While he was staring into the refrigerator and hoping that Natasha had something planned for dinner he could still hear the three of them giggling back in the living room. Natasha was like that—up one minute and down the next. Rudy had always figured that being a ballet dancer had something to do with it.
Chapter 6
RUDY HAD PLANNED to phone Heather the next morning, but when he was out on the veranda seeing the M and M’s off to the sitter he happened to glance down toward the Hanrahans and there she was in her front yard. So he decided to drop by for an in-person talk instead. It was an especially hot morning and Heather, who was watering the rose bushes, was wearing short shorts and a tank top. Rudy really had to concentrate to keep his mind on what he’d planned to say.
“Well, how bad was it?” he asked as soon as they’d both said hello.
“How bad? Oh, you mean the riding lesson. You were right, I guess. About riding-stable lessons being pretty awful. We spent most of the hour learning how to mount and dismount.” She sighed. “I heard it so many times I know it by heart. Let’s see. ‘Mount from the left of the horse. Hold the saddle horn and the reins in your left hand. Turn the stirrup with your right hand and put your left foot into it. Swing around and up.’”
“Yeah,” Rudy said. “That’s pretty much what Charlie says. You know, Barney’s granddad. I mean, he wanted you to have control of the reins while you’re getting on. But how come you had to do it so many times?”
Heather laughed and shrugged. “Well, there were some special problems in the class. Like a bunch of very little kids and two very big women. Okay—fat, actually. Every time we mounted, each of the little kids needed a booster person, and the fat ladies needed two. There were only the two instructors, so it turned out to be a fairly time-consuming process. Then the instructors insisted that we all had to keep doing it until everyone had it right.”
“And the horses just stood still and let them get on and off all those times?” Rudy asked. “Some horses get kind of impatient when you do stuff like that.”
Heather grinned. “Well, I’m afraid you were right about riding-stable horses. Most of them seemed perfectly happy just to stand still. It’s just when you try to get them to do something else that you run into problems.”
“Yeah,” Rudy said. “So I hear. But just wait till I tell you about Applesauce.”
“You’re going to tell me about applesauce?” Heather’s frown was almost as mind-boggling as her smile. “What are you raving about now, Rudy Drummond?”
So he told her. About how Applesauce was a part Arabian that belonged to the Crookshanks. A dapple-gray mare with a long wavy mane and tail, and very lively and full of energy without being a bit hard to handle. He knew he was doing a good job, because when he finally ran down Heather’s eyes had a glassy out-of-focus look and she sighed wistfully before she said, “But are you sure it’s all right with Barney?”
“Absolutely,” Rudy told her.
Heather sighed again, turned off the water, and dried her wet hands on her shorts… and for a moment Rudy lost track of what she was saying. Almost everything Heather did seemed to have that kind of effect on him lately. “Rudy. Are you listening to me? How about his parents?” she was saying when he tuned back in. “Don’t they care if he uses their valuable horses to give lessons to beginners? You sure this isn’t just another one of your crazy ideas, Rudy?”
“Look,” he said, “I’ll have Barney call you himself and tell you it’s all right. Okay?”
Heather seemed to like that idea, so as soon as he got home Rudy called up Barney and told him that Heather wanted to talk to him.
There was a long pause before Barney said, “You mean you want me to call her up?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said. Weren’t you listening?”
“Me? Call up Heather Hanrahan? On the phone?”
Rudy chuckled. “Yeah. You want me to tell you how it’s done? First you pick up the receiver and—”
“Knock it off, Drummond,” Barney said. “I just mean… I don’t think she’ll talk to me.”
“Of course she will. She said she wanted you to call and tell her if it was all right. Why wouldn’t she talk to you?”
“Well, I don’t know. It’s just that—well, I was with Ty that time he tried to get funny with her and I think she blamed me too. She told us both to get lost and stay lost. So I don’t know if…” Barney’s voice trailed off.
Rudy was puzzled. It just didn’t sound like Barney Crookshank. Not old Easy-knees Barney, who was always so superrelaxed in any kind of situation, even when girls were around. Not that he said all that much to girls—but being Barney, he didn’t have to. When girls were around Barney they tended to do all the talking necessary—not to mention giggling and flirting—so all he had to do was stand there looking cool. Barney had always been a natural at cool, but at the moment he didn’t sound that way at all.
“Look, Barn,” Rudy said. “I promise that she said she wanted you to call. And all you have to do is tell her it’s all right with you and your folks if she rides Applesauce. Oh, and Barney. Be sure to make the lesson early in the morning or else on a Monday or Tuesday. Otherwise I can’t be there.”
“Okay,” Barney said. “Okay. I’ll tell her Monday or Tuesday. And you’ll come too? Okay? You be sure to be here.”
“Okay,” Rudy said, and then he hung up and just sat there wondering what in the world had gotten into Barney. But later in the day Barney called back, sounding more like himself, and said it was all arranged and Heather’s first lesson was scheduled for Tuesday, because Barney had promised to give Ty Lewis a crash course in cowboying on Monday.
Ty’s first lesson was something Rudy didn’t want to miss, although he wasn’t too sure how he wanted it to turn out. The thing was, he wanted Ty to like horseback riding well enough that he wouldn’t start pressuring Barney to forget about the whole thing and go back to concentrating on gold mining. But at the same time he couldn’t help hoping that Ty didn’t exactly turn out to be a natural-born cowboy. Anyway, he was really curious to see how it would go.
On Monday morning he got out his rickety old bike and rode out to the Crooked Bar Ranch right after breakfast.
The house and most of the other ranch buildings at the Crooked Bar were set in the middle of a wide valley. On each side grassy hills swept upward to where stands of pine and oak made green splashes on the smooth golden slopes. On the road that curved down from the highway you got only occasional glimpses of buildings and fences until you turned a corner and there it was spread out just below—a typical cattle ranch right out of Gunsmoke or an old John Wayne movie. On the left was the long, low ranch house surrounded by shade trees and a high hedge. Then came the big open barnyard with a hay barn and some sheds off to one side. And farther over to the right were the stock barn, several corrals, and a big practice arena.
Rudy always got a charge out of that first sight of the Crooked Bar. And the smell of it too—a kind of dusty western perfume made up of mixed parts of piney hills and grassy fields, with a subtle hint of horse and cow. He sniffed appreciatively as he pedaled across the cattle guard and headed down the long drive. It was a smell that always seemed to bring back a lot of good memories: when Barney had seemed like a brother and Belle and Charlie Crookshank had seemed very much like his own grandparents. There had been a lot of good times during those years and the sight and smell of the valley always brought it all back.
Applesauce was already tied to the hitching rail outside the tack room when Rudy pedaled around the end of the hedge and into the barnyard. He was getting off his bike when Barney came out of the barn leading Dynamo, a big bay cow pony that belonged to his dad.
“Hey, Rudy-dudey,” Barney said. “What’re you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I said I’d come help with the riding lessons.”
“Oh, yeah. I thought you just meant tomorrow when Heather’s here. Today it’s just old Styler.” (Styler was o
ne of Ty’s nicknames because of the fact that he was always wearing the latest stuff.) “But that’s great,” Barney went on. “Old Styler can probably use all the help he can get.” He threw Rudy a currycomb and brush. “Here. Make yourself useful while I get the tack.”
Rudy started grooming Applesauce and Barney disappeared into the tack room. When he came out carrying bridles and saddle blankets he said, “I’m going to start him out in the arena. But after he’s got the hang of it I thought we’d go up the trail a ways toward the high pasture. Why don’t you come too. On Bluebell—or else Badger.”
Rudy thought about it and decided on Badger, a big eager-beaver sorrel that he’d ridden quite a lot before. Actually Bluebell, who had smoother gaits, was a better ride, but Badger with his head-tossing high-stepping ways was more—well, more impressive.
He was leading the sorrel out of the barn when Ty’s father’s big Mercedes roared into the yard in a cloud of dust and skidded to a stop. Ty got out—wearing buckshot jeans with holes in all the right places and new black-and-red cowboy boots. As the Mercedes spun in a tight circle and then trailed its dust cloud back toward the cattle guard, Ty sauntered across to the barn, running his comb through his spiky hair.
Barney gave Rudy one of his silent comments—a raised eyebrow and a quick twitch at one corner of his mouth. Barney and his granddad were both experts at silent comments. Then he went on tightening the cinch on Applesauce.
“Yo, dudes.” Ty came to a stop a few yards away.
Barney shook the saddle to be sure it was secure before he turned around. “Hey, Styler,” he said, and then, cocking his head toward the dust cloud that was still settling down over the yard, “Nice wheelie.”
Ty shrugged. “Yeah, my dad, the hot-rodder. The thing is, he’s not exactly a happy camper at the moment. I overslept a little, so I had to get him to drive me. He harshed on me all the way out here. But, as you noticed, I did get delivered, C.O.D. Right to the doorstep.” He grinned. “I’ve got him pretty well trained, actually.”
“Tell me about it,” Rudy said, pointing to the new boots. “Guess he sprung for those boots too. Pretty awesome. Those puppies must have set him back two or three hundred.”
Ty shrugged and grinned, and circling the horses at a respectful distance, sat down on the edge of the cement water trough.
“So, which one is Applesauce?”
When Barney told him he nodded and then just sat there for a while watching as Barney and Rudy went on with the saddling up. His only comment was when Barney won the minor battle it always took to get Dynamo to open his mouth and accept the bit.
“Way to go,” he said. “Crookshank ten—horse zero.”
Then he got up and walked around the edge of the horse trough, balancing like a tightrope walker. He didn’t get down off the edge of the trough until all three horses were saddled and ready.
When they were inside the corral Rudy got up on Badger and watched while Barney started showing Ty how to mount. At first Ty just watched from a distance and kept asking Barney to demonstrate everything over and over again. When he finally agreed to try it himself he kept glancing over at Applesauce’s head as if he were afraid she might turn around and bite him. Watching cool, slick old Styler fidgeting around, with his normally half-mast eyes wide open, it occurred to Rudy that maybe panic buttons were pretty evenly distributed after all. He smiled, wondering what Ty’s nightmares were. Like maybe he woke up screaming that he was being attacked by the Shetland Pony from Hell.
Rudy’s smile turned into a chuckle, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, when Ty was finally in the saddle, he just settled the prancing Badger down to a slow walk and rode beside Ty, telling him how great he was doing and how “he looked to have a natural seat and good hands.” Which was a comment that Barney’s granddad had made about Rudy when he was beginning to ride.
After Ty had learned a few things about reining and keeping his heels down and his weight in his feet, they practiced walking and then trotting in figure eights. And Rudy went on making encouraging comments even though old Styler’s trotting form looked a lot like a bag of potatoes on a trampoline.
“Hey, dude,” Rudy said when Ty bounced and flapped back around the ring for the third or fourth time. “You are one all-time natural at this cowboy bit. Isn’t he, Barn?”
Barney grinned and said, “Sure he is,” in a way that Rudy knew meant just the opposite, but Ty didn’t notice. His usual cocky grin was back in place and you could see that he was getting a kick out of the way Applesauce obeyed the slightest touch of the reins. Applesauce was good at making any rider feel like an expert.
By the time they left the corral and started off up the trail, Ty had turned into an old cowhand from the Rio Grande—at least in his own mind. On the trail they did some trotting and even a slow, easy gallop and Ty was getting cockier by the minute. But when they were halfway up to the high valley, Barney suggested they’d better head for home.
“Go back?” Ty said. “No way. I’m just getting the hang of this galloping stuff. I mean like, surf’s up, let’s hang ten.”
He thumped Applesauce with his heels and set off up the trail, bouncing and flapping. Barney did his eyebrow thing at Rudy and then galloped after Ty, grabbed the reins, pulled Applesauce to a stop, and then headed her toward home.
“Hey. What are you doing?” Ty said. “I told you. I don’t need to stop. I’m doing great.”
But Barney kept hold of Applesauce’s reins. “Look, Styler,” he said. “You may not feel it now, but wait till tomorrow. You ride three or four more hours today and you won’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.”
“Not me,” Tyler said. “Don’t worry about me. People who get stiff when they start riding probably aren’t in very good shape to begin with. I mean, somebody who jogs and skies and surfs isn’t going to get drilled by loafing around on a horse’s back for an hour or two.”
But Barney just grinned and kept on leading Applesauce back toward the ranch. When he finally turned her loose Tyler jerked the reins, kicked Applesauce in the ribs, and galloped on ahead toward the barn.
Rudy rolled his eyes at Barney. “Can’t wait to see the great cowboy tomorrow,” he said, and Barney laughed. But Rudy was careful not to say anything discouraging to Ty.
Let him think he’s the world’s greatest natural-born horseman, he told himself. It suits me just fine. Let him be so crazy about being a cowboy he forgets all about being a gold miner. Please, please, please let him forget all about that.
Chapter 7
THAT NIGHT AFTER DINNER Rudy went out to sit on the veranda. Inside the house the beat-up old dishwasher was rumbling and clattering, the M and M’s were yelling at each other, and in the dance studio (ex-dining room) Natasha was doing her ballet exercises to a tape of the Golliwog’s Cakewalk turned up high to drown out all the other noise. The uproar was pretty deafening, but it didn’t bother Rudy all that much. He was used to it, and besides, he was feeling good—a little more optimistic about the summer than he had been for quite a while.
Across the foothills the sun was going down in an awesome red-gold sea of clouds. Kicking back on the old plastic chaise lounge that Natasha used for sun-tanning, Rudy watched until the fiery sky cooled to gray. Then he sat up and looked around. He felt restless in a good sort of way. Almost like something needed celebrating.
He knew that nothing was for certain. Heather could change her mind and back out on the riding lessons or at any time Barney and Ty could lose interest in the whole riding school project and go back to gold mining. But the celebration feeling was still there. Maybe he’d call up Barney to see if he wanted to go downtown.
During previous summer vacations he and Barney had met downtown at least a couple of evenings a week. There were always people they knew there and, usually in the summer, something special was going on for the tourist trade. Meeting Barney downtown was exactly what he felt like doing.
Back in the house he made his way through the living room
to a loud chorus of “Yes, you dids” and “No, I didn’ts,” and through the dining room to the beat of the Golliwog’s Cakewalk. In the kitchen the dishwasher had reached its quieter drying phase, so the noise level wasn’t too bad. Rudy dialed the Crooked Bar’s number and Angela Crookshank, Barney’s mom, answered the phone.
“Rudy?” she said in her cool, faraway voice that always made Rudy think she might have forgotten who he was. “Barney?” There was a pause—like maybe she’d forgotten who Barney was too. “Oh, yes. He must be around here somewhere. Just a minute.”
It was quite a while before Barney came to the phone. At first they talked about Ty and the riding lesson.
“He sure turned into one killer cowboy in a hurry, didn’t he?” Rudy said.
“Well.” There was a pause and Rudy could picture Barney’s raised eyebrow and one sided twitch of a smile. “Well, I guess you could call it that. He’s got a ways to go yet, but one thing’s for sure. He got over being so freaked out about the whole thing.”
“Yeah,” Rudy agreed. “Tell me about it. And how about those boots? I’ve seen boots like that down at Raleighs—with that inlaid leather stuff. I wasn’t kidding when I said three hundred dollars. That’s what they cost.”
“Yeah,” Barney said, “or more. Hey, what’s up?”
So Rudy asked him if he wanted to go downtown. There was a long pause before Barney answered, and when he did it was obvious he wasn’t too enthusiastic. “What’s the matter?” Rudy said. “You always liked to hang out downtown.”
There was another pause before Barney said, “Well, I’d like to, but I’m cleaning up the tack right now. You know, saddle soaping and stuff like that.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, couldn’t you do that some other time?”
“Naw. I don’t think so. I’ve got all the cleaning stuff out and if I quit now I’d have to put it all away and start over again later.”
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