Murphy, who was straightening things up and putting his computer’s dustcover on for the night, chuckled and said he guessed phobias were extremely numerous all right, not to mention very common. “Almost all of us probably have one or two, or have had at some point in our lives. Fortunately most of them are fairly mild or quite temporary.”
“Right,” Rudy said, “like nyctophobia, for instance. Probably ninety-nine kids out of a hundred are afraid of the dark when they’re little.” Then he told Murph about how he used to dash down the hall on his way to the bathroom. “I’d go…” he said, and started acting it out—the bulgy-eyed peek down the dark hall, the frantic dash, and then, once he’d made it to the light switch, the smug look back over his shoulder at all the frustrated monsters.
Murph was still chuckling when Rudy checked his watch and made another frantic dash—this time for home. The M and M’s were due back from Eleanora’s.
The other thing that was taking up a lot of Rudy’s time was, of course, the baby-sitting, which was turning out to be a little less boring than he expected it would be. He couldn’t say why exactly, but it probably had something to do with his natural instinct to find out about things. What he’d started researching this time was the M and M’s themselves, like trying to find out why they fought so much, for instance.
A lot of the problem seemed to be because of the differences in their personalities. Of course, he’d always been aware that even though Moira and Margot were sisters and only about a year apart in age, they weren’t really much alike, but he’d never given the subject much thought. Researching Moira and Margot, which involved a lot of observation, interrogation, and even some visits to the library, turned out to be very enlightening.
The observation was easy. Moira and Margot were so used to having Rudy around that they usually went on doing whatever came naturally, whether he was watching or not. Even when he came right into their room while they were playing.
The room itself was pretty interesting when observed scientifically. Of course, he’d noticed before that one half of the M and M’s room looked more lived in than the other, but he’d never been interested enough to figure out why. But as soon as he started doing a careful examination it quickly became obvious what was going on. Everything had been divided so that Margot’s belongings were on one side of the room and all of Moira’s stuff was on the other. And while Margot’s half was fairly neat and well organized, Moira’s usually looked like the scene of some kind of minor explosion. The only thing they couldn’t divide was Blob, their fat little pet hamster, so his cage sat right in the middle of the room—and even Moira’s half of the hamster cage looked a lot less sanitary. Rudy felt that was a particularly significant bit of research data.
The library visit wasn’t, strictly speaking, a research trip. There weren’t any reference books, at least none that Rudy could find, about seven- and eight-year-old sisters who’d been trying to dogmeat each other since they were in diapers. The visits to the library had simply been to help them pick out some books to borrow, since Rudy was pretty sick of the ones they’d had before. But the trip proved interesting anyway when he considered what books they picked out—and why.
Moira liked all sorts of weird stuff like fairy tales and ghost stories and mysteries, and the longer the book, the better; while Margot liked short books with lots of pictures of scientific things like animals and bugs.
As for the interrogation part of the M and M research, all that involved was talking to them, sometimes together, but more importantly, when they were separate. The talking was the most enlightening part of the whole research project, which kind of surprised Rudy until he realized that he’d never really talked to his sisters all that much before. He’d entertained them some, and yelled at them a lot—but there hadn’t been all that much talking.
Rudy had a particularly interesting discussion with Moira one evening when he happened to find her alone in the living room. Natasha and Margot were in the kitchen at the time baking cookies and singing “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Natasha always sang while she cooked because she hated cooking and singing took her mind off it. Margot, on the other hand, loved cooking. Especially baking cookies. Margot said that making cookies was her second favorite hobby, right after her first favorite—eating cookies.
“Where’s Moira?” Rudy had to shout to be heard over a noisy chorus of “someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah.” Natasha pointed toward the living room.
Moira was curled up in the ratty old overstuffed chair that used to be Art’s. Her sleek dark head was bent over a book. Moira read a lot for an eight-year-old.
“Hi,” Rudy said. “What are you reading?”
She held up the book. “This. The Little Princess. Margot said it would be too hard for me. But it isn’t.”
He sat down on the floor near the chair. “Look,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about your room. Yours and Margot’s.”
Moira looked surprised—and then pleased. “You have?” she asked. She dropped her book and scooted forward in the chair. “What about our room?”
“Well, I was thinking about how Margot likes to keep everything sort of… well, organized, and you…” He stopped, trying to think of a good way to put it.
“And I’m messy.” Moira squeezed her big dark eyes into angry slits. “I like being messy. Being neat is boring. I hate people who are neat.”
Rudy didn’t want an argument. “Okay, okay,” he said. “But I just thought of a way to help you and Margot stop fighting so much. What I thought was, it’s no wonder you and Margot can’t get along. You’re just too different to have to share a room. What I thought was maybe Mom could clean out that little room next to hers and one of you could move in there.”
Moira stared at Rudy. “No,” she said quickly and definitely. “I don’t want to have my own room.” Her eyes were wide again, almost frightened-looking.
“Why not?” Rudy said. “Just think about it. You could have your stuff all over—”
“No. No, I don’t want to.” Moira’s eyes were huge and her voice sounded shaky. “I don’t like to sleep in an empty room. I don’t like to wake up and nobody’s there. When I wake up and nobody’s there I think they’ve all gone away. I think everybody’s gone away.”
Margot came in then and the conversation stopped, but Rudy had some interesting things to think about. That night in bed he went over the things Moira had said, particularly the part about everybody going away. That was when it occurred to him that maybe Moira was afraid that everyone would go away—like Art had done.
He’d never thought much about how Art’s skipping out had affected the M and M’s. He knew how it had affected him. Not much, except for a general feeling of relief. But then, Art had only been his stepfather and he’d always made it pretty clear that stepfathering wasn’t a job he had much interest in. As far as Rudy could remember, he hadn’t been the greatest as a real father either, but he did have spells of being really nice to the girls. Rudy could remember him bringing them presents and carrying them around the yard on his shoulders when he was in a good mood.
Just before he went to sleep Rudy remembered that Moira was about six years old when Art bailed out. So maybe if one parent walks out on you at that age you might just be afraid that other people might do the same thing. Irrationally afraid, maybe. Almost like a phobia. It was a possibility, he decided, that needed a little more research.
Chapter 12
ON SUNDAY MORNING, Heather phoned to say that Barney had moved her next riding lesson up to Monday.
“Monday’s all right with you, isn’t it?” she asked. “You said you didn’t baby-sit on Mondays and Tuesdays, didn’t you?”
As a matter of fact, it was great. Heather hadn’t mentioned old Styler one way or the other, but Rudy couldn’t imagine him having the nerve to show up again at the scene of the great hedge-sitting demonstration. So the next riding lesson would almost certainly be Ty-less, and the sooner was probably the better, before Ty got over his p
unctures and embarrassment.
“Right,” Rudy said. “That’s fine. Monday’s fine with me.”
But when Monday morning came and Heather and Rudy rounded the curve above the ranch, it was immediately clear that something unusual was going on. A dust cloud hovered over the corral area, several extra cars were parked near the house, and Jeb and Angela’s big red-and-silver horse trailer was pulled up near the stock barn. While Heather was parking the car Barney came out to meet them.
“Hey, Barn. What’s up?” Rudy said as he got out of the car.
Barney shrugged. “Wouldn’t you know it. My mom and dad got home early and Granddad decided to do a quick roundup while my dad is here to help. I didn’t know about it till this morning or I’d have called.”
“Roundup? In June?” Rudy asked.
“Yeah,” Barney said. “A vetting thing. Doc Mayberry says there’s been some blackleg going around and he thinks we ought to get the new calves vaccinated right away. And they’re going to be checking for sticker-eye and that sort of thing too. Seems like the stickers are especially bad this year.”
Rudy knew about blackleg, a deadly cattle disease that usually attacked young stock. But knowing how important it was to keep a herd healthy didn’t make the whole thing any less disappointing. “Guess that means we won’t be able to ride today?” he said, trying not to sound too unhappy.
Heather’s smile had disappeared and when it came back it looked a little bit forced. “Well, that’s all right,” she said. “Maybe next week we can—”
“No, today’s all right,” Barney broke in. “We just won’t be able to ride in the arena. They’re using it as a cutting pen. But we can take a trail ride. Granddad and Wade got the home range stock in already and Granddad says the three of us can bring in the cows and calves from Tumbleweed Hill while they get started on the others.”
Heather’s smile went from counterfeit to authentic in a split second. “You mean we’re going to get to help with a roundup?” she asked.
Barney grinned. “That okay with you?”
“Wow,” Heather said, “it’s fabulous. That is, if you think I’m ready for it.”
“Nothing much to it,” Barney said. “Applesauce knows what to do. And you can just keep the herd moving while Rudy and I bring in the stragglers.”
It was all right with Rudy too. A ride in the country with Barney and Heather—and no Styler—was even better than all right.
“Okay, cowpokes,” he said, hitching up his pants and doing his Windy Dayes squint. “Let’s go git them little dogies.”
In the barnyard, Applesauce, Bluebell, and Badger were already waiting at the hitching rack. All three of them were acting a little jazzed up, moving around restlessly, tossing their heads and pawing the earth.
“Why are they fussing around like that?” Heather asked. “They seem to be nervous or something.”
Barney stopped tightening Badger’s cinch. “Well, they’re just excited, I guess.” He nodded in the direction of the corrals from where the sounds of hoofbeats, bellowing cows, and bawling calves could be heard. “They want to get in on the act.”
“Well, I don’t blame them,” Heather said. “I’m excited too.”
Barney gave another tug on the cinch strap and then suddenly hit Badger sharply in the ribs with his open hand. Then he tightened the cinch again.
“Why’d he do that?” Heather whispered indignantly to Rudy. “Why did he slap Badger like that?”
“Just meanness, I guess,” Rudy said, but then he grinned. “No, that didn’t hurt Badger. Just surprised him enough to make him stop blowing himself up. Some horses do that while you’re saddling them, so the cinch won’t be so tight when they let out the air. But then the saddle’s too loose. So you have to give them something else to think about so they’ll deflate.”
Heather sighed and shook her head. “There’s a lot more to this horsemanship business than I expected. You and Barney are really experts.” She looked at Rudy admiringly and he did an “aw shucks” expression and said, “Barney’s the expert.” But it did make him feel good.
The horses were almost ready to go when Barney’s father came out of the arena on Dynamo. Jeb Crookshank was wearing fringed leather chaps and a wide belt with a big silver buckle, and looked like something a mad scientist might have put together out of the best-looking parts of half a dozen Hollywood cowboys.
“Pyramid Hill’s Marlboro Man,” Rudy whispered to Heather. “That’s what Natasha calls him.”
Heather laughed. “I know,” she whispered back. “I’ve heard her on the subject of Jeb Crookshank. I guess she never was too crazy about him even when they were in high school together and he was the number one big man on campus—and knew it.”
“Right,” Rudy said. “A world-class ego, she says. And besides—”
He was going to go on to say something about how Natasha held it against Jeb that he’d always been too busy being a rodeo star to have much time for Barney, but about then Jeb finished latching the gate and suddenly spurred Dynamo into a racehorse gallop straight at them. He blasted full speed across the barnyard and pulled up so sharply, the big bay almost sat down on his haunches.
Rudy smiled inwardly. Charlie and Jeb Crookshank were definitely not “like father, like son.” One of Charlie’s strict rules was that you never pushed your cow pony any more than necessary. You didn’t gallop when a trot would do just as well, and you never ran full-out unless you were chasing something. That kind of show-off riding was what Charlie called “ginning around,” and if you were a kid it could get you grounded. Jeb had undoubtedly been raised to know that a full-out run across the barnyard was definitely “ginning around,” but now that he was a big rodeo star no one was going to ground him. Not even his father.
“Rudy,” Jeb said with his Marlboro Man smile—a wide gully of white teeth across a rugged sun-browned landscape. “Good to see you. And”—he paused and did an exaggerated double take—“Heather Hanrahan?” he asked. “Well, well. You’ve done some growing up since I last saw you.” That was all he said with words, but he was definitely making his face say a lot more. The kinds of things that someone her own age—or younger—couldn’t say to Heather without getting a taste of her “ice princess” number. She was beginning to frown when Barney came to the rescue.
“Dad,” he said, “Granddad said we were to round up the Tumbleweed Hill stock and bring them in right away. So I guess we’d better get going.”
Jeb let them go then, but he insisted on getting off Dynamo to help Heather into the saddle, getting in a few more embarrassing comments as he did, and another one or two as they started out of the yard. By the time they were finally underway Rudy was thinking that there were some occasions when having a father was every bit as embarrassing as not having one, if not more so.
The trail to Tumbleweed acreage went across the rolling hills of the home pasture and then down into a valley and up the other side. They had to ride single file on the narrower trails, so it wasn’t easy to talk, but that didn’t matter. It was great anyway, all the familiar sights and sounds and smells: the sun on your head and back, the changing views of grassy slopes and wooded valleys, the smell of horse and hillside, the easy rhythmic motion, the clop of hooves, the squeak of leather.
Up ahead Barney, on Badger, led the way at a fast walk, with Heather close behind on Applesauce. Rudy brought up the rear on Bluebell, trotting now and then to keep up, but mostly just ambling along daydreaming and enjoying the ride. Daydreaming about someday owning a big ranch like the Crooked Bar—after becoming a rich and famous actor and comedian, of course.
Later, when they reached the valley, the three of them rode side by side and Heather asked a lot of questions about the ranch and the different kinds of stock that Charlie raised.
“Most of the cattle in the arena this morning looked pretty much the same,” she said. “Brown and white with woolly-looking faces. They’re Herefords, aren’t they?”
Barney looked surp
rised and pleased that Heather knew about Herefords. “Right,” he said. “Herefords. Most of the cattle on the ranch are Herefords, but Granddad runs some Brahmans and even a few long-horns. Rodeo stock mostly. You’ll get to see some of them today. A lot of the rodeo stock is on the Tumbleweed pasture.”
Heather, it seemed, knew something about Brahmans too. “I’ve seen them in rodeos,” she said. “They’re the huge ones with the humped backs, aren’t they? The ones they use in the bull riding contests?”
“Yeah,” Barney said. “Those are Brahman bulls.”
Heather was quiet for a minute, and then she said, “They looked terribly—well, dangerous. Are they? Dangerous, I mean?”
Rudy got the picture. “No,” he said, catching Barney’s eye and grinning. “The ones we’ll be rounding up today will be cows and calves. Cows aren’t dangerous, are they, Barney?”
“No,” Barney said. “Cows aren’t dangerous.” But then after a minute he added, “Not unless they think you’re trying to hurt their calves.”
That was all that was said about cows with calves at the time, but it was only a little later that the subject came up again. They had just reached the east fence of the Tumbleweed acreage and were about to fan out and start driving the cattle down to the home pasture. From where they had stopped to breathe their horses after the climb, they could look down and see several small groups of cows and calves sprinkled here and there over the hillside.
“But that’s not all of them,” Barney said. “There’s got to be a bunch more in the brush over in the gully there. I’ll go that way. And Rudy, you go to the left past the spring. And Heather, you go straight back down the way we came. Pick up that bunch we just came past. Just set Applesauce toward them and she’ll take care of it. Don’t hurry them. Just keep them moving along slowly. And we’ll be meeting you with some others down there where the hill flattens out. Got it?”
“Got it,” Rudy and Heather said in unison. Heather looked sky-high with excitement, and Rudy wasn’t exactly feeling bored either.
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