Humbling Her Cowboy (Miller Brothers 0f Texas Book 1) Page 3

A knock sounded on his door. He looked up to see Salvatore, his second-to-youngest brother who had somehow outgrown all of them. While it was pretty clear that Solomon had inherited the business savvy, Sal had inherited all of the brawn. Standing at six foot five, he was tall even for a Miller, and his biceps were about as big as his head. While Solomon liked working out—it was the one area where he felt like he could properly vent stress—his brother practically lived in the gym sometimes.

  Then again, Solomon supposed that came with the territory of having four older brothers. There wasn’t exactly a ton of responsibility laying around for Sal, even though he was always clearly chomping at the bit, hoping to be helpful, to grab onto some sort of accomplishment and recognition. He wasn’t like Simon, the youngest of their brood, who was off at college and had already realized that there wasn’t much around for the baby of the family to do.

  Solomon might have felt bad for his little brother if he wasn’t ready to pull his hair out most of the time at growing the McLintoc Miller empire.

  “What’s going on in here? I was just down in the kitchens with Mrs. Hernandez, and she says that you haven’t asked for lunch in days. You forgetting to eat again?”

  Oh… had he eaten? He couldn’t remember. It didn’t seem important. Between the negotiations, dealing with a charity banquet that was courting his Dad as a primary speaker, Samuel leaving, and the girl, he felt like his brain was running on empty.

  “I’ll eat soon. I’ve just been busy.”

  “Yeah, I can tell as much. Your desk always gets messy when you’re in the weeds.”

  “…in the weeds?”

  “It’s something Mrs. Hernandez taught me from her daughter. You know she’s working two waitressing jobs while going to college full time? Mrs. Hernandez is helping her as best she can, but you know, being our housekeeper only pays so much.”

  “We pay well above the minimum average for the city,” Solomon said, only half-listening. Mrs. Hernandez had been a staple in their house since he was fifteen. She was part of their staff of ten and her duties usually involved food and recreation. She was nice, professional and polite, which was all that really mattered to Solomon.

  “I just think it’s kind of weird, isn’t it? She and her daughter are busting their butts when we could just like… probably cover her entire education without even blinking an eye. Literal chump change to us. But we don’t. You ever think about that?”

  Solomon finally really looked at his twenty-two-year-old brother. “If we pay for her college education, then we’d have to pay for all of our employees.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded, rubbing his chin. “You know, I don’t pay attention to a lot of the money stuff, but would that even be unaffordable for us?”

  Solomon didn’t know where all of his questions were coming from. “What’s going on? You suddenly guilty about how hard our family has worked?”

  “Nah,” he shrugged easily. “Just sometimes I think of these questions and I can’t answer them. Like, if folks are poor, they should just work harder. But Mrs. Hernandez and her daughter work as hard as anyone I know, but they always seem so broke. And you know I can’t ask Dad any of this stuff.”

  No, no he most certainly couldn’t. Anyone who dared suggest that maybe they could be a little more generous, might pay a “living wage” or stop trying to find the most cost-saving insurance benefits would be met with an hour or two rant about people expecting handouts, relying on welfare, and needing to pull themselves up by their bootstraps.

  Solomon had used to agree with his dad wholeheartedly. But since he had learned more about economics, and budgeting, and how money worked in general, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

  Much of how their system was built involved keeping the poor, poor and the wealthy, wealthy. Maximizing profits and valuing money above human life. It was all sticky and messy and always made for a sleepless night.

  “Anyway, what’s going on? You seem a little rattled.”

  Solomon thought about brushing him off. But considering that his brother was always looking for a way to help, maybe there was a way to get himself settled and also give Sal something to do.

  “Honestly, I’ve got this… vandal on my mind. They tagged that megachurch we sponsored the refurbishment of and some other places too.” He didn’t know why he didn’t mention that she was a female right off the bat. Maybe because he didn’t want his brother to assume things. Maybe he was embarrassed by being outrun by a young woman. “I think I might have found where they and their gang are all meeting up to coordinate things, but I’m not sure.”

  “Huh, really? That actually sounds interesting for once. I thought you mostly dealt with all that egghead stuff up here.”

  “Egghead stuff?”

  “Yeah, you know. Percentages, taxes and property values. Business ventures. Politics. All of that not-fun stuff.”

  “You know, life isn’t meant to be fun all the time.”

  “I know. I sit through our occasional family dinners just like the rest of you.”

  That startled a laugh from Solomon, and he found his mind quickly making itself up. “What do you say? Want to help your egghead brother try to confront these vandals? See if we can find them in the park?”

  “You realize there’s almost no chance of you catching them there, right?”

  “I know. But I’ve got a hunch.”

  Sal shrugged, flashing one of his easy smiles. “Why not? You know I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Grinning himself, Solomon stood and grabbed his jacket. “All right then, let’s go.”

  5

  Frenchie

  On her sketchpad, she drew the water of the artificial pond and all the animals surrounding it, deep into the zone as her hand moved across the paper. She shaded in with charcoal, her moldable eraser in her other hand, turning it over with her fingers.

  Frenchie was well aware that some people would look dubiously at her owning art supplies when she was so hard up, but they were people who didn’t really understand what it was like to be broke. They didn’t get that, occasionally, she would get a nice present for her birthday or Christmas from a charity or a friend who wasn’t strapped for cash. They didn’t get that lost and founds were often a treasure trove for colored pencils and pens. They didn’t understand that sometimes, spending the last three dollars on a good charcoal was worth all the free therapy she would get from it.

  Because that was what creation really was. A sort of therapy. She always found it calming to sketch water and nature scenes. Soothing, making her feel connected to the world instead of adjacent to it. It was a balm to her anxiety, which sometimes felt so all-consuming that her mind was going to turn itself inside out.

  Appreciating the beauty of the world, all the wonderful, warm and happy things in it was the only medicine she could really afford, and she certainly wasn’t going to take it for granted. Her plight could be a lot worse. She could be blind, deaf, unable to walk. So she would celebrate what she had, even if it made some folks give her the side eye.

  She munched on the last of her bagels as she listened to her MP3 player, her head bopping along. She was actually having a pretty good day. Her belly was full of a hot meal she’d scored earlier plus her bagel snack, and she had a gig lined up for the weekend. It wasn’t going to pay a ton, but seventy dollars could go a long way for her. Especially if she drew it out with some soup kitchen meals and the like.

  It was nice. She had almost forgotten what nice felt like. If things kept going good, she might have enough money to settle herself, make it so that she didn’t have to hop around all the time, accepting whatever odd jobs she could get here and there.

  Humming to herself, she had no idea how long she stayed there until she eventually went to grab her always-present thermos, only to find that it was empty.

  Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

  Packing up her stuff to make sure that no one stole it, she put her backpack on and headed to the water fountain that was just a bit
away. It was one of the good ones, with a special spot for refilling water bottles and a little ticker that said how many plastic containers it had saved people from throwing away. The water would be pretty tasty, unlike some of the tin-tasting older ones.

  It was a quick process, and yet while she was standing there, she swore that she felt eyes on her. It was a disquieting feeling, and one that she had long since learned not to ignore.

  Looking up, she let her gaze scope the horizon, looking for any threat. That was when she spotted him, and her blood ran cold.

  It was the man that had chased her for blocks from the church, ruining her tag and stealing her hoody. It was the reason she had been so cold of late and expended so much energy on finding a nice coat.

  Horror filled her, the kind of all-consuming, blood rushing, stomach curdling fear, and the next thing she knew, she was running for her life.

  Why was the man there again? And how did he know that she would be in the park? It was nowhere near the megachurch, and it wasn’t like those upper echelon folks would ever visit such a low-income part of the city anyway, one that was reliant on charity and public funding.

  Did he want to hurt her? He had to, why else would he have tracked her down? She had barely gotten away when he had chased her, and she had felt how strong he was when he grabbed her hoody. If he wanted to, he could hurt her pretty badly. Maybe even kill her. Frenchie had seen what happened to her friends when someone who had violence in mind got a hold of them. She didn’t want to end up like that. She was only twenty-three, she didn’t want to end at all!

  She went for one of the playgrounds, one of the easiest ways to dodge and hide. While the man was faster and no doubt stronger than her, his weight would work to his disadvantage. He wouldn’t be able to dodge, dive, and juke like she could with a full range of equipment at her disposal.

  She rushed there, shooting between a thicket of bushes that separated one of the calm areas where the older folks liked to sit from the louder, children’s areas. She popped up quickly, looking over her shoulder to see that it looked like she had lost him for at least a few seconds.

  Perfect. It would be just enough to give her a head start. Maybe she could—

  Her thoughts cut off as she slammed right into what felt like a wall. She bounced backward, wondering when they had constructed a wall without her knowing, only to look up and see an absolute giant of a man.

  She stared up at him, her terror intensifying that much further. She didn’t know if she ever saw someone so big, and suddenly she was absolutely sure that she was about to be murdered.

  No, no, no. It couldn’t happen like this. She scuttled backward, on her butt, when she heard someone emerge from the bushes behind her.

  She was trapped. Pinned between the two. A giant and a chaser, both of them too big for her. Would anyone miss her if she was gone? Her friends wouldn’t report her missing to the police. They knew better than to waste their time with that. The cops didn’t care if someone like her was gone. They’d probably blame her or say that she was just another junkie that got too high.

  Scrambling for her pack, she thrust her hand in the front pouch, where she kept her defense items. Fingers wrapping around a smooth cylinder, she yanked it out and aimed it at the man in front of her, fighting to her feet.

  She managed to backpedal enough so that they were in a sort of triangle, a can of wasp-spray in her hand. It wasn’t pepper spray, but it would sting and blind just as badly without getting her jailtime.

  “Stay away from me!” she cried, pitching her voice higher. “I’ll scream!”

  No, she wouldn’t. She wasn’t stupid enough not to know what would happen if people stumbled across someone who looked like her in a tussle with two well-dressed men who had political connections, judging by the church one of them had chased her from.

  They slowed at that, both holding their hands up. That was good. They needed to understand that she would put up a fight. She wouldn’t come quietly. She would kick and struggle. She would make them hurt.

  “Whoa, calm down there,” the giant one said, his tone more than a bit patronizing. It was hard not to flinch as he spoke. The man had to be over six and a half feet, and his arms were nearly the size of her waist. He could probably rip her in two if he wanted.

  “Calm down?” she repeated incredulously, aiming the can first at one of them, then the other. Her movements were jerky, panicked. Adrenaline was pumping through her something fierce, and she was nearly dizzy from it. “Why should I calm down when you’re following me? Why are you following me!?”

  The two of them exchanged looks like they had no idea why she was so frightened. How could they not know? They had no right to look so mystified.

  “You defaced my family’s property,” the one who had chased her first said slowly, as if he was just coming up with the reasoning that moment.

  “Your… family?” That brought up a slew of questions inside of her head. If his family somehow owned a megachurch… she shuddered. If they had that kind of money and power, she didn’t want to think about what they could get away with. She’d heard far too many horror stories about folks like her ending up at the bottom of rivers or landfills.

  “Yes. We partially own the church and a few other properties you’ve tagged.”

  Wait… a few other properties?

  Despite how fast her mind was moving, it took her several seconds to put the pieces together. She was always specific in the places she targeted, going for ones owned by the elite of the elite. If she remembered right, the last handful had been owned by a disgustingly rich family that had a sort of mega-ranch outside of the very city that they profited from.

  Oh.

  Oh no.

  Admittedly, Frenchie had gotten herself into bad situations plenty of times, but she began to wonder if she had just gotten herself into the worst one she’d ever been in.

  “W-what do you want?” She hated how her voice trembled. She was strong, she liked being known as strong, but she couldn’t help how rattled she was in the moment.

  Yeah, she knew technically defacing public property was wrong, but wasn’t abusing the poor and hoarding wealth like dragons wrong too? Sometimes she burned with so much anger at how things worked that painting those scenes felt like the only way she was heard. Kind of like Robin Hood, but less useful.

  “Are you going to take me to jail?” she continued. While the warmth and the three solid meals were tempting, she didn’t want to end up there. She knew she wouldn’t last; that it would chew her up and spit her out, and that a criminal record would make her ever getting back on the straight and narrow that much more difficult.

  “What? Jail?” He seemed confused, which made no sense to her. “No.” He licked his lips, and he might have been handsome, but she was still too scared to really take inventory of it. “I just… I just wanted to confront you.”

  That couldn’t be true. Surely… surely that was too easy. He didn’t track her down and chase her just to talk it out? That wasn’t how the world worked. She was sure of it.

  “Well consider me confronted. Well and truly. Can I go now?”

  “I want you to promise you won’t tag any more places.”

  That… that couldn’t be it. “Sure,” she snorted. Whatever he wanted to hear. She’d promise to walk on the moon if it meant she could get away.

  His eyes flitted to the taller one uncertainly, and the motion made her want to throttle him. How dare he chase her down and then not even know what to do! She knew she was benefiting from it, but it certainly made her head and stomach twist around themselves.

  But instead of arguing with her, or saying that “sure” wasn’t enough, he stepped to the side to let her go.

  Huh.

  That was not what she expected.

  Still suspecting that there was a trap, she carefully moved past them. She was so tense she swore she might just burst then and there, but she managed to make it several steps away.

  She didn’t kno
w what emboldened her when she felt so terrified, but the next thing she knew, she was turning slightly to look back at them.

  “Hey, do you have the hoody you stole from me? Because it’s cold.”

  That seemed to baffle him even more, and she was getting tired of that look on his face.

  “You don’t have another one to use?”

  She rolled her eyes at that. Of course, he didn’t understand. Her hoody, with its wonderful fleece lining, was probably in a trashcan somewhere. Oh well. She supposed she should be grateful that he wasn’t trying to citizen arrest her and just get the hell out of dodge.

  She trotted off, murmuring to herself how rich people were the worst.

  6

  Solomon

  “I’m just saying, you didn’t even try to threaten the girl with any repercussions. Seems like an awful long drive to not even bring up consequences for vandalism.”

  Solomon pulled himself from his thoughts but kept his eyes on the road as his younger brother spoke. Neither of them had said much of anything since their encounter, even though he could tell that Sal was bristling from the effort.

  It wasn’t that Solomon had intended for things to work out the way they had, but when they had finally managed to get the girl between them, her reaction of utter terror had knocked him sideways.

  Sure, he expected her to be upset—as criminals always were when they were caught. He expected her to be mad. Angry. Violent. But none of that had been on her face when she’d held up that spray can and squeaked at them to stop.

  No, it had been fear there. Raw terror. The kind of utterly panicked look that people in horror movies wore when they were being chased down by a killer. In fact, her whole body seemed like it was locked in a state of fear, her hand shaking, her chest rising and falling rapidly while her voice was trembling.

  It was nothing like the defiant girl who had flipped him off in the dark, and her reaction had given him pause. Made him stop for a moment and imagine what things were like through her eyes.