“A schoolteacher’s boy? Hmmm … in that case you can stay out until 12:30,” Develyn announced.
The four strolled to Jackson’s white Dodge pickup. After Casey slid into the truck, she rolled down the window. “You know, I should be the one telling Renny to get you home early.”
“Now, don’t get to meddlin’,” Renny said.
“Well, if you don’t get her home in time, Quint Burdett will have the entire Wyoming National Guard activated to look for her.”
“Do you have your cell phone?” Develyn asked.
“Yes, and I have a quarter, just in case I need to use a pay phone to have you come pick me up.”
Develyn folded her arms across her chest. “I’m being overprotective, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, you shove me out and then want strings attached.”
“I have heard that line before.”
Casey raised her thick, black eyebrows. “From Delaney?”
“Yes, so it must be true.” Develyn glanced at a grinning Jackson Hill. “Take care of her. And I wasn’t really joking about 12:30.”
He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am. Shoot, it will take that long for us just to catch up since June of 1996.”
“It was May of ’96,” Casey corrected.
“Nope, you’re wrong.” Jackson reached down to his boot and pulled out his wallet. “It was June 26, 1996.”
“What was June 26?” Casey asked.
He pulled out a faded, folded page from a steno notebook. “See here … June 26, 1996.”
“Oh, my word, no …” Casey sobbed. “You saved them?”
He nodded. “Thirty-eight of ’em.”
“Those are the notes you put in his gear bag?” Develyn choked.
“I kept ever’ one, then reread them on lonely nights. I didn’t know who had written them, but I knew if I held on to them long enough, I’d find out.”
“When did you learn that it was Casey?” Develyn asked.
“Two minutes ago, when she started to cry.”
“You didn’t know until then?”
“I hoped it was her, but I didn’t know.” Jackson Hill put his hand on Cree-Ryder’s shoulder. “You don’t have to go with me, if you don’t want to.”
“Are you trying to get me to leave?” Casey sobbed.
“That would break my heart. I really want to visit with you.”
Casey wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “Then let’s leave before I shoot you or kiss you. I don’t want witnesses either way.”
The truck roared out of the parking lot.
Renny put his arm around Develyn’s shoulder. “That’s quite a story, Ms. Worrell. You’ll have to fill me in on what I don’t know.”
“I’m still stunned that a man would carry those anonymous notes for ten years.”
“Dev, darlin’, you have no idea how lonely life can be on the road. It’s memories like that which sustain a man.”
“But for ten years?”
“If you are pinin’ over a girl you know, you can find a cure within six months to a year. But an unknown gal only gets better with every passing memory. I guarantee you Jackson would have carried that note until his dyin’ day, if he hadn’t found out it was Casey.”
“I can’t believe how quick a situation can change.”
Renny took her arm and led her back to his truck. “Nor can I … Devy-girl.”
* * *
“So, I said to Etbauer … ‘Billy, you’re holding that rein too short’ … and he said … ‘Renny, I am short’!”
Develyn glanced around at the crowded steak house. Every conversation in the building suspended, waiting for Slater to finish the story. He sat up and glanced around. “Am I talkin’ too loud again, darlin’?”
She shook her head and grinned. “You are just being Renny Slater. Everyone loves your stories.” She cut a small bite of rib-eye steak and stabbed it with her fork. “You ought to write down some of these tales.”
“Me? Write? Devy-girl, I haven’t written much more than my name in twenty years. You’re the schoolteacher. Maybe I could get you to write them down. Anyway, nothing spectacular ever happened to me.”
“Is that so?” she pressed. “You mean to tell me that riding a horse over a cliff in Wind River Canyon and surviving isn’t spectacular?”
“Just ’cause not many folks have done somethin’, doesn’t mean it should be written about. Shoot, Miss Dev, I was just lucky.”
“Lucky? You punctured your lungs, broke your ribs, dislocated your collarbone, and broke your wrist.” Develyn glanced at her reflection in the blade of the knife. If only I had some makeup.
Renny took a swig of iced tea. “I just sprung my wrist.”
“And laid in that stream until daylight. I’d say that was worth writing about.”
“Devy-girl, to be honest, I reckon we all have different adventures in life. But I think I enjoy mine more than the next guy. Ever’ day is worth living. You just don’t know what that day will bring.”
“You goin’ to quote Forrest Gump and tell me life is like a box of chocolates?” The steak tasted sweet, juicy, and hot.
“No, ma’am, for me, every day is like a bronc I’ve never ridden before. You screw your hat down tight. Grab that rope rein with a vise grip, jam your boots in the stirrups, then you lean back and nod, ‘outside’.”
“The gate swings open, and the day begins. Some days you get bucked off on the second jump. Other days you ride that mean sucker until the crowd stands to cheer. And lots of days, you make your ride, but don’t get much of a score. Then you fall in your bunk ever’ night with the thought: wait until tomorrow. So you get up and start the adventure all over again.”
She scraped a fork full of baked potato. “You sayin’ that life’s a rodeo, cowboy?”
“Yes, ma’am …” He tipped his black beaver-felt cowboy hat. “You can either get sick worrying about it, or just stay in shape and enjoy one day at a time. How about you, Miss Dev? How would you describe your life?”
“I live a schoolteacher’s life.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have all my lessons planned out for the entire year, and a good day is when I complete the lesson plan on the day assigned.”
“But what about the surprises?”
“They are constant grief and annoyance.”
“I notice in Arizona, Florida, and other states, some towns make a big deal out of how many days of sunshine they expect to have each year. So, following your lesson plan philosophy of life, how many good days do you expect to have in a year?”
Develyn stared out the window toward the parking lot. Lord, why are you doing this to me? Why do you challenge me to think my life through? I don’t want to answer him.
She cleared her throat and laid her fork on her plate. “I’d say I have about fifty-two good days a year, three spectacular days, fifty-two bad days, three horrible days … and about 255 mediocre days.”
“Whoa, I wasn’t expectin’ such a detailed account.”
“Renny, in my lesson plan book, I use a red felt-tip pen and draw a star for every good day … a blue X for bad days … and nothing for a mediocre day. I know what the record is.”
“How about these summer days, since you came to Wyoming?”
“I don’t judge them at all. They all seem to be good in their way.”
“There’s your secret. Don’t judge them at all. No more marks in your lesson plan book for life.”
“Renny, I’m a very organized person.”
“I didn’t say no more plans. I said no more predetermined judgment. When do you make your mark in the lesson plan book at school?”
“At the end of the day, before I go home.”
“But how do you know for sure it’s been a bad day? Maybe all the returns are not in yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus was crucified on a Friday, and some of the women who had traveled with him, including his mama, were there. If you surveyed them on Friday night, how many of them would say that was a lousy day?”
“All of them, I suppose.”
“Now here we sit at the Tapadera Inn, eatin’ steaks and butter-drenched baked potatoes, corn on the cob, and apple pie waitin’ for us. Lookin’ back from where we are right now, would you say that the Friday Jesus was crucified and died for our sins was a good or a bad day?”
“It was a glorious day for us. That’s why we call it Good Friday.”
“There’s my point. Even the worst of days might turn out in the long run to be the best of days.”
“OK, Mr. Slater, I am overwhelmed with cowboy logic. Where is all of this leading?”
He pushed his hat back. “How about you driving with me up to Graybull tomorrow and helping me break a two-year-old filly?”
She wiped the white cloth napkin across her narrow lips. “What has that got to do with your great philosophy?”
“It means you’ll take a risk on havin’ a good day.”
“How long will it take?”
“Eight hours.”
“You ride a bucking horse for eight hours?”
“I hope I don’t ride a bucking horse at all. I’ve got a method of calmin’ ’em down, so that by the time I climb on board there is no buck in them. I think you’d learn somethin’ about horses … some about Renny Slater … and even some things about Ms. Develyn Worrell.”
Develyn sipped on her iced tea, studied his dimpled grin and his large brown eyes. “I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
“Renny, you are easy to be with. Some day, I plan to forgive you for sticking that thistle under My Maria’s saddle at the auction.”
“I was hopin’ you had forgotten about that, darlin’.”
“Oh, no, there are some things a girl never forgets.”
“Like a boy remembers his first horse, and a girl her first kiss?” he offered.
“Or her last kiss.”
“Are you pinin’ for Quint?”
“No, no … not really. Can I be brutally honest with you, Mr. Slater?”
“You goin’ to embarrass me?”
“I just might. But it won’t be on purpose. You asked me about my first kiss … well … I have never been kissed much. My ex-husband was not the kissing kind. It didn’t accomplish his goal. I believe his comment was, ‘Why waste time with the appetizer, when it’s the entrée that I’m after?’”
Renny glanced around the room, then rubbed his chin. “Eh, well … I reckon that is one man’s philosophy.”
“Are you embarrassed, Renny?”
He flashed a dimpled grin. “No, Miss Dev, not me. But them two ladies over in the side booth under the fake flowers is blushing like they laid in the sun too long.”
“They were listening to me?”
“Everyone’s listenin’ to you.”
“We’re quite a pair of talkers, Mr. Mustang Breaker.”
“I reckon we are.” He leaned across the table. “Now, let me tell you somethin’.”
She lowered her voice. “You aren’t goin’ to embarrass me, are you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Rats.”
“I like you, Devy-girl.”
“I like you, too, Renny. I never have to pretend to be perfect when I’m with you. That’s a nice freedom you give me.”
She leaned over and whispered. “Are you going to tell me you haven’t kissed very much either?”
He patted the top of her hand. “No, ma’am. In fact, I just might be the best kisser in Wyomin’.”
“Oh, then, well good.”
“What I wanted to tell you is that I don’t believe I’ve ever been around a lady who was as good a listener as you.”
“How’s that?”
“Most gals have their own agenda. They want me to talk about their subject or just sit still. My ex-wife is a very sweet lady whom I haven’t seen in ten years. She’s happy with a new husband and kids, so I hear. But I don’t think she ever listened to anything that was really on my heart since the night I proposed to her. She planned out my life and had me jump through the hoops. Some days I was tired of jumpin’ and just wanted to have her sit still and listen. But that never worked out. Thanks for listenin’ to me.”
“Renny, I’m glad we had some time alone to visit. When are we leaving to go to Graybull in the morning?”
“I’ll pick you up about 5 a.m. or so.”
“Oh, dear. Make it ‘or so’ please. I’ll hardly have time to put my face on.”
“You know you don’t have to paint it up for me. I like it today.”
Develyn’s hands went to her face. “I forgot! Oh, dear, what a dumb promise I made to Casey. I must look old and pathetic.”
“To tell you the truth, Devy-girl, you look good.” His eyes seemed to lock on to hers. “You look real good.”
Don’t give him anything you don’t want to give him.” Casey peered out from under the bedcovers at the back of the cabin.
“Yes, Mother. We’re just driving down to Laramie. He has some ol’ college pals to look up. One of them is an assistant professor at the University of Wyoming.”
Develyn stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Why did I let you talk me into this ‘no makeup’ thing?”
“You look perky as always.”
“Casey, no woman looks perky at 5:45 a.m. And I had to beg him to wait until 6:00. Renny wanted to leave at 5:00.”
“Well, Jackson loves my hair down, so I don’t suppose keeping the promise will be a problem for me.”
“What do you like best about him?”
“He’s nice to me. Really nice. You know … polite, considerate. Do you know what he did? He opened the door of the pickup for me.”
“That’s what a gentleman does.”
“Dev, that’s the first time anyone ever opened a door for me.”
“He’s a good-looking young man.”
“Did you see his brown eyes? They are dreamy, aren’t they?”
“I have to be honest. I didn’t look in his eyes.”
“I stared at them for hours. You can learn volumes by looking into a man’s eyes.”
“So, I hear.”
“I was so worried all the way home about how to tell you I wanted to go to Laramie and wouldn’t be riding with you. Isn’t it cool the way the Lord works things out?”
“Casey, is it just me, or does life move at a different pace out here? Two mornings ago we rode out, and I was trying to figure out Quint. Yesterday morning we snuck out of LaSage Canyon. And now, you are headin’ off with Mr. Dream Cowboy.”
“And you are drivin’ off with the biggest flirt in Wyoming.”
“I like Renny.”
“Every woman in this state likes Renny. But that’s OK. He’s a nice guy, Devy-girl. I told you that from day one. The Lord has done a number on that mustang breaker. But he’s rodeo through and through.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s always goin’ down the road. There is always some big thing just over the hill. He can’t stay in any one place too long. It’s a mentality. A lifestyle. In the old west days, he would be called a drifter. Like most roughstock riders, he has an eight-second attention span.”
Develyn giggled. “Just like fifth-graders.”
“I suppose. Just don’t expect something from Renny that he can’t give.”
Develyn brushed a comb through her short blonde hair. “Yes, Mother. How do I look?”
“Darling, of course. You always look darling.”
“I didn’t look darling yesterday morning.”
“That’s true.” Casey swung her feet out of bed, then stood. She wore an oversize Frontier Days T-shirt that hung just past her panties. “Can I bor
row that purple shirt of yours with the cowboy hat silhouette on it?”
“Sure, honey, but we aren’t exactly the same size, you know where. It might be a little snug.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Casey Cree-Ryder, let me clarify my earlier injunction. Don’t you be givin’ away something the Lord doesn’t want you to give away.”
Casey shuffled across the slick linoleum and hugged Develyn’s shoulder. “And, sweet Devy-girl, don’t you go giving away anything the Lord doesn’t want you to give away.”
Develyn stepped back. “I’ll be with Renny all day.”
“Rule number two in dealing with cowboys: Never underestimate cowboy charm.”
“What’s rule number one?”
“Always, and I mean always … read their eyes.”
“Thank you, Ms. Cree-Ryder.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Worrell.”
“I’m going to feed the horses. I can get ready on time when I don’t have to put on any makeup.”
“When were you not ready on time?”
“July 23, 1989. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
Casey shoved her toward the door. “While you are out there, explain to Uncle Henry why you’re deserting him today. He pouted like a three-year-old when you didn’t show up to load him yesterday evening.”
“What will he do when I have to go back to Indiana in a few weeks?”
“Dev … I don’t even know what I’ll do.”
* * *
Wyoming wind greeted her at the door, and she reached for her hat, even though she wasn’t wearing one. To the east, the sun had broken the horizon and was casting long shadows westward. Uncle Henry greeted her at the bottom of the porch step, then followed her to the pasture.
“Now, baby, I’m going to be gone today, so you have to behave yourself. You may not go over to Mr. Tallon’s and plop on his driveway. You may not go into town and hang out at the tree in front of Mrs. Tagley’s store hoping the children will give you candy.” She fingered the hair between the burro’s ears. “You need to stay in the yard and rest up. We’ll all go riding tomorrow. If you aren’t a good boy, I will have to put you in the pasture with My Maria and Popcorn. Be a good boy, and Mama will bring you back a treat.”
Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago Page 32
