tipped in some faux silver metal, and the fancystitched tops disappeared beneath the flared legs of his tan stretch jeans.
His neck was thick, and so were his lips, which were partly hidden by a waxed handlebar mustache. His bulbous, red-veined nose looked as if it had been broken a time or two. The fat of his cheeks almost hid his eyes when he smiled, which he was doing at the moment…maliciously.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here,” he said, reaching for a glass of whiskey sitting on the Spanish-style end table at his side.
Ada whirled, the turning fork in her hand. When she caught sight of Rio, the haggard look on her face became one of apprehension. “Mr. Langley!”
“Ada,” Rio acknowledged with a nod.
“What can we do for you?” she asked.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. Farmer, if I might.” Rio paused and added, “Alone.”
Ada’s anxious gaze darted to Bull, who scratched lazily at his stomach.
“Whatever you got to say, you can say in front of my wife.”
Rio’s smile was as taut as the emotions in the room. “I like that even better. That way there won’t be any misunderstandings later.”
Bull’s pelletlike eyes narrowed.
Rio shifted his weight to one leg and slapped his hat against his thigh in a slow, mesmerizing movement. “I’m not going to say this but once, so I’ll try to make myself clear.”
“By all means,” Bull said, waving his beefy arm in a magnanimous display of false cordiality.
“I know what’s going on here with Ada and Rick and probably the girls. It’s gonna stop, Bull,” Rio said in a gentle, almost weary voice. “And it’s gonna stop right now.”
Bull thrust his chin out to a pugnacious angle. “I don’t know what you think it is that I do to my family,” he said. “And I don’t really care. Now get the hell out of my house, before I call the law.”
Rio swept his hat toward the phone that hung on the far wall. “Don’t let my bein’ here stop you. I’d love the sheriff to get a gander of the boy’s back.”
Bull shot a murderous look at Rick, who stumbled backward as if he’d received a physical blow. Rio’s heart throbbed like the ache of a sore tooth.
“What you been doin’, boy? Spillin’ your guts?” Bull yelled, the veins in his neck standing out.
“No, sir,” Rick answered. “I didn’t say a thing.”
“He didn’t have to tell me,” Rio said, going to stand directly in front of the man. “It’s common knowledge that you beat your family, Bull. My wife has seen the evidence plenty of times.”
Bull’s face turned livid. He gripped the arms of the chair to heave himself up.
Rio placed his hand squarely in Bull’s chest. “Sit down, shut up and listen,” he commanded, giving a mighty shove.
Ada gave a little cry of surprise as her husband toppled back into the chair, knocking over his glass of liquor in the process. “You’re way outta line, Injun,” Bull blustered, pointing a sausagelike finger at Rio. “How I discipline my family is none of your business—or your snotty wife’s.”
For a man his size, Rio could move exceptionally fast. Before anyone realized what he was doing, his hat was on the floor. The fingers of his right hand closed around Bull’s thick throat in a grip that had grown strong from years of clenching the leather rigging on bulls and broncs, a grip that had been all that had stood between a broke and desperate cowboy and the hard, unforgiving ground of a rodeo arena and the final indignity of failure.
Bull gagged and glared up at Rio with so much malice he could feel the hate emanating upward in invisible waves.
Thrusting his face close to Bull’s, he said, “Don’t ever call my wife a name again, you sorry excuse for a human being. As a matter of fact, don’t call her anything except Mrs. Langley, ma’am, and then only if you’re spoken to.”
Rio released his hold on Bull and bent to pick up his hat. When he straightened, Bull’s glare was still fixed unwaveringly on him, while he massaged his throat with a hand that trembled the slightest bit. Rio combed his fingers through his dark hair and settled his Stetson on his head.
“I’ve got an even better idea,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “If you happen to be home when she stops by, why don’t you just make it a point to disappear? You’re not fit to breathe the same air she does. Is that clear enough?”
“You’re gonna be sorry you did this, breed,” Bull croaked through aching vocal cords.
“Yeah, well, we all do things we’re sorry for, and we all make mistakes, Bull,” Rio said, heading for the door. “But if I were you, I’d be real careful about making any more. I think your luck just ran out.”
He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon,” he said to Rick. “Same time.”
Nodding, Rick followed Rio out the door, a combination of awe, admiration and fear in his eyes.
“You step a foot on this place again, and I’ll kill you,” Bull screamed after him. “I may kill you, anyway.” The sound of the whiskey bottle shattering against the door punctuated the threat.
Rio hardly heard. A final rush of adrenaline carried him to his truck. He felt better getting that off his chest. He just hoped he hadn’t made things worse for Rick and Ada.
“You better not come tomorrow,” Rick said as Rio climbed into the truck’s cab.
Rio paused, his hand on the door handle. “You don’t want to work for me anymore?”
“I do!” Rick said. He shook his head. “You don’t know him. He gets crazy out of his mind when he gets really drunk. Does all kinds of terrible things. Then when he sobers up, he doesn’t remember half of it.”
“What are you trying to say, Rick?”
“I’ll meet you in front of the mailbox on the highway. If you come here, he’ll be primed and ready for you, and there’s no use asking for trouble.”
Rio nodded. “Will you and your mom be all right, or did I just buy you another beating?”
“You rattled his cage pretty good,” Rick said. “He doesn’t know what you’ll really do.” He shrugged. “I imagine he’ll just drink and worry on it awhile. We’ll be fine.”
Rio nodded. “If you need me, you know where I am.”
During the ride home, Rio’s thoughts were filled with his confrontation with Bull Farmer. He prayed he hadn’t made things worse for Rick, but if ever a kid needed some guidance and someone to stand up for
