Текст книги "Mama Rides Shotgun"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

The outriders patrolled the mounted and waiting crowd, their eyes never still. They looked for any problem that had the potential to become a crisis. Here, a weekend cowboy needed a red ribbon tied to his horse’s tail, a sign to steer clear because the horse kicked. There, another horse spooked at the sharp snap of a cow whip. Embarrassed but unhurt, the rider landed hard on the sandy ground.

Little got by the outriders.

“Listen up,’’ the one closest to us shouted. “We can’t say it enough about them cow whips. This is called the Cracker Trail Ride. It honors the Florida pioneers. They used to call ’em Crackers for those loud-assed whips they used.’’ He looked down the line of riders, not focusing on any one person. Still, all of us knew what was coming next. “Now, if your horse don’t like the sound of a cow whip, that’s your problem. Not the Cracker Trail’s. You need to get ’em used to that sound, ’cause you’re gonna be hearing it a lot.’’ He shifted a wad of tobacco under his lip. “And if they can’t get used to it, you and your horse are gonna have to find another trail to ride.’’ The outrider gazed down the line again, lingering for a moment on the woman whose horse dumped her off. She got busy fiddling with a leather strap on her saddle.

“We just can’t take the chance of a horse bolting out into the road or knocking somebody off whenever they hear a whip crack.’’ He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the pasture. It hit a soda apple, poisonous to cattle. I wondered whether tobacco worked as a weed control.

“We’ll be off in a few minutes,’’ the outrider said. “Let’s have us a good ride.’’

He gave a quick smile, but the serious look stayed in his eyes. Keeping track of more than a hundred riders of various ages and abilities is hard work and heavy responsibility. It’s definitely more challenging than working cattle. More like herding cats.

Mama took the opportunity of our delay to catch up on her socializing. The last I’d seen her, she was jabbering away, somewhere near the back of the crowd.

Sal enlisted another non-rider to help him move my Jeep and the horse trailer, as well as his own car, to our next camp. The organizers provide buses to ferry riders at each day’s lunch break. While the horses rest, the riders travel back to the morning camp, collect their rigs, and then drive everything ahead and park it at the night camp. Then it’s back on the buses to the lunch spot, meet up with the rest of the ride, and continue all afternoon on horseback to the new camp.

Everybody hates all that back-and-forth and gobbling lunch, so I was grateful to Sal for letting me bypass the bus rides and leap-frogging. He said he was comfortable doing the driving, and if God had intended for him to learn to ride, he’d have put a herd of horses in the Bronx.

With the fog nearly cleared, the sun was starting to heat up the day. A yellow sulphur butterfly floated past. A scrub jay called from the low branch of a pine. I lifted my face to the warmth. As I was praying the temperature wouldn’t plunge again overnight, I felt Marty nudge my left leg with her stirrup.

“There’s Carlos,’’ she whispered out of the side of her mouth. “On your right. About four o’clock.’’

Oh, crap. My poor neck.

Once I got my head turned, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Carlos had traded in his driving-up-from-Miami clothes—a navy blue crewneck sweater and tennis shoes—for riding gear. And, unlike Sal with his gaudy glitter, Carlos had got it exactly right. His brown boots were appropriately scuffed. He’d angled his straw cowboy hat—a Resistol—just so. He wore a long-sleeved denim shirt, faded and soft. And his jeans were by Wrangler—the brand favored at rodeos from Florida to Washington State.

“The man looks gorgeous, Mace. I’ll give him that. That white hat with his dark eyes and skin? Umm-umm,’’ Maddie leaned in close from my right side so I could hear her lips smack.

Begrudgingly, I agreed that he looked hotter than a stolen pistol.

“But let’s see if he knows the north end of that horse from the south,’’ I said. “That’s a thoroughbred he’s riding, and he looks like a handful.’’

Carlos eased his horse to the front of the line, where the mule– and horse-drawn wagons were gathered. Even the most placid of horses will sometimes get spooky around pulled wagons. The look of them and the sounds they make can take some getting used to. And a thoroughbred, with its high spirits and often nervous temperament, is far from placid. I watched to see how Carlos would handle the horse.

One of the wagons had been having a problem with a brake that rubbed. As the driver circled the pasture to test his repair, Carlos urged his bay-colored horse toward the mule-drawn contraption. The thoroughbred’s ears went back. He rolled his big eyes until the whites showed, looking at the wagon as if to say “What in the hell is that, and how’s it going to hurt me?’’

The wagon clattered by, squeaking and rattling. The horse went into a fast sidestep, trying to flee. Carlos turned the reins, shifted in the saddle, and used the pressure of his legs on the horse’s belly to force him straight back to what he feared. Tossing his head, the horse turned round and round in a tight circle. Carlos repeated the same actions again, firm but not cruel. By the time he’d done it a third and fourth time, the horse walked along behind the wagon, as docile as the family dog.

“Looks like he has a little more experience than riding a police car through Miami’s concrete jungle,’’ Marty said.

“Hmmm.’’ I left it at that, not caring to add that the man whose skills I’d mocked could handle a horse just as well as I could.

At just that moment, he glanced my way. If my neck had been in better shape, I would have snapped my head around before he caught me looking. But it wasn’t, so he did. I could hardly ignore him now. Especially since he was heading my way.

“Hey,’’ I said as he rode up.

“Mace.’’ He stopped, and touched the brim of his hat. No smile. “Where’s your cowboy friend from earlier this morning? You looked like such good buddies, I thought maybe you two would be riding double on the same horse.’’

Maddie snorted. Marty giggled. I ignored his comment.

“Speaking of riding,’’ I said, “how come you never told me you were so at home on a horse?’’

“What, and spoil your notion that you were Ms. Rodeo Rider and I was just a city boy who wouldn’t know a saddle from a squad car?’’

I think I might have blushed. That sounded just like the way I’d have put it.

“Where’d you learn to ride?’’ Maddie asked.

“My grandfather had cattle in Cuba. After Castro took over, my family didn’t own the ranch anymore.’’ His eyes got a pained, far-away look. “My dad still worked there, though. And he taught me everything he knew about horses.’’

“Well, he must have taught you well,’’ Marty said. ‘You ride like a dream.’’

“Gracias,’’ he said, giving Marty a grin that showed off his white teeth.

When he turned back to me, the smile was gone. “You know, niña, you don’t have the market cornered on cowboys. We had them in Cuba, too. We called them guajiros.’’

With that, he tipped his hat and galloped away.

“It’s a good sign he’s angry about seeing you with Trey,’’ Marty said. “It means he still cares.’’

“Or, it means he doesn’t like her well enough to even try to be nice,’’ Maddie said.

I didn’t reply to the theories of either of my sisters. I just sat there, thinking of the sight of his strong thighs in the saddle, and of the thrill I’d felt the first time he called me niña. Then, his voice had been low and sexy. The Spanish word for girl had sounded like a caress. Now, it sounded like a slap.

___

“Headin’ out!’’ came the call, repeated by riders up and down the length of the pasture. “Headin’ ooooouuuuttt!’’

County sheriff’s deputies had pulled their squad cars onto State Road 64, lights flashing, near the entrance to Bramble land. They blocked traffic so the long line of riders could cross the highway and proceed onto a grassy, roadside swale that makes up much of the Cracker Trail. Today’s highways follow the old paths made by the state’s cattle-raising pioneers. In the old days, cowmen moved their herds from east to west, where they’d load the cattle onto ships on Florida’s Gulf Coast, bound for markets in Cuba. Our ride reverses the direction, signifying their return trip—minus their cattle, and, hopefully, with some money in their pockets.

Once we’d crossed the road and got on our way, the ride began to settle into a pattern. Horses and riders found their strides. Maddie and Marty had been able to rustle up two horses from a group that brings abused and abandoned animals on the ride—partly as rehabilitation, partly in an effort to find homes for the horses. Maddie’s mount walked faster than mine; Marty’s a bit slower. So, it wasn’t long before I was on my own in the line. I enjoyed the passing scenery: an orange grove to the right; a fenced horse pasture to the left. Whinnying loudly, an Appaloosa mare cantered along on her side of the fence, looking like she wanted to break out and join the herd of Cracker Trail horses passing by.

I knew from the last couple of days that Mama’s horse and mine kept a similar pace. Just as I began to wonder where she’d gotten to, I heard her voice behind me.

“Oh, yes, my daughter Mace and I were right there when Wynonna found poor Lawton. She was so distraught. But, of course, I did what I could to make her feel better. I don’t know what it is, but people just naturally turn to me in times of trouble.’’

I heard whoever Mama was bragging to murmur politely, not that she needed any encouragement to continue.

“Now, my daughter Mace, on the other hand, she doesn’t have a natural gift with people. She’s better with animals, quite frankly.’’

“Aw, the poor thing! She’s a loner, then. No boyfriend?’’

I recognized that other voice. I pulled up on the reins to slow Val.

“Well, speak of the devil! That’s Mace riding, right up there. The gal with the snarly hair and big shoulders. Howdy, darlin’,’’ Mama called to the back of my head. “I’ve just been talking to the sweetest, prettiest girl.’’

Pretty, yes. Sweet? Not even close.

“Hello again, Austin,’’ I said as the two of them came abreast.

Austin tossed her hair, picked up her pace, and pulled ahead of us without a word.

The look on Mama’s face almost made it worth it, getting my tent ripped to shreds. Her head swiveled back and forth, forth and back like a one-eyed man at a strip club. Finally, her gaze lit on me.

“Well, I never! You could have told me what the girl looked like, Mace,’’ she whispered. Then, raising her voice to Austin’s retreating back, she yelled out, “And she ain’t all that pretty, either!’’

“How much did you tell her about me, Mama?’’

Mama’s guilty look hinted she’d had a lot to say to Austin in the hour-and-half we’d been on the trail.

“Did you brag about my college grades?’’

A nod and a proud smile.

“Did you complain that I never do anything with my hair or fix my face with makeup?’’

A nod, no smile.

“Did you tell her you’ve just about given up hope I’ll ever get married?’’

Mama pursed her lips.

“That’s what I thought.’’ I turned Val’s reins toward an open spot ahead and pushed my heels to her sides.

“Where you going, Mace?’’ Mama called after me.

“I’m going to show that even if I am too smart for my own good, plain, and pityingly single, I won’t be pushed around.’’

Within moments, I’d caught up with Austin. Like Mama, she had on a full face. Rosy lips. Mascara-ed eyes. Blush expertly blended on perfect cheekbones. I hoped the sun would get really hot, so I could watch all that makeup melt.

I pulled up Val beside her.

‘‘I want to talk to you, Austin.’’

I used the work tone I reserve for visitors to Himmarshee Park who steal rare plants or taunt Ollie, our alligator.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you.’’

She swung her face away from me. I wondered how she made her curls bounce like that. Hair rollers? An electric curling iron? If so, where would she plug it in on the trail? Did they make them with little chargers you could use with your car’s cigarette lighter, like they do for cell phones?

I edged Val closer to Austin’s little horse. It was a flashy Arabian mare, the equine world’s equivalent of a beauty queen. How appropriate.

“You’re going to listen to me, whether you like it or not.’’ Seeing a couple of other riders turn their heads, I lowered my voice to a hiss. “Number one. I didn’t know Trey was involved with you. Which he says he isn’t anymore, by the way.’’

“That’s just temporary.’’ She waved her hand like I was a pesky horsefly, engagement ring glinting in the sun. “We’ve broken up and gotten back a dozen times. He’ll come around. If a certain tramp I could name would just leave him alone.’’

That started my blood to simmer.

“Number two, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me a tramp. You don’t even know me.’’

Austin arched her plucked eyebrows. “I know plenty.’’

Thanks, Mama, I thought.

“And number three, have you got a knife hidden somewhere in those tight jeans? Did you have anything to do with my tent getting ruined last night?’’

Confusion played across her face. It looked genuine. I imagined it was the same look Austin’s high school math teacher had seen a hundred times.

“What are you talking about?’’ she snapped. “Why would I care about your stupid tent?’’

I stared, trying to gauge if she was lying.

“What kind of wine do you drink, Austin?’’

A blank look. “Your mama was right, Mace. You have zero people skills. First you accuse me of whatever with a tent. Now, you want to buy me a gift to make up for trying to steal my fiancé. If you’re serious, I prefer white wine.’’

“Don’t hold your breath,’’ I said, as I turned Val away.

Trey had already said that Austin was none too bright. I graduated cum laude from the University of Central Florida. So, how come I was the one who felt stupid?

___

Maddie and I held the reins of all four horses as Marty and Mama went off to scout the snack line. We’d pulled in at a wide spot along the trail to give horses and riders a midmorning break. I stretched and did knee bends. Maddie did a one-hand massage of her lower back. Funny, I didn’t remember as many pains and aches the last time we rode.

Riders lined up at a flatbed truck hauling the water and lemonade supply. The queue was even longer for the portable potties, trailered from stop to stop like a smelly caboose. You could tell at a glance which occupied john had a broken lock. A cowboy hat propped at the door served as a Do Not Enter sign.

Soon, Mama and Marty returned with lemonades all around, as well as peanut butter crackers and four apples. The horses, of course, got the apples.

“Do you want my crackers, Mace?’’ Mama sweetly offered her package. “I’ll give you half my lemonade, too.’’

She was trying to make up for spilling my secrets to Austin. I didn’t feel like being nice yet.

“No, that’s all right.’’ I sighed. “I don’t really feel much like eating.’’

That was a lie. It’d take much more than a shredded tent and a tiff with Austin to put me off my feed.

“I’ll take your crackers, Mama,’’ Maddie said.

“I wasn’t offering them to you, Maddie. Who knows how many calories are in these things!’’

I thought that was mean, since Mama knows Maddie is sensitive about her size. I always tell her if she really wants to lose some weight, she should spend more time walking the track at Himmarshee High and less time at the Pork Pit restaurant.

Marty handed Maddie two crackers from her pack.

“What’s gotten into you and Mama, Mace?’’ Marty asked. “Y’all are acting crazier than sprayed roaches.’’

Mama glanced at me. I got busy trying to get a tangle out of Val’s mane.

“Well?’’ Marty asked again.

Never one to embrace a silence, Mama blurted, “I accidentally became friends with Trey’s ex this morning.’’

I glared at her. “Austin pumped Mama for all kinds of information. Which we all know is easy to do, since that particular well never goes dry.’’

“Are you saying I talk too much, Mace?’’

“Mama, if talk was money, you’d be a millionaire.’’

Smiling in anticipation, Maddie draped an arm across her horse’s saddle. She leaned on the animal to get comfortable, in case Mama and I really got to arguing.

Marty, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to flee.

“Now, let’s not fight,’’ she fretted. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves. Remember the last time we all rode the Cracker Trail together? It was the year before Daddy died. Mace, you and I were too little to ride the whole way, so we sat in a mule wagon on two bales of hay. Remember?’’

Of course I did. And I could tell my sisters and Mama were thinking back, too, from the far-away expressions in their eyes.

“Okay,’’ I finally said. “Marty’s right. Let’s call a truce. We’re here to have fun, aren’t we?’’

I didn’t know that fun would soon be in short supply.

___

An hour out from our lunch stop, the sun beat on our backs. The horses kicked up dust. Many of the riders, including me, looked like train robbers with our neckerchiefs up over our faces. We didn’t plan to loot the Cattle Rustler drive-thru on SR 64, though. The bandanas were to keep dirt and stirred-up pollen from trampled plants and grasses out of our mouths and noses.

I was by myself again on the trail. Maddie was in front; Marty somewhere behind. Mama was off in the middle, probably revealing dark family secrets to a stranger. Between the hot sun, Val’s rolling walk, and the rhythmic sound of a hundred horses’ hooves, I was about to doze off.

At least I was until I spotted Carlos riding in front of me. I’d know him anywhere, with that broad back and the cowlick that curled on his neck, just below his hat. I remembered tracing that circle of hair one night as I cuddled behind him in his bed.

Better not to think about that now.

I closed a bit of distance between us, moving to where I could watch Carlos, but he wouldn’t see me. He leaned in his saddle to the right, his head cocked toward the rider by his side. She was small, thin-shouldered, and delicate. She reached a hand up to adjust her cowboy hat, and a copper-colored tendril of hair fell down her back.

Belle Bramble. How perfect: Carlos has a need to take care of somebody. Doc Abel said Belle is fragile, and needs taking care of. I backed off, and let them move well ahead of me. But just seeing them was enough to send my imagination into overdrive. I pictured her crying into his chest; her tiny body trembling in his strong arms. I imagined him stroking that fiery-colored hair. I played out their wedding day in my head, complete with a black tux and boutonniere for him, and her in a diamond-encrusted, size two gown. Just as I was picturing the two of them shopping together for baby clothes, I heard a whip crack. It seemed awfully close.

Val stayed steady. But the loud retort snapped me out of my jealous daydream. I noticed that we’d drifted too close to the adjacent highway while I wasn’t paying attention. A stream of traffic flowed by. Logging trucks moved cypress. Locals drove pickups. Lost tourists in rental cars tried to find Disney World.

I started to ease Val back onto the grassy swale, but another horse moved up beside us, blocking our way. Just as I turned my stiff neck to see who rode so near, the whip cracked again. I felt a rush of air behind me as the leather tip connected with Val’s sensitive flank.

And then everything happened really fast.

Val lurched beneath me and skittered to the side, metal shoes scraping asphalt. I leaned over, searching for the reins I’d dropped when the whip hit. My fingertips clutched them, then missed, then grabbed the reins again. As I raised my head, I realized we were in trouble.

Val galloped down the middle of the highway. From the oncoming lane, a semi-truck hauling oranges bore down on us, headlights flashing a frantic rhythm.

brrraapp! brraapp! brraapp!

The horn on the orange truck blasted. Air brakes hissed. Riders screamed, “Watch out! Watch out!’’

You know how they say your whole life flashes in front of your eyes in the final seconds before you die? Well, mine didn’t. I saw the glint of the sun on the truck’s chrome trim. I smelled the oranges in the back. And then I got a quick mental picture of what a mess it would be if the driver hit us, jackknifed his rig, and spilled 45,000 pounds of citrus across State Road 64.

I didn’t want to be roadkill in a sea of orange juice. My instincts kicked in. I knew exactly what to do.

I crouched low over Val’s neck, keeping my hand in contact with the sensitive spot just where her mane ends. “Whoa, girl.’’ My voice was low, and as calm as I could make it. “Easy, Val.’’

With a tight rein, I threw my whole upper body into turning her to the left. Well-trained and responsive, she wanted to go where the reins and the weight of my body were telling her to. But her shoes were slick against the pavement. Her left front leg slid out. She stumbled. I prayed. She recovered; and we cut to the left in the nick of time. The orange hauler veered right, passing so close that I could see the terror in his eyes and read his name embroidered in dark thread on his light blue work shirt. Juan.

Now, Val and I were safely on the grass swale, across the highway from the rest of the ride. Val slowed, first to a trot, and then to a walk. My heart pounded. My lungs felt like they couldn’t get enough air. Looking at the reins looped around my fingers, I saw my hands were shaking. My legs in the stirrups felt like boiled spaghetti.

Before I could dismount to check on Val’s condition, a clatter of hooves came across the road. The outrider who’d given us the lecture about cow whips moved toward me, his face dark with fear and fury. Mama and Marty rode on either side of him. Maddie wasn’t with them. It had all happened so quickly, she must have been too far up the line to even realize I was in danger. Carlos wasn’t there, either. Had he been so taken with Belle that he didn’t even register the drama unfolding behind him?

And, speaking of drama, the fourth rider hurrying across the highway was Austin. Except for two cherry-colored splotches of blush-on, her face was ghostly white. Her lower lip quivered. A cow whip dangled from her right hand.

Mama was the first to reach me. She was out of her saddle and by my side in a flash.

“Darlin’, are you hurt?’’ She reached up to squeeze my knee. “I thought you and that horse were done for.’’

“I’m fine, Mama. Just shaken up.’’

Marty shuddered. “I’ve never been so scared in my life, Mace.’’

Tell me about it, I thought.

“I am so, so sorry.’’ Tears spilled from Austin’s eyes. “I was just fooling around, learning how to snap the whip. I never thought I’d get it to work.’’

“Looked like it worked just fine,’’ I said. “You hit my horse. Were you trying for her, or for me?’’

“Ohmigod, Mace!’’ The hand with the whip flew to her mouth. The tears really started flowing now. “I never, never, meant to hit you.’’ She stared, her wide eyes lingering on each of us. “Y’all have got to believe me!’’

The outrider was silent, working the tobacco in his jaw. Mama glared at Austin, her hands on her hips. Marty looked like she was about to cry, too.

“Right now, I’m worried about Val,’’ I said. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.’’

I climbed down. Mama flung both arms around my waist. She hung on as I stepped to Val’s side and ran a hand over her coat. I gently touched her right flank.

“It’s starting to welt, but the skin’s not broken,’’ I said. “So that’s good.’’

I leaned down, checking the horse’s legs and feet. Mama, still hanging on, leaned with me.

“Mama, let go.’’ I unwound her fingers from my waist. “I’m fine.’’ I kissed her on the forehead. “I promise.’’

The outrider had been watching all of this—tears, kissing, emotion—with a pained look. He spit a stream of tobacco juice, raising a tiny puff of dust where it hit the ground.

“This is what we’re gonna do,’’ he finally said. “I was thinking about banning you from the ride, Miss.’’ He pointed at Austin, who lowered her eyes to the ground. Her shoulders shook with sobs.

“I’m not gonna do that. But I am gonna take away that cow whip of yours. You’ll get it back when you show me you can behave. Now, I don’t know what’s between the two of you gals, and I don’t want to know.’’ He looked at me. “You say one thing; she says another. I don’t have the time to try to straighten it out.’’ He glanced at his watch. “We should be making our lunch stop about now with the rest of the ride. All of this has put us behind.’’

“Sorry if my almost getting squashed by a semi-truck screwed up your schedule.’’

“Hush, Mace!’’ Mama said. “Nobody likes a smart aleck.’’

He held out his hand to Austin. “Give it over.’’

She coiled the whip and laid it into his open palm, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“I am so sorry. I never, ever meant to do her or that horse any harm.’’

“So you’ve said.’’ He spit again and narrowed his eyes. “I’m watching you, Miss. Another careless stunt like that and you’re off of this ride for good.’’

The outrider started back across the road, and Mama and I followed him. We were almost to the other side before I noticed that Marty and Austin weren’t with us. I shifted sideways so I wouldn’t have to turn my head to see what was holding them up.

Marty had moved her borrowed horse to block Austin’s path. She leaned out from her saddle, her little face just inches from Austin’s. As Marty’s lips moved, Austin’s eyes got wide again. Her face went pale. Then, she spun her little Arabian and high-tailed it away from my little sister.

Marty trotted across the road. Her usual sweet smile had returned.

“What in the world did you just say?’’ I asked, watching Austin’s horse kicking up dust as they raced away. “She looks like she’s not gonna stop ’til she gets to the ocean inlet at Fort Pierce.’’

Marty’s gaze followed the fleeing Austin. Under the brim of her hat, my little sister’s eyes were colder than I’d ever seen them.

“I just told her we’re watching, too. I said if she harms you in any way, she won’t have to worry about getting banned from the Cracker Trail. I told her that before that happened, Maddie and I’d break both her legs so bad she’d never ride a horse again.’’

And with that, Marty tucked some stray hair under her hat and turned her horse to the trail.