by Stephen Bly
“No, ma’am, she didn’t twist my arm. I freely surrendered it. She didn’t ask for anything but forgiveness.”
“And she claimed to be going home. But Brick Trotter told Laramie he heard that Juanita, Cindi, and Lacee drew out of today’s barrels to hurry to Las Vegas and play in a poker tournament.”
Hap grimaced. “I hear there was two Juanitas here. It might have been the other one.”
“One fact I know for sure,” Annamarie added. “The Waxed Turtle in Jackson only lasted one summer. They went broke and it’s now Teton Espresso. I phoned the Chamber of Commerce myself.”
“She might not have known it went belly-up.”
Laramie paced around the back of the truck. “So, Judge Annamarie, what’s the verdict? Is Hap a certified loony, or what?”
“Guys, I’m not the judge. But I will give you my opinion. With the details at hand, it seems naïve, or foolish, or both for Hap to give this Juanita more money.”
“Yes!” Laramie boomed, “that’s what I’ve been saying.”
“However,” Annamarie continued, “Hap is thirty-one years old. He has the freedom to be naïve or foolish, if he wants to.”
“Or both…” Hap said.
“So where does that put us? Where do we stand, partner?” Laramie said.
Sara jumped down at the sight of another boxer. They raced neck and neck between the rigs.
Annamarie laced her hand into Laramie’s. “That, my dear man, is the exact question I came all the way to Del Rio to find the answer to. Where do we stand?”
“You and me?”
“Yes, what’s our relationship? Of course, I also want that supper you promised you’d buy me.”
Laramie hugged her. “Let’s go eat.”
She turned to Hap. “You coming with us?”
“I ain’t hungry.”
“Would you mind…”
“I’ll keep Sara.”
“We might be late.”
“I’m goin’ to sleep early. We’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”
Hap watched his father crawl out from under the Mexican family’s old Ford station wagon, grab a couple of hand tools and a flashlight, then slide back beneath the rig.
“Did you hear what I said?”
Hap’s eyes snapped to the twelve-year-old girl with tiny silver stud earrings beside him. “You bought yourself a bracelet?”
“No, I said I wanted to buy myself a bracelet. It costs two dollars.”
“Why didn’t you buy it?”
She stared down at dusty flip-flops that pushed out from under her long white dress. Her voice lowered. “I didn’t have the money.”
Hap picked up a rock and threw it at a cedar fencepost about thirty feet away. He missed it four inches to the left. “Ask your daddy.”
“Mother says I should never ask him for money. He works very, very hard and we barely have enough for rent and groceries.”
Hap liked the way listening to her made his throat tickle. “Do you ask your mother for money?”
“Mother doesn’t have any. She always gives her pay to father.”
He stared down at her chipped, red-painted toenails. “You mean, you never have any money?”
“Sometimes my grandmother sends me some for my birthday or Christmas, or my aunt lets me babysit. I have money then. I just don’t have any right now.”
Hap plucked up another stone and tossed it at the fence post. This time it flew by two inches to the right. “What was the bracelet like?”
She hunted alongside the road and retrieved a small round rock. “It was silver with the word Wyoming engraved in it. One charm hung down, a cowboy riding a bucking horse. Now I want it more than ever. If I had that bracelet, it would remind me of you. Hap, I really like visiting with you this afternoon.” She rifled the rock at the fence post and clobbered it dead center. “I wish you lived close to us. We could visit every day.”
“I would like that.”
“Are you going to come see me? Someday, I think you will.”
He smeared dirt when he rubbed his hand on his chin. “I’d like to see you tomorrow.”
“What?” Her eyes danced on top of her wide smile. “Do you like me?”
Hap felt his face flush. He jammed his hands in his back pockets. “You… you aren’t suppose to ask me that.”
“I like you.” She sailed another rock into the fence post. “Do you like me, Hap?”
He fingered another rock. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Because I can hit the fence post and you can’t? Or because I said I like you and you know you like me?”
“It ain’t the throwin’ that bothers me.”
“If you say that you like me, I’ll show you how to hit the post.”
“If you show me how to hit the post, then I’ll say that I like you.”
“Raise your elbow higher. When you throw, your arm drops down too far. Try throwing with your elbow parallel to the ground.”
Hap wound up and tossed the rock. It crashed into the post.
“Now say it,” she insisted.
“I liked you before you taught me how to hit that ol’ post.”
“I know. I could see it in your eyes. Some boys think they can hide their eyes with a cowboy hat, but they can’t.”
This time when Hap’s dad crawled out from under the Ford, he signaled Juanita’s father to start the station wagon. The engine caught and ran smooth.
Hap strolled with Juanita back to the car. “I reckon you’ll be going now.”
“We are supposed to stay with my aunt Lupe in Greeley, Colorado, tonight. I wish I could buy that bracelet. It would always remind me of my Hap.”
“Your Hap?”
“Yes, I will be your Juanita, okay?”
“Eh… sure.”
Hap’s father and Juanita’s shook hands and slapped each other on the back. “Looks like your daddy’s happy now.”
“He said you and your father were like helping angels. He said he would pray to the saints for you on Sunday.”
“We ain’t Catholic.”
“Well, then you will need his prayers all the more. Do you pray?”
“Eh… I guess.”
She bowed her head, folded her hands, and closed her eyes. “Our Father who art in heaven, keep my Hap safe so that we can get married when we are old enough. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Wh… why did you pray that?” he stammered.
“So nothing will happen to you until we get married. You do plan on getting married someday, don’t you?”
“Yeah… I guess.”
“Good. That’s all settled then.”
Juanita hopped in the backseat of the station wagon where her younger sister and brother slept. She rolled down the window. “Hold out your hand and close your eyes,” she demanded.
Hap’s eyes flipped open when something bounced in his palm. “A rock?”
“For you to save until we see each other again.”
“I’ll keep it in my pocket.”
“I wish I had that bracelet. How am I going to remember you?”
He stuffed his hand into his pocket, paused… then pulled out a toothpick. “Here, this was the toothpick I had when we first met two hours ago and you said, ‘You shouldn’t talk to a girl with something in your mouth.’”
“Yes!” She retrieved the pick. “This will help me think of you.” She clamped it between her lips.
As the car pulled onto the blacktop, the girl stuck her head out the window. “Good-bye, my Hap!”
He trotted after the car for a few steps, then hollered, “Good-bye, my Juanita.”
Hap tramped back to his father, who waited by their pickup.
“What was that about ‘my Juanita’?” his father asked.
“She’s a very nice girl.”
“And a cute one, too.”
Hap stared down at his feet. “Daddy, you know that two-dollar bill you gave me after the feeder steer sale last month?”
“Yes, wh
at about it?”
“I said I was going to save it forever… but I was wonderin’… you know… sometime if I wanted to give it to someone else, would that be okay?”
“It belongs to you. You can do with it whatever you want. Did you give it to your Juanita?”
Hap yanked out the neatly folded bill. “No. My heart wanted to, but my mind made me keep it for myself.”
His father’s arms slid around Hap’s shoulder. “Son, when it comes to ladies, always do what your heart tells you.”
When Bob Wills finished “San Antonio Rose,” Hap turned off the radio.
Laramie sat up and glanced over. “Is it my turn to drive?”
“No, I was just relivin’ that scene with my Juanita nineteen years ago.”
“Do you regret it?” Laramie asked.
“No, but I’m sorry for the turmoil it puts between you and me. You ain’t said nothin’ since Del Rio. How long are you goin’ to stay mad at me for givin’ that money to Juanita Guzman?”
Laramie stretched his legs as best he could. The Cummins diesel engine on the 2003 Dodge pickup harmonized with the tires on the pavement of the south Texas highway. “I’m not angry. I’m just trying to understand.”
“You tryin’ to understand me givin’ Juanita Guzman that money or Annamarie Buchett?”
Laramie glanced at his watch and wiped the sweat from the back of his neck.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Annamarie, that’s for sure. I can’t believe how good I feel when I’m with her. You know how easy it is for me to be discouraged or depressed. But when I’m with her, everything’s different.”
“You don’t mind if I’m a little jealous.”
“You can be jealous if it’s a peaceful jealous.” Laramie picked up the Texas map and swatted a fly on the dashboard.
“Peaceful jealous?”
“Yeah, ever since the day we met, there’s been some kind of crisis brewing all around us.”
Hap tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “Yeah, that was quite a deal. I had to save your tail that day, didn’t I?”
“Save my tail? You got me into that mess. You didn’t even say, ‘Hi, Laramie.’ You just fed me to the wolves.”
“But think of the memories. Shoot, that wasn’t the only time I saved your hide.”
“Hap, you’re the reason my hide needs saving. I never had my life threatened until I started hanging with you. You toss me in the fiery furnace, then pull me out like a hero.”
“You got a point to all this?”
“I’d like some calm and quiet for once. Let’s just chug along looking for your Juanita and mind our own business.”
“Hey, is that Milt Tryor?” Hap applied the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road behind a long horse trailer hitched to a one-ton dually.
Laramie rolled down his window. “Milt, you need some help?”
The wide-shouldered, tanned man with a drooping handlebar mustache gawked at them, then whooped. “Laramie? Hap? What are you boys doing in south Texas? It’s like seein’ a pair of armadillos in the Arctic.”
“Just working our way along the border, looking for Hap’s lost woman,” Laramie said. “You need a lift anywhere?”
“No, I got the cell phone. A tow truck’s headed this way, but I’m kind of in a bind. I’ve got to get these ponies to a horse race in El Paso. I’ll get towed into Fort Stockton and fix my rig there, but I won’t have time to come back.”
“Somethin’ you need to do down here?” Hap asked.
Milt waited for two semis to pass. He leaned into the window. “My little sis is living in the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park. My family’s had a place down there since Sam Houston was governor. She needs some legal papers and other stuff. I told her I’d bring them down; now I can’t make it.”
Hap surveyed the open hood of Milt’s truck. “You want us to run them papers down to your sis?”
“That would be a lifesaver. It’s about two hours from here. I know it’s out of your way.” He pulled out his wallet and opened up a series of photos. “Here’s my little sis. She’s purdy like our mamma.”
“Milt, you ugly old cuss, she’s a beautiful lady,” Laramie said.
“And stubborn as Mamma, too. She’s thirty-one years old and too smart and opinionated to get a husband. So, don’t hang around too long. Just leave the box and get on down the road or she’ll sign you up on some political action cause. You’ll find yourself in a canoe off Alaska protectin’ baby seals.”
“Spunky, huh?” Hap said.
“Compared to her, spunky’s purt’neer comatose.”
Hap studied the picture. “Brown eyes, brown hair… she surely is purdy.”
“She gets that from Mamma, too. Mamma’s Mexican, you know.”
Hap glanced at Milt’s fair complexion and blue eyes. “I never knew that.”
“Will you go down there, boys? It would mean a lot to me.”
“What’s her name, Milt?” Hap inquired.
“Rosa.”
“We’ll go,” Laramie said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Somewhere to the north… or the east… or on the West Coast… zoning commissions battle late into the night to resolve the conflicts of urban sprawl. In those regions, traffic backs up for miles on the freeways. Smog settles over school grounds. Acre after acre of farmland is consumed by asphalt and concrete.
Laramie and Hap were not in that part of the country.
They drove south through Brewster County, Texas, where four million acres house a population of ninety-two hundred. Every man, woman, boy, and girl could own 430 acres of ground. Bare, dry ground. Of those nine thousand plus residents, more than sixty-five hundred lived in Alpine, the county seat.
Laramie and Hap were not in Alpine, either.
They hadn’t seen a soul outside of the few vehicles they passed, for over ninety miles.
Hap locked his Dodge pickup on cruise control until they arrived at the park entrance. There were no trees taller than the squat, scattered buildings.
The uniformed blonde at the Persimmon Gap gate flashed white teeth in a suntanned face. She seemed the typical college student working summers at a national park. Her short-sleeved shirt was starched and pressed. No lipstick. No mascara. No eyeshadow. Small silver feather earrings dangled from her dainty lobes. “Are you going to camp with horses?” she asked.
West Texas dry heat chafed at Hap’s already chapped lips. “No, ma’am. We’re not spendin’ the night. We just wanted to swing through the park and visit a friend of ours who lives here. Then we’ll take Highway 170 to Presidio. We’re on our way to El Paso.”
“You have vet checks on the horses?”
Hap handed her the papers.
She glanced at them, then transferred them back. “You picked a hot time of the year for a visit. Make sure you and your horses have plenty of water.”
Perspiration trickled down Hap’s neck as he surveyed the peeling paint on the small, rectangular building. “This is our first trip to the park. We thought we’d find trees and shade.”
“If you’re looking for trees, drive up to Basin in the Chisos Mountains. Here are some maps. Most of the park is in the Chihuahuan Desert. I noticed your license plate. Are you guys from Wyoming?”
Hap glanced at the rearview mirror. The road leading into the park stretched as empty and barren as the land around it. “I was born and raised there, but he’s originally from Texas.”
“I grew up in Rapid City,” she said. “I’ve spent a lot of time in Wyoming, especially in the Torrington area. My grandparents live there. They have a saddle shop.”
“Claude Hankgrin?” Hap asked.
Her blue eyes brightened. “He’s my grandpa.”
Laramie leaned forward, his T-shirt sweat glued to the seat back. “He’s a good saddlemaker. We haven’t seen him in a few years.”
“Neither have I. This will be my senior year at the University of Oklahoma.”
She flipped her blon
de bangs back with a toss of her head. “Did you say you were going to visit someone who lived in the park? I know all of the staff. Who did you come to see?”
When Hap rubbed the back of his neck, dirt rolled under his fingertips. “Rosa Tryor. You know her?”
She jerked her head back to the tall, red-haired man who shared the kiosk. “Did you hear that?”
He nodded and picked up the telephone. “I’ll tell him.”
“Tell who what?” Hap asked.
She leaned out of the kiosk and lowered her voice. Hap could smell fruity perfume or bubblegum, he couldn’t tell which. “Our superintendent, Mr. Davenport, demands to know if anyone asks for Rosa Rodríguez Tryor. He’s kind of strange that way. But I have to follow orders.”
“What’s the deal?” Laramie asked.
The red-haired male attendant scooted up and the blonde stepped back. “Would you please pull over to the open parking place in front of the office?”
The blonde dusted the ledge of her window with her fingers. “Sorry, guys. The superintendent will explain.” She nodded toward a brown-haired man with a thin mustache in a park ranger uniform who marched their way, a Colt semiauto 1911 holstered on his hip.
Hap parked the rig. He and Laramie swung out of the truck. “You figure we’re slippin’ into the quicksand of government micromanaging regulations again?”
“You still ticked about them confiscating our oranges at the Canadian border last year?”
Hap strode up to the uniformed man. “What’s this all about?”
The buttoned collar of Davenport’s light-green shirt was drenched. Barrel-chested, he stood several inches shorter than either of them. “I hear you intend to visit Rosa Rodríguez Tryor.” He spat the words out like a drill sergeant.
“We were in the area and wanted to say hello,” Laramie offered.
The man pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Then your purpose is merely a social visit?”
Hap chuckled. “Is there any other way to visit a purdy lady?”
“This is not a humorous situation.” Davenport pulled out a small notebook and shoved it toward them. “You may write your salutations on a piece of paper. I will see it gets delivered.”