Roughneck Cowboy by Marin Thomas Page B

one taking orders. He hadn’t a clue how his father’s employees would react to him, but he planned to earn their respect the old-fashioned way—by rolling up his sleeves and jumping in to help when needed.
    â€œAre you excited about going to a new school?” he asked, changing the subject.
    â€œNo.” Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “The kids are gonna be mean.”
    That she was more concerned with her classmates than leaving behind a best friend in Houston proved his daughter had sacrificed a lot while her grandmother had battled cancer. When his mother had become house bound, Charlie’s friends had fallen by the wayside. Hopefully a new school would provide her with a fresh start in the friendship department.
    â€œFigure out who the nice kids are and hang around them,” he said.
    â€œThey’re gonna make fun of my name.”
    â€œGo by Charlotte, if you want.”
    She ignored his suggestion and asked, “What’s gonna happen to all my toys and books and—”
    â€œAfter you’re settled in school today, I’m heading to Houston to pack our things.”
    â€œWho’s gonna take care of me when you go to the rigs?”
    â€œYour grandfather or Juanita.” Charlie had met the housekeeper when the older woman had stopped at the ranch to say goodbye to Travis’s siblings and their families.
    â€œWho’s gonna take me to school?”
    â€œDominick said the school bus will pick you up at the end of his driveway.”
    Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “I gotta walk all that way to the bus?”
    â€œIf I’m not around, then Juanita or Grandpa will drive you in the car and wait with you until the bus arrives.”
    Right now Travis wished for the old Charlie back—the one who pouted and refused to speak. He could use a break from all the questions. The truck zipped past Beulah’s pink Victorian and a mile later he noticed the sign for Tulapoint. He eased his foot off the accelerator and dropped the truck’s speed to twenty-five miles per hour.
    Downtown Tulapoint consisted of a handful of weathered brick and clapboard businesses. Mama’s Café advertised a ninety-nine-cent breakfast burrito and an all-you-can-eat BBQ buffet on Mondays. An old two-story home had been converted into a business called Tina’s Trinkets & Tea House. A white travel trailer with a giant blue snow cone on the roof sat in the parking lot of Gunderson’s Drugstore. Closed for the Season had been spray-painted across the boarded up windows. Bank of Oklahoma and Kendall Hardware & Tack occupied one city block. Across from the bank a neon Michelob sign advertised Casey’s Bar & Grill.Travis slowed the truck to a crawl as he drove through a school zone.
    â€œThis place sucks.”
    â€œI thought Grandma told you not to say that word,” Travis scolded.
    â€œGrandma’s not here anymore.” Charlie’s lower lip wobbled and Travis cursed his insensitivity.
    His mother’s death didn’t feel real. He’d hardly mourned for her before he’d discovered the diary and all hell had broken loose. Charlie was too young to wonder why they’d never had any contact with the rest of their family, but it was only a matter of time before she asked. He hoped by then he’d have the answers.
    â€œThere’s the school.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œUp ahead.” The one-story brick building appeared well maintained. As he pulled into the parking lot, he noticed a handful of older homes behind the elementary school. Railroad tracks ran parallel to the houses and a rusty grain elevator sat empty at the abandoned station.
    â€œIt’s puny,” Charlie said.
    His daughter’s school in Houston housed pre-K through fifth grades with four classes in each grade. This school would be lucky to have one class for each grade. “Small can be a good thing.
    â€œThe playground’s