Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago

by Stephen A. Bly

  “That sounds like quite a trick.”

  “The first time my head wasn’t in the picture. The second time I only had half a horse.”

  “How about the third time?”

  “Now, there’s the problem. To get everything in the lens, I propped the camera up on pebbles and my gloves. I had just climbed up in the saddle when a gust of wind blasted through and knocked my camera over. It slid down between boulders next to the creek. I jumped out of the saddle and sprinted down there. But I couldn’t reach the camera.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “So I started digging at those boulder with my hands. Seems like ever’ time I moved one, it would slip down deep. I laid on my belly with my toes in the crick, and got my hand on the camera.”

  “Oh, good …”

  “No, that’s the first foolhardy act of the day.”

  “What happened?”

  Tallon gave her a squeeze. “I hope you appreciate how difficult it is for me to admit.”

  His lips were close enough to her ear that she could feel the warmth of each word.

  “Miss Dev, I got my dadgum arm stuck.”

  “Stuck?”

  “Don’t laugh. I couldn’t get my arm out from the rocks. It was something about the angle and the leverage, I couldn’t yank it out. I couldn’t move the rocks. It felt like one of those Chinese thumb cuffs where the harder you pull the tighter it grabs.”

  “Only it was made of granite rock. What did you do?”

  “You mean, after I yelled at myself, pounded, and pouted? I wanted to get my horse down there. I figured I could grab onto the stirrup with my free hand, and he could step back and yank me out of that mess.”

  “Oh, that sounds painful.”

  “So did spendin’ the rest of my life with my hand stuck in the rocks.”

  “Did your horse cooperate?”

  “No. I screamed and hollered at him until he ran off.”

  “Coop, this is quite a story.”

  “I remember thinkin’, ‘Lord, I already had my prayer time. I don’t need this. This serves no purpose in my life.’ But who am I to say? The fun was just beginning.”

  “There’s more?”

  “It was three o’clock before I finally dug myself out of there. I never did get the camera. Reckon I’ll go back for it another day.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Tallon laughed. “Don’t know if I want to show you the scene of my folly. Anyway, I found my horse standin’ in that little creek. I gentle-talked him and waded out there. About three feet before I got to him, my boots sunk down in mud halfway up to my knees. The crick isn’t six inches deep, but this was a muddy sink hole.”

  “Like quicksand?”

  “Only this was thick, gumbo clay. I couldn’t pull my boots out of it.”

  “What?”

  “Yep, they were stuck. Oh, I could pull my feet out of the boots, but couldn’t get my boots. Meanwhile, this pony, disgusted with my yellin’ and splashin’, hiked over to the tree and just watched.

  “It’s one thing losing a digital camera, but no cowboy is going to ride off without his boots. So I stood in the crick in my stockin’ feet and dug in the clay mud to retrieve my boots.

  One came out fairly easy, but the other was swallowed up by the clay from hell. But I fought it until I yanked it out. When I finally did retrieve it, I turned and chucked that sucker at the trees.”

  “Your horse was in the trees.”

  Tallon squeezed her waist. “See, you thought of that. But at the time I didn’t. The horse was half asleep, bored by the afternoon’s events. That boot caught him right behind the ear. He jumped five feet straight up, dove through the cedars, caught the saddle on a tree, busted the cinch, and bolted into the prairie dragging my saddle behind.”

  “Oh, Coop, you must have been furious.”

  “Dev, I just sat there and laughed. It was beyond belief. I said to myself, ‘Well, Tallon … I’m glad you got that out of your system, ’cause nothin’ else can go wrong today.’”

  “That’s a good attitude.”

  “It would have been fine, but things didn’t get much better. I cleaned up my boots and myself the best I could. Then I went in my socks to find my pony, cause I didn’t want to wear soakin’ wet boots.”

  “That sounds hard on the feet.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I lasted about a mile and then put on the boots. But that wasn’t much better. They were already rubbin’ my feet raw when I caught up with the horse. He was not too happy to see me, having been clobbered and dragging the saddle.”

  “He had an exciting day too.”

  “Anyway, it was gettin’ along towards five o’clock by the time I secured him. He was too spooked to try to ride him bareback, so I just balanced the saddle on his back and headed to the house.”

  “At five o’clock?”

  “Miss Dev, I’m goin’ to trust this story doesn’t get past you. It’s a reputation a man don’t want others to remember.”

  “I promise, Mr. Tallon.”

  “Anyway … my feet lasted another mile, but they were rub-bin’ raw and startin’ to bleed with the wet socks and wet boots. I made it back to Bugler Wash, so I parked myself out of the wind and built a little sage fire to dry my boots and let my feet rest. It was kind of a tirin’ day, and I dozed a little by the fire.”

  “That’s good.” Develyn turned on her flashlight again as My Maria, Uncle Henry, and the buckskin gelding dropped down into the dry creekbed and out of the distant signal of the headlights. “But I thought this was Bugler’s Wash.”

  “It is. I was east of here a ways. You can’t see town from there.”

  “But I found you back in the trees.”

  “That’s where the story gets even more embarrassin’. When I woke up, it was dark. The clouds had moved in, so I couldn’t read the stars. I got myself turned around and started north instead of south. I wonder if I am getting old.”

  “How old?” Dev’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, dear … did I say that out loud?”

  “Fifty-six. Today, I felt a lot older. I discovered my error when I got to the trees. By then my feet were raw again. So I sat down to rest them and ponder. I was sittin’ there dozin’ in and out of sleep, wonderin’ what in the world the Lord was tryin’ to teach me and how could anything good come of the day, when I heard your voice.”

  “It must have startled you.”

  “That’s the funny thing, Miss Dev. It just seemed natural. It was almost as if I was expectin’ it. That must sound strange. Maybe my mind is too tired and sleepy.”

  “I know what you mean. When you answered my shout, it didn’t startle me at all. Maybe it was the Lord’s prompting, but I just knew I was supposed to saddle and ride out here. I just drove back from the rodeo over in Douglas. I noticed your buckskin was gone, so I looked for you.”

  “You might be right. Maybe the Lord prompted you. He does take care of fools.”

  “You aren’t a fool, Cooper Tallon.”

  “Some days I feel like I’m thirty … other days like a foolish old man. And when I’m visitin’ with you, I feel both.”

  “Fifty-six is not old.”

  “Don’t tell my feet that.”

  They plodded close enough that they could hear the engine running in the Jeep. “I’ve got some wonderful stuff for your raw feet, but you can’t look at the label. When I first started riding this summer, I wore my … eh … my derriere raw in two days … and Mrs. Tagley gave me some lotion that absolutely soothed everything overnight and I haven’t hurt since.”

  “What’s it called?”

  Develyn rode the horse around to the front of the cabins. “You can’t look at the label.”

  “How can I use stuff without knowin’ what it is?”

  “OK, it’s called ‘Dr. Bull’s Female Remedy,’ but it really works, Coop, it really does.”


  He released her and climbed off the horse. “I’ll only try it if you hand it to me in a brown paper sack.”

  She swung down out of the saddle. “Well, Mr. Tallon, thank you for the delightful evening.”

  “This was probably more important than you can imagine. Thanks. This is a transition time in my life. Knowing you helps me think things through.”

  “Let’s put up our horses. Ill get that ointment for your feet.”

  Develyn left the Jeep parked behind the cabins. Uncle Henry lay down in the dirt next to the rig. With My Maria pastured and the tack stored, she darted into the cabin and grabbed the bottle off the cluttered counter.

  Cooper Tallon sat on a log bench in front of his cabin. In the dim lantern light she saw him toweling off his feet.

  “I didn’t have a paper bag to disguise it with, but if you sit out here in the dark, you can pretend it says NFL sports cream or something.”

  He rolled up his sleeve and rubbed on his right arm.

  “How’s your arm?”

  “I think I pulled a muscle or something, trying to yank it out of the rocks. I can’t lift it above my shoulder without it hurting. But it will heal in time.”

  She squatted down in front of him. “OK, let me see those feet.”

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  “I’m helping my friend.”

  He pulled his feet back. “No, Dev … really, I can’t …”

  “What is it with you, Coop? Give me your foot or I’ll send you to the principal’s office.”

  “You schoolteachers are a pushy lot.”

  “Yes, and where would the world be without us?”

  He sighed and shoved out his right foot. She squirted the lotion all over her hands, then rubbed it into his feet and ankles. “Coop, do you have any eggs?”

  “Eh, yeah.”

  “Do you have any bacon?”

  “I reckon so.”

  She motioned for him to stick out his other foot. “Good. I need to borrow them.”

  “Any time.”

  “I’m borrowing them right now. While you finish cleaning up, I’m cooking you some breakfast. You haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I can’t have you do that.”

  She stood, put the lid on the bottle, and handed it to him. “Do that again a couple of times and you’ll feel better. Now, go get the bacon and eggs. I’m kind of a lousy cook, Coop. But I can stir up some breakfast.”

  “But, you don’t understand.”

  “Listen to me, Cooper Tallon. I need to cook you breakfast as bad as you need me to cook it for you.”

  He leaned back against the cabin wall. “What do you mean?”

  “The Lord has been trying to show me that this summer is not about me. It’s about me helping others.”

  “Like the old neighbor man?”

  “Not old. But I need to do this for you. I feel better about myself when I’m doing things for others.”

  “You don’t know how hard this is for me.”

  “That’s why you have to allow it. How often do you let someone else do something for you personally?”

  “Hardly ever.”

  “How often have you let a woman do something for you?”

  He folded his arms and stared down at his bare toes.

  “Never.”

  “Then it’s time you learned, isn’t it?”

  “I reckon … but even a good schoolteacher don’t give the boy five tests on the first day of school.”

  Develyn laughed. “Good point. If you let me cook you breakfast, I promise it’s the last thing I will do for you today.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yes, I do.” He stood up. “I’ll get the bacon and eggs.”

  She reached down and scooped up the little bottle. “Don’t forget the Remedy.”

  “Yes, ma’am …” He paused at the door. “I can hardly wait for recess, Ms. Worrell.”

  * * *

  When the alarm on her watch rang at six in the morning, Develyn leaped out of bed, but couldn’t remember why. She stared at the busted brass alarm clock on the counter, then shoved the button on her watch. She staggered to the propane stove, turned on the burner under the teapot, then shuffled across the cold linoleum floor to the sink. She cupped a double handful of cold water, splashed her face, and stared out the window at the cabin one hundred feet away.

  We talked until 2:00 … it was nice. Nothing dramatic … nothing too personal … just “things.” Digging trenches and teaching science and horses and Indiana summers and Wyoming winters. For two hours, I didn’t think about me. That was nice, Lord. Real nice. The horseback ride was like a dream. A good dream. Not a thrilling dream. Not a scary dream. Just a comfortable dream. Like shoes that fit well and you can use them both for the classroom and yard duty.

  She peered at the cabin again.

  I wonder how Coop’s feet are today. What an experience. Of all the people I’ve met in Wyoming, he is the least likely to need my help for anything. But I suppose if you stay here a while everyone will need help sometime.

  A distant shotgun blast interrupted her thoughts.

  Everyone except Mrs. Morton.

  Develyn grabbed a bottle of water from the chest, twisted it open, and took a gulp.

  I’ve got to go to Mrs. Tagley’s for some ice today, and … Mrs. Tagley!

  “That’s why I set my alarm.”

  She pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t smell too bad. She combed her hair and peered at the little mirror.

  “Casey Cree-Ryder, you are not here. Why do I feel obligated to keep this no makeup deal? Are you leaving your hair down?”

  She’s leaving it any way Jackson Hill wants it. I hope she is having a great day. Lord, I’m leaving the makeup off, just to prove to myself that I can do it if I want to.

  She glanced in the mirror once more.

  But I am never, ever going to do this again. At least no one but Mrs. Tagley will have to look at me, and she doesn’t care.

  The back door to Mrs. Tagley’s house had a screen on top and wood panel below. It hadn’t been painted since Franklin Delano Roosevelt was president. Develyn scooted across the back porch and cracked open the kitchen door. “Mrs. Tagley, it’s me … Devy …”

  “Come in, honey. Thanks for checking on me. Have some coffee. I’m in the bathroom putting on my makeup. I don’t let anyone see me without makeup.”

  Develyn grinned and poured a mug of coffee. You see, Lord? Even Mrs. Tagley needs her makeup. So it’s not vanity. Just prudence.

  “There!” Mrs. Tagley’s word preceded her entrance into the kitchen. “I never feel quite dressed until I have on my makeup. I call it my heavenly look.”

  “Heavenly?”

  Mrs. Tagley filled a mug that read “Paris, 1936.”

  “Oh, yes. In heaven we will be made perfect, right? So there will be no bags under our eyes, or crow’s feet, or gray hair, or sagging chins … and other parts. Anything I can do to make myself look like I will in heaven, I call heavenly. I figure the Lord wants us to look like we will in heaven on the inside … in our soul … so why not look that way on the outside too?”

  “I never thought of it that way. I like that.”

  The older lady sipped her coffee and stared at Develyn. “You ought to try it, honey.”

  Develyn laughed. “Yes, well … I’m trying a no-makeup experiment. I’m trying to see how many men I can scare off.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You girls don’t have to worry until you get a little older. And thanks for checking on me. I’m going to open my store and turn on my soaps. Satellite reception is a wonderful thing. I get the soaps two hours early. You’re welcome to stay if you want.”

  “I need a bag of ice.”

  “Help yourself. Unlock the
front door and turn my sign, would you? I’ve got to check on Misty.”

  “Misty?”

  “She thinks she’s in love with Dr. Radford, but he’s no good for her. You remember how he treated Priscilla Davenport? Misty needs to learn how to choose the right man.”

  “So do I.”

  “That’s not any harder than buying new shoes. Just find one that’s comfortable, yet nice enough to wear uptown … and keep him.”

  Develyn grabbed a bag of ice from the freezer, then unlocked the front door and turned over the tattered “YES, WE’RE OPEN” sign.

  Comfortable shoes? Maybe comfortable boots?

  A young boy stood by the cottonwood tree in the dirt yard in front of Mrs. Tagley’s. He stared at Uncle Henry, who was scratching his back against the tree.

  “Good morning,” she called out.

  He wore a black and orange Harley Davidson T-shirt. “Is the store open now? I’m visiting my grandma, and she said an old lady runs this store. Are you the old lady?”

  “Mrs. Tagley is inside. She can help you.”

  The boy pointed to Uncle Henry. “That sure is a weird looking horse. Is it a Shetland pony?”

  “It’s a burro. A donkey.”

  “It’s got ears like a rabbit. I think it’s an alien.”

  “He belongs to me. His name is Uncle Henry.”

  “Does he follow you all over?”

  “Yes, he thinks he’s a dog.”

  The boy shrugged. “So does my sister.”

  “Well, I hope you find what you want at the store.”

  “Does she have any cool video games?”

  Develyn looked at his deep blue eyes. “I don’t think she has any good ones. I hear they stink.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

  She was out in the dirt street when he shouted, “Hey, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Ms. Worrell.”

  “My name is Leon Morton.”

  The morning breeze blew the clouds away. By noon the sun blazed through a thin, blue Wyoming sky. Even with a slight breeze, it was hot. The old John Deere thermometer on the front of the cabin read eighty-eight degrees, but Dev didn’t know how accurate it was. She sat in a plastic chaise lounge in the dirt yard, near the pasture. One hand sported a glass of ice water … the other was empty, but a hardback book titled Classroom Discipline for the New Millennium lay sprawled in her lap.