A Rodeo Man's Promise. Marin Thomas

       “What’s in the bag, mister?” Alonso asked.

       “Change of clothes and my rodeo gear.” He removed his hat and rested it atop his knee.

       “Mr. Fitzgerald—”

       “Call me Riley.” His smile set loose a swarm of butterflies in Maria’s stomach.

       “Riley,” she repeated in her best schoolmarm voice. “Please fasten your seat belt.” Once he’d completed the task she made a U-turn and drove away from the salvage yard.

       “You ride bulls for real?” Victor asked.

       “Nah, I’m not that crazy. I bust broncs.”

       “You famous?” Cruz asked.

       “I won a world title last year at the NFR in Vegas. Ever heard of that? The National Finals Rodeo?”

       A resounding “no” erupted from Victor’s and Alonso’s mouths.

       “It’s the biggest rodeo of the year. The top fifteen money-making cowboys in each event compete for a world title.”

       “Does the winner get a lot of coin?” Victor asked.

       “Depends on your definition of a lot.”

       “A thousand dollars,” Victor blurted.

       “Idiot.” Alonso elbowed Victor in the side. “He flies a plane, so he’s gotta make more ’n a thousand dollars.”

       “How’d you learn to fly?” Victor asked.

       “Went to flight school while I was in college.”

       Maria’s ears perked at the word college.

       “Why’d you go to college?” Victor asked.

       “What else was I going to do after high school?” Riley said.

       Victor’s eyes widened. “You coulda hung out with your homies.”

       “Yeah, but that would get boring after a while.”

       The teens exchanged bewildered glances.

       “The truth is,” Riley said, “my old man insisted I earn a college degree so I’d be prepared to help with the family business.”

       Intrigued, Maria joined the conversation. “What does your family do?”

       “They breed horses.”

       Her hunch had been correct. “You live on a ranch.”

       “No, my family lives on a horse farm in Kentucky.”

       “You don’t have a Southern accent,” she said.

       “Lost the accent when I went to college at UNLV in Las Vegas.”

       “I’d go to college if the school was next to topless dancers and casinos,” Cruz said.

       “I was too busy rodeoing to gamble.” Riley winked at Maria and darned if her heart didn’t pound harder. She strangled the steering wheel and focused on the dirt road leading to the highway.

       “What do you guys do with your spare time?” Riley shifted in his seat. “Are you into sports or clubs?”

       “Yeah, we’re into clubs.” Cruz snorted.

       Maria caught Alonso watching her in the rearview mirror. The teen held a special place in her heart—he reminded her of her brother, Juan. Desperate to fit in, he was a follower not a leader. Alonso had much to offer others and she hoped to convince him to attend college after he earned his GED.

       “What clubs are you involved in?” Riley asked.

       “What do you think?” Cruz said. “We’re going to join the Los Locos.” The teen acted too tough for his own good.

       “Gangs are for losers. Most of those guys land in prison or they get shot dead on the street.”

       “Gangs are cool,” Victor said.

       “Then how come all they do is break the law, sell drugs, use drugs and shoot people?” Riley countered.

       Maria decided to intervene before the boys went ballistic. “A few of the gangs in the area have unusual talents.” She took the on-ramp to the highway. “Members of the Los Locos gang are accomplished artists.”

       “If they’re that good, why aren’t they in art school? Or a college program where they can put their creativity to good use?” Riley asked.

       “The kids come from disadvantaged backgrounds and—”

       “Disadvantaged means poor,” Victor interrupted.

       “The families can’t afford to send their son or daughter to a special school let alone an art camp during the summer months.” Maria merged with traffic and headed toward civilization. “Do you know where you want to stay for the night?” she asked Riley.

       “Take him to the Lamplight Inn down the block from our house,” Victor said. “My sister works there. She’ll show you a good time for one of those hundred-dollar bills you got in your wallet.”

       Riley ignored Victor’s comment. “Any motel is fine.”

      Motel? Maria doubted this cowboy had ever slept in a motel. She’d have to go out of her way and drop off Riley downtown at the Hyatt Regency.

       The remainder of the trip was made in silence—the gang wannabes brooding in the backseat and Riley staring at the Sandia Mountains off to the east. When they entered the Five Points neighborhood, Riley tensed. Maria was used to the rough-and-tumble areas in the South Valley, but this Kentucky-bluegrass cowboy had probably never seen urban decay the likes of what he viewed now.

       Maria’s parents lived in Artrisco, not far from the Five Points, and she’d moved in with them a year ago after ending her relationship with her fiancé, Fernando. Living with her folks was to have been temporary but Maria delayed finding her own place because she felt responsible for her mother’s continued decline in health. She turned off of Isleta Boulevard and parked in front of Cruz’s home.

       The yard was strewn with broken furniture and garbage. The plaster on the outer walls of the house had peeled away and several clay roof tiles were broken or missing. Good thing Albuquerque received less than nine inches of rain per year. Maria unsnapped her belt.

       “I don’t need an escort,” Cruz said.

       “I want to speak with your mother.”

       Cruz hopped out of the car. “You know my mom won’t be in any shape to talk.”

       Sadly, the teen’s mother was a methamphetamine addict—all the more reason to make sure Cruz stayed away from gangs and earned his GED. “Promise you’ll attend class on Monday.”

       “Yeah, okay.”

       “Cruz,” Maria called after him.

       “What?”

       “Be a man of your word.”

       After Cruz entered the house Maria spoke to Victor and Alonso. “I want you guys to keep your distance from the Los Locos. And both of you had better be ready to take that quiz on Monday.”

       The boys didn’t register a protest as Maria drove them home—two blocks from Cruz’s house.

       “Thanks for the ride,” Alonso said when he got out of the car.

       “See ya.” Victor followed Alonso into his house.

       Maria left the Five Points and made her way toward the river. She drove across Bridge Boulevard then turned on Eight Street. “The Hyatt Regency is on the other side of the Rio Grande.”

       “Do you do this all the time?” Riley asked.

       “Do what?”