Memories of a Dirt Road Town

by Stephen Bly

  “Just an ‘m’ and an ‘s’ … it’s Ms. Worrell.”

  He reached for the Skoal can in his back pocket. “Now don’t that beat all?”

  “Cuban, you tryin’ to hog this purdy lady all to yourself?”

  Develyn glanced up to see Quint Burdett meandering toward them.

  “No, sir, Mr. Burdett. Me and the boys invited her to the barbecue. We figured she earned it.”

  “Good,” he nodded. “I was planning to do the same thing.”

  “Is this barbecue on your ranch, Mr. Burdett?” She looked up at the tall, broad-shouldered man.

  “You need to call me Quint. I feel old enough. The barbecue was my wife, Emily’s, idea years ago. Kind of turned into a big whoop-di-doo. I’ve been keepin’ it goin’ since I lost her.”

  Cuban tipped his hat toward her. “Hope to be seein’ you at the barbecue, Miss Dev, ma’am.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, Cuban. I’m quite flattered.”

  She watched the gangly young cowboy saunter back toward the roar of the arena.

  Quint Burdett rubbed his hand down the paint horse’s left front leg until the mare lifted it for him. He studied her trimmed but unshod hoof.

  Develyn, with brush still in hand, stood next to the rancher. “Quint, when did your Emily pass away?”

  He lowered the hoof, then stared at the railroad tracks that ran over the rolling prairie. “Four years ago on May 15th, but sometimes it seems like only yesterday.”

  His eyes look so tired. But he would have been quite handsome in his prime. “I’m sorry, Quint.”

  He looked at her, but it was as if she were invisible. “Thank you, Dev. Miss Emily made ever’ day worth gettin’ up. After thirty-two years of marriage, a man misses that.”

  Develyn’s eyebrows raised. “That long?”

  His eyes cleared. “I know what a lady thinks. OK, I got married when I was nineteen. I was fifty-one when the cancer took her. So that makes me fifty-five. How’s that for being honest?”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  He lifted the horse’s rear hooves, then the right front and gently lowered each. “Yep, you were obvious. But I’ve been missin’ that sort of thing.”

  “OK, Quint, it’s only fair for me to do the same. So here goes. I’ve been divorced for four years. My ex had a heart attack and died about three months ago. And I’m forty-five. I’ve taught fifth grade for twenty-three years at the same school near Crawfordsville, Indiana, and I suppose I will until I retire.” Why did I tell him all that? I don’t even know the man.

  He pulled off his hat. His dark brown and gray hair tumbled out. “Forty-five? No foolin’? I figured you not too much older than Linds.”

  “Linds?”

  “Lindsay. She’s a beautiful twenty-five-year-old blonde who lives with me.”

  Develyn scowled, then looked away, her face flushed.

  Quint laughed. “That look, Ms. Worrell, was priceless.”

  She glanced back at the man’s tanned, creased face. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Actually, no. Your glance convicted me to the bone. I just neglected to tell you that the young blonde in question is my daughter.”

  Develyn ground her teeth. Relax, Devy-girl. “What is this? First it’s Renny, then you leading me on. Do I have patsy written on my forehead?”

  “I’m sorry, Dev. I wasn’t teasing. Linds is a beautiful young lady.”

  “I suppose I’m a little edgy.” Develyn rubbed her temples. “I’m sorry for the scolding look. I must have learned that from my mother. Do you have other children?”

  “My boy, Ted, died in a truck wreck near Greeley, Colorado, ten years ago on the Fourth of July. It’s just Linds and me. How about yourself, Miss Dev? Do you have children?”

  Her daughter’s sorrowed anger flooded her mind. “A twenty-year-old daughter, Delaney, who is spending the summer in South Carolina, pondering whether to ever speak to me again.”

  His response was so low, she barely heard it. “She’ll outgrow that.”

  She stepped closer to him. “You promise?”

  He stared north, started to speak, then shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Quint. I didn’t mean to stir up some hurts.”

  He sighed and turned toward her. “Well, Miss Dev, the Lord didn’t promise us an easy life … just an abundant one. Some days it’s tougher than others. Sorry for being melancholy. There’s something about your smile and big eyes that reminds me of my Miss Emily.”

  She touched his shirtsleeve. “That’s a wonderful compliment, Quint.”

  He patted her hand, then stepped away. “Miss Dev, hope you make it to the barbecue.”

  “I’ll try to do that.”

  “Will you be staying with Cree-Ryder?”

  “I hope to find myself a place around here to rent for a while.”

  Quint slipped his hat to the back of his head. “Are you moving to Wyoming?”

  “No, I just want to spend a few weeks here, now that I have another mouth to feed.” She pointed at the paint horse. “Do you know who owns those cabins where the cedars used to be? I stayed in them years ago and want to rent one again.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You stayed there?”

  “Thirty-five years ago,” she admitted.

  Casey Cree-Ryder strolled back to the trailer.

  “They’ve been in the Tallon family since statehood,” he explained. “The present owner is Cooper Tallon. You’re in luck; he’s around here today. He’s from down Colorado way, but I saw him at the arena earlier. I’ll look for him and send him to see you.”

  “That would be great. Thank you, Quint!”

  “I know I said this before.” His eyes pierced hers. “I hope you can come to the barbecue.”

  She replied with a slow nod. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Casey stood next to her as they watched Quint Burdett disappear into the maze of trucks and horse trailers.

  “You got invited to the annual barbecue?” Cree-Ryder gasped. “I can’t believe it.”

  Develyn scratched the back of her sweaty neck. “Is it a big deal?”

  “It’s only the elite of the cow country that get invited.” Casey plucked the horse brush from her hand. “The governor will be there.”

  “The governor of Wyoming?”

  “That’s what they tell me. Governor, senators, judges … it’s a big deal, Devy-girl. ’Course I’ve never gone.”

  Develyn slipped her arm into Casey’s. “Well, you’re going this year, Miss Cree-Ryder. You were invited with me.”

  Casey’s mouth dropped open. “No way!”

  “Yes.”

  “Quint said I could come?”

  “Quint was too late. You and I were invited by Cuban and the boys of the Quarter-Circle Diamond. They said you could come if you promised not to bring guns or knives.”

  Casey rocked back and forth on her boots. “They said that?”

  Develyn took both of her hands. “Yes, and I promised you’d come unarmed.”

  “I’m bringing my brass knuckles,” Casey said.

  Develyn frowned at the dark-skinned woman.

  A smile broke across Casey’s full lips. “Oh, Dev, you are so easy to buffalo. I love it.”

  “Yes, well, it must show. Quint teased me too.”

  “Quint?” Casey chuckled. “Are you making a move on Burdett too?”

  Develyn tried to find her schoolteacher voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “First Renny, then Quint. Wow, and I thought Idaho women were fast. They say Burdett was quite a stud when he was in his prime.”

  “Casey!”

  “Well, anyway, you like him, right?”

  “I barely met the man.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m not hitting on anyone.” Develyn stroked the horse. “She’s got one brown eye and one blue eye.”

  “You just notice that?”

  “That’s not a problem, is it?�
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  “Not unless she becomes self-conscious of it. When you brush her teeth every morning, don’t let her near a mirror.”

  “I’m not falling for that one.” Develyn faked a scowl.

  “I can’t believe I’ve been invited to the Quarter-Circle Diamond barbecue. I’ll have to wash my pair of black Wranglers,” she grinned. Casey hugged the horse’s neck. “What have you decided to name this girl?”

  “My Maria,” Develyn blurted out.

  “Wow! Like the old Brooks and Dunn song?”

  “Yes, Renny was playing it when we drove up.”

  “She looks like a Maria,” Cree-Ryder said. “Hey, I brought back your purse and stuck it in the truck. Uncle Henry was guarding it for you. You might want to check your wallet.”

  “That old man’s not going to take my money.”

  “Not on purpose,” Cree-Ryder replied. “But he forgets what’s his and what isn’t. He might have thought he was spending his own money.”

  I can’t believe I bought a horse. I don’t know the first thing about caring for a horse. “How about you, Casey? Are you going to buy a horse?”

  Cree-Ryder thrust her hands in the horse’s mouth and yanked it open. “There’s more excitement over here than in the arena.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “She’s about ten or twelve years old, I’m guessing. I reckon she’s had a few foals by now.”

  “You can tell that by looking in her mouth?”

  “The age, but not motherhood,” Casey laughed. “But if she’s been in the wild, she’s been in a band of mares running with a stallion. She had to have some foals by this age.”

  Develyn tried to peer into My Maria’s mouth, but Cree-Ryder snapped it shut as if it contained a secret. “What was all that roar from the crowd? Did Renny get tossed on his ear?” Develyn asked.

  Cree-Ryder rubbed the horse’s neck. “No, he was just showing off.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Oh, he swings around and rides the horse backward.”

  “Casey, are you teasing me again?”

  “Not this time. Renny likes the applause.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Wait a minute, girl … you’ve been sizin’ up Burdett and now you are back after Renny?”

  “Casey, it’s just schoolteacher curiosity.”

  “Oh? But Ms. Schoolteacher hasn’t asked anything about me.”

  “I figure you are going to tell me all about yourself soon enough, right?”

  “I suppose,” Casey laughed. “Renny Slater was a pretty good bull and bronc rider on the Rocky Mountain Circuit.”

  “Was? Tell me more.”

  “He’s in his forties now. That’s too old for roughstock riders. He’s five feet six inches tall and weighs one hundred and fifty-five pounds. He was married to Kaney Mills for nearly ten years, but he’s been divorced for twelve. They didn’t have any kids. At least, I don’t think they did. She lives in Oakdale, California. She has a great big arena where she teaches barrel racing. Renny’s getting a little thin on top. Those beautiful teeth are false; his real ones were kicked out by an angry saddle-bronc in Miles City. At one time or another he’s broken every bone in his body. He’s broken his nose so many times he’s lost count. Renny’s got a nasty scar from his shoulder clear up to his neck, so he always wears that bandanna. Let’s see. Oh, yeah … he wears briefs, not boxers.”

  “What? I … I … I didn’t want to know that much!” Develyn gasped.

  “Are you sure you want to stay out here all summer? You could blush yourself into a stroke.”

  “Yes, well … I suppose I’ve led a relatively sheltered life.”

  “Howdy, ma’am … do you remember me?”

  A tall, gray-eyed man wearing a black cowboy hat approached them.

  “Eh … I eh…”

  “We met at the service station in Casper. I invited you to the auction.”

  A grin broke across her face. “Oh, yes! I’m glad you did.”

  “I didn’t know you had plans to head out here anyway. I told you that smile of yours would light up the auction.”

  “Oh, brother, another one,” Casey mumbled, then wandered back toward the arena.

  What plans is he talking about? “Thank you, but I’m afraid all I added was a good laugh,” Develyn insisted.

  “That was one special performance.” His smile was lopsided. “You and Slater have your timing down perfect. Do you two ever do contract acts?”

  I don’t think he’s complimenting me. I wonder if he has me confused with someone else? She studied his deep gray eyes. “I’m not sure I understand your question?”

  He stepped over to the paint horse. “That fake bucking scene. It was good.” He stroked the quivering horse. “Crossed with one of my papered quarter horses, she might make a good brood mare. You interested in selling her?”

  “No, I’m not.” She pushed herself between the man and My Maria. “What do you mean fake bucking?”

  “Slater slipped something under the saddle blanket. That’s an old trick. I’ve seen Mexicans down in the Rio Grande Valley do the same thing.”

  “Well, I didn’t see him. And I resent the insinuation that it was all a charade.”

  “I didn’t say charade. I said it was a show, like a special act at a rodeo. I reckon you and Slater will want to sell the mare and split profits, so I’m offerin’ you a deal. I’ll give you seven hundred dollars cash for the horse. That gives you six hundred dollars profit, and all you had to do was dive in the dirt.”

  Develyn became fully conscious of her dirty T-shirt and jeans. “I trust this is just a crude attempt at humor, because the bruises are real.”

  “OK, you want to do a little horse-hagglin’. I’ll give you nine hundred dollars for the mare. I hope you get half; you did the dirty work.”

  Cree-Ryder meandered up toting two Cokes. She pushed one into Develyn’s trembling hand.

  “Mister, in the last hour I’ve been razzed, conned, and slammed down in the dirt. I’m new here, so that’s OK.” Develyn took a sip, then a deep breath. “But I do not have to put up with your insults. I faked nothing in that arena. I wouldn’t sell My Maria to you for nine thousand dollars. I’ve spent too many years of my life being put down by better men than you. Do you understand? Now, ride on off into the sunset or something.”

  “Look, lady, I don’t really care whether you are ticked off with me or not. No one has ever been impressed with my sparkling personality.”

  “That’s obvious,” she growled.

  “I’ll give you a thousand cash. Do you want to sell the horse or not?”

  “Haven’t I made myself clear?”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Horse buyin’ takes on different forms with different people. There are others more agreeable.”

  “Yes, I’m sure there are other women you can browbeat and intimidate,” Develyn snapped.

  The man bristled and stepped toward her. “What in blazes did you mean by that?”

  Cree-Ryder flashed a hunting knife in her hand. “She meant it’s time for you to mosey back to the arena.”

  “Where did you get that knife?” Develyn gasped.

  The man pulled back. “Good grief, I hope that mare isn’t as psycho as you two,” he mumbled. “I’m not used to havin’ my honor questioned.”

  “Nor am I,” Develyn insisted.

  He shook his head. “Good day, then.” He turned and stalked away.

  “Who in the world was that?” Casey asked.

  “I don’t have a clue.” Develyn held the Coke to her forehead. It felt cool to her temple. “I can’t believe you pulled a knife on him.”

  Cree-Ryder shoved the weapon back into her boot. “I can’t believe you didn’t.”

  “This is crazy. I’m a stranger in a foreign land. Maybe I don’t belong here,” Develyn mumbled. “Perhaps it’s a bad dream. Pinch me and see if I wake up.”

  Cree-Ryder lunged forward.<
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  “Ouch! I didn’t mean pinch me there!” Develyn wailed.

  “Oh, sorry,” Cree-Ryder laughed. “Here, let me pinch you again.”

  Develyn fought back the grin. “Keep your pinches and your knife to yourself.”

  “Are you mad at me?”

  Develyn shook her head. “No, it’s just that everything is happening so fast. I’ve had more excitement in the past two hours than I’ve had in twenty years. It’s like an emotional bungee jump. I’m losing track of who I am.”

  Cree-Ryder hugged Develyn’s shoulder. “Isn’t that why you came out here?”

  Develyn felt her whole body relax. “You might be more right than you know.”

  The dark-skinned lady dropped her hug, then stepped to the battered horse trailer. “Dev, do you have a saddle and tack?”

  “No, I’ll have to buy everything.”

  “I’ll lend you the gear. I’ve got plenty of extras. Where are you going to keep her?”

  “I really want to rent one of those cabins. Quint said the owner’s here, and he’ll introduce me. There’s pasture right at the cabins. Maybe that will work out. That would be so perfect.”

  Cree-Ryder rubbed the horse’s neck. “You can always come bunk with me in Tensleep.”

  “But you are living in a travel trailer.”

  With one continuous move, Casey grabbed a hunk of the horse’s mane and swung up on its bare back. “We can share. Do you snore?”

  “I have no idea in the world. No one has complained in the past four years, that’s for sure. How did you do that? How did you get up there so easy?”

  “It’s my Indian blood, paleface,” she laughed. “Or maybe it’s my Mexican blood … I forget. Untie her; let me ride her a little.”

  “Don’t you need a, eh … a mouth thing?” Develyn asked.

  “Oh, wow, a mouth thing? I’ve got a lot to teach you. No, I don’t need a spade bit, a snaffle bit, or even a hackamore. The halter will work fine.” Cree-Ryder turned the horse north. “Hey, here he comes.”

  Develyn scanned the parked rigs. “Who?”

  “Quint Burdett.”

  She looked up to see the tall, square-jawed rancher ambling toward them.

  “Greenwald with the B.L.M. asked me to tell you that you still need to pay them for the mare and get the bill of sale,” he said.