Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping

by Jeanne Glidewell

  I was tickled by Wendy’s praise, but I could have smacked her for mentioning a sore rump. Until she’d mentioned it, I’d been so intent on other issues, I hadn’t even been aware that my backside really was aching after several hours in the saddle. Now it was front and center in my thoughts, and I could feel it throb with each step Buttercup took. The only way I could think of to take my mind off my current state of discomfort was to distract myself. Not to mention, I was dying to know what she and Cassie had discussed in their earlier conversation.

  “So, tell me, what did you and Cassie talk about?”

  “Well, first, as you suggested, we talked about her children. Chace is still young and just getting serious about riding, but Brandi is already taking barrel-racing lessons and is showing great promise. She’s won numerous ribbons in youth rodeo competitions. She’s quite mature for her age, Cassie told me. As a matter of fact, Brandi turns eleven on my thirtieth birthday in August. We are birthday buddies.”

  “How nice!” I said. “So, what did she say about Fanny’s death?”

  “You really do have a one-track mind, don’t you, Mom?”

  “Oh, sorry. Was there more you wanted to tell me about their equestrian hobby?” I asked apologetically. I really could be laser-focused when I was trying to determine who had the most incentive to want someone else eliminated.

  “Not really,” Wendy replied. “But your tendency to act like a dog with a bone when you’re butting into a murder investigation can be a bit disturbing at times.”

  “Yeah, I know. And I guess patience is not one of my virtues, either.”

  “Now that’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

  “So what did she say about the murder? The suspense is killing me.” It wasn’t until later on that I realized the suspense might have been killing me, but it was also keeping my mind off my aching butt, and the fact that I had to pee like a racehorse—no pun intended. I pulled Buttercup closer to Riptide so I could hear Wendy’s comments more clearly.

  “When I was able to segue into the death of her ex-husband’s new wife—or her children’s wicked stepmother, as she liked to refer to her—she kind of clammed up and didn’t respond much to my questioning. She mostly just replied with one-or two-word responses, and didn’t offer up a lot of information or opinions. She seemed upset about the death, but not particularly upset that Fanny Finch was dead. In fact, the only real opinion she voiced was that ‘the home-wrecking witch’ got what she had coming to her, and that karma has a way of coming back to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.”

  “Well, at least she wasn’t bitter about it,” I said jokingly.

  “Yeah, right,” Wendy said with a chuckle. “But she made sure to mention she didn’t know Fanny and Avery would be in Cheyenne this week, and that being in the same campground as them was entirely coincidental. She told me she was a fashion model, and due to upcoming assignments, this was the only week she and her kids could fit the vacation in without conflicting with her or Brandi’s schedules. Brandi, she told me, had several barrel-racing events earlier in the summer, and one coming up in August.”

  “Hmm, I’m not sure I believe in coincidences on that scale.”

  Wendy nodded in agreement, and after a few minutes of silence, she pulled forward a few yards. At the beginning of our return journey, Justin had announced that anyone who wanted to increase their speed could do so, and if they chose to let the horses take the lead, they’d head straight back to the ranch, where they’d be rewarded with a bucket of oats and a rubdown.

  “Don’t let me hold you back, sweetheart,” I said to Wendy. “Buttercup and I are perfectly content at this speed, and I’ll let her take me straight back to the barn. You and Veronica go ahead and join the others up ahead. I really want you two to enjoy your trail ride experience. Please don’t let me keep you from doing so.”

  “But Justin’s up ahead with the lead pack and Veronica has already picked up the pace. I don’t want you to be left alone back here, not with your lack of horseback-riding experience, and all. I don’t mind staying back here with you.”

  I’m not sure what Wendy meant by “and all,” but I felt completely confident that Buttercup would not lead me astray. And I intended to pick up the pace a bit also, in order to proceed as quickly as I felt comfortable doing. That way my gentle horse and I could return to the barn and join the others as soon as possible. Most importantly, I could use the restroom facilities located there if I could hold it that long.

  “I’ll be fine, trust me. You go ahead. Please, honey. If I run into any problems, I’ll call you on my cell phone. If I don’t show up eventually, it shouldn’t be too hard to track me down. Just look up and head in the direction where the flock of buzzards is circling.”

  I was being ridiculous to let her know she was being needlessly concerned about my welfare. As I’d hoped, she laughed and nodded as she eased her horse into a canter. It didn’t take long for her to speed up.

  “Well, if you insist, Mom. See you back at the barn!” She hollered, as she and Riptide prepared to leave us in their dust. Buttercup made no effort to go faster, even as I gently tried to urge her to kick it up a notch. I knew prodding her gently in the side with my heels would do the trick, but she’d been so good to me so far that I didn’t have the heart to do anything that seemed even remotely mean-spirited. I tenderly patted her neck and then reached back and patted her rump a little less tenderly. The mild-natured Appaloosa began to walk a little faster, but the increase in speed was barely discernible. I decided it was in my best interests just to let her take the lead and proceed at her own pace.

  After patting Buttercup on the rear end, I noticed that mine was nearly numb, which was a good thing. Unfortunately, a numb bum does not make the bladder any gladder.

  Fifteen minutes later, as I shielded my eyes from the sun and studied the horizon, I discovered the other sixteen riders were no longer within view. I experienced a moment of panic, but quickly reminded myself that Justin had assured everyone that our horses knew their way back to the barn. He had assured us that if we let them lead they’d take us straight home, where their reward for a hard day’s work was awaiting them.

  That didn’t solve the problem of having to relieve myself, which had become urgent. Had I been Justin, Wendy, or even young Chace Bumberdinger, I could have hopped out of the saddle on to the ground, squatted in the meadow, as I would have normally been reluctant to do had the situation not been as dire. Then I could hop back astride my horse and commenced heading back to the ranch. Piece of cake for any of the other folks on this trail ride. Easy, peasy, as Justin would have said.

  However, I was not Justin, Wendy, or even the snot-nosed little boy, who could ride circles around me. I was a middle-aged, still slightly apprehensive woman on the cusp of being a senior citizen, who was wearing a pair of jeans that were already stretched to their limit and were no doubt causing my thighs to chafe in a manner that would irritate me for the rest of our vacation.

  I was practically to the point of crying in despair when I spotted a scrub tree with low limbs, growing right next to a decent-sized, flat-topped boulder, not more than a hundred yards ahead of me. With any amount of luck at all, I could slide off the horse’s back and land squarely on the boulder. I could tie Buttercup’s reins to the tree, and once I’d finished my business, I could hold onto a limb while standing on the boulder, and slip my leg right over Buttercup’s back into the saddle. It was a well-devised plan, I thought, but whether or not I could carry it off was a whole different ballgame.

  Without stopping to consider the risk of my “well-devised” plan turning into a train wreck, I thanked God for his act of compassion, and persuaded Buttercup to walk toward what I prayed was not just an apparition resulting from my having spent too many hours in the sun. At that moment, the only thing that could have appeared any more welcoming than the vision in front of me was, perhaps, a Starbucks. I guess it shows the depth of my caffeine addiction when, despite th
e fact that coffee was the reason I was in the plight I was in, I would have given my left arm—or at least my left pinky—for a cup of hot, steaming Columbian coffee.

  As we approached the boulder, I was relieved to discover it hadn’t been an optical illusion. It was ideal for my present needs, and I thanked God once again for his grace. I vowed to put an extra twenty in the offering plate at church the following Sunday, as a small token of my appreciation for the favor granted me. I was nearly giddy with relief.

  I lifted my left leg over the horn of the saddle and slid off Buttercup’s back onto the rock, awkwardly but effectively, and then did a face plant onto the hard surface of the boulder. I felt as if I’d broken my nose, but found no blood on my hand after swiping it across my face. When I tried to stand up, I collapsed into an ungainly heap again, as my legs refused to support my body.

  Looking on the bright side, at least no one was around to witness my dismount this time, other than Buttercup. And by the look in her eyes, I’m not sure I’d want to know what was going through her mind at that moment. I gave myself a few seconds to regroup before gradually bringing myself upright and to my feet.

  The distance between the bushy scrub tree and the large rock was greater than it had appeared from afar. Reaching out as far as I could, I was able to grasp a branch while trying unsuccessfully to avoid the menacing-looking thorns protruding from it. A thorn, nearly two inches long, buried itself deep into the palm of my hand. It stung like the devil as I held my breath and yanked it out.

  Although the branch I’d grasped was not very substantial, I thought it would suffice to keep Buttercup immobile while I squatted next to the rock to relieve myself. In fact, I wasn’t certain she’d move away from the boulder even if unrestrained, but I didn’t want to take that chance. So I tied the reins around the branch, as best I could with a throbbing hand, pulled a small packet of tissues from my fanny pack, and crawled carefully down off the boulder.

  How do I spell “relief?” With my back propped up against the boulder, I took care of business, which took a while since I was dispelling four cups of very stout coffee. After squatting for just the amount of time it took to empty my bladder, I found it difficult to stand up again. My legs felt as if they’d turned into rubber.

  Only the thought of the embarrassment I’d have to endure if found in that less than enchanting position gave me enough incentive to power through it, grunting like a warthog in heat the entire time. I must admit that the swarm of red ants I spied about five feet from me might have enhanced my determination.

  My sense of relief was overwhelming, but short-lived. I’d just been commending myself for coming up with such a well-devised plan, when I heard a loud snapping noise. You know what they say often happens to the best-laid plans of mice and men, don’t you? Well, mine went awry in a split-second, when the inadequate branch I’d tied Buttercup to broke in two. Startled by the unexpected noise and recoil of the branch, my transportation bolted away from the scene as if her tail was on fire. I would not have guessed the laid-back horse could move that rapidly had I not witnessed it with my own, now watering, eyes.

  Well, crap, I thought. Crap, crap, crap! What in the world was I going to do now? I should have known God was just playing with me, most likely reprimanding me for wasting his time with such a selfish, insignificant request, when children were starving and dying of preventable and curable diseases all over the globe.

  Maybe it was that “karma” thing Cassie had mentioned to Wendy, coming back to nip me in the rear end for drinking coffee I knew I should have passed on. I should have heeded my daughter’s advice when she only had my best interests at heart. How stupid I’d been to defy her and then pray that some divine intervention would rescue me from my self-inflicted predicament.

  I crawled back onto the boulder and watched Buttercup racing away from me, enveloped in a cloud of dust. She would soon be rewarded with a relaxing rubdown and munching on a well-deserved bucket of oats, while I sat on a rock, wishing I could turn back the clock and resist the caffeine craving that had landed me in my current pile of doo-doo.

  I unzipped my fanny pack, thanking God once again for creating cell phones, only to quickly discover there was no signal to be had out in the middle of Nowhere, Wyoming. My cell phone was suddenly as useless to me as a trombone would have been. Couldn’t make a call on it, couldn’t play a tune on it, couldn’t mount it and ride it back to the ranch. In fact, I couldn’t do a blasted thing with my phone but enable the camera feature on it and snap a photo of Buttercup’s rear end, just seconds before it disappeared from sight.

  “Horse’s ass!” I shouted out in frustration, as I reviewed the most fitting digital photograph on the front of my phone. With the reality of my situation settling in, and with a now empty bladder, I would have seriously relinquished not only my left pinky, but the whole frigging arm, for a cup of coffee. I might have sacrificed even more bodily parts for the return of my transportation, Buttercup, if she returned with a step-ladder for me to use to mount her.

  I would have put my face in my hands and sobbed if I’d thought it would help, but knowing it would be as pointless as making a wish on a falling star, I just sat there and stared off at the horizon, hoping that eventually somebody would realize I was missing and come find me.

  Chapter 13

  Although it seemed liked hours had passed, it probably was no more than fifteen minutes later when I saw a horse almost undetectable in a cloud of dust approaching me from the direction Buttercup had fled. I couldn’t make out the rider yet, but I was certain it wasn’t Justin or Wendy. The rider’s head was barely visible over that of the horse’s head as it bobbed up and down in its full-out gallop.

  It quickly became apparent it was Brandi heading toward me. I was almost relieved to see it was Cassie’s young daughter coming to rescue me, because surely the young girl would not be as judgmental about my situation as an adult rescuer might have been. However, I soon discovered the child, who read books about quantum physics for entertainment, was not the bundle of joy I’d hoped for.

  “Hey, lady,” Brandi said as she brought her horse to a halt in front of me. “Your horse showed up back at the barn by herself. What happened to you?”

  “First of all, my name’s Lexie. And second of all, I stopped here to relieve myself, and Buttercup got spooked when a branch snapped and ran off. I knew when she showed up alone, someone would come back for me.”

  “Yeah, I volunteered, because the adults were all sitting around talking and drinking beer. The barn is right down from the hill I just rode over. You really should have pulled yourself together and taken a little initiative. If you’d started walking in the direction your horse ran off in, you’d already be back in the barn by now, drinking beer with the rest of them.” The precocious young girl spoke with the air of a Master Sergeant commanding a new batch of recruits at boot camp. I half expected her to insult my mother, just to try to raise my ire so she could then reprimand me for losing my cool. Instead, she said, “You should have used the restroom when we stopped for lunch, as Justin suggested.”

  “Well, I did, Brandi, but—” I stopped in mid-sentence. I didn’t have to explain myself to this little brat. Besides, my justification sounded idiotic even to me. “Let’s just head back to the barn. Okay? I’d like to put some Neosporin on the palm of my hand where I got pricked by a thorn on this scrub tree here.”

  “You didn’t see those humongous thorns before you reached for the branch? The tree’s called a Crataegus, by the way. It’s commonly known as a hawthorn, which is a tree in the rose family. In a month or so, it will produce apple-like fruit, which helps provide food for a variety of wildlife species.” Brandi spat this detailed information out as if she were an automated robot.

  “How nice for the wildlife! How old did you say you were?”

  “I’ll be eleven on August 18th.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s right. That’s my daughter’s birthday,” I said. “She’ll be thirty that same day
. You are very mature for your age, aren’t you, Brandi?”

  “I’m gifted.” The young girl said this as if saying she was cold. It was obvious she’d been told she was gifted from a very early age. She looked me straight in the eye and continued. “I’m a member of Mensa. Do you know what Mensa is? You have to have an I.Q. at, or above, the ninety-eighth percentile.”

  “Yes, I know what Mensa is, Brandi. Personally, I don’t have an I.Q. in the Mensa range, but I haven’t suffered an incident involving the absence of oxygen for an extended period, either. I still possess an adequate amount of brain cells to get by. In fact, I earned an Associate of Arts degree at a community college.”

  “A community college? Seriously, lady?” Brandi made it abundantly clear she felt a degree from a community college was akin to being held back a year in kindergarten for not being able to draw within the lines. “I’ve skipped several grades already. I’m on track to attend Harvard Medical School in five years or less—on a full-ride scholarship, of course.”

  “But of course.” I turned away as I said this because I knew I’d be unable to keep from rolling my eyes as I did so. This girl might be brilliant, a genius even, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t extremely annoying. She was entirely too full of herself for my taste. Can you inherit that trait from a stepmother? I wondered, because Fanny had been pretty impressed with herself, too. “Aren’t you a little young to be in Mensa?”

  “Not at all,” she replied. “There are over 2,600 members under the age of eighteen, with the youngest being less than three years old. My I.Q. was 162 on the Stanford-Binet scale the last time I was formally tested.”

  “Congratulations, that’s very impressive. Is your brother, Chace, as bright as you are?”