Page 28 of His Fresh Start Cowboy
Darkness settled over Hugo’s mind, and he put the glass of lemonade down hard enough he was surprised the cup didn’t crack. “So you can make vows to have and to hold your husband, but you can’t promise to love and protect your own kid? What kind of fucked-up society makes these rules?”
“There’s no need to curse, honey.”
“There’s every need to curse. Every fucking need. This was a mistake. This whole, entire goddamn thing. I should have stayed in California. At least I was happy there.”
“Hugo—”
“No. Thank you for the lemonade, but I won’t be back. You have clearly chosen Frank and Buck over me.” He stood and stalked toward the door, his anger so thick around him he had trouble breathing. “I love you, Mom, but I think this might be goodbye.” He slammed the storm door behind him when he left.
Adrenaline and anger left him shaking by the time he reached the scooter, and he had trouble securing the chin strap. As he fumbled to get it on and the key into the ignition, the tiny little boy inside him kept hoping his mother would come after him, apologize, ask him to stay. Anything.
She didn’t.
Hugo drove away from his childhood home for what was very likely the last time. Hell, if he hadn’t committed to a full year working at Woods Ranch, he might have kept on driving straight to the airport in Amarillo. But Hugo kept his word, and he was no quitter. No way was he going to run back to Clean Slate with his tail between his legs like a beaten dog.
He’d stay and do his job. He’d try to pretend his tormentor wasn’t going to be free soon. And he’d do his best to be Brand’s friend, even if they never had anything more between them.
He was so focused on his own thoughts instead of the road that he didn’t see the pickup heading right at him until it was almost too late to swerve. Then he was rolling and pain became his entire world for a while.
Chapter Nine
Thursday morning, Brand sat on the porch with Brutus and hand-fed his dog bits of cooked chicken, a treat Mom kept on hand for the poor wounded animal to supplement his kibble. Brutus was acting a bit more like himself as his body healed, wagging his tail whenever he saw Brand, and attempting to play a bit with Dog when she came around. Watching him drink water with that cone was kind of hilarious and he usually made a mess, but he was getting better.
Sitting on the porch was also a convenient excuse to wait for Hugo’s arrival. Rem mentioned Hugo was going to visit his folks yesterday, and that they had a strained relationship, and Brand was curious how it had gone. And what kind of mood Hugo would be in today.
Hugo was supposed to report at eight, and by eight-fifteen, Brand began to worry. Except for the first day when he was figuring out the scooter, Hugo was always on time. Brand checked his phone but didn’t have any texts or missed calls, and he hadn’t heard the house line ring. Rem was off today, and Jackson had begun the feed/haying process, so there was no one around to distract him and his fears.
At eight-twenty, he very nearly called Hugo’s cell. Then he heard an engine in the distance. Not the buzz of the scooter, but a deeper rumbling. After a few moments, a classic 1955 Ford pickup appeared in the distance. Only one person in the county had a truck like that, and the instant Brand spotted the image of Elmer Fudd painted on the hood, his internal alarms went off. He stood and walked out to meet the truck near the barn.
Elmer was driving, and Brand’s alarm calmed a fraction when he saw Hugo in the passenger seat, head down and a little slumped. Elmer rolled down his window as he pulled to a stop. Brand stepped up to the door but Hugo didn’t look up.
“You’re late,” was all Brand could think to say.
“Seems the boy had a bit of a mishap yesterday,” Elmer replied. “Scooter went off the road just outside of Daisy, and they both got pretty banged up.” Brand spotted the scooter in the bed of the truck. “Gonna drop this off to Murphy’s on my way out. Needed to go in town for some groceries anyway.”
Brand didn’t give a shit about the scooter. “Hugo, are you okay?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Scraped my hands up good and banged my head off the ground, but no permanent damage. I can work.”
“With scraped-up hands?”
Hugo looked up, and something in his eyes said to let this go. “I need to work. Sir.”
“Okay.” Brand knew when to back off. “Thanks for bringing him by, Mr. Pearce.”
“Happy to do it,” Elmer replied. “Just you make sure he keeps those bandages clean, hear?”
“I will. I’ll find him a pair of clean work gloves.”
Hugo grunted and climbed out of the truck, his lunch bag in hand and a sour look on his face. No one liked being talked about as if they were a child, and the poor guy was probably still in some pain. He didn’t limp, exactly, but he walked a bit stiffly. “Thanks for the ride, Elmer,” Hugo said, then headed for the barn.
“Thanks again,” Brand said to Elmer. He tipped his hat as the elderly man drove off, leaving a light cloud of dust in his tracks.
Brand followed Hugo to the break room, where Hugo was stuffing his lunch into the fridge. “You sure you’re okay to work today? You said you hit your head.”
Hugo turned, his expression fierce and determined in a brand-new way that was...kind of appealing. “Yes, Father, I can work. I’m not concussed, I’ve just got a little road rash.”
“What happened?”
