“It’s kind of like a hunger and a fulfillment, a longing and a satisfaction, a dream and a reality that makes your heart beat faster and every breath of air taste sweeter. It’s a God-given gift, honey. He offers it to a few … and some reject it. But them that accepts it, never lets go. You’ll either live here or long for here all of your life. But you will never get Wyoming out of your system. You know in your heart what I say is true.”
Develyn bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, I think I’ve known that since I was ten.”
The bell at the front door jingled. Develyn helped Mrs. Tagley stand.
“I’ve been on the floor all night, Devy-girl. Go take care of my customers while I freshen up a bit. I need to comb my hair and put on some fresh makeup.”
Develyn stepped back to the store where she was greeted by a boy who looked about twelve.
“Where are your video games?” he demanded.
“They’re on the bottom shelf in the side room under the videos and DVDs,” Develyn said.
A man in Dockers and a maroon knit golf shirt strolled up to the counter. “I had a little car trouble, but the shop seems to be closed. The big door is open, but no one is there.”
“I’m sorry, Lloyd goes to Casper for auto parts every Thursday morning. He’ll be back between 9:30 and 10:00. He’s quite a good mechanic.”
“But the door is open.”
“I don’t think that door has worked in years. In the winter time, he hangs a plastic tarp.”
A blonde-haired lady with khaki shorts, matching maroon golf shirt, and sunglasses strolled up beside the man. “This isn’t Houston, Ryan. There is still a little trust in this world.”
A little girl about ten peered around the shelves. She wore jeans shorts, a pink “Cheyenne Frontier Days” tank top, sandals, and a bright pink cowboy hat with a fake featherhatband.
“Hi,” Develyn said. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Hillary Ann Thompson. I’m in the fourth grade at Rayburn Middle School. I live at 34266 Hillside Circle in Houston, Texas, 77008. My parents are Ryan and Melissa Thompson, and I’m going to be a cowgirl just like you when I grow up.”
Her mother grinned and hugged her shoulders.
Boots, jeans, cowboy hat and no makeup … I probably do look more Wyoming than Indiana.
“Good job, Mom. She knows just what to say.”
“The cowgirl part just started yesterday.”
“At the roundup?” Develyn pressed.
The father scratched his forehead. “No, we go to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo every year, so they are used to rodeos. But driving north of Cheyenne we were stopped on the highway while they moved several hundred head of Herefords from one grazing ground to another.”
“One of the cowboys was a girl my age,” Hillary Ann Thompson reported.
“So, she decided on being a cowboy girl?”
“A cowgirl,” Hillary corrected.
“In Wyoming we call them cowboy girls.”
The boy stomped back into the main room. “Your video games stink!”
“David, that’s not appropriate,” his mother scolded.
“But it’s true.”
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Develyn asked.
“We’ll have to wait for Floyd for the fan belt. I’d like a bottle of water. How about you, Melissa?”
“Yes, that sounds nice. Do you have water in a glass bottle? It’s so much better than the plastic.”
“I don’t think so, but check the bottom shelf of the pop cooler. The store belongs to my friend, Mrs. Tagley. I’m just watching it while she does a few chores in the back.”
Melissa Thompson headed for the cooler.
“What about you kids?” Mr. Thompson asked.
“I want a Mountain Dew,” the boy said.
“I would like to have whatever cowboy girls have,” Hillary declared.
Develyn dug out an orange Popsicle from the freezer. “This is what Wyomin’ cowboy girls always have.”
The little girl’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“I didn’t even know they made Popsicles anymore,” the man murmured.
“I’m going to have one myself,” Develyn announced.
The lady returned with two plastic bottles of water. “It’s OK. I just prefer glass bottles if you had them.”
Develyn gave the man change and shoved the ten-dollar bill into the old-fashioned cash register.
“Do you mind if we wait out front on that old wagon seat?” the man asked.
“Oh, please do. Do you have a pocket knife?”
“Eh, no …”
Develyn reached under the counter and pulled out a yellowed stockman’s knife. “You can use this one and carve the kids’ initials in the bench.”
“You encourage graffiti?” the woman gasped.
“Just initials. It’s sort of like a guest registry. You don’t have to do it.”
“Cool,” the boy shouted. “Come on, Dad.”
“This is a different world,” the woman replied.
“Yes, it is,” Develyn said. “It’s a good world … and some people get to spend more time in it than others.”
Hillary clutched Develyn’s hand as they walked to the front of the store.
“Is that mule running loose?” the boy called out as he banged open the door.
“That’s my watch-burro. He’s a pet, like a dog. So I call him my watch-burro. His name is Uncle Henry. He is very fond of orange Popsicles, but don’t let him have yours.”
“A watch-burro?” Hillary squealed. “Daddy, can we get a …”
“No, absolutely not!”
“But you may visit with mine. I need to go to a rodeo in Douglas today, so he will be lonely,” Develyn said.
“Are you going to ride bucking horses?” the little girl asked.
“Oh, I hope not, honey. A cowboy friend of mine is teaching a bunch of boys how to ride bucking horses, and I’m going to watch.”
“Did you ever ride a bucking horse?” Hillary asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“In front of a big crowd?”
Develyn thought about the wild horse auction. “The arena was packed.”
“Did you get bucked off?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did you do then?” Hillary pressed.
“I did what every cowboy girl does. I got back on.”
Hillary’s eyes widened. “You did? When I grow up, I want to be just like you.”
“I’m going to walk down to that corral and back to stretch my legs,” Melissa Thompson declared. She turned and strutted down the stairs.
Ryan Thompson motioned to the bench. “David and I will be over here carving some initials.”
“What are you going to do?” Hillary asked Develyn.
“I’m going back to my log cabin over there to get my Jeep and drive to the rodeo.” Develyn turned to the man at the bench. “Mr. Thompson, could Hillary walk with me to that pasture? I wanted to show her my horse.”
“Oh, yes, Daddy, please!” Hillary squealed.
“Yes, you may. You mind this nice lady.”
Develyn and Hillary strolled hand in hand to the end of the pasture, licking Popsicles. Uncle Henry tagged along behind.
“Which horse is yours?” Hillary asked.
“The paint horse.”
“He’s beautiful.”
“She’s beautiful. Her name is My Maria.”
“You have a girl horse?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the name of the other horse?”
“That’s Popcorn. He belongs to my friend Casey Cree-Ryder. She’s an Indian.”
“A real Indian?”
“Yes.”
“So that is an Indian horse? Wow … this might be the best day of my entire life.”
Develyn s
quatted down next to Hillary until they were eye to eye.
“Honey, some time today or tomorrow, the Lord’s going to offer to give you Wyoming.”
Hillary’s eyes widened. “He will?”
“Yes, and you can either say ‘yes’ to that gift, or ‘no.’ I want you to say yes.”
“I will. I really, really will.”
“I know, Hillary Ann Thompson. I can see Wyoming in your eyes.”
* * *
The Broken Arrow Saddle Club loomed in the distance as Develyn pulled off the highway and onto the thinly graveled dirt road. The dust hovered like ground fog in her rearview mirror. By the time she parked in the converted pasture, grit coated her arms, face, and lungs. Several dozen pickups and horse trailers littered the grounds. Dogs ran among the rigs.
Uncovered wooden bleachers were half full of men and women wearing jeans, boots, and cowboy hats. She spied three wooden bucking chutes across from the stands. At the far end of the arena, roping boxes stood empty.
South of the arena, shade tarps stretched tight snapped like towels in a locker room when the wind picked up. Under the tarps, smoke steamed up from a huge portable barbecue grill. Next to the grill were several tables.
Two dozen boys, ages twelve to twenty, sat on the top rail of the fence. Each sported jeans, boots, long-sleeve western shirts, and cowboy hats. They listened to the dimpled cowboy with a black Resistol cowboy hat who rode a sorrel horse.
Develyn stood by the rail and watched the cowboy.
That’s Renny’s element, Lord. He’s home. He’s out under the Wyoming blue sky with the wind in his face, riding horseback and teaching the next generation what it’s all about. He looks happy. He looks at peace.
Is that the way I look in the classroom back in Crawfordsville?
I hope so.
I want to be content. I want to accept who I am.
I want to be as excited about the subject at hand as Renny.
Somehow, spelling and parts of speech don’t seem as thrilling as a bucking horse. Maybe I could devise a “Rodeo of Arithmetic” where they only get eight seconds to answer a math question.
Renny’s a natural teacher. Look at those boys. They will do absolutely anything he asks of them.
“And here’s Miss Dev!” Renny rode down in front of her.
She pulled off her sunglasses. “Hello, Mr. Slater.”
“Climb over the rail, darlin’. I promised to introduce you to the boys.”
She climbed up two rungs, threw her leg over the top rail, and slid to the arena dirt. Renny climbed down off the horse and handed her the reins.
“Ride down the line and introduce yourself to the boys.”
She took the reins, but hesitated to put her boot in the stirrup. “Slater, if you stick a thistle under this saddle and this horse so much as bucks once, I’ll jump off this horse and murder you in the middle of the arena with my bare hands,” she murmured. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I just want you to say howdy to the boys.”
She swung up into the saddle and jammed her right foot in the stirrup. “If he bucks, you’re dead, Slater.”
“Relax, Devy. You look younger when you relax. And eh …” He motioned to her face.
“What?”
“Wear your shades.”
“My sunglasses?” She glanced down at him. “What’s the matter, cowboy? You said you liked the no-makeup look.”
“Oh, I do, darlin’, but I sort of built you up with the boys.”
“And you don’t want me looking older than their mother?”
“No, darlin’ … that’s not it … exactly.”
“I think I might murder you anyway. Just for general principles.”
“Boys,” Renny hollered. “Let me introduce you to my good pal, Miss Dev Worrell. Earlier this summer she helped me ride stock over at that wild horse sale in Argenta. The day before yesterday, she and I were up at Graybull and we worked together and gentle-broke a rank mare in only seven hours. As far as I know, she and Casey Cree-Ryder are the only ones to ride down the north end of Sage Canyon and back up again since the oil company dynamited that roadway. What I’m sayin’ is, this is one tough cowboy girl. So treat her nice.”
Develyn rode down the rail, and like a wave at a Colts football game, the boys’ hats came off one at a time, followed by a chorus of “Howdy, Miss Dev, ma’am.”
They all have dirty cheeks, smiles on their faces, and cowboy in their eyes. Where do these boys come from? Oh, my, there are some lucky little girls in Wyoming.
She turned the horse around and walked him by the cowboys again.
“Now I know what some of you boys are thinkin’,” Renny said. “But Miss Dev is just a little too old for you. Besides, you’d have to wrestle me to get her hand.”
“I’ll wrestle you, Renny,” one boy shouted.
Develyn turned back to see a boy standing on the outside of the rail. His face looked twelve, but his body looked like an NFL linebacker.
“I bet you would, Luther,” Renny laughed. “Now that you’ve gotten a chance to meet Miss Dev, all of those in favor of my proposal, signify by sayin’ ‘aye’.”
Enthusiastic “ayes” exploded from the boys on the rail.
“All opposed, say ‘no’.”
Silence.
“What did I just get voted on?” she pressed.
“You are officially elected the queen of this rodeo.”
“Queen?” She glanced at the boys, and then out at the parents in the stands.
“I told them that even with all your experience with horses, you had never been elected rodeo queen. Now you have.”
“Oh my, that is a wonderful honor. Boys, thank you very much. Am I supposed to make a wall run, or what?”
“At this rodeo all the queen has to do is sit in the stands and look purdy, then present the trophies and ribbons at the barbecue.”
“And pose for pictures with the winners,” one of the boys called out.
“I’d be privileged to do that.”
“I’ll wrestle you for her, Renny,” Luther repeated.
* * *
Develyn sat all afternoon in the middle of the bleachers between Charley Rice’s grandmother, Beatrice, and Cody McAllen’s mother, Candy. Frank Slinisky and Candy’s husband, Larry, served as pickup men. The scores were decided by Frank, Larry, and Renny with a consultation in front of the bucking chutes right after the ride. Renny shouted the score and what made the ride strong or weak.
Sinde Salvador, stopwatch in hand, was the timer. Her daughter, Natasha, blew the portable airhorn after eight seconds. Except for when she was winking at Carrie Hammer’s cousin, Mason, from Rock Springs.
Each of the twenty-two boys rode two rounds. The top ten averages moved on to the finals. At the intermission after the second round, Renny met Develyn at the gate.
“How’s the rodeo queen?”
“It’s quite an honor. I presume I was the only candidate.”
“The others were too scared to run against you.”
He slipped his hand in hers, and they ambled toward the parked rigs.
“I think the whole queen thing was cooked up by my mustang breaker.”
“Hey, you need to be queen just once.”
“Thanks, Renny, you make every day fun.”
“Good. Because I don’t think Ms. Worrell has had nearly enough fun in her life.”
Develyn pushed her hat back. “Can I pull off my sunglasses now, or will it frighten you?”
“Pull ’em off.”
“You’re probably right. I’ve been uptight for so long it’s a lifestyle. But you and Casey and the others are helping me relax.”
“Good. I was hoping that would happen.”
“Look at today. It’s a little girl’s dream. I think I’ll put it on my dossier, right after my master’s degree—rodeo queen
.”
When they reached Renny’s pickup, he opened the tailgate and motioned for her to sit next to him.
“You know what, Miss Dev … ?”
“What?”
“You make my life fun too.”
“As an object of your jokes?”
“No, when you’re around I try harder at everything. I’m more aware of things. Want to do it all a little better. You step my life up a notch just by being in the crowd. I know, I know … it sounds crazy. But you are a classy lady, and that’s every cowboy’s dream.”
“That’s a very nice thing to say.”
“Here’s the deal … my life gets to be such a routine.”
“A routine? Renny, your life is different every day of the year.”
“Oh, the jobs are different. But the manner that I go about them is routine. The same style. The same actions. Even the same jokes. And after a few years, I’m just givin’ the minimum. I know what it takes to get invited back. But I don’t do much more. Then here you are. I want you to see me at my best. So I don’t dawdle with shortcuts and old routines. I give it the effort it deserves, whether that’s breakin’ a wild mare or running this camp. I think that’s what I wanted most out of being married, and the thing I never got. I wanted someone to bring the best out in me. Am I making sense, or have I been bucked on my head too often?”
She kissed his cheek. “Renny, you may not know this, but you’ve been counseling me. Excellence in any field is difficult to maintain when you don’t have anyone in the stands to witness it. In almost twenty years of marriage, Spencer never came to one of my class programs. He said I wasn’t supposed to be involved with his work, and he wasn’t supposed to be involved with mine.”
“I am sorry about that, Dev. When we are young, I don’t think we understand the permanent effect of some of the choices in our lives. There are some things we can’t break free of, even if we want to.”
“If you had it to do all over, would you go back and marry your wife again?”
“You mean if I was eighteen again, but knew what I know now?”
“Yes.”
He pulled off his black felt hat and ran his calloused fingers through his sweaty hair. “Yes, I would, Dev. I was crazy in love with her. Maybe now I know how to do it right. How about you? If you were back there, a senior at Purdue, knowing what you know now … would you marry Spencer again?”
Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago Page 40
