodded. “When I graduated, the school on the Rez is the only place I applied.”

“I think you’re going to make a great mother someday.”

When she looked up, he read shock in her slightly parted lips. There was a flash of something like fear in her eye. Fear? Why?

“Thanks.”

He fell into her deep green eyes and was snared, unable to look away. Heat flared from an electric current shooting under his skin. He’d never considered settling in any one place. But how amazing would it be to wake up to see those eyes open in the morning, and never have to leave?

When she looked back . . .what did she see? A scruffy orphan bull rider, uncouth, uneducated, that’s what. He glanced away, breaking the live-wire connection.

“What’s your life like?” She scanned his face, as if looking for a way in. “I mean, is it as glamorous as it looks on the outside? The danger, the new places, the lights and the crowds?”

“Like Garth says, the bulls and the blood, the dust and the mud the roar of the Sunday crowds?”

“Yeah, that.” The look on her face was so wistful he wondered if he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a glimpse of a road not taken.

This was where he’d normally throw off a glib, boastful reply. But he couldn’t this time. She’d opened truths in him today, forcing him to look past glib. He considered his answer for the time it took the waitress to deliver their meals. “It’s incredible . . . for seconds. A good ride is like the eye of a hurricane. You know it can kill you, but when you catch it just right, you and the bull are perfectly in sync and everything else fades away. It’s quiet, and slow, and almost peaceful for a few heartbeats. Then the buzzer sounds, and it all rushes back: the lights and the noise and the surge of fear when you bail out. Even that is glorious.” He smiled, remembering. “I know it sounds stupid to say it out loud, but it’s what keeps me on the road—chasing those few heartbeats of perfection.”

She leaned on a fist, a dreamy look in her eyes. “That part sounds amazing.”

Heat spread up from his collar. He sounded like a moony calf. He picked up his fork, and cut a piece of enchilada. “But then there’s the crappy hotel rooms, the endless miles, the bad food, the bruises and the broken bones.” He shook his head. “Rodeo cowboys are crazy. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” She picked up a taco and the moment passed.

They spoke in light, ‘getting to know you’ subjects until the restaurant got busy with the Happy Hour crowd. By the time Harper dropped Stead off at the fairgrounds the sun seared the edge of the horizon, setting it on fire. The back of his shirt was soaked. He needed water.

Ace walked up. “Dude. Where you been all day? I got bored, listening to the team ropers telling stories about how they lost their fingers.”

“Yeah well, I had stuff to do.”

“Like what? Wait, is that The Chick?” Ace watched the ancient truck spew dust, heading for the blacktop. “I don’t know . . . if she can’t afford decent wheels, I think you could do better.”

Noticing the Taylor-Made truck was still shuttered, Stead walked for the concession stand under the bleachers. “Shut up. You know nothing.”

“You’d have to tell me for me to know anything. What’s up with you this weekend?” Ace came alongside. “You’re acting all weirded out.”

“What are you, my wife?” Stead realized that for the first time ever, he had something he didn’t want to tell Ace. Something that big had to mean something. He’d have to think about that. Later. A hand smacked his ass.

“I’m getting jealous, Honey.”

“Get out of my face, weirdo.” Stead threw a punch.

Ace ducked. “No, really. What’s going on with you? You act like this girl is something special.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you a Coke if you promise to shut the hell up.”

“Oh man, this is serious.”

Stead bought them Cokes and they sat on top of a picnic table in the shade. “There’s an Indian kid coming here in a half hour or so. He’s interested in roping. Would you talk to him? Maybe watch him throw some loops and give him some pointers?”

Ace slurped through his straw. “Sure. I like kids.” Ace squinched up one eye. “But you don’t. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“This kid is different.” Stead studied the melting ice cubes at the bottom of his cup.

“He’s had it rough, but he’s got an attitude on him. A mouth, too. He kinda reminds me of us, at that age.”

“Oh, God help El Paso then.”

Seeing Ace’s smile, Stead raised him one. “No lie. Anyway, the kid is walking a narrow fence, trying to decide if he’ll fall on the pile of shit side, or the productive member of society side.” He shrugged. “I just want to give him a little push in the right direction.”

“I get that. But hell, we’ve met kids like that before. Remember the orphanage kids in Oklahoma? You signed autographs and walked on by.” One eyebrow rose, the other lowered. “It’s this girl, isn’t it?”

“Yeah . . . no. I don’t know.”

“Then yeah, it’s the girl.”

“Don’t get all smug with me. It’s about the Apology Tour too. It’s all mixed up in my head. She may be part of it, but it’s going so fast—”

“Hang on. Mr. One-night-stand says it’s going too fast?” He darted a look right, then left. “When do the zombies show up?”

“Screw you. Just do me a favor and help the kid out, will you?”

“Of course, I will. And listen. Anytime you wanna talk.”

“Yeah, I appreciate that.” Stead took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. The sweat made it feel like bugs crawling around. “Shit, wouldn’t you think it would cool off a little when the sun goes down?” He scooted his butt off the picnic table. “You can’t miss the kid. He’s nine, and his dad’s driving an orange truck with the tribe’s logo on the side.”

“Wait, you’re not staying to see what the kid’s got?”

It chapped Stead that Harper thought him a bad influence. But in case she could possibly be right . . . “Nah, I got things to do.”