When she was little, my dear sweetie pie daughter and I were strolling down the ancient wooden sidewalks of Melody Ranch a few days before the Cowboy Music & Poetry Fest. Amen, boy howdy. Was that a ways ago. We stepped into a saloon and, against her better judgment, climbed up on the stage to belt out a Willie Nelson duet.

My little girl is 22 now, in her final days of a snooty and expensive East Coast college. To this day, she can be a shy thing. Back then? After her song? She asked me if there was a way for her to be famous without anyone actually seeing her.

“Radio?” I smirked. It wouldn’t do to have two novelists in the same family.

Her shoulders rounded, the automatic response daughters offer dads. She slowly shook her head, that giant brain of hers calculating that people recognizing you is the main drawback of glory.

My pal and Cowboy Hall of Fame stuntman, rodeo star and possessor of the best smile on planet Earth, Placerita Canyon’s own Andy Jauregui, was famous. He handled it well. That dear, sweet man could balance a tea tray on his hat, climb aboard a bucking bronco, open the chute and not spill a drop of English Breakfast. That Andy was tough as nails, sweet as cherry pie. One of his four daughters, Noureen, informed me that I was her son and there was nothing I could do about it. Looking at weathered photo albums? Those Jauregui girls were heartbreaking, stunning movie star gorgeous. Andy was just plain rugged handsome. I’d sit with him in........

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