Chapter 29

THE TRIANGLE OF MEN AROUND ME—SABINO Arriaga, Stuckey, and Trenton, still ahorseback—eyed each other. The three critters—Trenton’s horse, Decker, and Charley—shifted in place. The distant hum of interstate traffic over the hill’s steep west edge filled out the wind then changed for the worse.

A semitruck gassed its air horn over and over. Car horns blared, tires locked up and laid rubber. Sounded like the makings of a major pileup.

Cell phone still in my hand, I skidded a half-dozen steps down the west edge of the hill. Charley moved to follow me. I didn’t need my old fellow sliding down that treacherous slope.

“Charley, stay.”

Charley obeys a good thirty commands, which is a whole pile more than Guy.

A semitruck-and-trailer was crosswise on the northbound side of the interstate, blocking all lanes. Easy odds on who’d caused that mess and thank goodness for him.

I scrambled back up to the top, hollering at Trenton. “I’ve got to get down there pronto. I think my fellow passed the word to my daddy, and he’s trying to stop Gabe for us. Please, you watch over my Charley dog another hour.” I tried to catch Decker’s lead rope.

Reese Trenton managed not to look like I was full of good ideas. “You’ve seen that Man from Snowy River picture too many times.” He stepped off his horse and thrust the reins toward me.

“Huh?”

“It’s your rodeo,” he said. He waved for me to mount up as he released his reins and he edged toward Decker, reaching for the loose lead rope on the halter, murmuring, “Easy there, boy, steady.”

I mounted Trenton’s gelding and felt a lot of horse under me. Yeah, a whole lot. And I was real glad that Trenton and I used the same length of stirrup, ’cause when I pointed this horse at the edge, it jumped.

We landed in a downhill gallop, every footfall sliding on the steep scree, the horse leaping again and again, front end catching us and lifting, faster and faster. The wind forced tears that blurred my vision. I hung on to the saddle horn like it was the doorknob to heaven.

Halfway down the hill, the view was good enough to glimpse the mess of the stopped northbound lanes. A Shasta County deputy car, apparently responding to a radio call he’d received up north, barreled down the southbound lanes.

Bam! One north-bounder—a beater green Bronco—detoured the mess of stopped traffic by off-roading it, busted through the hard wire fence that ran along the freeway. The dust cloud created by Gabe’s off-roading rose to meet us, but I could still see that the Shasta deputy wouldn’t be able to cross the median and to the break in the fence. I angled this incredible Quarter Horse under me. He agreed to the new line, hindquarters catching us and thrusting us across and down the slope.

When we hit bottom, the horse was entirely unfazed by the car horns and congestion. He took my cue to sprint after the Bronco which cut inland past the big hill. Shrubbery clotted along the interstate fence on my left. A solid cross fence loomed less than a few hundred yards ahead of the Bronco. Would he stop? Do a brody and charge us? Try to make it through the bushes and break through the interstate fence again, then speed north?

Gabe put the pedal down, flattened a T-post with the center of his Bronco. The cross fence popped, wire strands flinging back like someone had thrown a brick onto a guitar. I reined in hard. Trenton’s gelding dropped his haunches and plowed the dirt with his hind end but got us stopped before we hit the wire. It wasn’t barbed wire, but I still wasn’t going to chance snagging a fetlock in a loop of the ruined fence. I walked the horse over the broken strands holding my breath. Ahead, Gabe was slowing to dart around a hundred head of scattering cattle.

Trenton’s cattle. I saw him far to my right, having used his secret route off the north end of the big hill. Made sense he’d have such trails. And I saw he rode like an expert, even riding one-handed, bareback, and clutching my dog to his body. I kicked Trenton’s horse back up to a gallop.

Ahead of Gabe, the shrubs thickened to real trees, a forest that wouldn’t allow a Bronco through. Whether or not there was another cross fence ahead, the trees would stop both Gabe’s northbound run and any try to get back to the interstate. If only the cattle were thicker, they could stop Gabe to the east.

Reese Trenton tried to push cattle toward the Bronco, but they were scattering, having too much real estate to spread out on. He didn’t have enough control over the herd to get them to block Gabe in.

I shouted, “Charley! Charley!”

Trenton reined up, doubled over, and let Charley down to the ground. Then he loped Decker on, still doing his bit to try to make the herd trap Gabe, but his effort wouldn’t do near enough.

“Charley,” I screamed from the saddle, “come bye.”

He did, swooping with hidden taps of power from within his tired little old self, gathering the herd, packing them tight. Before they met the Bronco, I reversed him with another command.

“Away to me.”

When Charley turned, the cattle pushed away from him, packing in tighter on the oncoming vehicle. When Charley was exactly behind them, his presence would push the herd toward me. I pulled up Trenton’s awesome gelding to holler a stop command to my great dog.

“Lie down!”

The Bronco slowed but kept coming at the cattle. I moved the horse to take the flank position Reese was shooting for. He saw my move and angled back, around, ready to support the final push.

“Walk up, Charley. Walk up!”

Charley moved up on the herd, head low, daring the cattle, showing the hundreds you shall not pass.

They milled, uncertain.

My Charley stood his ground, finding a depth of courage possessed only by the bravest hearts.

The tough part about playing chicken is not flinching. At all.

It’s a mighty tall order.

It’s also a lot to ask of a herd of hundreds of startled cattle moving alongside the interstate: turn around and face an oncoming, off-road vehicle.

Find the dog and cowboy and the screaming woman on the great gelding more of a threat than the old Ford Bronco.

They chose well.

***

The police showed up then, which was not bad timing all around. Six batches of them, explaining they’d been planning a raid on the Beaumont ranch after they bagged trying to sting Ivy’s drug operation through Solar.

Charley moved all the air in that cow pasture through his good dog lungs. If we stayed, birds would drop out of the sky on account of him sucking up all the oxygen.

The way I wanted Guy, his voice, his warmth, his face, right there, right then was big.

Then Guy showed up in the back of a police car, him and Hollis Nunn—having explained to the responding cops following the dirt tracks from the broken interstate fence—that the cowgirl was instrumental to the events. Guy and Hollis got out of the back seat and got their arms around me, pulling me off Reese Trenton’s blowing horse.

My brain tried and tried to engage, but it was slipping its clutch something fierce. “You hung up on me.” I couldn’t get my arms around Guy soon enough to suit myself. He was here. My Guy had come for me, and his wraparound hug and body press felt more than wonderful.

“Oh, Rainy.” Guy nuzzled my hair.

Gabe went into handcuffs then into the patrol car’s back seat, right where he belonged. I realized it was him in his navy blue baseball cap that Trenton had spied digging a grave, and I wondered if it had been intended for Oscar—where Gabe planned to lay all the blame—or Stuckey, or even me, The cops called for a four-wheel-drive tow truck to impound the Bronco, and I told the driver I might need him for Ol’ Blue back at the ranch.

Yeah, it took a while and plenty of talking to get this mess sorted out.

Sabino and Stuckey trundled down Reese Trenton’s north slope path off the hill on the four-wheeler. The police spotted the rifle in the handlebars and screamed at them to dismount with their hands in the air.

Soon as he was clear enough of the cops, I went to Sabino. Without meeting his gaze, I tucked my chin in to try again. “I need to keep this dog. I love him. He belonged to your uncle, like the donkey and maybe the mule. The donkey is out with the sheep where he likes it. The mule needs a job. But this dog, he’s got a job with me and I love him.” The repetitions necessary to make Sabino Arriaga understand that my dog was rightfully his uncle’s property made it real.

When he seemed clear, I said it simple, “Let me keep this dog.”

“He carved.”

“Huh?”

“My uncle carved on wood, sometimes on trees.”

I nodded, knowing, because just about everyone who loves the West has heard tell of how Basque herders long carved things on trees in those vast flocks they’ve managed in the Great Basin and beyond.

But then Sabino Arriaga told me, “You may keep the dog for my uncle.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll honor them both.”

Yeah, it was some time before the police escorted us back to the ranch with a tow truck that it turned out we didn’t need, because Hollis Nunn is a sharper tack than most.

At the ranch, where my indignant and glorious mama was making all kinds of friends with all kinds of police, Hollis Nunn crawled under Ol’ Blue and spent just a few minutes cussing in the dirt. When he slid out, his back and legs were all dirty from crawling under Ol’ Blue without a creeper.

“The connector to the CPS was unplugged,” Hollis said. “Hard to find, and hard to get to.”

I dusted him off with both hands, happy that my truck was fine. It had been Gabe who poisoned the hot food Eliana made for Vicente. Gabe who made Oscar deliver the meal. Gabe who dug up Vicente’s summit cache of money and buried Fire there. Gabe who stranded me by tampering with Ol’ Blue, Gabe who dug the grave on Reese Trenton’s land. I still wondered if he planned it for me or for Stuckey or Oscar. I was just glad that his half-formed notion of how to pin his crime on someone else had collapsed into the idea of running for the border.

“How’d you know about the Beaumonts and drugs, Mama?”

“Everybody in Hollywood knows. That, and I got a role in the western I was trying to tell you about, based on some work I did on a guest spot and the fact that I’m a cowgirl’s mother.”

I laughed, hugged her, and congratulated her all to goodness. At some point, Ivy had heard from Milt about Dara Dale. Who knew? The police had tried to sting Ivy through Solar, but still had enough to charge possession and distribution, which Ivy had been doing through her dog supplements ever since the Beaumonts bought a chunk of Reese Trenton’s family ranch.

***

Dragoon sold, so I had an empty trailer to haul back up to Cowdry, but I had a couple things to tend before I could leave. First, I talked to Sabino about Eliana then crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. She needed someone in her corner. She needed work with someone who wouldn’t just use her like Ivy did. It would take her a good while to re-earn Vicente’s wages, but I was sure Sabino could take the long view.

Then I went back to the Beaumont ranch to see about the mule. It was Oscar who stood up and said I should be allowed to take Shoeless Joe away, if Sabino Arriaga was all right with the arrangement. Stuckey was of course fine with the suggestion, and Gabe wasn’t there to vote, wearing a jailbird’s jumpsuit as a guest of the state.

The flock wasn’t too far from the barn at the time, and the donkey jack watched it all when we approached his big son. Guy hung onto the lead rope while Shoeless Joe played kite. Mules don’t cotton to being bullied.

“Steady there, Joe. Guy, ease up on that line.”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” I told Joe when I got Guy to lighten up tension to the halter. The mule relaxed, and I led him away from his father’s flock.

At the back of Hollis Nunn’s stock trailer, hitched to Ol’ Blue, the shoeless mule swiveled his tremendous ears, considered my request, then stepped in like a boss.

“She’s a good person,” I promised Joe as I latched the trailer doors. “We’ll have you at your new home by the end of the week. Got fences to build.”

The men were all waiting for me, Stuckey, Oscar, and Reese Trenton. They had a chunk of cargo on the back of a four-wheeler.

“What’s this?” I asked though I could see what it was. It was a Whisper Momma forge, used but in real nice condition. Stuckey and Duffy had found a relined forge and added a new regulator and propane cylinder. “What’s going on?”

Stuckey was all shy smiles. “This is a forge party.”

“A what?” I asked.

They were laughing at me, not with me.

“We buy you a forge,” Oscar explained.

Trenton said, “Stuckey paid for most of it. Said he owed you an apology. The prosecutor likes it when restitution is made.”

Come to find out, Stuckey had used advance wages he would earn from Reese Trenton. Stuckey had done his level best to find my keys, too—he’d thrown them after he drove Ol’ Blue onto through the east gate—but ended up promising to pay for new keys to be made.

“A man ought to be able to live down his mistakes if he tries hard enough,” Trenton said. He’d hired both Oscar and Stuckey. He was going to keep mentoring Stuckey at shoeing too. Good thing. It’s a job for a younger person’s back.

***

On Wednesday afternoon, at the edge of our home pasture, under an arbor Hollis and Donna had built and brought, Guy and I said, “I do.”

The preacher waved around and pointed at my left hand, in the buff for one more moment. My ring finger’s never had so much attention. Months back, when I proposed, which was some time after he proposed, I’d told Guy I didn’t need an engagement ring. We’d picked out our titanium wedding bands together, and I’d handed his over to Melinda for safekeeping. Guy had fussed about where to put mine before his folks got to town. He’d long settled on his buddy Biff as his best man, but given that Biff is a poker player, Guy hadn’t felt like ring-keeping made a good extra chore for the man.

Never met these new in-laws before today. His father is the one Guy picked to watch over my ring until we were all assembled under the arbor. And then Guy’s folks made noise about taking time at a B&B they’d booked in Gris Loup, not too far from Cowdry. We ate clams and scallops and shrimp. There was beef and pulled pork plus side dishes and every kind of noodle and green salad. Bowls of Guy’s salsa and guacamole that shames the supposed Tex-Mex offered on the West Coast, especially what’s found in the Pacific Northwest. We’d been eating enough to feed an army when my daddy said something about fruit on sticks being served.

Guy grinned. “Dessert kebabs.”

My daddy said, “You mean, like, marshmallows? S’mores?”

I’ve logged some hard time hearing cooking school stories and I’m sure I’ll only do more, being married to Guy. Like he’ll hear my shoeing stories. We’re for keeps. I sort of tried to calm my daddy down. But after all, he hadn’t hesitated to block an interstate when Guy asked him to.

Grilled fruit kebobs, drizzled in dark chocolate sauce, turn out to be the bee’s knees.

***

Time to get back to work. I’d calls from clients, a new client who wanted shoes tapped for removeable studs, a reschedule, and a thrown shoe to deal with, plus next day, I was to bring Joe the mule john out to Melinda. He’d spent the night with my herd like he was born to it. Melinda’s only got a half-acre, but her neighbor has more land. She’s going to make a go of becoming a backcountry rider. I let the mule bid goodbye to Guy’s little half-Arab colt, Pinto Bean, while I rubbed the Kid’s giant draft horse nose and took in the warmth when Red held his chestnut face against my body. I rubbed noggins with both hands for as long as it took for all of us to feel like we were together again.

“He’s barefoot,” Melinda said when I opened the stock trailer.

Shoeless Joe stepped out of the trailer like a mail-order bride, and I properly introduced him to his future person. “Melinda, Joe. Joe, Melinda.” Then I stepped away to give them the personal time such an encounter deserves. I took a lap around her pasture checking the new fencing. We still needed to string some lower strands of electric tape. I took my time before coming back to check on the new couple.

“He doesn’t look like a Joe to me,” Melinda said. “Maybe a Louie?”

I considered the mule’s face, a great mix of future wisdom, goofy, and stern.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Louie fits.”

In a few hours, we finished the fencing for Louie’s pasture.