By Its Cover

Alejandra Sanchez wasn’t dressed for a rodeo. For that matter, she wasn’t dressed for Wichita Falls, Texas, either. Her bespoke business suit and tony heels were an infinitely better match for downtown Dallas, where she’d woken up that Thursday in her pricey downtown loft, and where she spent her weekdays litigating nine-figure commercial cases in skyscrapers and courtrooms.

But Dallas was about 150 miles from where she parked her Audi among a sea of dual-wheeled pickups and dusty campers and trailers in a lot outside Kay Yeager Coliseum. She might as well have been on another planet. From the moment she opened her car door and alighted, the late-August sun and heat, laced with swelter from the nearby river, set off her sweat glands and inconvenienced her lungs. Her first thought was that her blouse and her suit would be going straight to the cleaners when she got home.

Alejandra’s second thought was of two cowboys, or faux-cowboys, depending on whether their exotic boots and fancy button-down shirts had ever allowed them to ride any actual animals. They were seated on folding chairs in the shade behind a camper in an adjacent parking spot, with beers in their hands and a shopworn cooler close by. The men didn’t hold her second thought because she found them attractive; it was because the heavier one spoke to her.

“You lost, there, little lady?”

She decided not to send them an insulted look, and just smiled politely and shook her head. Then she reached into her car to retrieve her purse and an envelope. The second cowboy spat, with emphasis, as she closed her door and turned to walk away.

“Yeah, I’d guess you’re about six hundred miles too far north. Say, there! Fancy mojado! Let’s see you cross that river over yonder in them heels!”

Alejandra kept walking. For about thirty yards she thought about going back and showing them the snub-nose pistol she kept in her purse. But then she realized she didn’t know exactly where she was heading, so she took out her phone and dialed. Three rings in, a nine-year-old boy answered.

“Auntie Allie! Are you here yet?”

She smiled at his voice, as she always did. “I sure am, tiger. This is a pretty big place, though. Where are you two?”

She heard nothing for two full seconds. Then Billy came back on the line. “Dad says we’re at the back pens. Uh, behind the building. Come quick! You have to see this!”

Billy hung up, and Alejandra was left to navigate the crowds and the complex in search of wherever the “back pens” might be. Near the arena’s main entrance, she saw an old lady selling tamales from a cooler, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She also was instantly reminded of her own grandmother. Though she had no idea when she’d be able to eat them, she bought three tamales, paying double the price in cash.

“Gracias,” the old lady smiled. Alejandra asked her where the bulls were. Two minutes later she arrived at a maze of temporary steel pens, and dusty, manure-smelling air, and sidelong glances from a decidedly Stetson-and-denim crowd. She walked the aisles, looking for Billy and trying not to make eye contact with anybody dangerous-looking – though, to her, that was just about everybody. Finally she saw a boy’s hand waving madly above the top rail of one of the pens, and she worked her way toward him.

Billy ran up and gave her a big hug. “Auntie Allie! Look! Dad’s gonna ride Mambazo tomorrow!”

The boy pointed into the nearest pen, which held a single bull. It was a shade darker than midnight, and larger and meaner-looking than any Alejandra could remember from cleaning out barns around McAllen as a teen. She’d had just a moment to reflect on the kind of person who’d given the bull that name, when a shortish, blonde-haired cowboy strode up to the two.

“How’s your drive up, Allie?” Rafe made sure Billy saw him smiling at her. Then he tapped the boy on the shoulder and pointed to a far corner of the pen.

“Say, tiger, do me a kindness. I need this bull good’n mean for a high score tomorrow. How ‘bout you go over there near his trough, and yell at him through the fence, and see if you can get him stirred-up some.”

Billy ran off, exactly like a nine-year-old with an important job should. Rafe turned his attention back to Alejandra. She handed him the envelope straight away. He stuffed it into a back pocket and spat contemptuously.

“New Mexico process ain’t worth nothin’ in Texas.”

Alejandra smiled past his shoulder and waved to Billy. Her voice was ice-cold when she spoke.

“Probably a good thing I brought a domesticated Texas court order, then, isn’t it?”

Rafe moved half a step closer to her. He wasn’t any taller than her own 5’7, but he had a malevolent way about him that he knew how to use, especially with women. Alejandra didn’t back up an inch; she could smell his chewing tobacco when he spoke again.

“If you think these people are gonna let you walk outta here with my son like you’re leavin’ a grocery store, well, you best look around you, Allie.”

Alejandra did glance at a few of the passersby. Some could tell there was trouble brewing, and she knew exactly where she’d stand with many of them. She took a second to steel herself, and then looked Rafe squarely in his piercing-blue eyes.

“I’ll say this once, Rafe. Once. Your summer parenting time ended ten days ago in Albuquerque. Billy comes with me. Now. Or, you could leave town tonight, before your bull-ride happens. Or, you can keep him, and stay here, and the authorities will know exactly where and when to arrest you tomorrow.”

Rafe made a face and spat again, very near Alejandra’s shoes.

“This ain’t right! Your witch of a stepsister ain’t even kin to Billy no more! An’ that liberal judge, why, she spouted more crap than Mambazo’s ass. That boy belongs with me!”

Alejandra didn’t blink. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you slugged Shelly in front of him? Order’s an order, Rafe. Now, either you take a swing at me, too, tough guy, or I’m taking Billy. What’ll it be?”

The man glowered, and weighed his options. Then he turned and whistled to Billy.

“Billy! Come on over here!”

When the boy arrived, Rafe gave him a quick hug and continued. “Change of plans, tiger. Auntie Allie’s taking you with her. Back to Dallas. And you’re gonna fly home to your stepmom.”

Billy teared-up instantly. “No! Why? I wanna see you ride Mambazo tomorrow!”

Rafe didn’t answer. He just patted the boy on the shoulder and walked off, silently ginning up as much emotional turmoil as he could.

Billy went with Alejandra; neither spoke until they neared her Audi. When she saw the cowboys leaning on its fenders, she clicked her key fob to unlock the doors and chirp the alarm. The cowboys didn’t move. The taller one spoke as she and Billy neared the car.

“What’re you doin’ with a white boy, fancy mojado?”

Alejandra tried not to react as she opened the passenger door and waved Billy inside. By the time she closed the door, the second cowboy had rounded the car and was standing in her way. He tilted his Stetson back a bit and spat near the rear tire.

“We was kinda thinkin’ maybe we all got off on the wrong foot earlier. How ‘bout you join us for a beer in the camper, little lady? Let us make amends.”

She could feel the heavier cowboy moving closer behind her. She turned to smile at him, and then she smiled back at the slimmer one. Her voice was smooth as honey when she started.

“Well, I do have to say, I’ve been thinking about you guys. There’s just something about a cowboy... or two. And I’d love a cold beer. But I have to drop Billy off back at my hotel. How about if I give you my number, and we can meet up later? I think I’ve got a card in this darn thing somewhere.”

Alejandra took a step back as she pretended to rummage in her handbag. Then she stopped rummaging with her hand inside, pointed the purse at the heavier cowboy, and cocked the hammer on her pistol.

“Oh. There’s my number. It’s .38. Now, how ‘bout you gentlemen mosey on back to your camper over there, and maybe I’ll forget about how ‘we all got off on the wrong foot.’ OK?

The cowboys did as they were told. Alejandra didn’t take her hand out of her purse until she was safely inside the car and backing up to leave.

Billy didn’t say a word, or so much as look at her for an hour as she drove. When the lights of Decatur appeared on the horizon in the gathering dusk, Alejandra took two of the tamales from her purse and handed one to Billy.

“What’s this?”

“You must be hungry, tiger. It’s a tamale.”

He rolled his window down and chucked the tamale out. “Mexican food! Ain’t eatin’ that!”

Alejandra shrugged and smiled a bit. “Your loss. They’re good. What’s wrong with Mexican food?”

Billy snorted contemptuously and folded his arms. “Mexicans make it. And Mexicans eat it.”

She didn’t care for the boy’s implicit slur, but she was glad to have him talking. “Well, I suppose all that’s true. But what’s wrong with Mexicans?”

Billy looked out his window for a long moment. “My dad says they don’t have any guts. And that’s why they can’t be real Americans like us.”

Alejandra peeled the foil off her own tamale and started eating. She spoke between bites.

“My abuela. My grandmother. Step-grandmother, technically. She raised six of us after our parents passed away. And she did it alone after my abuelo, her husband, went to prison. She used to make tamales like this. But they weren’t for us. Every Friday night after her regular job, she’d make coolers full of tamales to sell at fairs on the weekends, or at jobsites, or even just on the street.”

Billy wasn’t impressed. “So?”

She took another bite and continued. “So, most times, she’d sell them in the toughest parts of McAllen. And for the little bit of money she’d make, she got mugged. Not just once. Three times. After the third time, when the muggers gave her a black eye on a Saturday, you know what my abuela did?”

Billy shook his head. Alejandra finished eating, then finished the story.

“She went right out Sunday morning and sold tamales again, on the same corner where she’d just been hurt. And she did that every weekend of her life. Even if she was tired, or if she wasn’t feeling well, or even when her eye was still swollen-shut from that mugging, until all six of us finished school. How’s that for guts?”

Billy just shrugged, but Alejandra could tell he was thinking. She offered one more point.

“So. Do you know where my tough, courageous, hard-working abuela was from?”

Billy sighed, defeated. “Mexico?”

Alejandra reached into her purse and found the third tamale. “No. Texas. Born in McAllen. Her parents both came from Mexico. But my abuela was as American as you are... and as American as I am.”

She handed Billy the tamale with a final thought. “Courage doesn’t come from labels, tiger. Or from clothes, or from papers. It comes from doing what’s right, even when that’s really hard. Like going back home to your stepmom.”

The Audi passed a sign for the Decatur city limit as it reached the town’s first street lights. Alejandra changed lanes and rolled up Billy’s window. She cleared some traffic, and then glanced over at him. He’d unwrapped the tamale. And he was eating.