“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 f
or 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.
Mama Rides Shotgun Page 9
