Coming November 4 - The Cowboy's Prayer

 

Sandwiched between the time change and the election, The Cowboy's Prayer will take the reader to Oklahoma and the life of saddle bronc champion Lamont Fortune.

 

 

I have three releases in the remainder of 2024.The Cowboy’s Prayer (World Castle Publishing) releases on November 4. Check out the blurb, cover, and first chapter here! It’s currently available for eBook preorder and will also release in both paperback and hardback!

 

 

Oklahoma saddle bronc champion Lamont Fortune lives a lonely life. He has a family he doesn’t see very often, and although he was once a man of faith, his has faded. He’s late getting out on the circuit this year, but before he can put his spurs on for the season, his life changes when he takes in a neighbor’s stepson after a fatal overdose. When the boy’s aunt arrives from New York City, it’s complicated. Matilda Mannheim and Lamont bristle, but when they learn Shayne can’t leave the state, Lamont is the only option. Lamont nicknames her ‘Tilly,’ and both realize they misjudged the other. With many challenges looming, Tilly has the faith he lacks. As he takes tentative steps toward God, he resists prayer until everything changes. His chance to build a life with Shayne and Tilly depends on whether he can make the right choices and, most of all if he can manage a prayer.

 

                                                     Chapter One

 

 

First time he ever laid eyes on the kid, Lamont wasn't impressed. Scrawny as a scarecrow, the kid needed a haircut like last month. His eyes were too big for his thin face, and his clothes hung large on his skinny body. Teddy Anderson came to his place on Saturday to look at the old Ford Ranger pickup Lamont had listed for sale and brought the boy. Anderson, his loud-mouthed neighbor from down the road, reeked of beer and weed. He talked too much and twitched like he might need a fix. Tweaker. Had to be, and Lamont loathed illegal drugs of any type. As much as Teddy came on like a spring tornado, fast, furious, and out of control, the boy kept his distance. He said little, but Lamont would bet he watched everything and didn't miss anything.

            The compact blue Ranger sat behind the main barn, weathered and worn. The paint job had taken a beating in a hail storm a decade earlier but despite having over 200,000 miles, it still ran well.

            "I don't know," Teddy Anderson hedged as he walked around the old truck. "Looks awfully rough to me. How old is it?"

            "It's an '85," Lamont replied with a sigh. "It's got a lot of miles, but it's still sound. Looks don't turn the wheels."

            "I think you're asking too much."

            Lamont squinted against the sun dropping low on the western horizon. He'd set the price below what the vehicle could bring despite an affection for the old truck. It had survived a tornado that took everything else on the place. "You don't have to buy it."

            He doubted Anderson, a roofer who worked when the sun shone or, if he had the inclination, had the money in his pocket.

            "I could use a truck, though. Would you consider payments?"

            If Lamont did, he knew it was likely he would never get more than the first. Anderson was notorious for not paying what he owed. Lamont could remember when his neighbor competed in local or regional rodeos. On the circuit, Teddy borrowed often and seldom repaid, earning a poor reputation. Recent gossip that Lamont picked up from another neighbor indicated Anderson owed more than one drug dealer – but was unable to pay.

            "Can't do it," Lamont replied. Right now, he wanted the man off his property and out of sight. The way Teddy jerked and trembled made Lamont's nerves jangle.

            His neighbor's face twisted into a grimace. "Can't you give a fellow cowboy a break?"

            Lamont Fortune rode saddle broncs for the last few years and bulls before that. Anderson used to ride bulls but hadn't in several years. Lamont recalled him from a long time ago but hadn't seen him compete for the last couple of seasons. Anderson sometimes showed up at rodeos to watch, envious as a hound eyeing a man devour a good steak. Lamont didn't remember ever seeing the boy, but maybe he hadn't paid close attention.

            "No." Lamont's daddy had taught him no explanations or excuses were needed to refuse. "If you come up with the money, though, and it's still here, I'll sell to you."

            Anderson mumbled and turned to go. When the kid hesitated, he whirled around. "Let's go. There's nothing for us here, so get moving."

            "I don't wanna walk," the boy said. "My feet hurt."

            Lamont glanced down and winced. The boy wore ragged tennis shoes, the kind bought at a dollar store that usually came apart in a month. Both toes were scuffed and one was worn through enough he could see a dirty sock. Holes dotted the sides of both shoes.

            "You'll be all right," Anderson said. "Kid never stops whining."

            "Your son?" Lamont asked, curious.

            "Not mine, no. Stepson. I got stuck with him when his mom managed to get herself killed in a car wreck. C'mon, Shayne, let's make tracks."

            That news wrenched Lamont's heart, strange when he could care less about most things. His former fiancée had ended their relationship before the planned wedding. Her parting shot had been that he had a cold, cold heart like in the old Hank Williams song. Maybe so because he'd shrugged and gone on with his life without Remy.

            The boy gazed up at Lamont with brilliant blue eyes. He didn't resemble Anderson in the least. I should have known they weren't related. It also explained why he hadn't seen the boy until now, although he'd never known Anderson had a wife.  "Mister, would you give us a ride back home? It's hot."

            Teddy Anderson smacked the kid across the face. "Don't start begging. Ol' Lamont here ain't going to do anything to help, not when he won't let us have the truck."

            Fury exploded through Lamont. He ached to punch his neighbor in the nose. "Don't hit the kid again, or I'll punch you. I'll drive you home. Just because I won't hand over the old truck for nothing doesn't mean I'm cruel."

            Shayne rode in the middle when they climbed into Lamont's old Chevy truck.

            "I'm Shayne Sawyer," the boy told him and extended his right hand. Lamont shook it.

            "Lamont Fortune, and yep, that's my real name." People usually asked, so he got that out of the way first thing.

            "Cool!" Shayne grinned for the first time. When he did, it lightened his face and made Lamont realize this was one good-looking kid. "Does that mean you're a lucky guy?"

            "Maybe sometimes." Lamont didn't feel fortunate. He'd lost both his parents in a plane crash, the old family farmhouse had been destroyed by a tornado while he was on the rodeo circuit three years ago, and his fiancée bailed on him. That last, though, was a good thing because he doubted they would have made it as a married couple. He'd replaced the house with a brand-new home, nice, but so far it never had really felt like home.

            The Anderson house was a mile down the road from his place. Until Lamon turned into the drive, he hadn't remembered how dilapidated it had become. The wood had weathered gray, and he saw at least one broken window patched with cardboard. He wouldn't want to set foot on the porch because the boards sagged, and the roof did, too. A strong wind or heavy snowfall might bring it down. A variety of junk littered the yard, everything from discarded aluminum cans and plastic jugs to a rusted washing machine and a motorcycle without wheels. A battered vehicle sat near the front door, and Lamont guessed it was the usual ride.

            "Car's not running. Needs a battery." Teddy Anderson climbed out of the truck. "Thanks, Lamont."

            "No problem. Let me know if you decide to buy the Ranger."

            Teddy responded with a bitter laugh. "That's about as likely as pigs flying, but sure, I will. Get out of the truck, Shayne."

            Shayne hadn't moved from the cab. With his head bent, Lamont wondered if he had been praying. The boy scooted across the seat to exit from the driver's side and when he did, he slipped a folded piece of notebook paper to him. "Thanks for the ride."

            "You're welcome."

            The folded square fit into his hand, and Lamont kept it concealed. He didn't open it until he'd parked the trunk under a big oak tree at home.

            "Mister, please call my aunt Matilda Mannheim. She lives in New York City."

            Lamont read the childish printing twice, then sighed. The cryptic note disturbed him.  If he had to live with Teddy Anderson, he would want to escape, too. He wondered about the boy's mother and tried to imagine what kind of woman would have married Anderson. He crumpled the note, then paused. Maybe the boy needed a rescue, and this aunt was someone who would deliver him from Anderson's clutches. But she might also be another tweaker. Lamont decided he'd ponder it before deciding. He had too much to do to worry about it.

            He was already late heading out on the circuit. Although it was just April, he should have been gone by mid-March, but a late winter bout of flu had laid him low. Lamont planned to leave within two weeks. He always came home when he could, but he'd be on the road most of the season, driving from one rodeo to another.

            The kid haunted him, though. Lamont couldn't forget the way Anderson had smacked the boy or spoken to him with distracted cruelty. By now, if he'd found any money, Anderson was probably high. He considered calling the authorities to report possible child abuse, but that wasn't his way. He preferred to handle things himself. After two days, Lamont plucked the note from his dresser. It appeared to have been written sometime back. The folded creases were deep. The kid must have carried it around until he found someone to hand it to. With a deep sigh, Lamont set out to locate Matilda Mannheim. It took less than a half hour with his computer to track her down. Mannheim wasn't a common surname.

            Matilda Mannheim lived in midtown Manhattan. He'd figured she would have some highfalutin career, a model or a fashion photographer or a up and coming actress. Instead, her name was associated with a bakery where she made specialty cakes.

            Allowing for the time difference, he made the call after evening chores. Lamont sat down in his favorite overstuffed armchair and propped his feet on the hassock. He took a long, deep breath and dialed the number he located, hoping he would make a connection and even more than the woman would care about her nephew.

            "Hello."

            Lamont had expected some fancy New York accent, not a sweet tone that sounded like pure Texas. "Is this Matilda Mannheim?"

            After a pause, she said, "Yes, it is. Who's calling, please?"

            "My name is Lamont Fortune, and your nephew asked me to give you a call."

            She gasped. "Shayne? You know where Shayne is? Oh, thank God. Is he all right? Where is he?"

            The series of questions caught him by surprise. "Whoa, now, lady. Give me a second. One question at a time. He lives down the road from me with his stepfather, I guess. He's pretty skinny but as far as I could tell, he's okay. I guess this confirms you are his aunt."

            "I've been trying to find him since my sister died." Her voice broke as she spoke and Lamont realized she wept. "Where do you live? Is he still in Texas?"

            Flustered, Lamont babbled. "Ma'am, I live in Oklahoma. The closest town of any size is Claremore. Teddy Anderson's been my neighbor for a few years but I didn't know he had a stepson until they came over to look at a truck I have for sale. I don't really have any answers for you beyond that. The kid handed me a note that asked if I could call his aunt. He gave me your name, but I had to figure out the number myself."

            "I'm glad that you did. I'm coming out there as soon as I can book a flight. Can I fly to what was it, Claremore?"

            Lamont hated flying. He didn't like it, and since his parents died in a plane crash, he didn't plan to ever take a flight again.

"No, you'll have to fly into Tulsa," he told her. "Tulsa International Airport."

            First, he heard a pen scribbling on paper, then the click of computer keys.

            "Got it. Tulsa. I'm booking a flight for tomorrow. I'll rent a car and come find Shayne."

            Matilda might be from Texas but she didn't sound like a country girl. "Miss Mannheim, I don't live in Claremore. My place is out in the boondocks, and your nephew lives down the road. I don't think you'll be able to find it without getting lost."

            "I can use GPS."

            Lamont laughed. "Around here, GPS will take you on a wild goose chase about half the time. How about I come pick you up at the airport?"

            When she huffed into the phone, Lamont rolled his eyes and wanted to throw up his hands. She's gonna be difficult.

            "I'll rent a car so I can get around without relying on you or anyone else."

            "Then pick up one in Claremore. You're not familiar."

            "And you are?"

            Lamont closed his eyes and counted to five so he could avoid smashing something or throwing the phone at the wall. "I've lived here all my life, so, yeah, I am. Text me what time your flight will arrive, and I'll be there."

            Matilda said nothing for a few seconds, and when she did, her voice had an edge that could cut a good steak. "I've booked it online. My flight arrives in Tulsa at 9:38 p.m. tomorrow night."

            "Then I'll be there."

            He ended the call with a sigh. The last thing Lamont wanted to do was face Tulsa traffic or navigate the airport, but he would do it.  Since he hadn't eaten supper yet, Lamont made a thick bologna and cheese sandwich with a handful of chips. He parked at the table to eat, but he hadn't taken more than three bites when someone beat on his door.

            "Mister, are you there?" a young voice shrilled. It was the boy, Shayne Sawyer.

            Muttering, Lamont opened the front door. "You got good timing, kid. I just talked to your aunt, and she's coming out here."

            Gasping as if he'd run from his home here, Shayne shook his head. "It's not that. It's, it's…."

            Shayne choked on a sob. Lamont realized not only was the boy's face brick red, but he'd been crying. His guts tensed as he realized something must be wrong. "What's the matter?"

            If Anderson had beat the child, Lamont would have it out with the man.

            "It's Ted…Ted…Teddy," Shayne cried.

            "Did he hurt you?"

            The boy shook his head fast and furious. "I think he's dead, Mister Fortune."

            It took a moment for it to sink it. "Dead? Teddy Anderson's dead?"

            "I'm pretty sure," the kid stammered. Still wheezing, Lamont thought he appeared to be on the edge of collapse or a meltdown.

            "Come inside, and you can tell me what happened." Why did this have to happen to him? Lamont liked minding his own business and keeping out of trouble. It appeared he wouldn't be able to do either.

            In the living room, Shayne stopped and stared, then parked himself on the loveseat. Lamont sat upright in his armchair.

"Are you all right?" he asked, realizing he should ask.

            "I guess. Yeah, maybe."

            "Do you want a soda pop or a sandwich?" Lamont had lost his appetite, but maybe the boy needed something.

            "I don't think so, thank you."

            "Tell me what happened."

            The story was short and terrible. Not surprisingly, Anderson had been high on meth.

"Sometimes he smoked it, sometimes he used a needle," Shayne said. "It seemed like it took more and more of it to get him high. He'd shot up several times, and I'm pretty sure he'd taken some fentanyl, too. He fell over on the floor."

When his stepfather collapsed, Shayne figured he had passed out, which wasn't uncommon. But this time, he made some gurgling sounds, then went quiet. "I thought he'd gone to sleep," Shayne told Lamont. He twisted his hands together as he spoke. "He usually left me alone when he got high, and when he was sleeping it off so I didn't bother him. But that was last night, and he ain't woke up yet. His lips are a funny color, and he's stiff. He kinda smells weird, too."

            If he were still a praying man, Lamont would have been on his knees. Instead, he reached for the phone and called the county sheriff's department. He told them what Shayne had told him and promised to meet them at the Anderson place.

            He didn't think the kid should go, but he had no place to leave him, and besides, the deputies would want to talk to him.

            Lamont pulled his boots back on and wished he was a drinking man. Right now, he could use a beer to mellow his nerves, but he'd given all that up a long time ago. "C'mon, kid, we gotta go over there."

            "Are you gonna make me stay there, even if he ain't dead?" The question came in a harsh whisper.

            Lamont made a swift decision, one he would keep. "No, you're not going back once we get done with the Sheriff. Until your aunt comes, you can stay here."

            He just hoped he could make it happen.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DHMGDNTB