Robert Mangeot

Caleb shook me awake at sunrise. Didn’t matter the kid knew I’d be on a three-alarm hangover till noon. Didn’t matter it was already hot enough out that the good hens of Crump might lay omelets. It was rodeo day, Caleb’s first one, and there he was in his Wranglers and plaid shirt, a five-gallon hat away from junior cowboy.