by Stephen Bly
They crept close enough to hear a diesel truck idle and catch the movement of the girls as they pushed one of the ATVs up the embankment to the road.
“This sucks. We should have left your four-wheeler out there where it broke down. We could have been back to town by now,” the black-haired girl fumed.
“Oh, sure, that would have been cool. It’s registered in my dad’s name.”
“Those two old cowboys could have caught up with us,” the dark-haired one griped.
“But they didn’t. Let’s load this picker and get out of here.”
With the machine down in the culvert, both girls leaned their backsides into the ATV’s rack and shoved.
“I’m going to shoot Rivera. They had an opener to the gate. He set them up to chase us off. Now that the crop’s about ready to harvest, he’s trying to move in and take it all. I told you we couldn’t trust him.”
“Don’t shoot him before he pays us. We’ve been working our butts off out here. Push harder.”
“Me? You’re the one that needs to push harder,” the blonde one huffed. “We aren’t going to lose this deal now. We grew the best crop they’ve ever seen. Besides, I’ve got to get that start-up money back into my college fund by September 15.”
The four-wheeler sprang up on the level gravel roadway.
The dark-haired one steered the rig around to line up with the ramps. “Rivera will pay. We know too much.”
They rolled it up in the trailer, then shoved the tailgate in place.
Hap leaned toward Laramie and whispered. “Is that duct tape on the right taillight? I think that’s my dadgum truck!”
The girls marched toward the rig.
“We have to stop them before they drive off,” Laramie replied.
Hap jammed his hand in his pocket and plucked out his spare set of keys. Ignoring the garage door opener, he pressed the round button on his remote key lock.
“Oh, crap,” the blonde fumed. “You locked the keys in the rig.”
The dark-haired girl beat on the driver’s side door. “I can’t believe this. I did not lock the doors.”
The blonde stomped around in front of the headlights. “Oh, sure. You have fouled up things all summer.”
“Me? It was your ATV that broke down.”
“And you were the one to bring Rivera into this. We didn’t need him.”
“Like, where were we going to sell this grass? Not out behind the gym.”
“Okay, oh brilliant one, what are we going to do now? I told you we didn’t need a truck, even if it was a free loaner. We should have just driven the four-wheelers like we have all summer.”
“Find a big rock and bust a window.”
When the girls stepped to the driver’s side with a grapefruit-sized rock, Hap fired two quick shots over their heads.
“Hands on the hood of the truck, girls, right now!”
They dropped the rocks, but didn’t move.
“Hands on the hood,” Laramie yelled.
“It’s those cowboys,” the blonde snarled.
“Get over there or we’ll shoot,” Hap warned.
“You won’t shoot us,” the dark-haired one insisted. “There’s no money in it for you.”
The bullet from Laramie’s gun shattered the side-view mirror next to the girls. They both slammed hands on the hood.
“I can’t believe you shot my truck,” Hap groaned.
“It worked. Frisk them.”
“Who, me?”
“They shot at us with semiauto .45s. We need to disarm them.”
Laramie kept them covered while Hap crept up behind them. “Are either one of you named Juanita?”
“Go to…” the blonde growled.
“Nice girls, huh?” Hap interrupted. “The dark-haired one had a gun in the back of her jeans, but I can’t find anything on the other one.”
“Rivera sent you, didn’t he?” the blonde snarled.
“Tell it to the sheriff.”
“You’re going to turn us in?”
“We’re doin’ you a favor.”
“Go ahead, do it. We’ll tell them we were out for a ride, stumbled across some marijuana growers, and you tried to rape us. Who do you think a jury will believe, you two drifter cowboys or innocent teenage girls?”
“You think Rivera will testify on your behalf?” the dark-haired one added.
Laramie noticed distant car headlights racing toward them. “That story won’t wash, little darlin’s… you’ve got a gate opener in your pocket. We have another witness to the discovery of the pot field, who is right now contacting the county sheriff. Besides that, this truck was stolen from a minimart two nights ago.”
“No wonder Rivera gave it to us.” The dark-haired one kicked at a tire. “He set us up to be caught.”
A car pulled up behind the trailer with blinding headlights.
“Who is that?” the blonde called out.
“Looks like Rivera to me,” Laramie said.
“I’m going to get you, Rivera…” the blonde yelled. “It will make Kill Bill look like a kid’s movie. That pot field belongs to us and you don’t get one dollar out of our idea. We planted it. We farmed it. We put in the gate. It is ours, you son of…”
“Who in the world is Rivera?” A lady’s voice floated out of the shadows.
“Annamarie, did you bring a deputy?” Laramie called.
A uniformed law officer stepped out into the headlights. “You catch these girls growing a little weed?”
Laramie stepped back. “No, sir, we caught them growing a lot of weed.”
With the girls in custody and statements given, Annamarie hiked with Laramie and Hap back down the headlight-illuminated road toward the horses. “And where’s my Sara?”
“Sara!” Hap gasped.
“Don’t tell me you…” Annamarie studied the dark prairie. “Oh, here she is!” She hunkered down as the boxer scampered up. “What have you got in your mouth?”
Laramie reached down and tugged at the object. “Looks like she found your other bright-neon-green jelly flip-flop.”
All the windows were replaced in the minimart when Laramie and Hap entered Jose’s Git-N-Go two days later. Sam swirled toward them in a bright red Hawaiian floral print dress and an exuberant smile. “Boys, have you heard the news?”
“We haven’t heard much of anything since they arrested those girls. We had to finish that fencing job,” Hap reported.
“I sold the store.”
“Good for you,” Laramie said.
“Mr. Peter Struckmann bought it. He’s going to tear it down and build a car lot here. Says it’s an excellent location for his lower-priced used cars. The deal should clear in a month, but he’ll lease it from me and run the store until then.”
“Does that mean you take a little vacation?” Laramie asked.
“Yes, I’m going to visit my brothers in California. Did Annamarie talk to you today?”
Laramie leaned against the counter. “Just for a minute. She said things were hectic and we’d talk tonight. Said to meet here.”
“Good. Do you boys want a burrito or cheeseburger? My treat. I’m in a very happy mood.”
Laramie peeked out into the parking lot. “Thanks, Sam, but we treated ourselves to a steak tonight at the El Grande Vaca. We’d been eating out of cans for three days.”
Annamarie drove up in her Mazda Miata. When Laramie met her at the door, she slipped her hand in his. He held it tight, relishing that feel of belonging that brought an armistice to his mind and spirit. “Your mama told us the news.”
“It was your contact with Mr. Struckmann that set it up.”
“I hear she’s headed to California.”
“Yes, tomorrow.” Annamarie tugged him down the potato chip aisle.
Laramie gazed into her hazel eyes. “That soon?”
She clutched his other hand in hers. “I searched the net for some of those last minute ticket deals and found a couple bargains between San Antonio and L.A.”
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“A couple? Are you going with her?”
“Yes. I need the break, too.”
Laramie loosed his grip. “I sort of suspected that was coming.”
“Do you know what’s coming next?” Annamarie refused to release his hands.
“Eh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I. That’s why I’m taking Mom to Santa Ana. Laramie, my husband’s death hit me hard. I was so in love with him and content. Ever since that day, I’ve struggled between anger and bitterness.”
“Angry at who?”
“At the oil company. At my husband for going over there. With the president for the war in Iraq. With God for allowing both my father and my husband to die. I worked day and night in the emergency room to keep my mind occupied. There wasn’t time to think about myself. I know I was able to help others and for that I’m grateful. But do you know what the best help was?”
“What?”
“You and Hap for the past four or five days. You helped me to laugh, to enjoy the present moment… and to dream about a future again. I needed that.”
“And now you’re taking off?”
“Yes. I need some space to think… about you.”
“Me and Hap?”
She squeezed his fingers. “No, just you. I like the way your hands feel. I like the way we can sit and talk for hours. I even like it that you’re taller than me!”
“I like all those things, too. But what does all this mean?”
“I need to set the past aside now… and plan for the future. I don’t know what that means for you and me, but for the first time in years, I have something fun to think about.”
“How long are you going to be gone?”
“Mother has to return in three weeks to sign the papers. I might be home before that. Laramie, do you know what your future holds?”
“I don’t know anything beyond chasing Hap’s Juanita.”
“Would you think that through? When I come back to Texas, I want to talk about my future… and your future… and our future.”
“But we won’t be here in Laredo. We’re headed to Del Rio. My aunt’s sister-in-law lives there and we sorta promised we’d help her with a roof job.”
“You guys do roofing, too?”
“Not really. She claims there’s a Juanita in her church that makes the Zorro chick look like a fencepost. Hap feels the call to Del Rio.”
“I’ll come there to see you.”
“For sure?”
“Guaranteed. I have to come pick up my dog.”
“Sara’s going to be in Del Rio?”
“Yes, Hap agreed to take care of her while I’m in California.”
“He did? He didn’t tell me anything about it.”
Annamarie led Laramie to the counter where Hap and Sam debated the merits of Texas-made salsa. “Hap, I’m going to California with my mother for a couple of weeks. Would you take care of Sara for me while I’m gone?”
“Yes, ma’am… eh, your dog? You want us to keep a house dog?”
“I want you to teach her some responsible freedom. Then I’ll come pick her up in Del Rio.”
Hap turned back to Sam. “Have you noticed them two sportin’ the same silly grin?”
“I see Annamarie with life in her eyes. For three years, when she comes home, her eyes look dead. She is very plain-looking with dead eyes, trust me. But now, she looks alive, animated. She might even be considered somewhat attractive. What kind of man is this tall, skinny cowboy?” She pointed at Laramie.
Hap rocked back on his heels. “He’s an honest man, true to his word. He’s the one man on earth I’d entrust with my life. Kind of quiet at times, sometimes extremely shy… but everyone likes him. He don’t sleep good at night and sometimes spends hours sittin’ in the dark, tossin’ poker cards in the trash can, and he never chews his peaches, but swallows ’em whole. Let’s see, what else?”
“If these two insist on embarrassing us, let’s go get a blue Icee.” Annamarie tugged Laramie toward the soft-drink machines.
Out of her mom’s sight, she hugged Laramie’s neck, then pressed her lips against his. “You will wait for me to come back from California, won’t you?”
He wrapped his arms around her thin waist.
“Oh, I’ll wait. I’m just debating whether or not I’m ever going to turn you loose.”
“I like the way you tease, cowboy.”
Laramie pulled her closer, felt her warm, soft arms around his neck. He closed his eyes when their lips touched again. The chronic gnawing in the pit of his stomach disappeared.
CHAPTER FOUR
The two-lane, paved road north of town turned to gravel about a mile from the arena. The rolling brown foothills flattened to wide open pasture. For most of the year, the wooden bleachers perched like ancient ruins on some long-deserted plain. But this was rodeo week. Pastures converted to parking lots. A three-day camper city appeared out of nowhere. Concession booths and horse trailers circled the grounds.
Inside the loose dirt arena, most eyes focused on two mounted cowboys.
Rope coiled in his left hand, loop in his right, Hap backed his black horse into the roping box at the west end of the arena. While Luke’s hooves pawed dirt, he studied angus-cross steer number 341.
The chute boss attempted to aim the animal’s head forward. Hap glanced at Laramie in the heeler’s box, but his partner’s eyes were fixed on the steer.
Hap spurred Luke forward, spun him in a circle, and backed him in the corner again, in hopes of settling him down. In the roping box to the right, Laramie clutched a light green, medium-hard nylon rope, poised on a bit-fighting Tully, waiting for the steer’s release.
On the far side of the arena, the rodeo clown entertained the crowd with a joke about a mouse and a mule as the 2,259 paying customers at the Del Rio, Texas, Summer Classic Rodeo waited for one stubborn steer to play the game right.
“These Wyoming cowboys need a 6.9 to take the lead,” the announcer boomed.
The steer kept his eyes on Luke, Hap’s horse. The bovine brain knew what was supposed to happen next.
Hap spun two quick loops above his head, then lowered his arm. He realized the steer had been roped a number of times in the previous three days and showed no hurry to leave the safe confines of the squeeze chute. “Just wait, boy, he’s got to turn his head sometime.”
Luke shuffled his hooves.
Hap’s rope idly spun.
The chute boss cussed.
Then, like a miracle dropped out of the sky, the steer turned his head forward.
Hap nodded.
The gate clanged open.
The black horse galloped at the barrier string.
“Don’t break it, Luke… wait… wait… now!”
The barrier string snapped aside a split second before Hap crashed through. The steer sprinted straight ahead.
One loop. Two loops. Toss.
Hap’s rope circled the short, leather-wrapped horns of the steer. He cut his horse sharp to the left as his white-cotton-gloved hand dallied the rope around the saddle horn. Laramie leaned forward in the stirrups and tossed his rope at the steer’s rear legs.
The animal was jerked to the left. Its rear hooves hopped into Laramie’s loop.
Hap watched as his partner yanked the rope.
Dallied.
He backed Tully until both ropes were taut.
The black-and-white vested judge’s flag dropped.
Above the crowd’s applause, he heard the announcer blurt out, “Looks like these Wyoming cowboys will take home some day money and earn a slot in the short go on Sunday.”
Hap gave Laramie a quick nod.
A two-mile procession of red taillights marked the exit of the crowd after the last rodeo event concluded. But like backstage after the curtain dropped, there was plenty left to do.
Animals to feed.
Arena to groom.
Litter to bag up.
Cowboys to pay.
Laramie and Hap amb
led to the rodeo secretary’s office under the empty wooden bleachers and scooted to the back of a short line.
A hulking, 280-pound steer wrestler loafed in front of them. The word Wrangler was silkscreened on one sleeve of his western-cut, long-sleeved, bright yellow shirt. He grinned and stuck out his huge, calloused hand. “I’m Brick Trotter, boys. Nice ropin’ tonight. You the ones from Wyoming?”
“Yep,” Laramie replied. “Up north of Casper. And you?”
A crisp, white straw cowboy hat framed his round head. “From Checotah, Oklahoma, originally. But I’ve been livin’ with a friend in Stephenville, Texas, of late. That is, when I’m home. I ain’t seen you two around before.”
“We mainly rodeo up in our Mountain States Circuit, but we don’t even do that much anymore. This was a last-minute decision, based on perceived financial need,” Hap explained. “We weren’t even sure they had team ropin’ down here.”
“I’ve been bulldoggin’ all over the country. I’m sittin’ twenty-one in the world, which ain’t too bad. But I’ve got to win some big rodeos if I’m goin’ to crack the top fifteen, come Finals. I’ve been winnin’ the little rodeos and messin’ up in the big ones, you know what I mean?”
“We never entered too many big rodeos, except for Cody… and Frontier Days in Cheyenne,” Laramie said.
“You ever win big up in Cheyenne?”
“We don’t want to talk about it,” Hap said.
Laramie studied the rope burn on his left thumb. “We won second place one year, but it isn’t a good memory.”
Brick shuffled closer to the pay window. “Be thankful you got memories. I won first place in Pendleton, Oregon, one time. I woke up broke in my motel room the next mornin’ without any recall of the night before. My pals said I won and spent the twelve-hundred-dollar check on drinks for the house. That’s when I gave up drinkin’ durin’ the rodeo season.”
Brick’s attention drifted to a young girl with a turned-up nose and red hair who left the pay window. “Am I just gettin’ old, or are them barrel racers gettin’ younger and younger? Say, you boys want to go out to supper? There’s a couple girls from Stephenville who I’m sure can find another friend and we’ll have some laughs.”