Thinning blond hair curled out from under the battered, black beaver felt cowboy hat. Several stitches over his left eye made his dimpled smile seem more like a leer. Brooks and Dunn sang “My Maria” until he jabbed the off knob and slammed his door.
“Ma’am, I’m surprised you got in the truck with me.” He peered over the top of his deep orange-lensed sunglasses.
Develyn held her brown leather purse in her lap and stared straight out the bug-blasted windshield as she licked on the orange Popsicle. “So am I.”
He rolled down the sleeves of his faded yellow shirt and snapped the cuffs. “I mean, how do you know I ain’t some bad man who will drive up toward Hole-in-the-Wall and kidnap you?”
She chewed on the Popsicle stick, clutched her purse with both hands, and refused to glance at him. “How do you know I’m not a bad woman with a .357 Magnum in my purse who’s planning on shooting you, stealing your truck, and leaving your carcass for the buzzards?” I can’t believe I said that!
“Whoa!” he hooted and slapped the steering wheel. “I love it! You’ve got spunk, and I don’t even know your name! You know mine.”
“Mr. Slater, I believe.” She relaxed her grip on her purse and glanced over at his narrow chin and thick eyebrows. “I’m Dev Worrell.”
He tipped his hat. When he smiled, deep tanned creases formed at his eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Worrell. Say, you don’t really have a .357 in that purse do you?”
She pushed the straw hat back. I feel like I’m in a doctor’s office for my yearly exam. I should at least check my mascara and lipstick. “Are you planning on kidnapping me?”
He slipped the truck in gear, and they crept west. “Eh, no ma’am. That ain’t my style.”
“Then, no, I don’t have a gun in my purse. But I do have a cell phone.”
“Shoot, so do I, but I can’t always get reception out here.”
They had barely rolled back to where the main road turned south. “Mr. Slater, do you always drive this slow?”
He tapped his crooked fingers on top of the black steering wheel. “Only when I want to be late.”
“Why do you want to be late?”
“They are always happier to see you when they get worried that you ain’t goin’ to show.”
“So you stage being late?”
“Yeah, do you figure that’s wrong?”
A blue Dodge pickup honked and sped around them.
“I suppose he doesn’t care if everyone’s happy to see him show up.”
“He’s not a mustang breaker. I think he has the spread south of the Big Horn Mountains.”
Develyn pulled off the black-framed sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Is Hole-in-the-Wall really north of here?”
“Yep, Devy-girl. It’s a nice drive. You and me should go see it some time.”
She wrapped her arms across her chest. “Why did you call me that?”
He looked startled. “What?”
“Devy-girl.”
He surveyed the field of haphazardly parked pickups. “No offense, Miss Worrell. I reckon I call all young ladies ‘girl.’ Just a habit. I used to call them all darlin’ till Prissy McMahon cured me of that.”
“How did she do that?”
He rubbed his right shoulder and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Well, here we are.”
A couple of hundred pickups, horse trailers, and a few semi trucks surrounded a large arena with cedar-slatted fencing. He parked between a battered orange Dodge truck and a new white Dodge dually.
Develyn opened the door and slid to the dusty, dry prairie that served as a temporary parking lot. A roar went up from the crowd that hovered around the arena fencing. She smiled. “I’m surprised they started without the famous Renny Slater.”
“Well, Devy-girl, I let the boys ride the easy ones, and they save the rank and snuffy ones for ol’ Renny.” He draped a saddle blanket over his shoulder, then yanked a saddle from the back of his truck. With it balanced on his shoulder, he swaggered around to her.
He was about her height. She saw him glance down at her ringless finger. Mr. Slater, exactly what is on your mind?
He stopped strolling and spun around and faced her. “Say, your ol’ man ain’t goin’ to be fumed about me givin’ you a lift is he?”
Her neck stiffened. She whipped off her dark sunglasses and waved them at him. “Why do you assume I have a boyfriend?”
He shifted the saddle further back on his shoulder. “Now, Devy-girl, no offense. I didn’t mean your boyfriend, I meant your father.”
Develyn burst out laughing. “Cowboy, that’s about the lamest line I’ve ever heard. How old do you think I am?”
He pulled his dark glasses off and leaned toward her face. “Eh… . well, I reckon when I saw you on the porch with a Popsicle, I figured … eh … but I can see when I look close at … I mean … not that you are long at the tooth, but … you’ve got … whoa, I’m diggin’ myself a hole, now, ain’t I?”
Develyn slipped her dark glasses back on. “Yes, you are.”
“It’s just, back there with the Popsicle, I figured you for one of them barrel racin’ angels who’s talked her daddy into buyin’ her a new horse.”
“I take it you are used to hitting on barrel racin’ angels?” she prodded.
“Not since Gracie St. John.”
“What happened with Gracie?”
He rubbed his left side. “I don’t want to talk about it. But you still look like a barrel racer … except …” His voice trailed off.
“Except I’m too old?” Develyn pressed and wandered through the trucks toward the arena.
“No, Devy-girl. Barrel racers come in all ages. I reckon Martha Josey is older than my mama.”
“Thanks, Renny … now that you can see me, you know different. How old do I look?”
“I’m not about to go down that trail. Good men have lost their lives answering that one. It don’t seem possible, but I’ll turn forty-two come July.”
“Well, Renny Slater, I was a senior in high school when you were a freshman.”
He stared at her from boot to hat. “I don’t believe that for a New York minute.”
She felt a grin break over her face. “You’re good, Renny Slater. You must have been practicing those lines for years. But no matter what you think, I didn’t just fall off an Indiana hay wagon.”
“Oooooh-wee,” he howled as he strutted toward the crowd at the east end of the arena. “I hope them mustangs is easier to break than Ms. Develyn Worrell.”
Renny grabbed her arm and pushed his way through the cluster of cowboys of various ages, sizes, and odors. Most tipped their hats her way and stepped aside.
Dirty boots, felt hats, long sleeve shirts, Wranglers with a telltale circle on the back pocket … it’s like a uniform. Or a different culture. It’s like the time I got lost in New York’s Chinatown. Lord, I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I just want to hide in the crowd and watch. For the rest of my life. This is a long way from Crawfordsville.
“You just step up on that bottom rail, Devy-girl, and you can see the whole show. Ain’t no bleachers here. I’ll keep an eye on you, so you don’t have to fret.”
She jammed the bare Popsicle stick into her back pocket. Her small brown leather purse hung at her side as she climbed up the rail. The afternoon sun peeked under her straw hat, and she pulled it down over her forehead and studied the arena.
Do I look like someone you have to keep an eye on? I’ve done fifth and sixth grade yard duty during summer school. Two hundred cowboys is a piece of cake.
She guessed the oval arena to be about two hundred feet long and one hundred feet wide. At the east end were dual roping boxes and an empty squeeze chute. On the south side were two faded white-boarded bucking chutes, with gates sagging and open. The entire arena was encircled with dusty men and cowboy hats. Develyn spotted several women, all of whom wore cowboy hats and ponytails or a long braid, no matter what their age.
There was no activity in the arena. Most of the people seemed caught up in animated conversations with those around them, like the rumble at a Friday night high school football game at halftime after the marching band cleared the field.
A draped rope fenced off the west end of the arena. Orange survey-tape flags flapped every few feet. Several dozen haltered but unsaddled horses milled around behind the rope like anxious first-graders waiting for the bell on the first day of school.
The sky was light blue and cloudless. A mild breeze came from the northwest. Sweat, dirt, and cigar smoke drifted across the arena. From somewhere, Develyn smelled the aroma of fried meat. Her stomach growled, and she pulled out the Popsicle stick and chewed on it.
She studied the fence she clutched. The rough-cut cedar rail was mostly worn slick by being polished for years, she supposed, by the backsides of Wranglers. There were several bite-size defects that were rough and splinter-filled. Develyn avoided those with her hands and studied the faces that lined the rail.
I wonder what it would be like to go to a horse sale and buy a horse or two? Is it like buying a new car? “I’d like one that is gentle, pretty, easy maintenance … and has cup holders.” Or is it like buying blouses? “I want one of those, one of those, and oh, yes … one of those brown and white ones.”
Parked inside the arena near the bucking chutes, a green Dodge pickup marked “Bureau of Land Management” provided a platform. A gray-haired man in a flat-crowned, wide-brimmed cowboy hat, with jeans tucked inside tall black boots with underslung heels, stood on the pickup bed. Perched next to him was a card table. He hollered into a hand-held loud speaker.
“OK, folks, that’s the first fifty. I told you, those are the gentle ones. These others have lots of, eh … spunk and potential. We’ll run the mares first. Then bring in the stallions. I see Renny Slater finally made it, thank the good Lord for that. ’Course, he was trailerin’ some purdy yella-haired barrel-racer, no doubt. We’ll take a thirty-minute break and then run the mares. Get out your pocketbook, ’cause there are some beauties in this lot. Don’t forget Margaret’s portable Cantina parked in the shade of Dyton’s cattle truck. She’s got green chili burritos, Indian fry bread, and all the fixin’s. Those of you that bought this first lot come help us get them out of the arena. You can trailer them up now. That is, you can give it a try.”
Develyn watched Renny tote a saddle over his shoulder as he swaggered out toward the green pickup.
“Renny looks like every little girl’s image of a cowboy, doesn’t he?” The raspy female voice came from somewhere behind her.
She turned to see a dark-haired, brown-complexioned woman with a long braid to her waist and a battered straw cowboy hat standing next to her. It looked like her white-and-blue cowboy shirt had the sleeves ripped out at the shoulders by a dull pocket knife. Develyn stepped off the rail and shoved her Popsicle stick in her back pocket. The woman had a round face, full rounded nose, and two sets of feathered earrings dangling from each ear.
Develyn watched the woman inspect her. “Yes, I suppose the bow legs and dimpled grin kind of fit the stereotype, don’t they? Some things are difficult to conceal.”
Both women turned and peeked under the top rail back across the arena.
Slater stopped in the middle of the arena and chewed on a wooden match as he visited with a man in a straw panama hat.
“How long have you known Renny?” the dark-haired woman asked.
Develyn glanced at her silver heart-banded bracelet watch. “About nineteen minutes.”
The woman grinned and revealed a small gap in her front upper teeth. “No, really.”
The woman was the same height as Develyn, and both had cowboy hats pushed back. “It’s true. I was sitting on Mrs. Tagley’s porch a few minutes ago, and Renny offered me a lift down here.”
“I thought you were kidding me.” The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Casey Cree-Ryder.”
Returning the tight clasp, Develyn nodded. “I’m Develyn Worrell, but please call me Dev.”
“Are you out from Casper?” Cree-Ryder asked. “I hope you aren’t offended, but you have kind of a city look.”
Develyn tugged off her sunglasses. “I’m afraid I’m even more east than Casper. I’m from Indiana.”
The brown-skinned woman whistled between her teeth. “I didn’t even know they had cowgirls in Indiana.”
“They don’t.” Develyn dragged the toe of her boot across the dusty yellow dirt. “I teach fifth grade.”
Cree-Ryder’s dark eyes relaxed. “Are you on vacation?”
Develyn tried to brush dust off the front of her pale blue T-shirt. “Yes. I was actually out here years ago. Thought I’d stop back by.”
Casey jammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “So, you aren’t here with Renny?”
Develyn felt her neck stiffen. “Not hardly.”
The dark-skinned woman surveyed the crowd. “He’s a nice guy. Oh, he jokes a lot, but he’s one of the good ones. He’s born-again, you know.”
“Eh, no … I didn’t know that.”
“Yep, I was there at the plunge in Thermopolis when he was baptized. So, he has high marks in my book.”
“Thank you for that recommendation. We just met.”
“You’re not interested in him?”
“I’d enjoy having friends in Wyoming, but I’m not looking for anything else.” Develyn studied the woman’s round, dark brown eyes. “Are you interested in Renny?”
A wide smile broke across the woman’s face. “I might be. Lots of Wyoming cowboys shy away from me … must be the color of my skin.”
“It’s beautiful. Do you see this pathetic tan?” Develyn held out her arms. “It costs me sixty dollars a month at a tanning salon to have fake brown skin. You are born with it. With a name like Cree-Ryder, I suppose that is Native American.”
“Well, one granddaddy was Cree, and he married my Mexican grandma. My other grandfather was from Ireland, and he married my African-American granny. So, tell me, what does that make me?”
“That sounds about as American as a person can get,” Develyn replied.
“That’s the way I figure, but some see it different.”
“Small minds can’t see beyond the color of their noses.”
Cree-Ryder laughed. “Now you sound like a school teacher.”
“I take that as a compliment.”
Casey Cree-Ryder continued to survey the crowd. “You’re not out here by yourself, are you?”
Develyn studied the woman’s worn brown lace-up cowboy boots. “As a matter of fact, I am. How about you?”
Cree-Ryder glanced around at the milling men. “Yeah, I’m alone. I live up near Tensleep. Just came down to see if I could buy a couple of prospects cheap.”
“Tensleep … is that a town?”
“Yeah, the old Indian village was ten days or ten ‘sleeps’ from Ft. Laramie. I’m living in a twenty-foot gooseneck trailer, but I want to build a log house as soon as my horses pay off.”
“Do you show horses?” Develyn noticed the freckles on Cree-Ryder’s cheeks were only slightly darker than her skin.
Most of the crowd sauntered toward the parked trucks. The two women now stood alone by the arena fence.
“Show? Honey, you’re on the frontier of Wyoming now.” She slipped her arm into Develyn’s. “I’m a barrel racer and break-away roper, and I do some team penning. In my free time I train horses for little girls from Jackson or Red Lodge.”
“You expect to find those kind of horses here?” Develyn asked.
“You never know about these mustangs. Besides, I can’t afford a rich-girl horse from those big ranches up at Cody or Sheridan. Hey, you want to go get a chili burrito or something?”
Develyn shifted the strap of her purse and rubbed her nose. The bright sun warmed her arms, but the slight breeze on her face felt cool. “Are they any good?”
“Compared to what?” Cree-Ryder laughed. “There’s nothing else to eat out here. They don’t taste like a burrito in Nogales or Juarez or Del Rio, but they aren’t bad for central Wyoming.”
The horde of men parted as they walked toward the old, silver Airstream travel trailer, converted to a mobile taco stand. Many of the men had a long-neck bottle of beer in their hand, and all seemed to have a cheek full of tobacco.
Casey and Develyn stopped in line behind a tall man with sweat-stained black hat and broad shoulders.
“Did you see how all of them were looking you over?” Cree-Ryder whispered.
“Me? They were fascinated with you and that beautiful braid, I’m sure,” Develyn insisted.
Casey Cree-Ryder wrinkled her round nose. “Dev, most everyone in this crowd has seen me since I was three. I’ve offended them all by now. Trust me. God gave me the unique ability to make all men angry. And I’ve been faithfully using that gift most all of my life. They are looking at you, girl. You’re like fresh meat at the market, and they are all dreamin’ about grillin’ you.”
Develyn’s mouth dropped. Her face flushed. “What did you just say?”
“Whoops,” Cree-Ryder gulped. “How about, eh … you’re like the newest video at the movie rental place?”
“I like that analogy somewhat better.”
“I thought you might. If I get too crude, just slug me. I’ve lived by myself since I was fourteen,” Casey added. “I know I’m kind of rough-sounding at times. Shoot, Dev, I am rough. I’ve been in more fistfights than I can count. But I only got knifed once.”
Develyn opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“I’ve been shot at twice, but they didn’t hit me. I think they were just trying to scare me.”
Develyn Worrell’s hand flew to her chest. She felt her throat tighten. “Are you serious?”
“Crud,” Casey laughed. “There I go again. OK … you have never been in a fistfight, let alone been knifed or shot at.”
“I punched my brother in the nose when I was six and sprained my wrist. That was the end of my fistfighting. But on more than one occasion I’ve wished I had a gun or a knife and some courage.”
“Hmmm.” Casey studied her eyes. “I believe you have a story to tell me some time, Ms. Worrell.”
“Yes, but not now. Casey, please, just be yourself. You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve spent most of my life pretending to be someone I’m not. This summer, I want it different.”
“Now you’re talking, girl. I’ll do the same.”
Develyn reached over and brushed several straw stems off Cree-Ryder’s shoulder.
“I look like I fell off the proverbial hay wagon, don’t I?” Casey said.
“No … no … I’m just so fussy sometimes I alienate my friends.”
“Hey, I own a dress. I really do. It’s silver and burgundy. It’s real classy. I keep it in a sealed box in my horse trailer.”
Develyn stared. I don’t relate to this lifestyle. She keeps her one dress in a horse trailer? Her mind slipped to the walk-in closet at home crammed with dresses.
“Now, what have you decided to order?” Casey pressed.
Develyn strained to read the faded print on the signboard fastened to the side of the trailer. Lord, I like Casey. But we are so different. She’s so out there and unpretentious. I sense her friendship already. It’s like one of those dreams, Lord, where I don’t know a soul, and yet it seems so familiar. I keep expecting to look up and see my brother swagger up.
Casey tapped the blue-shirted shoulder of the man in front of her. “Hey, Burdett, did you ever sell that broken-down coyote dun mare that you wanted way too much money for?”
The man spun around and grumbled, “Cree-Ryder, that horse had more stamina than your whole …” He glanced at Develyn and pulled off his black hat. His dark brown and gray hair retained its hat curl. “Howdy, ma’am. I didn’t know you were with, eh, Miss Cree-Ryder. I was just trying to figure which of Margaret’s tacos would do the least damage to my …”
“Quint, this is my good friend, Develyn Worrell. Me and her used to partner down in the Texas circuit. You ain’t never seen anyone turn a barrel like Devy. She beat Charmayne James three weeks in a row.” Cree-Ryder rocked up on the worn toes of her boots. “Develyn, this is Quint Burdett. He ain’t much to look at, but he owns the north half of Natrona County and the south half of Johnson County.”
Develyn tried to conceal her gasp.
Burdett shook his head and laughed. “Cree-Ryder, you need to just speak right up and quit being so bashful and shy.” He turned to Develyn. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. Don’t believe Cree-Ryder. My place isn’t that big. Just thirty sections, more or less. Say, did she say you’re from Texas? You look more like Houston than Ft. Worth. Am I right?” He held out his hand.
Develyn shook his calloused hand. “I have been to the livestock show and rodeo in Houston, but, actually I’m …”
Casey Cree-Ryder laughed. “I was leadin’ you on, Burdett. She’s a school teacher from Indiana.”
He grinned and jammed his hat back on. “You had me going until I felt that sweet tender hand. That smile of yours and the big eyes reminded me of someone else … sorry for the double take. Are you two going to buy some horses?”
“If you and the good ol’ boys don’t bid them up too high,” Cree-Ryder insisted.
“I’m not buying any mares, that’s for sure,” he said.
“You developed a sudden fear of the ladies, have you, Burdett?” Cree-Ryder chided.
“Not a fear,” he said. “But I aim to be careful how I choose. I like the ladies to have credentials.”
Develyn again stared at the crude menu on the side of the trailer. “Which one looks good?” she asked.
Quint waved his hand toward the far end of the arena. “Watch that wide-hipped skewbald Tobiano. She has potential if she has the brains. Could be the best of the lot.”
Develyn pointed toward the Airstream taco trailer. “No, I meant, what looks good from the cantina?”
“Oh …” he grinned. “Eh … anything but the Custer’s Revenge. I ate one of those in ’85 and can still feel the effects.”
* * *
Toting a grease-dripping burrito called “Alamo & Olives,” Develyn followed Cree-Ryder to an older red Ford pickup hooked up to a two-horse, battered, silver horse trailer.
“This is my rig.” Cree-Ryder plopped down on the shaded tongue of the trailer and nodded for Develyn to join her. “Actually I have a nice six-horse slant trailer, but mustangs have a rep for kicking the daylights out of a horse trailer so I use this one.”
Develyn wanted to brush the dirt off the trailer tongue, but couldn’t find a clean place to lay her burrito. “So, you’re really going to buy a horse?” She eased herself down next to Casey.
“Maybe. I’ve got nine hundred bucks. I’m hoping I can buy a couple and have enough left to pay my vet bill.”
Develyn studied the burrito as if it were a cup of hemlock. “You can buy two horses for nine hundred dollars?”
“Some of these will go for two hundred dollars, but I wouldn’t advise trying to ride one.” Casey took a big bite of burrito and wiped her chin on the back of her hand. “Are you goin’ to buy a horse?”
“Oh, no … I’m just …” Develyn nibbled the edge of the burrito and bit into a jalapeno pepper.
“Why are you here?”
Develyn gasped and fanned her mouth with her hand. “Oh … oh … it’s a long story.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
“Are you headed up to Cody tonight?”
Develyn coughed. “No, I’m hoping to find a place to stay here.”
Cree-Ryder took a big bite of burrito, then mumbled, “What do you mean here? You mean Casper?”
“No, I mean here.” Develyn rolled back the wax paper. “Argenta.”
Casey stood and reached into the back of her truck and pulled out a small ice chest. “You got family here, Dev?”
“No. I thought maybe I could rent one of those cabins over by the cedar grove.”
“They burned down years ago.” Cree-Ryder opened the ice chest. “All I got is one Diet Pepsi left. You want to split it?”
Develyn took a deep sip and felt her mouth cool. “They burned down? There are no more cabins?”
“No, the cedars burned down.” Cree-Ryder took a swig of Pepsi, then propped the can on the back bumper of the truck. “The Harkins boy liked to play with dynamite and caught them on fire one New Year’s Day.”
“And the cabins?” Develyn asked.
“They moved one of them out to Burdett’s north ranch. He really does have a large ranch. I hear he stays up in the cabin in the fall. I suppose the home place is a little tough on him since his Miss Emily died.”
“His wife?”
“Yep.”
Develyn glanced back toward the Cantina, but couldn’t see Quint Burdett. “Casey, which cabin burned down?”
“The one next to the cedars. The museum in Casper came out and trailered one of them all the way to town. Only the two with stone fireplaces remain.”
“Is anyone living in them?”
“I don’t think so,” Casey said, “but I don’t get to town too often.”
“Who owns them? I really want to rent the one on the south.” Get to town? Coming to Argenta is coming to town?
Cree-Ryder picked what looked like a fish bone out of her burrito and tossed it on the ground. “You really goin’ to stay in Argenta?”
Develyn inspected the mysterious contents of her burrito. “That’s the plan.”
“How long?” Cree-Ryder took another swig of Pepsi and passed it to Develyn.
“Just for a few weeks,” Develyn explained. “Maybe a couple of months.” The shredded meat was so spicy that Develyn needed to gulp down some soda before she swallowed the bite.
“What in the world are you going to do around here?” Casey pressed.
“Ride horses and put my life together.”
“Divorce?”
Develyn let out a deep sigh and stared across the parked trucks. “It’s much more complicated than that.” Lord, I just can’t tell that story again.
“I’ve never been married, but it isn’t because I didn’t try. I proposed to three different guys.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, four if you count Harrison Ford. And they all turned me down.”
“Harrison Ford?”
“I was in a fire-fighting crew over in the Tetons a few years ago, and Ford helicoptered in some supplies. I hollered at him, ‘Will you marry me?’”
“What did he say?”
“Well, either he didn’t hear me or he ignored me. So I don’t really count that one.” Cree-Ryder pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you serious about those cabins?”
Develyn folded the rest of her burrito back in the wax paper and put it on the trailer tongue. “Yes, I am. Who owns them?”
“I haven’t a clue. Last I heard some guy from Denver owned that place. It’s like he comes up every couple of weeks or so. Burdett would know. He grazes off the creek bottom land. I’m not sure the cabins are livable. I think you might want to take a look at them before you rent one.” She stood and brushed off her jeans. “Now, come on, the auction is about to start.” She held out a brown sack.
Develyn dropped what was left of lunch in the sack. “What kind of meat do you think is in this burrito? It tasted rather strange.”
“Don’t ever ask what’s in Margaret’s burritos.” Casey clutched Develyn’s arm and tugged her through the herd of pickups and the group of cowboys. “It’s whatever Gentry shot last winter and is still in the freezer. She doesn’t even label the packages. She just calls it burrito meat.”
By the time they reached the arena, most of the places on the rail had been taken, which made for a line-up of jeancovered backsides.
Casey Cree-Ryder pushed her way forward. “Move your skinny Wrangler butts over for us ladies,” she barked.
Develyn’s heart raced. She held her breath. I don’t believe I’ve ever been around anyone so … eh, blunt. Maybe she’s right. Maybe she has alienated everyone in the county.
Several men with straw cowboy hats and long-sleeved snapped shirts scooted down, opening up about three feet of space.
Casey waved at the top rail. “You first, honey.”
Develyn raised her eyebrows. “Up there?”
Cree-Ryder peered between the rails. “It’s the only place to watch the sale. It’s about to get bucking again.”
Develyn climbed the arena fence one rail at a time, then balanced her backside on the top rail. She scooted over for Cree-Ryder to join her.
An older, unshaved, extremely thin man with a white shirt buttoned at the collar and battered brown felt hat nodded off beside Develyn.
“I think he’s asleep,” she whispered.
Cree-Ryder glanced over, then shouted, “Uncle Henry, there’s your horse!”
The old man sat straight up, waved his hand, and hollered, “Ten dollars!”
The crowd roared.
Rubbing his narrow eyes, the old man glanced around. “Did that half-breed put you up to that?” he mumbled at Develyn.
“I’m insulted, Uncle Henry,” Casey laughed. “I figured you recognized my voice even in your sleep. How could you think it was Develyn?”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he appraised Worrell. “Her sweet perfume threw me off. Reminded me of one time I was up in Creede at a…”
“Don’t say it, Uncle Henry. This nice lady is Develyn Worrell, a school teacher from Indiana.”
He tipped his sweat-stained cowboy hat. “My grandmother was from Indiana,” he replied. “South Bend.”
“I’m from Crawfordsville, south and west of there,” Develyn explained. “Are you Casey’s uncle?”
“I’m everybody’s uncle.” When the old man grinned, several gold teeth appeared. “My mama named us boys for her uncles.”
“You mean, your name is actually Uncle Henry?”
“Yep. Right there on the birth certificate. Uncle Henry Perkins. My oldest brother is Uncle Clarence and my youngest is Uncle Ernest.”
“All right, boys …” The man at the loudspeaker was back on the truck in the arena. “Uncle Henry has started to bid, so it must be time to get going again. Here come the ladies. Renny will ride the more, eh … ambitious mares for us. And this first one is as determined as they come. This is a part of that Owyhee Mountain band that we rounded up just north of Paradise. She’s number 73. Must have a little quarterhorse in her, as you can see by those wide hips. A very purdy pinto.”
Renny Slater led the horse to the middle of the arena.
“This is the one Burdett mentioned,” Cree-Ryder said.
“What a beautiful paint horse. What color is she? Taupe?”
“She’s a skewbald. That means white with any color except black. You can call her red roan and white … but taupe sounds fine,” Cree-Ryder replied. “Just don’t tell the men that.”
“Oh?”
“Did you ever notice how men only know five colors?”
Casey hooted.
A young man with dimples when he smiled sat on the other side of Cree-Ryder and shook his head at her comment.
“What are you staring at?” Casey challenged him.
He stared down at his boots. “Eh, I reckon at the two pur diest ladies in the arena,” he mumbled.
Casey laughed and threw her arm around his shoulder. “Honey, you have great taste … for a boy. But you are kind of young for a line like that.”
“A fella can enjoy lookin’ at a fine thoroughbred even though it’s out of his league.”
“Oh, honey … I do like you!” Cree-Ryder hooted. “You come back and see me in about five years.”
“Yes, ma’am …” he blushed. “I will.”
“Shout your bids out, boys,” the man with the loudspeaker boomed.
Develyn nudged Casey, “Are you going to bid on this one?”
Cree-Ryder pulled her arm back from the teen’s shoulder and stared into the arena. “No, she’s a little wide for a barrel horse. Might make a good roping horse. Just depends on how snuffy she turns out to be.”
Develyn could hear Renny Slater talk to the horse as he walked her all the way around the arena to show her off. When he passed by them, he paused, then tipped his hat, “You enjoyin’ the show, Devy-girl?”
Develyn sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap. “I haven’t seen anything yet, Mr. Slater.”
He grinned and nodded at Casey. “Cree-Ryder, them school marms is tough on a cowboy. She probably has a quirt on her desk.”
“A what?” Develyn asked.
“A short whip,” Cree-Ryder laughed.
Slater led the horse to the middle of the arena, jammed his left foot into the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. The horse reared straight up, her front legs well off the ground.
“Oh, dear …” Develyn gasped.
The audience clapped.
“Dev, that’s just Renny’s thing,” Cree-Ryder explained. “He rears them like that every time he mounts. It’s like his signature.”
The paint mare bucked twice. Then Slater yanked straight back on the reins. The horse stood still, and he leaned forward and mumbled something in the horse’s ear.
“What did you tell her, Renny?” some big cowboy with a long-neck bottle in his hand hollered.
Slater spurred the mare to a trot. “Just one word, Little Pete,” Renny shouted. “Dogfood.”
Slater loped the horse around the rail of the arena, cut her out into the middle … slid her to a stop … then backed her up and spun her to the left and to the right.
“Ain’t that horse a fine specimen of equine beauty?” the auctioneer called out. “How broke is she, Renny?”
Slater trotted to the middle of the arena. “Let me demonstrate it to you boys. I’ll just let one of you ride her and find out.”
He rode the white and taupe paint horse straight toward the ladies.
“What’s he doing?” Develyn said.
Casey held her arm. “You get to go for a ride.”
Develyn’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“This fine-looking cowgirl here with the short yella hair will demonstrate how broke this horse is.” He rode the horse right up against the fence. “Climb on behind me, ma’am.”
“What?” Develyn searched Cree-Ryder’s eyes. “No, I can’t really. I haven’t ridden in years,” she murmured.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping. That will prove what a tame horse she is,” Renny declared. “Come on … climb on board.”
When the old man next to her leaned toward her, there was garlic on his breath. “Say, are you sure you didn’t work down in Ely, Nevada, in a…”
“Uncle Henry!” Cree-Ryder snarled. “You keep quiet.”
Develyn stood on the third rail, handed Cree-Ryder her purse, then swung her leg across the rump of the horse. Lord, I have no idea in the world what I’m doing, or why I’m doing this.
“Put your arms around me,” Slater called out.
“I’ll hold on to the cantle,” she replied.
“Boy, you schoolteachers are careful.” Slater spurred the horse, and she began to trot around the arena.
Develyn felt the sun-warmed rump of the horse slap up against her backside. Holding the cantle with one hand, she tugged her straw hat down tighter. The wind blew in her face, and she closed her eyes. Yes, yes, yes … this is what I’ve been wanting. It feels so good.
“I like this horse,” she said.
They continued to circle the arena. “You want to buy her?” he whispered.
“I didn’t come out here to buy a horse.”
“No one plans on buying a horse. But if you find a good horse, you gotta buy it.”
“What do you think she will go for?”
Renny spurred the horse to a gallop. “It depends on whether you want it or not.”
Develyn started to slip back and her arms went around his hard, thin waist. “What do you mean by that?”
“Do you want to buy the horse or not?” he called out.
“Perhaps, but I can’t pay very much.”
Renny glanced back. “How much did you want to spend?”
What did Casey say? “Eh, I have nine hundred dollars, but I want to buy two horses,” Develyn proposed.
“She’ll go for a thousand, I reckon. But if you want her, I’ll see to it you get a discount.”
“Really?”
Renny slowed the horse to a trot. “Yeah, but you have to do what I tell you.”
Develyn tugged her hat down and glanced at all the eyes in the arena focused on them. “What do you mean?”
“No matter what happens, you bid on this horse.”
“What?”
Renny patted her knee. “Promise me you’ll bid a hundred dollars on this horse.”
“When?”
“You’ll know.”
Renny stopped the horse in the middle of the arena. “This horse is so broke,” he announced. “I’ll let this purdy yellow-haired lady ride this paint by herself.”
“What are you doing?” Develyn demanded.
“Just ride her around. When I nod at you, slap the right fender hard with the palm of your hand and shout ‘giddy-up!’” Renny swung his leg over the saddle horn and the horse’s head, then slid to the ground.
Develyn felt her heart race. “Renny!”
He handed her up the reins.
The crowd cheered.
“Now, go on … do like I told you … when the time comes, bid one hundred dollars.”
“We’ll start the bidding as this cowgirl rides the paint mare,” the auctioneer drawled.
Slater stepped back several feet, then nodded at Develyn. “Slap that saddle fender.”
Develyn released the saddle horn and slapped the right flap of the saddle skirt.
The horse dropped her head and kicked up her rear hooves, causing Develyn to lose the stirrups. “No!” she shouted.
When the horse repeated the move, Develyn dropped the reins and clutched the saddle horn with both hands. “Stop. Stop it right now!”
On the third buck, she lost her grip and flew over the horse’s head. She landed face first in powdery dry dirt. Like rough sandpaper, it scraped her arms, hands, and face. She spat out dirt and gasped for breath. Every bone ached.
Lord, I’m goin’ to die right here in the middle of nowhere. I’ll never live through this. Slater and Cree-Ryder ran toward her. She rolled on her back and tried to catch her breath.
“Ten dollars!” Uncle Henry shouted.
“We got a ten-dollar bid,” the auctioneer shouted.
I am dying and they are bidding on this horse?
Renny lifted her head and mumbled through clenched teeth, “Bid.”
He’s got to be kidding.
“Bid,” he repeated. “Trust me and bid.”
With Cree-Ryder’s help she sat up and tried to gasp out, “You’re insane.”
“Wait a minute!” Renny shouted. “She said she wants to bid.”
Develyn could feel the tears dribble down her dirt-covered cheeks. She looked at Cree-Ryder, then Slater winked at her.
I don’t have a clue what that wink means.
“How much do you want to bid?” yelled the auctioneer.
“Eh … one hundred dollars,” Develyn blurted out.
“She said a hundred bucks,” Cree-Ryder repeated.
“This brave cowgirl bids a hundred on the contrary mare. Do I hear any more bids? I didn’t think so. Goin’ once, twice, sold to the young lady with dirt on her face!” he shouted. “Renny, bring us out another.”
He helped Develyn to her feet. “Ride this horse out of the arena,” he told her.
She tried to wipe the dirt out of her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt. “You have to be kidding. I’m never…”
“Cowgirl up, Devy-girl. This is the moment of truth.” Slater straightened the saddle, then reached his hand out to her. When she opened her hand, he dropped a sticker the size of a large walnut into her hand.
“What is that?”
“A star thistle … I wonder how that got under the saddle blanket?”
“You … what?” Develyn moaned. “You humiliated me on purpose. Why?”
“You just bought yourself a hundred-dollar horse. I figured I saved you nine hundred bucks. I figure you owe me a…”
He caught her hand before it landed on his cheek. “Get on the horse, Devy-girl. Show them you aren’t just some Indiana schoolteacher.”
Cree-Ryder nodded at her. “You can do it, Devy-girl. Ride with your head up.”
Develyn stuck her dirty boot in the stirrup and yanked herself up into the saddle to the applause of the entire crowd.
“Now there goes a real cowgirl!” the announcer shouted. “Bring us out a gentle one this time, Renny … a gentle horse, that is.”
Cree-Ryder opened the gate, and Develyn rode the paint horse into the crowd of men who parted like the Red Sea as she headed toward the parked trucks.