by Jeff Holmes
“Hi baby,” Roni said. “I’m here!”
“And us!” Maggie ran up and hugged Scott, almost banging him in the back of the head with her camera. “FOOOOOOTER! God I’ve missed you.”
Then, Rick came over, grabbed Scott in a bear hug and lifted him high off the ground as everyone laughed. Maggie kept taking pictures.
“Dude,” Rick said as he set Scott down. “Do you need anything? A wig maybe?”
“Dude. Do you need to kiss my ass?” Scott said.
“Actually I don’t Footer, but thanks for offering!”
Scott, Roni, Rick and Maggie walked through the concourse; it was like the double date he’d always wanted. Scott was with his three best friends. He was so happy Roni had become so close with the two of them; it just felt right.
At baggage claim, Roni tried picking up Scott’s duffle bag and almost tumbled onto the conveyor as it barely moved for her. Rick snatched it just before it went back around.
“God, Footer, what is in here?” Rick said as he drug the bag over to Scott. “This weighs as much as Maggie.”
Scott shrugged, turned and lifted Maggie up over his shoulder. “You’re right, man. Almost the same.”
The flight left San Antonio at 5:45 p.m., and took an hour and half, but because of the time-change, it was 6:15 at wheels-down. But by the time they’d pulled out of the terminal and Rick had turned his big white Ford station wagon east on I-70, it was nearly 7:30. Roni and Scott snuggled in the back seat while Maggie slid close to Rick.
“You have to go to Goodier’s to get fitted for your tux while you’re home, Footer,” Maggie was telling him.
“White?” Scott said.
“With a yellow shirt,” Rick added.
“My dress is yellow,” Roni said.
Scott smiled as he listened to all of this and pulled Roni tighter to him. “What?” she asked as she looked into his eyes.
“This is the first time in four months I have been completely away from the military,” he said, glancing around him. “Feels pretty fucking good. Hand me a beer, Mags.”
Maggie reached into the 12-pack and fished out a Coors for Scott and handed it back over the front seat. “This is what I’ve missed,” he said. “No Coors in Missouri or Texas.”
At Limon, I-70 headed east toward Kansas, just as US 40 and 287 continued southeast toward Wild Horse. Rick tuned the radio to 1600 AM, KWHS, Wild Horse’s radio station.
“It’s 9 o’clock and if we timed this right, this one is for Scott Mitchell,” the DJ was saying, “who is on his way home from basic training and should now be in listening range. Welcome back number 73!”
The first notes of “Rocky Mountain High” then came through the speakers.
“Out-fucking-standing!” Scott shouted. “Who did that?”
Roni smiled. “Probably Kimmy; she’s been off the wall all week waiting for you.”
It was dark as Rick guided the wagon off the four-lane of Highway 40 and onto the ramp into Wild Horse. Roni and Maggie were both asleep. The town’s lights gave off a soft glow, a glow Scott knew all so well. There had been a lot nights when he lay on his bunk trying to picture that glow. Like the mountains, it had been a constant comfort for most of his life and it had been absent for three months.
“This place has never looked better,” Scott said softly.
“Hasn’t changed much,” Rick said. “But it has been kind of weird without you here. I think there’s a lot of people who are going to be glad to see you.”
When Scott left for basic training, he was convinced no one really cared whether he left or not. After his fall from grace nearly a year before, he had the feeling there were people in Wild Horse who felt betrayed by his downfall. From the toast of Colorado to the toilet, in some ways it seemed as if he’d taken Wild Horse down with him.
But now he felt differently. In his correspondence from home, he’d come to the conclusion that either he’d been forgiven, or he’d been way off in his feelings. But Scott wasn’t sure he cared. He had the people in his life he needed and wanted, and the most important one was snuggled into him and dozing.
“Welcome home, Footer,” Rick said. The station wagon turned on to Princeton Court and was gliding up into the driveway of the Mitchells’ neat ranch house. The Creamsicle was sitting out at the curb. The porch light clicked on as Wayne and Donna stepped outside and Kimmy sprinted past them, running toward the car. Maggie and Roni stirred.
Home.
****
CHAPTER 12
When Scott opened his eyes on Saturday morning, it might just have well have been the morning he left in March. He could smell breakfast cooking, and his room looked unchanged – the wrestling wall brackets from his conference and Regional championships from his senior year, the Farrah Fawcett poster, his number 73 jersey from UNC all hanging from the wall – except for one thing.
On his dresser was a framed picture of him and Roni from BCT graduation. She was in her blue dress and Scott was in his khakis and had his hat on. They were walking back from lunch looking at each other with huge grins on their faces and holding hands. It was amazing.
He pulled on a t-shirt and shorts and walked out to the kitchen. It was nearly 9:30, and Wayne and Donna were at the table talking.
“Good morning sleepy-head,” Donna said. “Thought we might have to come get you.”
Scott grabbed a cup and poured some coffee. “Wow. That was 10 hours,” he said. “Where is everybody?”
“Well,” Wayne said, “Roni and Maggie were here at 8 to pick the girls up and they’re already at the fairgrounds. Mark is picking you up at 12:30 for rehearsal, then at 3:00, you and I have an appointment before we go over to the fairgrounds.”
“What appointment?” Scott asked.
“It’s a surprise,” Wayne said with a little wink.
Scott had come to appreciate surprises lately, so he accepted that answer pretty easily; on to other things. “Mom, where did that picture of Roni and I come from?”
“Oh, Roni brought that over,” she said. “Your friend, Andy, his mom took that and sent it to her. She had some 8x10s made. That one is staying here, but there’s another one for you to take with you. It’s such a good picture.”
Scott smiled and kissed his mom on the cheek. “Yes it is. What’s for breakfast?
After pancakes and sausage, Scott hit the shower and dressed. He dug out an old Royals’ cap, just to cover up his short hair, and then pulled out his guitars for practice. There was the Ovation that Roni had brought along, his classic electric Fender Stratocaster, and his pride and joy, his acoustic Martin12-string.
He was tuning the guitars at the piano when he looked outside and realized the Creamsicle was no longer sitting out front. “Where’s my truck?” he asked to whoever would answer him.
“Oh, um, your Dad took it over to McIntyre’s to get it greased and the oil changed,” Donna said. “Rick is picking him up. You guys can go get it after practice.”
“Since when do they do oil changes on Saturdays?” Scott asked, even more confused.
“Since you’re dating the boss’ daughter, dear,” Donna answered, patting him on the head as she passed through the room.
Practice went great for the reunited members of Snakebite. They worked out about three 30-minute set lists. They were playing for Sunday night’s Queen’s Dance from 9 to 11. The idea was to play music for people to dance to, but from experience, there was just stuff people wanted to hear. And they all decided this was Snakebite’s last stand. “Let’s go out with a big show,” Mark said.
At 2:30, Wayne walked into the Wild Horse Junior High gym, just as everyone was packing up. They’d have another rehearsal Sunday, then pack up the instruments and get them over to the Stampede Arena stage. In the meantime, Scott and Wayne apparently had some other business to take care of.
Wayne had snuck out in Scott’s baby, his 1972 Honda 750-4 to pick-up his son from practice. Donna hated motorcycles, but she’d learned to put up with it.
“Can I drive it over to McIntyre’s?” Wayne asked playfully.
“Uh, no,” Scott said. “I’ve been waiting since March for this.”
He climbed on, kick-started the bike, and waited for his dad to climb on before he headed out of the parking lot and up Bowling Street toward the dealership.
They soon pulled into the sprawling lot of McIntyre Motors. Scott was looking around for the Creamsicle; normally if it was done, it would be sitting outside the shop next to the building. “I don’t see it,” Scott said to his dad.
“Well, let’s go check with Ray,” he said.
They walked into the building and across the showroom. It was then Scott spotted the Sky Bird out front. Ray was on the phone as they walked in, and Roni was standing there.
“Hi, baby,” she said as she came over to give Scott a kiss. “Hi, Wayne. You guys have good timing.”
She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a gray t-shirt with “1975 Wild Horse Stampede STAFF” printed across the heart. Her legs were dirty to from the bottom of the shorts to mid-calf, and her hair was in a bun and her face and arms were dirty all over.
“You’ve been working the horses, honey?” Scott asked.
“I thought I told you that. Yeah, I’ve been helping with Honor Escort this summer,” she said. “So, I’ve been helping the little girls get their horses ready for the parade tonight. I’m just gross.”
The Cheyenne County Trail Club was a Western riding club for girls that Roni’s Great-Grandma McIntyre helped found back in 1917. Roni and Brooke were fourth-generation members; there was always a McIntyre in the club, but Roni hadn’t ridden in the rodeo since high school. Honor Escort was for the most experienced, elite riders.
Scott loved to ride, and for a “townie,” he was pretty good. He hoped to have to time to ride with her while they were home.
“I think you look adorable, honey,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “But yeah, you need a shower.”
“Oh I do?” Roni asked. She then grabbed Scott by the back on the neck pulled his head down and shoved her armpit into his face.
“How’s that, Footer?” she said, laughing manically. “Do I really need a shower?”
“RONI!” Scott hollered, pulling back in disgust. “Damn! I’m going to live with you?”
She swatted him on the arm as Ray hung up the phone. “Roni Rae, you are supposed to be a grown-up now. Try acting like one.”
“Yes Daddy,” Roni said sweetly, then turned to Scott and stuck out her tongue.
“Wayne!” Ray said to Scott’s dad. “I just made arrangements for our food and beer for the weekend. Are you guys going to stay over? We already have the Airstream out in the campgrounds.”
“Yep,” Wayne said. “Donna’s folks have the motor home ready and we’re going to be parked and ready for barbecue.”
“Good to see you, Scotty,” Ray said, reaching across to shake his hand. “You look great. Love the haircut!”
Roni shot her father a pained look. “I miss his hair, Daddy,” she said.
“Roni said you’ve been working on kicking again,” he said. “You going to give it another try when you get out?”
“I’d like to,” Scott said. “If I can get anyone to take me.”
“Well,” Ray said. “I guess you need some wheels, don’t you?”
“Yes I do, sir,” Scott said. The “sir” thing had become habit.
“Let’s go take a look.”
They walked back out on the lot toward a row of new GMC trucks. On the end was a silver C-2500. It had three shades of thick red stripes down each side, a CB antenna on top.
“Man, that is gorgeous,” he said. “Is that a ‘Sarge’?”
Scott had been doing his research. The Sarge was special edition truck. He had seen pictures of them, but this was the first one in person. Like Roni’s Sky Bird and the Smokey and the Bandit Trans Am, they were sought-after and rare special editions.
“Yes it is, Scott,” Ray said warily.
“It’s awesome,” Scott said.
“You want the most expensive one?” Roni asked.
“Are you kidding?” he said. “It’s amazing.”
“Can you afford this, son?” Wayne asked.
Scott glanced at Roni, then went over and looked at the sticker.
“$4,756?” Scott asked Ray.
“Well, that’s the sticker,” he said, smiling. “Why don’t you and Roni take it for a ride?”
“Yeah, let’s take it for a ride,” Scott said. “Just roll your window down, baby.”
Roni rolled her eyes and flipped him off. “Asshole.”
They pulled off the lot and drove north on Bowling.
“I know you want a new truck,” Roni said. “But this one?”
The Sarge was something else. It came standard with air conditioning, cruise control, an AM-FM-8 track and even a factory CB radio. But it was also pricy.
Scott loved it. Like Roni with the Sky Bird, the Sarge seemed to speak to him.
“Baby, if I bought another one, we’d have to spend the money on a stereo, a CB, cruise and that kind of stuff. It would end up costing us just as much,” he said. “This way, it’s all already there and it’s covered under warranty.”
Roni paused. “Damn you being practical,” she said. “OK, let’s see what Daddy says.”
By the time they reached the lot, Ray had dropped the price to $4,000 and gave Scott $800 as a trade-in for the Creamsicle. Plus, Scott had put away almost $6,000 in student loan money he’d never used. He took $1,200 of that to add to a down payment. He’d finance the other $2000 through GMAC.
“If this is the one you want,” Ray said, “let’s get things signed and you can drive it the Fairgrounds tonight.”
“If we’re done, I’m going to run home and take a shower,” Roni said, giving Scott a quick kiss. “I’ll see you for barbecue about 5:30, Footer.”
“Let’s go sign the papers,” Ray said.
“Dad, you can go ahead and take the bike home,” Scott said. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Oh, OK,” Wayne said. “Ray, thank you. We’ll see you in a bit.”
Scott and Ray walked back into the showroom. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Ray,” Scott said.
“What can I do for you, son?”
****
CHAPTER 13
“This is your fucking truck?” Rick kept repeating. “Seriously? Jesus, Footer.”
“This is my fucking truck,” Scott responded, as they cruised down South Clayton Street toward the Fairgrounds. “Love it or what?
“You’re definitely sleeping with the right person,” Rick said.
Scott smiled and shook his head. “Do you ever not think with your dick? I don’t have this truck because of Roni.”
“Sure you do, Footer, sure you do,” Rick teased.
“Well, I AM sleeping with the right person,” Scott allowed. “But not for the truck.”
“Man, I bet she looks good naked,” Rick teased again.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Scott should have known better. Trying to get to the Fairgrounds on the opening night of the Wild Horse Stampede after 5 p.m. is a little like getting into a parking lot at Mile High a half-hour before kick-off; if you’re late, it’s nobody’s fault but your own.
Wild Horse was the biggest town in Cheyenne County with just about 2,000 people. Cheyenne Wells might be the county seat, but Wild Horse was the town.
Roni’s great-great-grandfather, John, and his brother James, founded the town in 1878. They started as sheep farmers, but along with their brother-in-law, Fred Goodier, they became huge cattle ranchers in 1899.
Ray and Kathleen (McLain) McIntyre lived on a 40-acre spread north of town that was part of John’s original 500-acre cattle ranch. Grandma and Grandpa McIntyre lived a section over.
Ray and Kat’s house was built in 1904. It had stately wrap-around porches on both the lower and upper levels. All four upstairs bedro
oms had a door that opened to the porch.
The Stampede started in 1900 as a way for the drovers who brought their cattle to the holding pens at Wild Horse Station to blow-off steam. It was now 77 years later, and every year over the Fourth of July weekend, the population of Wild Horse tripled. The Holiday Inn, Motel 6 and Howard Johnson’s on 40/287 were packed, as were the vast campgrounds on the northth end of the Stampede Fairgrounds.
Scott returned home from picking up Sarge, it was nearly 4:00. By the time he showered, changed and picked Rick up, it was pushing 5:00. And he didn’t want to be late; it was a big night for their ladies.
Maggie had developed into a great photographer. She was shooting for the UNC school paper, for the Greeley Tribune, and for the rodeo, the Wild Horse Daily News. And she loved it; Rick had even built her a dark room in the basement of their house in Greeley.
Scott loved what Roni was doing this week. She hadn’t said anything about working with the Trail Club, but it was clear she was enjoying it. He wanted to see more of her, but this was her time; she loved the Stampede.
“OK, I think that’s everything,” Roni said as she grabbed the Cokes from the food counter. Scott was trying to balance two baskets of ribs, brisket, fries, and coleslaw.
“We’ll come back for the pie!” she added, as she led Scott back through the crowd to their table. Their parents were there, along with Brooke, Amy and Kimmy. And Mark, Rick and Maggie were there, too.
“Hungry, Scott?” Brooke asked. “Got enough there?”
“Talk to your sister,” he said, setting dinner on the table. “She just kept us loading up.”
“Hey, I worked my butt off today,” she said. “I’m hungry!”
Scott looked behind her, smiled and patted her backside. “Nah, it’s still there, honey. Right where it’s supposed to be,” he said.
She leaned close and whispered, “Behave yourself, or you won’t be seeing it later, there big boy.”
The food was, as always, incredible, and so was the company. This was the kind of night Scott had been dreaming of; his family, his friends, his best girl, all laughing and talking and having a great time. The Army, Greeley, and the pain of the last year were a million miles away.