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“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.
“Who gave you guys a ride out here?”
“A trucker dropped us off at the exit ramp on the interstate. We hiked the rest of the way,” Victor said.
The passenger door opened and the cowboy tossed a duffel onto the front seat. “Sorry,” he said.
“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.”
