Текст книги "Mama Rides Shotgun"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The trail boss set his hat and raised the shout, “Headin’ out! Headin’ ooooouuuuttt!’’

The morning air was sweet with the smell of orange blossoms and expectation. Leather rubbed and creaked on the saddles of a hundred-plus horses. Riders jostled, finding their positions as the day and the trail ahead beckoned.

I glanced behind me at Mama and Shotgun. The horse plodded along steadily. Mama seemed relaxed, already chattering away to the rider beside her. I dipped my chin at Maddie, motioning for her to turn around and look.

“Mama would talk the ears off a row of corn,’’ Maddie said, but she was smiling. “Did you get a load of that outfit on her fiancé this morning?’’

“Yeah, that get-up’s bad enough. Hard to believe, he has another one. Same style. Neon blue. I’m almost afraid to see what he’ll come up with tomorrow.’’

“You’d think Mama would have set him straight on what to wear.’’

“Are you kidding?’’ I said. “She probably helped pick them out. Did you see that plum-colored creation she had on today? Daddy would have fallen off his horse laughing.’’

“Nah, he wouldn’t have, Mace. Mama could do no wrong as far as Daddy was concerned. Remember how they were together?’’

I nodded, my mind drifting back twenty-plus years. I was just a kid when our father died of a heart attack. It was an awful shock. Daddy had hardly been sick a day in his life. But he’d gotten in over his head, trying to make a go of a cow-calf operation. Afterward, everyone said it was the stress of losing our ranch that killed him. That was one reason I was perfectly content drawing a regular paycheck from the Himmarshee Parks Department. Running my own business wasn’t for me. Too many headaches and heartaches.

My sisters must have felt the same way, because the school district cut Maddie’s checks, and Marty worked for the county library. None of us had set the world on fire. Then again, we all were healthy and relatively happy. Looking at the Bramble family, with all that money, I couldn’t say the same for them.

A pinch on my arm brought me back to the present and the trail ride.

“Mace!’’ Another pinch. “I’ve been trying to get your attention. Look lively, girl,’’ Maddie said. “And run a hand through that tangle of snarls you call hair. Carlos is right up there, on your left.’’

His thoroughbred tossed its head, raring to run in the cool morning fog. Carlos held him in with taut reins. His denim shirt strained across his muscled back and shoulders. Why did the man have to look so good?

“I don’t have anything to say to Carlos,’’ I told Maddie.

In the tent last night, before we went to sleep, I filled her in on my campfire humiliation. From Sharing S’mores to Flat-out Ignored. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to choke down another of those melted-marshmallow treats.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mace. If you want him, you better fight for him. He’s too good of a man to let get away. You’re not getting any younger, you know.’’

“Now you sound like Mama.’’

I didn’t want to remind Maddie she detested Carlos as recently as last summer. Back then, she said he was an arrogant S.O.B. with bad manners and a foul temper. Or maybe I’d said that. I’d certainly thought it plenty of times.

“Mace! Are you listening to me? This is a good time for you to talk to him. He’s all alone. You can get to him before that Austin tramp comes back and starts eyeing him like he’s the last biscuit in the basket.’’ She lifted her boot in the stirrup and smacked me in the calf. “Go on. You’ll hate yourself if you don’t.’’

“I might hate myself if I do, Maddie.’’

I could almost hear the parts clanking in her head. She was trying to think of a way to convince me.

“Why don’t you go ask Carlos what happened with Doc Abel?’’

She set the hook.

“Wasn’t he supposed to see Doc about getting that cup last night?’’

She reeled me in.

I spurred Val forward. “You’re relentless, Sister,’’ I said over my shoulder.

“I know. It’s one of the qualities I admire most in myself,’’ she said.

I quickly caught up, slowing a few paces behind Carlos so as not to challenge the thoroughbred’s racehorse instincts. I eased Val alongside him.

“Hey,’’ I said.

He turned in the saddle. “Hey, yourself. How are you this morning, Mace?’’

“Fine. A little headache-y from all that sugar last night at the campfire.’’

He raised his eyebrows. “What sugar?’’ he asked cautiously.

Oh, God! Did he think I meant I saw him and Austin kissing? Were they kissing?

“From the S’mores,’’ I blurted.

Relief flickered across his face. Bastard. He had kissed her. Of course, I’d been kissing Trey, and might have done more if not for Maddie interrupting us. I felt my face get hot.

“What about the cup?’’ I said, too abruptly.

He looked annoyed. “Do you purposely speak in riddles, Mace? You know, English wasn’t my first language. You should give me a break.’’

“You speak English better than me, so knock it off.’’ I made my words slow and distinct, as if I were addressing a small child: “What. Happened. Regarding. The. Chili. Cup. That. Belonged. To. Lawton. Bramble?’’

“Much better,’’ he said. “I asked Doc Abel for it, and he gave it to me. It’s already at the Florida Department of Law Enforcement’s crime lab.’’

“What . . . when?’’ I started to ask.

He held up his hand to interrupt me. I hated it when he did that.

“A friend of mine,’’ he continued, “an FDLE agent, owes me a favor. He drove down to meet me last night in camp, then took the cup and its crusty chili back for testing.’’

“Oh,’’ I said. “Well, thanks.’’

“You’re welcome.’’

“Did Doc Abel act weird about handing it over?’’ I asked.

“Not at all. But if he had, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Acting weird seems to be quite common around here.’’

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Yeah, it is. Along with acting like an asshole. Maybe you can discuss that with your new girlfriend, Austin.’’

He smirked at me, which really boiled my blood. I fingered the cow whip coiled on my saddle, and fantasized about snapping that smart-assed look right off his face.

“Mace, Mace,’’ he said, with a head shake and laugh. “You are so wrong.’’

“Please. I have eyes,’’ I said. “You and that girl looked like you needed to rent a room.’’

“It’s not what you think.’’

“You have no idea what I think. Why’d you even come on this ride anyway?’’

“I love horses. And I wanted to reacquaint myself with the pace and the people up here.’’ He frowned. “Have you asked all the other riders so rudely why the hell they came?’’

I turned Val away without answering. As I did, I saw Maddie, riding just out of earshot. She raised her eyebrows and motioned me a question: Thumbs up?

I looped Val’s reins on the horn of the saddle so I could use both hands to signal my progress with Carlos: Thumbs down, definitely. Double thumbs down.

___

Maddie knew me well enough to know I wanted my space. And, for a change, she gave it to me. I rode the trail alone, enclosed in my cone of self pity and confusion. I wanted to make things right with Carlos again, but I didn’t know how. Too proud for my own good, I didn’t want to appear desperate. I couldn’t stand the idea he’d see me as needy.

So where had my independence gotten me? Playing stupid games with a man I really cared about, and getting cozy with one I didn’t.

As Val kept a steady walk, I leaned low over her neck to whisper. “Like I told you before, girl, I’m an idiot.’’

Her head bobbed up and down, no doubt in agreement.

Before anyone could catch me discussing my love life with a horse, I closed my mouth and turned my mind to the passing scenery. We’d made our turn onto State Road 66, still moving east. Cattle grazed behind fences. A white bus from a church school putt-putted past, filled with the children of migrant workers. In an orange grove adjoining the trail, pickers climbed tall silver ladders to pluck the fruit from the highest branches.

Amid these symbols of Florida’s agricultural past were troubling notes from her future: A luxury SUV roared by, its driver unmindful that a hundred-plus horses ambled close to the road. Land-For-Sale signs sprouted like maiden cane grass on a creek bank. New housing developments dotted once wild spaces. Most of them had ironic names: Eagle Trace, where no trace of an eagle remained; Oak Grove, where rows of fancy homes had replaced ancient oak hammocks.

I was contemplating a teeming Florida peninsula, paved with strip malls from coast to coast, when I heard a voice beside me.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mace,’’ Mama said.

“You’d be overpaying.’’

“C’mon, honey. Cheer up. It’s a beautiful day. They say it’s going to get nice and warm.’’

“Great. That’ll make that long slog we hit by the dairy smelly, dusty, and sweaty.’’

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, Mace. Are you mad over Carlos and that trampy gal?’’

I shot her a warning glance.

“Maddie told me all about it.’’

Well, of course she did, I thought.

“Honey, that Austin isn’t any threat to you. Although I’ll have to admit she knows how to make herself up and fix those pretty curls of hers. I wonder if she ever worked in a beauty salon?’’

“Not helping, Mama.’’

“Sorry, honey. I was going to say she can’t hold a candle to you. Carlos would never be interested in a shallow, silly girl like that. Did you consider he might just be playing her along to see what she knows?’’

Mentally, I slapped myself on the forehead. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t considered that. And I didn’t give him a chance to tell me, one way or the other, before Val and I stomped off. I really am an idiot.

“No, I didn’t,” was all I said to Mama.

She peered at me from under her purple hat. The rising sun threw a plum-colored shadow across her face. “Now, there’s that smile I like to see,’’ Mama said, “even if it’s just a little one. We’ll get all that settled with Carlos and you, honey. I can see you need a little help . . .’’

“No way,’’ I tried to interrupt.

“. . . a little help with matters of the heart,’’ Mama continued. “I do have to say that making time with Trey Bramble in the woods probably isn’t the best way to get Carlos back.’’

Damn Maddie and her big mouth.

I steered us onto safer conversational ground. “How’s Shotgun behaving?’’

She leaned to pat the horse’s neck. “He’s a good horse, aren’t you, boy? I thought I’d take him up by the wagons, see how he handles. We’ll get Maddie, and ride together ’til lunch.’’

That sounded like a good plan. I had a bone to pick with my blabber-mouth sister.

“You’re looking good, Mama,” I called out.

“Show him who’s boss,’’ Maddie added.

I hadn’t had time yet to dress Maddie down for telling my secrets. Shotgun had gotten a little skittish when the three of us drew close to the wagons. He didn’t behave as badly as Carlos’s thoroughbred had, but bad enough that Mama had to show him a firm hand. She spun him around a few times. Then she urged him once to the rattling wagon, and then back again.

A retired rodeo cowboy named Del, relegated by age and injuries to riding a lawn chair in the back of a mule wagon, watched as Mama worked with Shotgun. Del lifted a plastic cup to his mouth, spit a stream of tobacco juice, and then spoke.

“I’ve seen worse riders, I’ll tell you that.’’ His voice sounded like a truckload of rocks being dumped into a pit. “In fact, this here little ol’ gal’s a better rider than a buddy of mine, back in rodeo. One time, a bronc threw him up so high that a bird had time to build a nest between his hair and his hat before he hit the ground.’’

Del spit in the cup again.

“That’s the God’s honest truth.’’

As we all laughed, I wished Marty had been up to riding with us. I felt a rush of love for Mama and my sisters. I was even willing to forgive them for sticking their noses in my business. We were bonding on the Cracker Trail, just like Mama said we would.

I just hoped nothing happened to make us lose that warm, family feeling.

___

“Where are you?’’ Maddie shouted into her cell phone. “This signal’s awful out here.’’

So much for Florida pioneer authenticity. I wasn’t going to complain in this case, though. Maddie was talking to Marty—or trying to, anyway. And I was anxious to see how our little sister was doing.

We’d made it to the lunch site, a wide pasture ringed by hickory trees, sabal palms, and big live oaks. The smell of grilled sausage with green peppers and onions drifted our way. We sat on the ground in the shade, our horses tied nearby, as Maddie tried to decipher if Sal and Marty were going to meet us in time to eat.

“What are they saying, honey?’’ Mama asked.

Maddie waved her hand in irritation. “Shush, Mama. I can barely hear her as it is.’’

She yelled into the phone, “We’re to the left of the food trailer as you come into the pasture. There’s a big red pickup parked about twenty-five feet away from us.’’

Marty may not have heard her, but everyone else at the lunch site had. A couple seated on a fallen log frowned at Maddie before they moved to enjoy nature’s glories somewhere else.

“I lost her.’’ Maddie shook the phone and held it to her ear. “Yep. She’s gone. Damn it.’’

“Language, Maddie,’’ Mama said.

We always got a kick out of Mama telling us that, seeing as she could cuss a blue streak when she felt like it. But she always asked Jesus for forgiveness afterwards.

“Sal knows where he’s going, right?’’ I asked Mama.

We were relying on him again, with Marty’s help, to move vehicles and gear ahead so we’d have everything once we rode into the evening camp.

“Well, of course he knows, Mace. Sal’s made a detailed map,’’ Mama said.

He had a map yesterday, too, and managed to get lost. I had the feeling without the Bronx Zoo or Yankee Stadium as landmarks, Sal missed his bearings.

“Well, I think we should go ahead and eat,’’ Maddie said.

As soon as we agreed Maddie and Mama would line up for our food while I stayed with the horses, they were off. My sister always manages to move fast when food’s at the finish line.

“Get me a lemonade,’’ I called after them. “And extra onions on my sausage sandwich.’’

“I guess that means you’re not planning on kissing anyone this afternoon.’’

Startled, I looked up to see Wynonna smiling down at me. Maybe I was distracted by my stomach grumbling and the horses moving around in the woods, but she moved with surprising stealth for a woman in red alligator boots with heels.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’’ she said. “Mind if I sit down?’’

I motioned at the ground across from me. “Be my guest.’’

As she sat, she grinned and said, “So, how’s your mama getting along on Shotgun?’’

“He’s great,’’ I smiled back. “We sure appreciate you letting her ride him.’’

Wynonna waved her hand as if to say it was nothing. Then her grin faded, replaced by a serious expression.

“I wanted to ask you about Trey, Mace.’’

Uh-oh.

“I wondered if you’ve had a chance during the ride to really talk with him?’’

I studied her, trying to determine her game. She returned my gaze with guileless eyes, wide with concern.

“Why?’’ I hedged.

“Because I’m worried about him, that’s why. Your mama told me you two went to school together. I thought maybe he might have said something to you about what he’s going through.’’

“Well, he’s grieving for his father, of course.’’ I was still being careful.

“Of course,’’ Wynonna said. “What about his drinking, though?’’

“He said he wants to quit.’’

“Well, I don’t think he has. He disappeared about forty-five minutes into the ride this morning. Nobody’s seen him since. Trey always goes off alone when he wants to get good and drunk.’’

I wasn’t sure what to say. I hoped she was wrong, for Trey’s sake. A backslide right now sure wouldn’t boost his confidence. Not about his ability to quit drinking, and not about his fitness to step into his daddy’s shoes. Was Wynonna driven to talk to me by compassion for her late husband’s son, or by some other emotion?

An image of her caressing Trey’s chest came into my mind. I wanted to question her about that night. But I had to tread cautiously, knowing she’d just lost her husband. Where was Marty with her soft touch when I needed her?

“Wynonna, please don’t take this wrong, but is there something going on between you and Trey?’’

Shock made a brief appearance on her face, followed by a flush of anger. “What the hell do you mean by that?’’

Looks like I hadn’t been cautious enough. I explained how I’d seen them on the couch.

“Are you sure about that?’’

I nodded, but now I remembered the lights in the ranch house were dim that night. Had I really seen what I thought I saw?

“Mace, I was half-crazy with shock and grief. I was exhausted. I don’t even remember sitting next to Trey, let alone rubbing on him. Doc Abel gave me something to help me calm down. Maybe it made me act crazy. Or maybe I fell asleep and dreamed I was with Lawton, like I’ve done ever since he died.’’

She looked wounded. I started to apologize. But Wynonna, rising and brushing bits of dead grass from her jeans, didn’t give me the chance.

“Not that I feel much like eating lunch now, but I’ll be on my way. I can see you’re like all the others, Mace. Judging me.’’ Her voice sounded more disappointed than angry. “But it hurts worse with you. I thought you and your mama were becoming my friends, you know?’’

Tears welled in Wynonna’s green eyes. And I sat there like a big, mean jerk as she walked silently away.

___

We’d almost finished lunch. After the sandwiches and on into the chocolate pudding, I filled in Mama and Maddie on my scene with Wynonna.

“Do you think she’s lying?’’ Mama asked, licking her plastic spoon clean to the handle.

“I can’t tell. All I know is I felt awful when she left,’’ I said.

Maddie and I had started tidying up the lunch trash when Mama announced she’d ride out to the highway to look for Sal. That figured. She’d do anything to get out of her share of work.

After fifteen minutes or so, we started to wonder where she’d gotten to. There was no sight of Sal or Marty, and now Mama was missing, too. We decided to go find her.

“Give me a leg up on this horse, Mace,’’ Maddie said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.’’

I cradled my hands, readied them under Maddie’s boot, and helped her hoist herself onto the saddle.

“Oooof!’’ I exhaled loudly.

“I heard that!’’ Maddie snapped.

We’d started across the pasture when Mama suddenly called out from the edge of a woodsy hammock: “Yoo-hoo, girls! I found them. They’re getting their lunch plates. Wait right where you are, and all of us will be right over.’’

I waved at her to signal we’d heard her. I thought for a moment she was waving back. But then I saw she wasn’t waving. Her arms whirly-gigged up and down, around her head and back again. She twisted and turned in the saddle, swatting at the air.

“What in the hell?’’ Maddie said.

Mama’s horse lowered his head and bucked. Then he reared up on his hind legs. She hung on. As Maddie and I raced our horses across the field, Mama gave a panicked yelp. She only had time for one word before Shotgun lit off at a gallop into the woods.

“Bees!’’ Mama screamed.

Hooves pounded. Brush crashed. Shotgun tore through the hammock—careering across the sandy path at one moment, darting through trees the next.

I kept to the path, trying to outrun Mama so I could turn and slow Shotgun as soon as I overtook them. Behind me, Maddie kept yelling “Pull back, Mama! Pull back!’’

Of course, that’s just what Mama was trying to do. But her hundred-pound frame tugging on the reins was no match for a runaway horse. Shotgun sped onward as if nothing but a ghost rode on his back. Mama’s purple hat was gone. But still she hung on.

She leaned left, missing a low-hanging branch.

I held my breath.

She leaned right, catching a face-full of sabal palm.

I winced, as if the fronds had scraped me.

She ducked low, and the resurrection ferns growing on an oak limb grazed the top of her head.

I whispered a prayer.

Ahead, sunlight streamed through the canopy where the thicket of trees began to thin.

“Hang on, Mama. You’re almost out of the woods,’’ I yelled.

The words were barely out of my mouth when I spotted the ancient live oak, fat branches spreading low in all directions. Even if she missed the first branch or the second, the third would surely get her.

“Lean left, Mama. No, right!’’ Maddie’s voice was frantic.

Mama had a split second to decide what to do. I saw her drop the reins and push toward the saddle’s side. She was going to bail. But just as she did, her stirrup snared the heel of her boot. Hanging upside down by her foot, Mama bounced against Shotgun’s belly for what seemed like an eternity. And then she dropped to the ground. I couldn’t tell if the horse’s churning hooves had caught her in the head. But I prayed that they hadn’t.

Shotgun bolted on toward the sunlight, riderless, empty stirrups flying. Shouts of Whoa! and a commotion of riders rushing to stop the horse came from the clearing beyond the trees.

Maddie caught up with me, screaming Mama’s name. I couldn’t get my lips and tongue to cooperate on a single sound. We were off the horses and by Mama’s side in an instant. The entire terrifying race had taken just moments. But that’s all the time you need to have your whole life change.

“Mama?’’ Maddie’s voice trembled, and I was suddenly ten years old again, watching with my sisters as Daddy was loaded into an ambulance after the heart attack that killed him.

As we kneeled next to Mama, I silently promised God I’d quit my every bad habit if only she was okay. Bits of leaves and twigs clung to her platinum hair. Dirt streaked her face where she’d fallen. The fabric of her plum-colored cowgirl blouse gaped open at the shoulder, showing an angry red scratch. I finally found my voice.

“Mama, wake up!’’ I said. “Maddie and I are here. Everything’s going to be okay.’’

She didn’t stir. She looked so small, so broken, lying there as still as death.

“Can you hear us, Mama?’’ Maddie’s voice shook; her face was white. She looked as scared as I felt. “Please, open your eyes.’’

I was barely conscious of a jumble of sounds: Someone yelled Got ’im! Voices filled the woods as folks spread out to search for Shotgun’s missing rider. The strains of “Whistle While You Work” floated on the air.

Mama’s left eyelid twitched. I grabbed Maddie’s hand. As her eyes fluttered open, Mama took a shuddery breath. Then, she squeezed her lids shut again.

“Good Gussie,’’ Mama whispered. “That hurt.’’

The clamor grew around us as riders, some leading horses, closed in. All I saw was a circle of blue-jeaned legs and boots, including Wynonna’s of red alligator.

“Step back! Give her some air.’’ The voice was male, ringing with authority and a slight accent. Carlos pushed his way to us and stooped beside Mama.

“What’s your name?’’ he demanded, bringing his dark eyes close to hers.

“Rosalee Stinson Bauer Cummings Burton Deveraux,’’ she recited.

Maddie smiled at me, and I squeezed her hand. Not a single married name missed.

“What hurts?’’ asked Carlos, still in charge.

“What doesn’t?’’ Mama winced.

“What day is today?’’

“February 18th. The day I wished I’d never rode Shotgun.’’

She propped herself up to her elbows, legs still stretched out on the ground.

“Careful,’’ a helpful someone said from the crowd. “She might have broken her back.’’

Mama straightened to a sitting position, her eyes going wide.

“You’re fine, Mama,’’ I reassured her, regaining some calm. “We just saw you use your arms. Can you feel your toes?’’

She wagged her right boot back and forth. Then she yelped and grabbed at her ankle when she tried to do the same with the left.

“She probably wrenched that in the stirrup,’’ I said to Maddie.

“Let me take a look at it,’’ Carlos said, shouldering me aside.

“Excuse me, I’m also trained in first aid. I’ve handled plenty of injuries in my job at Himmarshee Park. And she’s my mama. Not that we don’t appreciate you taking over.’’

“We need to get that boot off and take a look,’’ Carlos ordered, as he loosened her laces.

“Right.’’ I pushed him aside and eased off her boot.

“Ouch!’’ Mama said.

“Careful, Mace!’’ Maddie scolded.

“And check the pulse at her ankle to make sure nothing’s impeding the blood flow,’’ I continued, directing my words at Carlos, “which would be a lot easier for me to do if you’d just scoot out of the way.’’

“Perdóneme.’’ Carlos made a display of showing me his palms. “I forgot how much you like to be in control.’’

“Would you two please shut up?’’ Mama said. “I’m the injured party. How about if the both of you cooperate to help get me up and out of here?’’

Before we could argue over who’d take the lead, an anguished bellow shook the leaves on the trees: “Rosie!’’

“Over here, Sal,’’ I yelled.

“I’m fine, Sally,’’ Mama added, then lowered her voice from a shout to a whisper. “Girls, if Marty’s with him, do not tell her how close that was.’’

Mama should know me better than that. I might bicker with my former boyfriend over her prostrate body, but I’d never say a word to worry Marty.

Sal came crashing through the woods like a wounded bear. Marty followed close behind, her frightened blue eyes the only color on her face.

“She’s okay, Marty.’’ Sal said, exhaling a huge sigh of relief.

“We saw your horse. People said . . . we thought . . .’’ Marty didn’t finish before the tears started rolling down her cheeks.

“Oh, look at you two!’’ Mama held up her arms from the ground like she wanted a hug from each of them. “I took a spill, that’s all. It’s nothing but a little twisted ankle.’’

Sal raised his eyebrows at Carlos, who nodded in agreement.

“She’ll be fine,’’ I said pointedly, though Sal hadn’t asked me.

At that, Sal leaned over and scooped Mama off the ground. He carried her out of the woods in his arms, as gentle as a bridegroom on his wedding night.

___

Someone had found Doc Abel. As I watched him expertly test the joint, peering at Mama’s foot over his glasses, my mind went back to that long-ago day he’d ministered to a riding-related injury for me. Pronouncing nothing broken, he already had Mama’s ankle elevated and packed in ice. Before he climbed aboard a wagon for the rest of the day’s ride, he warned Mama, “Now, don’t get back in that saddle again until I give the okay!’’

We were lucky to have Doc along on the Cracker Trail.

My sisters and I skipped the after-lunch half of the ride to help Sal ferry horses, vehicles, and our injured mama to Basinger, the next campsite along the trail. I hadn’t seen Carlos since we argued over who should be in charge of helping Mama.

Now, the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. A clump of sabal palms sent long, skinny shadows across the pasture where we’d made camp. Field sparrows flitted here and there, hunting insects. Mama was ensconced on an upholstered chair Sal had scrounged up from somebody’s camper. He also found a wooden chair and two pillows for her to use to rest her ankle. She was relishing her starring role in a drama.

Marty, Maddie, Sal, and I sat on the ground around her. We moved to make way as a new group of well-wishers stopped by to get the story from the horse-rider’s mouth. We’d now gotten to the third or fourth re-telling, with Shotgun’s speed and the perils of the woods magnified in each rendition.

“So, Shotgun and I were just standing there, pretty as you please, when all of a sudden those bees came out of nowhere,’’ Mama said. “That horse snorted and bucked like a demon. I swear all four feet were off the ground. Then he took off, faster than a speeding bullet,’’ she said.

Sal took his cue: “Marty and I came back with our plates, and we couldn’t find her.’’

Marty shuddered: “We were scared to death.’’

“Well, not me,’’ Sal amended. “But I was worried once we saw that horse run by without Rosie in the saddle.’’

I’d almost stopped listening. Until, suddenly, some fragments in my brain snapped together into one full piece.

“Did anybody hear about any other horses getting stung?’’ I searched the faces of the other riders gathered around Mama.

Shoulders shrugged. Heads shook.

“I wasn’t too far away from that spot where your mama’s horse got spooked,’’ one cowboy finally said. “If there were bees, there couldn’t have been too many. I didn’t hear a hive, and I didn’t see a thing.’’

I digested that tidbit of information.

Before Mama got wound up again to start on her story, I spoke. “I sure don’t mean to be rude, y’all, but I think Mama needs to get a little rest. We’ll bring her over to the campfire for dinner, and you can get all the details you want then.’’

Like a leading lady given the hook, Mama started to protest, “Mace, I’m not the least little bit tired . . .’’

Maddie, after hearing Mama’s story two times too many, became my ally: “Mace is right. And I’m sure all these nice folks have some chores they need to get to.’’ She leveled her sternest principal stare, and the crowd scattered like eighth-graders caught with cigarettes. “Besides, Mama, just think how many people at dinner won’t have heard your story yet.’’

That thought seemed to cheer Mama. Her mind was probably turning to what fruit-colored outfit she’d choose for her dinner show performance.

In the meantime, I had a few questions myself for Mama. Something about Shotgun and that swarm of bees just didn’t sit right with me.