Read Leroy Watches Jr. & the Badass Bull (Bloodsong Series) Online
Authors: Sandy Nathan
Leroy Watches Jr. & the Badass Bull (Bloodsong Series)
LEROY WATCHES JR.
& THE BADASS BULL
THE BLOODSONG SERIES
Sandy Nathan
SANTA YNEZ, CA 93460
Copyright © 2014 by Sandy Nathan
Vilasa Press
A Division of Vilasa Properties LLC
Santa Ynez, CA 93460
www.sandynathan.com
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, governmental agencies, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Publisher’s note: The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or
via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ISBN-13: 978-1-937927-13-4 (Trade paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-1-937927-14-1 (eBook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900092
Editor: Melanie Rigney
Interior Design of Print & eBook Editions: Aubrey Hansen
Book & eBook Cover Design: Book Cover Art, Clarissa Yeo
First Printing: 2014
Printed in the United States of America
To the badass bulls. They keep things lively.
“Leroy always has been a good boy, though I sometimes have trouble understanding him.
And the things that happen when he is around.”
Grandfather
TABLE OF CONTENTS
4—Your Dreams Aren’t My Dreams
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Leroy Watches Jr. & The Badass Bull
is part of a new group of shorter tales involving the people of the Bloodsong Series. In the novellas, you’ll learn more about the people in the shadows of Bloodsong, the people who are the supporting cast for Will Duane, Grandfather, Elizabeth Bright Eagle, and the others. For example, Leroy is mentioned perhaps three times in the first two Bloodsong books. But he and so many others—Doug Saunders, Janice Coto, Gil Canao, Delroy West, and Marina Selene—are really cool, and really interesting. They have stories to tell that are a bit tangential to the Bloodsong books, and those are the stories the novellas will share.
I do want to note that this work is fantasy. That means it’s not real. This is particularly true when dealing with the Native American shaman, Grandfather, and his traditions and beliefs. What I say isn’t intended to accurately represent any Native American culture or spirituality. Surely, you can see how removed from reality my depiction of government agencies is. Even the bull is made up, though he’s real enough.
Many thanks to my friend Kate McQuinness, JD, for her legal advice. And additional thanks to Doug Houston, a team-penning champion, who told me about rodeo.
I hope you enjoy getting to know Leroy and his friends. I enjoyed letting them talk through me.
1
THE STUBBORN MAN
“You are the stubbornest man I’ve ever seen.” Leroy sat across the breakfast table from his father, eyes narrowed. “A mule ain’t got
nothin’
on you.”
“I’m no stubborner than you are.” His father glared at him, holding a sealed box of breakfast cereal.
“Yes, you are. You’re the stubbornest man I’ve seen–– and the stupidest.”
“Watch what you say, boy.”
“I’m not a boy. I’m twenty-four years old. I can say what I want, an’ you can’t whup me anymore.”
“I only whupped you once.”
“You would have whupped me more if my grandpa hadn’t come for me.”
Leroy Sr. was silent. He was busy trying to open the sealed plastic wrapping around the corn flakes. “Ow!” he cried, grabbing the gnarled knuckle of one hand with the other.
“That’s why I said you were stupid. You’re fifty-eight years old, pop. Your hair’s all white. You’ve got arthritis everywhere. You can’t even open a cereal box. Give me that.” Leroy leaned over, took the box, and tore open the tough plastic bag around the flakes. “Here.”
“I’m sorry that I whupped you, son.” Leroy Sr. looked at his boy, his mouth a little compressed, eyes earnest. “I’ve said that before, but I want you to know I really mean it.”
“You whupped me good enough for my grandfather to feel it way down in New Mexico. That was a
whupping
.”
“It was. I’m sorry, and I paid for it. Because of what I did, your grandpa took you away and I didn’t see you for fourteen years. I never had a chance against that tribal law, you bein’ an enrolled member and all. I am sorry. You know how I was then …”
Leroy certainly did. His father had been a quiet man when Leroy was little, a huge and not very gentle giant. When his mama was alive, he worked every daylight hour on the ranch. Then he came in and sat in the sitting room after dinner, whittling. Leroy remembered those days; his dad’s tightly curled hair was almost black. His dark brown hands moved in little gouges, the sharp blade glinting in the firelight. His dad carved little birds and animals that he gave to Leroy.
His father had always been quiet. Taciturn: quiet with an edge to it, but kind at the beginning. He never hit Leroy then. Might yell at him, but never hit him.
Then mama got sick. No one’s healing could fix her. Not the white man’s medicine, not his grandfather’s power, and not his own.
Leroy was a healer in a long line of healers. His powers had shown themselves before he was four. He knitted a kitten’s broken leg. From then on, everything around him flourished. His family never got sick. Their livestock was always healthy. Their ranch got more than enough water and so did the surrounding spreads. He cured neighbors and friends and laid hands on everything.
Healing was as much part of him as the blood in his veins. The power came through his mother. His mama could heal anything. If he was a healer, she was a queen of healers. She deserved to be great; healing was in her blood, too.
Her papa was the greatest Native American shaman alive, maybe the greatest ever born. He could heal broken bones, fix broken hearts, and see into the future. And fix the future, sometimes.
After mama died, his pop got quieter, and meaner. At night, he drank from a bottle that sat where his whittling knife had been. All he had to say to Leroy was, “If your grandpa’s healin’ is so good, why’d your mama die?” It came down to that.
“I was mad, then, Leroy. And sorrowful. An’ I was drinking. That’s why I hit you.”
“And now you’ve gone soft in the head,” Leroy said quietly. “Bullfighting at that rodeo is plain stupid.”
The older man poured cereal into his bowl. “In my whole life, no one’s ever given me a party. Nobody has given me a trophy and patted me on the back and handed out cake and ice cream. Nobody’s said ‘You did a good job, much obliged, Leroy.’”
Young Leroy ground his teeth at the sound of his father’s voice.
“I’ve worked all my life on this ranch. I’m a good rancher, but I’m a
great
bullfighter.”
Scenes from dozens of rodeos flashed through the younger man’s mind. His mama had held him in her arms at rodeos all over the country. His dad lured bucking bulls away from fallen riders. He ran and jumped and leaped, and the bulls couldn’t get him. He was so agile and athletic that Leroy had gasped in amazement, even as a tot. The one thing his father never used to distract a raging bull was the barrel. Leroy Sr. couldn’t fit in one. Before age started chopping him down, he was as tall as his son: 6’8”.
“You are better than anyone, pop. Or you were. But now …”
His father’s eyes rested on a misty spot over the kitchen door. Leroy had seen him look there time and again. Remembering his mother. Remembering the glories of rodeo. Remembering his life before ranching caught up with his body and shrank him.
“Leroy, they said they would give me a big party and a trophy if I came. I’ve been scarin’ off bulls for forty years. After your mother died, rodeo was the best part of my life. I made people laugh.” He smiled, his smile about as far off as his eyes when they were set in that spot. “I’m a stubborn old goat, Leroy. I know that. But those folks at the Thompson & Mack Center want to do me up proud. That’s why I want to go. One last rodeo. I want you to go with me.”