A Rodeo Man's Promise. Marin Thomas

       “Take the money!”

       Riley jumped inside his skin and scanned the piles of household appliances, searching for the location of the mystery voice. “Who’s there?”

       “Alonso Marquez, get your backside out here right now.” The woman marched toward the graffiti-covered cinder-block hut with broken-out windows and a missing door. The word Office had been painted across the front in big red letters. Rusty refrigerators, washing machines and water heaters sat outside the building. “Victor and Cruz, I know you’re there, too.” The pipe-wielding crusader halted a few yards before the door when three teens waltzed from the building.

       They were dressed the same—baggy pants that hung low on their hips. Black T-shirts. Each wore a bicycle chain lock around their necks and another chain hung from the pocket of their pants, down both sides of their legs, ending an inch above the ground. The baseball caps on their heads were turned sideways—all facing to the left—and their athletic shoes had no laces.

       “You guys better have a good reason for skipping class yesterday and missing the quiz.”

      Quiz? He’d crash-landed his plane, been accused of drug trafficking and now the crazy lady discussed schoolwork with three troublemakers from the ’hood.

       “We’re not comin’ to class no more.” The tallest kid of the bunch spoke.

       “You’re quitting, Cruz? The three of you are this—” she pinched her thumb and forefinger together in front of the boy’s face “—close to earning your GEDs.”

       “We got a better gig goin’ on.”

       “Does this gig have anything to do with the Los Locos, Victor?” She tapped the end of the pipe against the boy’s chest.

       “What if it does?” The teen grimaced, the action stretching the scar on his face. A line of puckered flesh began at his temple and cut across the outer corner of his eye, dragging the skin down before continuing along his cheek and ending at the edge of his mouth. “Hanging with the Locos is better than sitting in class learning stupid stuff, Ms. Alvarez.”

      Ms. Alvarez was a teacher. Riley didn’t envy her job—not if her students were as difficult as these punks.

       “Victor—”

       “Mind if I butt in?” Four heads swiveled in Riley’s direction.

       “Awesome landing, dude.” The kid named Victor made a fist pump in the air.

       “Thanks, but I prefer using runways when possible.” Keeping one eye on Ms. Alvarez and her lead pipe and the other on the teens, Riley joined the crowd. “You guys didn’t get hurt by flying debris, did you?”

       Three heads swiveled side-to-side.

       “I’m Riley Fitzgerald.” He held out his hand and one of the teens stepped forward, offering his fist. Riley bumped knuckles with the kid.

       “Alonso Marquez.”

       Next, Riley nudged knuckles with the tall teen, who said, “Cruz Rivera.”

       The kid with the scar kept his hands in his pockets and mumbled, “Victor Vicario.”

       Riley offered his knuckles to the teacher, but she held out her hand instead. “Maria Alvarez.”

      Pretty name for a pretty lady. He eyed her weapon. “That’s for show, right?”

       “No.” She smiled and Riley’s breath hitched in his chest. She had the most beautiful white teeth and dimples.

       “When did you figure out I wasn’t a drug lord?” he asked.

       Her gaze dropped to his waist. “When you pointed to the horse on your belt buckle.”

       “I’ll be happy to cover the damages if you tell me who owns this place.”

       “My dad owns it.” Cruz and his homies snickered.

       “Yeah, Cruz’s dad’s gonna be ticked when he sees the busted fence,” Victor said.

       Riley was being conned, but played along. “I’ll pay you guys to straighten things up before Cruz’s father gets word of the damage.” He handed each boy a Ben Franklin. Eyes wide, mouths hanging open, the teens gaped at the money. They’d probably never seen a hundred-dollar bill before.

       “Absolutely not.” Maria snatched the money from their fingertips. “None of their fathers owns this business, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

      Mr. Fitzgerald? The only person he’d ever heard called Mr. Fitzgerald was his father.

       “Alonso, Cruz and Victor are enrolled in a high school program I teach for at-risk teens.”

       Cruz attempted to mimic his teacher’s voice. “Ms. Alvarez is our last chance to change our ways before we land in prison or fall under the influence of gangs.” Laughing, the boys decked each other with playful punches.

       “That’s enough.” Maria scowled. “Get in the car. We’ll discuss the ramifications of your actions in a minute.”

       The boys shuffled off. When they were out of earshot, Maria said, “You landed your plane in an abandoned salvage yard that’s rumored to have been taken over by the Los Locos. The boys were hanging out here, waiting for the gang.”

       “You think the thugs will show up tonight?”

       The sexy cowboy pilot was worried about the plane being vandalized. “I don’t know.”

       “Mind if I hitch a ride with you? I need to make arrangements to have the plane towed.”

       The last thing Maria wanted was a handsome cowboy distracting her while she reprimanded her students. She clearly hesitated too long in answering, because he added, “You don’t have to go out of your way. Drop me off wherever you’re taking those guys.”

       She couldn’t very well leave him alone in the junkyard with night approaching. “Sure. I’ll give you a lift. And I can give you the name of a reliable mechanic.”

       “I’ll fetch my gear bag.” He jogged to the plane and Maria had to drag her eyes from his muscular backside.

      You’re old enough to be his mother. That wasn’t exactly true—an older sister, maybe. Regardless, it irked her that a man as young as Riley had thrown her for a loop. With all she’d been through and seen in her thirty-five years she should be immune to a handsome face and a sexy swagger.

       “Is the cowboy dude coming or what?” Cruz asked when Maria returned to the station wagon.

       “Yep.” She settled behind the wheel and glanced in the rearview mirror. The three musketeers sat shoulder-to-shoulder. The boys were all bright and funny, and deserved a chance to escape the gang violence of inner-city life. If only they believed in themselves. Maria was doing her best to nurture their self-confidence and encourage them to study. They had to excel in the classroom if they wanted any chance at a life away from gangs and drugs. The boys’ actions today proved that her efforts were falling short.

       “We’re giving Mr. Fitzgerald a ride into town. You three better mind your manners.”

       “Are we gonna get to make up the quiz?” Alonso asked.

       Of course they would. Maria bent and broke the rules to help her students succeed. “We’ll see.” Wouldn’t hurt to let them stew.

       “C’mon, Ms. Alvarez,” Victor whined. “We know the material.”

       Victor and Alonso glanced at Cruz, expecting their buddy to chime in but Cruz remained silent. Of the three, Maria worried she’d lose Cruz to a gang. A few months ago his younger brother had gotten caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs and had been killed. Maria sensed Cruz wanted revenge. She knew the feeling well, but when she’d attempted to share her personal experience with gang violence, Cruz had shut her out.