Page 1 of My Cowboy Freedom
Chapter 1
Sky
I had nothing. They gave me some thrift-store rejects to wear: an old Hawaiian shirt, a faded pair of navy sweat pants, and canvas shoes. I put them on and memorized what I needed to do to contact my parole officer. There were lots of details I couldn’t hear over the rapid-fire beating of my heart. Lots of details I’d probably never remember, even if I’d heard.
But they gave me a handbook too.
The guards walked me that last hundred yards or so, and then I was free.
Free.
My heart didn’t believe it but my body wanted to test that freedom—to run, to jump, to scream and wave my hands. To do something utterly fucked up just to prove to myself that I could. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, so loud in my ears I almost didn’t hear when someone called my name.
“Brody?” An older Latina with dyed purple hair that fell in corkscrew curls to her shoulders leaned against the door panel of a minivan. She wore a black velour tracksuit with a sparkly gemstone zipper and was regarding me thoughtfully, as if she was sizing me up for a job. “You the one they call Gorrión?”
“Yeah?” It came out like a question on my part because folks called me that inside.Sparrow.Not the best nickname, I know. At least I didn’t get it from the unforgivable crime of “singing.”
I didn’t know the woman. She said my name like the hacks, and suddenly, it seemed like prison was reaching out for me, trying to pull me back inside.
“Well, c’mon.” She called to me again. “You’ve got to meet with your parole officer, right?”
“Yeah.” I eyed her.
“I got you some clothes.” She handed me a sack. “Better than those. You want ’em?”
“Yeah.” I glanced down at my eye-watering shirt. “Thanks.”
She nodded toward the minivan. “You can change in the car. If I’m going to take you all the way to that ranch after, we gotta get started now.”
“Wait.” I was confused. “You’re—”
“’Nando said to take you wherever you need to go. Parole office and then that ranch, the Rocking C. Anywhere else?”
“You’re taking me all the way out there?” Of course ’Nando had gotten me a ride. Even in prison, he had the juice to get about anything he wanted. “To the Rocking C?”
“’Nando says that’s where you gotta be.” She shrugged. “So that’s where I gotta take you.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” She got in on the driver’s side. I had no choice but to walk around to the passenger side and get in. There were two kids in the back—a little girl who looked to be about six years old, seated in a booster, and a baby, strapped into one of those buckets with a handle. Bottles and toys littered the backseat, and the floor was piled with diaper bags and baby things.
“My grandkids.” She covered the little girl’s eyes with her hands while I changed pants.
After I got dressed in the plaid shirt and jeans she’d brought, tucked and belted neatly, I grabbed for the seat belt and strapped myself in. Then she pulled out into traffic. I turned around and peeked at the kids. They stared at me, curious and cautious. Given the woman was running errands for Hernando Reyes-Ortiz, I doubted I was the first scary stranger they’d had in their car.
“Folks call me Sky.” I made an effort to smile at the woman and those kids in the backseat but I was faking and everyone knew it. “What do they call you?”
“I’m Yesenia,” the little girl said primly. She was missing those teeth, the ones that get loose right around the time you discover Santa Clause isn’t real. “My grandfather is El Cuervo. He can beat you up. He can beat anybody up.”
That must mean...Christ.I turned to the woman. “Senora Reyes-Ortiz?”
“That’s me.” She shot me a look of such loathing, I felt faint.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” I stared straight ahead.
“So, let’s see it.” She glanced over. I didn’t know what she meant, and it must have shown on my face. She rolled her eyes. “The Crow. ’Nando told me that tattoo is the best he ever did.”
With shaking fingers, I unbuttoned my cuff and held out my forearm, where Hernando Reyes-Ortiz—El Cuervo—had marked me. It was a big, stylized black tat. The image of a large crow softened at one edge—black ink dissolving into a hundred crows in flight winding up my arm. Old timers who were in a position to know said it was ’Nando’s masterpiece.
