Must be time for Plan B. Now, what was Plan B? Well, there was always the oats. My old pony would walk through fire for oats. I got out the pail I’d brought along, scooped out a handful and held them out to the roan. Her eyes lit up with interest. From the way her ribs showed through her moth-eaten hair, I’d bet she hadn’t seen a whole lot of oats lately. She stuck her lips out, gathered up a few kernels and crunched them thoughtfully. “Good girl,” I said. Then I backed a step closer to the trailer, taking up the slack of the rope. My horse blew suspiciously through her nostrils and took a step back. Then she just stood there, eyeing me like she knew I was up to something. She refused to even sniff the next handful of oats I held out. This was one horse with self-control.
Plan C. Get tough. I led the mare around in a circle and up to the trailer again. Again she balked at the door. “Come here!” I commanded, sounding tough, I hoped. The horse didn’t move. I gave the rope a little jerk. The mare threw up her head and gave the rope a bigger jerk. “Come on, horse,” I said through my teeth. I gave the rope a good yank. The mare reared, lunged backward and almost fell on her back. The rope went sizzling through my right hand. I managed to grab on with the other hand just in time to keep her from getting away. She came down on all four feet, got her balance back and stood there snorting and trembling.
I looked at the palm of my right hand. The rope had burned most of the top few layers of skin off. The burn was bright pink and oozing clear liquid. That was going to really hurt in a few minutes. As a matter of fact, it hurt enough already.
I sank down on the edge of the trailer floor and sat blowing cool air on my hand and staring out at my horse. She glared back at me from the far end of the rope, waiting for my next move. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a next move. In fact, if I’d been the crying type this would have been a real good time to start blubbering. But I didn’t. I just sat there with my head in my hands and tried to think.
“Anything I can do, Blue Jeans?” My head shot up so fast I spooked the horse, and she jumped back, almost giving me another rope burn. “I was watchin’ you try to load her from the hay truck over there,” Cole said. He was looking down at me with kind of a half-grin on his face. “Didn’t look like you were havin’ much luck.”
This was all I needed. Cole McCall rubbing in the fact that I’d bought an outlaw. About five nasty comments ran through my head. But, for once, none of them made it out of my mouth. “You got that right,” was all I said.
“I know a trick that sometimes works when a horse won’t load any other way. Want me to give it a try?”
I shrugged. “You want to play cowboy hero, go ahead.”
Cole just smiled and uncoiled the rope he’d brought along. He tied one end to a steel brace on the side of the trailer. Then he walked around the mare, bringing the other end of the rope with him but leaving lots of slack.
“Okay,” he said, “you try to lead her in and I’ll bring the rope around tight behind her rump. Sometimes a horse steps forward when they feel the push from behind.”
“Yeah?” I said doubtfully. “And sometimes the horse just kicks the teeth out of whoever’s back there.”
Cole grinned. “Yeah, that too. But that’s not your problem. You just worry about getting out of the way if she comes in with a flyin’ leap.”
“Yeah, right,” I said, my voice tired. “And the man in the moon had better be ready to get out of the way if she takes a flyin’ leap up there, too.”
Cole ignored that. “Okay,” he said. “Try and get her to come forward.”
I gave a pull on the halter rope. The mare showed the whites of her eyes and started to step backward. Cole pulled on the rope so it snugged up around her hindquarters. She gave a startled snort and flicked her ears back to check out what was happening. I could see her getting ready to freak out. “Give her another pull,” Cole ordered. I did.
The mare reared. Cole took in the slack and pulled the rope up tighter behind her. I had a hunch the mare was going to rear again. If she did, she’d bash her head against the top of the door frame. Then I felt the tension in the rope change. I saw the mare gather her muscles. The next thing I knew she’d taken a flying leap up into the trailer. It was more reflexes than brains that made me take a flying leap off to the side before she landed on top of me. Then the trailer door slammed behind the horse. She was blowing through her nostrils with a kind of terrified snort.
I did the only thing I could think of. I reached out a hand, touched a quivering, sweating shoulder and said, “Easy, girl, you’re all right.” I’m sure my shaking voice didn’t come out real easy, but the horse stopped snorting.
Just then the trailer’s side door opened and Cole looked in. “Aren’t you coming out, Blue Jeans?” he asked innocently.
I gave him a fierce glare as I climbed out the door. “Thanks a lot for locking me in there with her,” I said.
Cole shrugged. “You didn’t want her to get out again, did you?” He slid the latch into place and breathed a big sigh. “Okay, Blue Jeans, you got yourself a horse in a trailer. Try not to spill her on the way home, okay?”
I flashed him a look. “After all that, I’m—”
A voice interrupted me. It was Merv Miller, one of the owners of the auction barn. He was staring at Cole. “This is the second time today you’ve been talking when you’re supposed to be working. Last Thursday you didn’t bother showing up at all. I’ve had it with you, McCall.”
“Hey, come on, Mr. Miller,” Cole said. “I explained all that. And I was just helping out—”
“Save it for somebody who cares, McCall. I don’t. And don’t bother showing up for work next week. I’ll mail your wages.”
Cole gave him an unbelieving stare. “You’re firing me?”
“You catch on quick, kid.” He started to walk away but Cole grabbed his arm.
“Come on, Mr. Miller, you can’t do that. I need this job.”
Miller shook off his hand and gave him an icy stare. “I just did. Touch me again and I’ll have you up for assault.” He turned and strode off.
Cole swore under his breath and slammed his fist into the back of the trailer so hard it spooked the mare. She slammed a hoof against the gate.
“Cole, I…” I began, but Cole spun around and just kept walking away.
Chapter Four
I drove home carefully, like I was hauling a load of dynamite—which in a way I probably was. And all the way home I kept on thinking about Cole McCall. About him getting fired, I mean. And how it was my fault. And that really made me mad because it wasn’t my fault. Did I ask him to come over and stick his nose into my business while he was supposed to be working? No, it wasn’t my fault. But I still couldn’t stop feeling guilty about it.
At last I was home. I wheeled the truck up our lane, cut the engine and for a minute just sat there letting the tension ease out of my muscles. But then the kitchen door opened and the welcoming committee came pouring out. Mom, Dad and my stupid twelve-year-old sister. I took a deep breath and got out of the truck.
“Thank goodness you’re home. We were beginning to think you’d had an accident.” Mom, always the worrier.
“So what’d you buy? Bet it’s not any good.” Sara, my upbeat sister.
“Hmm, no major body damage,” Dad said with a grin as he pretended to check out the truck and trailer. “Well, open the door, Bobbie Jo. Let’s see the colt that’s going to be a future barrel racing champion.”
I hadn’t been looking forward to this moment. “Well, it’s not exactly a…” I began, but Dad was already opening the trailer door. I just had time to catch the halter rope before the mare exploded out of there like a blue tornado. Before I got her under control she managed to drag the rope through my already rope-burned hand. “Whoa!” I roared furiously and, amazingly, she stopped. She stood there trembling and eyeing my family like they’d just landed from Mars. They stood there looking at her in about the same way.
“Well, she’s, uh, an interesting color,”
my mother managed at last.
Dad looked her up and down and I could see he was trying hard to say the right thing. “A little good feed might make quite a difference” was the best he could come up with.
Sara stepped up and inspected the horse at close range. “Bobbie Jo, that is the most totally gross excuse for a horse I ever saw in my life.”
The mare swung her head around and took a nip at Sara’s leg. It was the first intelligent thing I’d seen her do. Unfortunately, she missed.
Dad cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t know about anybody else, but I’m starved. Put your horse in the corral, Bobbie Jo, and let’s go get some supper.”
I led the mare over to the corral where my old pony, Patchy Pete, was standing. Patchy had his head over the fence, waiting to meet his new friend. I shooed him out of the way and led the mare inside. Patchy rushed over like a Welcome Wagon hostess about to greet the new neighbor. The mare took one sniff at him, whirled around and landed both hind hoofs on his well-padded side. Patchy scuttled over to cower in the far corner of the corral. He looked downright disappointed—just like the rest of the family.
Fortunately, we had to rush through supper so no one had time to talk much. Sara had ballet lessons—yeah, I have a sister who actually takes ballet lessons—and Mom had to drive her to town by seven. That meant Dad and I got stuck with the dishes, but it was worth it just to get Sara out of my sight.
I was up to my elbows in greasy water when Sara passed by on her way out of the house. “Have a nice time with your moth-eaten horse,” she said sweetly. “Oh, and your twenty dollars is on your dresser.”
“My what?” I dropped the frying pan I was washing and slopped a tidal wave of soapy water onto the floor.
“Well, you don’t have to take a hairy over it. You had a whole pile of them lying there this morning while you were in the shower. Mom forgot to give me money to get my hair cut and she was already gone, so I just borrowed a twenty from you. It’s not as if I stole it or something. I gave it back. You probably didn’t even miss it…”
I couldn’t say a word. There are times when words just can’t say how you feel like a greasy dishrag can. I was out of that sink and had Sara cornered and half the freckles scrubbed off her face before Dad yelled at me to leave her alone. I got a big lecture from him on mature behavior after Mom and Sara left. But the revenge had been well worth it. Besides, I caught Dad grinning a little when he was supposed to be glaring. He’s probably the only person on earth who even comes close to understanding me.
Later, as I sat sort of studying for my last exam of the year, Dad was going through the mail. Out loud. “Bill, bill, bill,” he muttered, tossing the first three envelopes in a pile. He paused a minute, studying a folder the government had sent out. “Student Farm Employment Program. Hey, maybe they’ll actually pay you for helping me on the farm all summer.”
“What?” I came to full attention.
He read on for another few seconds. “Oh, forget it, Bobbie Jo. Fine print says the government will pay half the wages if a farmer hires a student for the summer. But the student can’t be a member of your own family.”
“What a rip-off,” I muttered. I’d gone from poor to rich to poor again in one split second.
“Well, so much for that,” Dad said. “I don’t know of any other kids who’d want to spend their summer stacking bales and hauling manure.” He flicked the folder toward the garbage. And with a move that would have made any big-league shortstop proud, I picked it off in mid-flight. Dad raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I think you could be wrong about that, Dad,” I said slowly. “What if I can find someone who wants the job?”
Dad scratched his head. “Well now, that depends. Is this mysterious person going to be worth as much to have around as you are?”
“Not even close,” I said with a grin. “But I think he really needs the work. Is it a deal?”
Dad shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.” Then he got a teasing look in his eye. “This guy must be someone pretty special for you to go to all this trouble.”
“Not exactly,” I told him. “It’s just because of a little debt I owe.”
Cole did actually show up for school the next day, but he was in no mood for a visit. First I tried to give him the money I owed him. He just shook his head and turned away.
“Come on, Cole, take it. I said I was gonna give it back and I meant it.”
He shot me a smoldering look over his shoulder. “Forget it, Blue Jeans. Eight bucks ain’t gonna make a whole lot of difference now.” He started to walk away.
I followed. “What is it with you anyhow? I didn’t ask you to help me load the horse. You don’t need to blame me for what happened.”
“Who said I was blamin’ you?” he said, still walking.
“It’s pretty obvious you are. Anyway, that’s sort of what I need to talk to you about. A job, I mean.”
That stopped him in his tracks. “What job?”
“I know where you can get a summer job. If you want another job, that is.”
“Want?” Cole said with a bitter laugh. “Want don’t have nothing to do with it. Need is more like it. So where’s this job?”
“At my place. Helping my dad with haying and stuff.”
“Oh, I get it. You got to feelin’ a little guilty so you talked your old man into inventing a job for the poor boy, huh?” He started walking again. “Well, you can forget it, Blue Jeans. I don’t need your charity.”
I caught up to him again. “Look, Cole McCall, I couldn’t care less if you take this job or not, but one thing you better know. It’s not charity. And the job’s not invented. There’s plenty of work on our farm to keep a dozen guys like you busy. The only reason I’m not getting this job myself is that the government won’t help pay for family. Job starts at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. If you had a little less pride and a little more ambition you might show up. But I won’t hold my breath waiting for you.” I spun around and stalked away, wondering why I’d even bothered to try.
All through my chemistry exam, Cole kept interrupting my thoughts. Here I’d gone and knocked myself out to get him another job and he decides it’s time to get an attitude. Well, that was fine with me. I didn’t want him hanging around all summer anyway. But I still had trouble keeping my mind on chemistry.
My last exam—and the school year— finally ended. I bounded off the bus, ready to get to know my new blue horse. I climbed up on top of the corral rail and just sat there studying her for a while, mentally checking off her good and bad points. The list of bad points grew a lot faster than the one of good points. Number one: She was so skinny her ribs stuck out. Okay, at least I could fix that. Lots of grass and some oats would do the trick. Number two: She limped on her left front leg. I hoped it was something she was going to get over real quick. Number three: She was all scarred up in half a dozen places. Some of the scars looked like teeth marks from other horses. If she treated all horses the way she’d treated Patchy last night, I could see how she wouldn’t be real popular in the corral.
She also had a cinch sore behind her front leg. It was nearly healed so it wasn’t going to be a problem. And it did prove one thing. If someone had ridden her enough to leave her cinch sore, she must at least be broke to ride. I decided I could move that point to the good side. There were a few more things I could have mentioned on the bad side—her mean temper for one—but I decided to move on to the good stuff.
Her color. That was her best point. How do you describe a blue roan? Well, believe it or not, they really are kind of blue. Not sky blue. Kind of smoky gray-blue. It comes from a blend of gray and black and white hairs all mixed together. That color covers the main part of the blue roan’s body. The mane, tail, legs and head are usually jet black. Put it all together and it’s about the neatest outfit a horse could wear. Sort of like they’re all dressed up for dinner at a fancy restaurant.
I decided it was about time for the moment of truth. The moment w
hen I found out what happened when I actually got on this outlaw. I couldn’t actually ride her anywhere till her limp got better, but it wouldn’t hurt to get on her. At least, it wouldn’t hurt her. What happened to me remained to be seen. I went to the barn and got a halter. Coming back out I met Dad.
“Hey, B.J., I’ve been looking for you. Got time to help me out for an hour or two?” I sighed inside but gave my dad a grin. He never asks for help unless he really needs it.
“Sure, Dad. What’s happening?”
“I’m going to see if I can get that last little field of green feed planted. I think it’s finally dried up enough not to get stuck on it. Can you drive me out in the truck and help me fill the seed drill with oats?”
“No problem.”
I gave the roan mare one last glance over my shoulder. I really had wanted to get on her today. She gave me a look that showed quite a lot of the whites of her eyes. I don’t think she really wanted anybody to get on her.
By the time I got done helping Dad, it was starting to get dark. My first try at riding this horse wasn’t something to rush into with ten minutes of daylight left. She’d still be there tomorrow, I hoped.
Then another thought hit me. Keeping her and Patchy in the corral eating hay was kind of a waste. Patchy always grazed out in the pasture with the milk cows. Now that the mare had been here for a day and was used to Patchy’s company, I didn’t figure she was likely to try to jump out.
“See, you blue streak of misery,” I said, opening the gate. “I trust you. I’m giving you your freedom.”
Patchy marched calmly out the gate and instantly attacked a patch of grass. The roan eyed me suspiciously. She made a slow approach to the opening, hugged the side farthest from me and eased her way out, pretending to be invisible. At last she was past me. Then she ducked her head, kicked up her heels, gave a defiant squeal and lit out across the pasture. I just shook my head. Well, at least she wasn’t all that lame.
Blue Moon Page 2
