Her wide eyes sparkled. “Really? We get to choose? Oh, I want a pretty paint. Will you let me pick first? Please, Dewayne!”
“Yeah, OK, but I don’t know if he has a paint horse.”
“He just has to. I prayed last night for a paint horse to ride, and I know he will have one.”
“Well, hurry up.”
Develyn reached down and grabbed the hem of her flannel nightgown.
“Wait!” Dewayne shouted as he flung open the front door. “Don’t you know boys aren’t supposed to be in the room when girls change their clothes?”
She stuck out her tongue … and waited for the door to slam.
* * *
Mr. Homer was the most wrinkled man Develyn Upton had ever seen. She and Dewayne bantered that he could hide a pencil in the creases of his face and not find it for days. Mrs. Tagley said he was a Shoshone Indian, but other than his permanent tan he looked just like any old man.
A very old man.
Two dozen horses milled in the corrals near the arena on the west side of town. Develyn had been in such a hurry that she left the cabin barefoot. That was fine in the soft loose dirt on the road, but when they reached the scattered gravel on the parking lot next to the corrals, she made her brother carry her on his back. He plopped her down next to the old man, who wore a long-sleeve white shirt buttoned at the neck and a crisp, narrow-brimmed Stetson.
“Do we really get to choose our own horses?” she squealed.
Mr. Homer leaned against the weathered fence railing and appraised the horses. “I will leave two in the corrals and take the others up north to pasture.”
“Do we get to pick any one we want?” Develyn asked.
“Just about any one. Who goes first?”
“I do!” Develyn’s hand shot up. “I’m the girl, and I always get to be first.”
“I take it you are the youngest, also,” the old man mused.
“I’m just six minutes younger than Dewayne. We’re twins. Not identical twins, of course.”
“Yes, that much I could see. Well, which horse will it be?”
Develyn’s smile made her cheeks hurt. “I want that brown and white paint horse. He is the most beautiful horse in the world.”
“The paint, huh?”
She bounced up and down on her bare toes. “Oh, yes, please.”
The old man shrugged. “Sorry, you can’t have him.”
“But why?” Develyn cried. “You said I could have any one I wanted.”
“Almost any one. Pick another. The paint has some bad habits from his previous owner.”
“But I’ll treat him nice.”
“I’m sure you will, little darlin’, but you could also get hurt by what you don’t know. I will not let you ride that horse.”
Develyn felt her lower lip quiver. “This isn’t fair,” she whimpered.
“Can I pick first?” Dewayne asked.
“No, it’s still my turn. I want that black horse. He looks very fast,” she announced.
“You can’t have him, either,” Mr. Homer reported.
“But … but … but you promised that…”
“Pick another horse. The black horse has a wild streak. He goes along fine for several days, then he’s liable to take off running across the prairie. When he does, no one can turn him. Not even the good Lord up above knows where that horse will run.”
“This isn’t very fun,” Develyn pouted. “I don’t get to pick a horse at all.”
“Pick the brown one,” Mr. Homer suggested.
She climbed up on the splintery rail and stared in at the horses. “The one with the black tail?”
“No, that’s a bay mare.” He waved a gnarly hand at the band of horses. “Pick the one with brown all over.”
“But … but …” Develyn whimpered. “He’s so boring. He looks old. I don’t want an old horse.”
“Brownie will be a good horse for you.”
“Brownie? Even his name is boring!” she wailed.
The old man leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Pick Brownie. He’ll take care of you. He’ll get you to where you want to go. And no matter where you are, he will always bring you back home. You can’t find a better horse than that.”
“But I don’t want a boring horse.”
“He is the smartest horse here. He knows more than the rest of the horses put together. I was afraid your brother would pick him. It’s only for a couple of days, right?”
She wiped the tears on her dusty cheeks. “He really is the smartest?”
“If horses went to school, Brownie would be the teacher.”
“I want to be a teacher, too.”
“Well … which one do you choose?” Mr. Homer prodded.
Develyn glanced over at her brother who stood on the rail studying the circling horses. She bit her lip. “I pick Brownie,” she murmured.
Dewayne mumbled something.
* * *
“What did you say?” Develyn demanded.
“I said, ‘Wake up, Devy-girl.’”
Sunlight streamed through the open curtains of the guest room. Develyn found herself sitting up in bed staring at a fully dressed Casey Cree-Ryder.
“I’ve got My Maria and Uncle Henry loaded in my trailer. We’ll head home after we eat. Most of the rest are waiting downstairs for you so they can have breakfast.”
“Everyone is still here?”
“The sheriff came in about 3:00 a.m. and took the prisoners. Cuban gave Tallon a ride home about daybreak. Renny’s been out ridin’ a bronc. But I think he’ll come in for breakfast with you at the table. Lindsay’s in the kitchen, and your Quint is pinin’ for his Miss Dev.”
“He is?”
“Of course. Now, what was Ms. Worrell dreaming about?”
“Was I dreaming?”
Cree-Ryder scooted over next to the bed. “You sat up and were mumbling something. I just assumed it was a dream.”
“It’s all kind of vague.”
“Were you dreaming about cowboys?”
“No, that wasn’t it. I was dreaming about horses.”
“Did you learn anything?”
“I think maybe I got some things resolved.”
Casey Cree-Ryder raised her thick, black eyebrows. “Are you sure you were dreaming about horses?”
Develyn flopped back down and stared at the ceiling. It felt like every muscle and nerve in her body relaxed at the same moment. “Maybe I wasn’t dreaming about horses. Maybe I was dreaming about dreams.”
Dedication
for Rina Joye Bly
Copyright © 2006 by Stephen Bly
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
Published by B&H Publishing Group
Nashville, Tennessee
978-0-8054-3172-8
Dewey Decimal Classification: F
Subject Heading: FORGIVENESS—FICTION
Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version, copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society.
Brownie’s rear rocketed straight up as if propelled from a cannon. Develyn clamped her knees against the fender of the saddle and fought to keep her tennis shoes in the stirrups. When his back hooves slammed into the ground, she snatched up a rein and yanked it to the right.
“Stop it right now!” she hollered.
Brownie spun right.
Develyn lost her left stirrup. She felt her bottom slide out of the saddle, so she threw her body to the left. But the gelding stopped spinning, and her over-compensation flung her over the horse. Her flailing hands clutched the saddle horn. The entire saddle now slipped to the left side of the horse. Develyn clutched a handful of chocolate brown mane to keep from hitting the dirt. Ears tucked back, Brownie lunged forward. Develyn didn’t turn loose of the mane or the tilted saddle horn. Sharp pains
shot through her ankles as they bounced on the river rocks.
“Stop it, I said!” she cried.
Brownie bucked again, and flipped Develyn like a rag doll over his back. Her jaw clamped as tight as her fingers. The saddle circled back into position. Her knuckles and fingers throbbed in pain. She bounced along backward, her heels slamming into the dirt and rocks on every jump.
“Please, stop it,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to die.”
Brownie slowed his bucking, but bounced down the trail at a reckless trot.
“Bees!” Develyn groaned. “Mountain bumble bees!” With bodies the size of a quail egg, a dozen angry bees dove on the tail-swishing, wide rump of the quarter horse gelding.
At the first sting, Brownie ducked his head and thrashed his rear hooves toward the Wyoming sun. At the same moment, he spun right. Develyn slammed into the saddle, backward. She clutched a handful of mane hair, but managed also to grip the cantle and stay seated as the horse bolted up the trail.
The little swarm of bees reassembled just above Brownie’s rump. Develyn tossed the handful of horsehair and grabbed the stampede string on her straw cowboy hat. Hat in hand, she leaned back over the cantle and swatted at the bees when they dove this time.
She batted several to the ground. The others retreated.
What am I doing? Now they’ll attack me!
They lunged at her hat. With patience beyond her ten years, she took aim again. Three bees shot back into the air like badminton birdies.
The others veered off toward a dwarf juniper tree.
Then they were gone.
All of them.
“Whoa, Brownie!” Develyn shouted. “Whoa!”
When the horse stopped, she continued to sit backward in the saddle. She glanced over her shoulder. “It’s OK, Brownie. You couldn’t help it. I’m sorry I …” she fought to catch her breath.
“Devy-girl!”
The yell was distant, but familiar. She stared down the dirt trail at the boy on the galloping horse. She jammed on her straw hat and slid the keeper up to her chin.
“What are you doin’ like that, Devy-girl?” Dewayne asked.
“Like what?”
“Backward in the saddle.”
“I was swatting bees.”
“Bees?”
“A swarm of very large mountain bees attacked Brownie, and I chased them off.”
“I don’t see any bees.”
“That’s because I did a good job.” Develyn swung around in the saddle and hooked her toes into the stirrups.
“Hey, I got good news, Devy-girl.”
She gazed at her twin brother. “This better not be a joke or something, because Brownie and me have lots to do.”
He scratched his very short brown hair. “You don’t have anything to do but ride.”
“Hah!”
“Mr. Homer came to town today and brought a paint gelding for you to ride.”
“What?”
“He said he knew how disappointed you were with your pony, so he brought you another one.”
“I don’t want another one.”
“What? You cried and cried because you didn’t get a paint horse.”
“I was younger then.”
“That was just last Tuesday.”
“It doesn’t matter. Brownie is my horse now.” She leaned forward and patted the horse’s neck.
“What am I goin’ to tell Mr. Homer?”
“Tell him that me and Brownie have been through too much already. Tell him I’ve made my choice, and Develyn Gail Upton Worrell doesn’t change her mind.”
* * *
The pulsating intro of Brooks and Dunn singing “Go West” opened her eyes, but it wasn’t until a long black braid swished in front of her that she remembered her location.
And her age.
“Are you ready to ride, Ms. Worrell?” Casey asked.
Develyn sat up in the plastic webbed lounge chair and shaded the bright sun with her hand to her forehead. Sweat dribbled down the back of her lavender T-shirt. “I think I fell asleep.”
“Were you dreaming of a classroom of Indiana fifth-graders, or living in that big headquarters house at the Quarter Circle Diamond with your Quint?”
“I was dreaming about horses.”
“That’s what you always say. Are all your dreams about horses?”
“Only the good ones.”
* * *
Develyn grabbed her distressed straw cowboy hat and a bottle of water from the wooden counter that served as the cupboard and the only shelf in her log cabin. When she stepped back outside, Casey Cree-Ryder had two horses tied to the side of her horse trailer.
“You brought Popcorn?”
Casey patted the brown Appaloosa gelding with white spots on his rump. “He needs some work.”
“I’ve never seen you ride any horse but Montana Jack. I thought you saved Popcorn just for roping.”
“Maybe we’ll find something to rope.”
Develyn ambled over to her taupe and white skewbald mare. “Well, My Maria … Popcorn has about as much chrome as you do. What a dashing pair you make.”
“Yeah,” Cree-Ryder grinned, “if he hadn’t been cut, just think of what interesting foals they’d produce.”
Develyn rubbed her horse’s nose. “I just can’t imagine My Maria as a mama.”
“Yeah, I think the same about me, but I can dream.”
“What are you talking about? You’ll find the perfect cowboy one of these days.”
“Dev, I don’t want the perfect cowboy. The perfect cowboy wants a perfect wife. I’ll take one with a few flaws, as long as he loves me like crazy.”
“Well spoken, Miss Cree-Ryder.” Develyn peered into the back of the silver-sided horse trailer. “We can’t ride horseback to this secret place you’re going to show me?”
“We could if we had three days. It’s quite a few miles west of here.”
“I didn’t think there was anything west of here.”
Casey’s dark freckles waved with the smile. “Oh, sure, sooner or later you’d run into Idaho.”
“I don’t know why you have to keep it a secret.”
“You’ll see.” Casey untied her horse, led him out and around a big circle behind the horse trailer, then walked him straight into the trailer. When she had his lead rope tied, she strolled out. “Your turn. I wonder if My Maria will trailer?”
“I thought you said it would be easy.”
“Easy once you get the hang of it. Just show her confidence. Walk right in there beside her and she’ll follow your lead. She trusts you.”
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Develyn said.
“You have to learn to trailer your own horse. You can’t expect Quint to do that for you.”
“You have me tethered to Quint already.”
“Me? You’re the one that dreams about him every night.”
“I do not.” Develyn untied My Maria and circled behind the trailer. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Yes, well, until a week ago you hadn’t danced barefoot with two dozen cowboys either. It’s a season to try new things.”
“Are you sure she’ll follow me into the trailer?”
Casey folded her arms across the front of her sleeveless
T-shirt. “Of course.”
Develyn clasped the lead rope with her right hand and marched toward the open back door of the trailer where the Appaloosa gelding waited.
OK, Lord, I can do this. Just hike up here … step into the trailer like I’ve done it a thousand times before and …
My Maria refused to put a foot in the trailer and froze like a Remington bronze. She tucked back her ears and snorted.
“I don’t think she wants to load,” Develyn called out. “Jerk on the rope. Show her who’s boss.”
Jerk on the rope. Yeah,
right …
Develyn tugged hard on the lead rope. The halter stretched tight, but the horse refused to move.
“Come, girl … it’s time to go for a ride.”
“Pull harder!” Casey hollered. With all 108 pounds, Dev flung herself forward into the trailer. With all 942 pounds, My Maria hurled herself backward away from the trailer. “Hold on!” Casey yelled.
With both hands seared by the friction of the red nylon rope, Develyn slid across the yellow, dry Wyoming dirt like an empty can tied to a cat’s tail. When the mare stopped pulling back, Dev sprawled across the dirt like an anchor, the lead rope still clutched in her hand.
Casey ambled over and stared down at her. “Good.”
“What’s good about it?” Develyn choked.
“You held her.”
“I burned my hands and got drug through the dirt.”
“Yeah, it happens to me all the time.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Cree-Ryder reached down her calloused hand. “It makes me feel better. Come on, don’t just lay around, you’ve got a horse to load.”
Develyn struggled to her feet while Casey Cree-Ryder held the rope.
“That was exciting, wasn’t it?” Casey’s thick black eyebrows bounced with each word.
“Exciting? That’s probably the tenth time in the past month that I wasn’t sure I’d live another minute.”
“You braggin’ or complainin’?” Casey chided.
“What I’m saying is, My Maria is now quite tiffed at me, and she’s still not in the trailer.”
“Do it again.”
Develyn tucked her short blonde bangs under her cowboy hat. “You have to be kidding.”
“No, really. Show her you mean it. I’ll help you this time.”
“Good, you lead her in and I’ll stand over here and take notes. I’m a good student.”
“You aren’t a student; you’re a teacher. You need to know how to show others. You had to learn how to do yard duty when you were a rookie teacher. Now you have to learn to trailer your own horse. You lead her, and I’ll provide a little persuasion.”
Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago Page 21
