by Stephen Bly
“Oh, yes. I’ll get my wallet.” She strolled toward the front of the pickup. “I suppose they need cash.”
“They’ll take a credit card, too. They’ll do just about anything not to have any horses left at the end of the day.” Burdett paused by the front fender. “Say, did you get a cabin rented?”
Casey Cree-Ryder kept the nervous horse near the rear of the rig.
Develyn reached through the open window and pulled out her brown purse. “No, I haven’t talked to the man yet.”
Burdett pushed his sweaty hat back. “What do you mean you haven’t talked to him? I sent him over fifteen minutes ago.”
Develyn fumbled to find her wallet. “He didn’t make it yet.”
“But I saw you talking to him,” Burdett insisted.
“No, I was talking to some obnoxious guy intent on insulting me and my horse.”
His creased eyes narrowed. “Did he have on a blue shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and a black Resistol?”
Develyn felt her heart race. “You mean that jerk is…”
“That so-called jerk is Cooper Tallon. He owns those cabins.”
“Ohhhh.” Develyn dropped her wallet back into her purse. Lord, I think this day is spinning out of control. Can I rewind it, say back to the porch and Popsicle? “You told him I wanted to rent a cabin?”
“No, I told him a purdy lady wanted to talk to him.”
“Your purdy lady chased ol’ Coop off,” Casey hooted.
“Me? You’re the one who waved a knife at him.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Quint Burdett folded his arms across his chest. “I reckon it takes some time to get used to the Wyoming mind.”
“What am I going to do?” Develyn murmured. “I drove all the way from Indiana to stay in one of those cabins, and I just insulted the owner.”
“You want me to go talk to him?” Burdett asked.
“Shoot, I’ll go talk to him,” Casey chimed in.
“No … Casey, you and your knife and your gun and your brass knuckles stay here. Quint, please tell him I’d like another opportunity to explain myself.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Dev.” He ambled back to the arena.
Casey rode up next to her. “I don’t really have brass knuckles,” she muttered.
“But you have a gun?”
Casey Cree-Ryder flashed a wide grin. “Not on me, right now. It’s in the truck.”
* * *
The orange sun paused on the western horizon before oozing its way into evening. The voice echoed skepticism. “Wait a minute … wait a minute … give me time for this to sink in.”
Develyn leaned back against the outside of the log cabin wall, her straw cowboy hat perched on her knee, cell phone pressed to her ear. “It’s all true, Lily.”
“Are you telling me the town still has dirt roads?”
“Yes.”
“And you were able to rent the same cabin?”
“Like I told you … it was rather awkward, but Quint handled things.”
“So, you’ve been there six hours and you rented a place, bought a horse, made friends with a gun totin’ cowgirl, and at least three men are drooling over you?”
Develyn leaned forward. “They aren’t drooling.”
“Hmmm. I’ll bet they are.”
“And there aren’t three.”
“You mentioned dear Quint, and Renny, and one named Cooper.”
“Cooper is the man I rented this place from. You can scratch him off the list. He rather detests me. Besides, he’s older.”
“My age?” Lily teased.
“What about that big date the other night? What happened to him?”
“I had to take him back to the home.”
“What?” Develyn watched a black cat saunter up the long dirt driveway toward her cabin.
“I’m teasing. He’s nice enough … for a Hoosier. But don’t you change the subject.”
The cat spotted Develyn, spun around, and slunk back toward the road. “What is the subject?”
“All the men who are interested in Ms. Worrell.”
“Did I mention Cuban?”
“A Cuban in Wyoming?”
“Never mind. It’s all too bizarre.”
“Are you having fun, honey?”
Develyn stared at the black cell phone, then put it back to her ear. “Some moments are fun, some are terrifying, Lily. None are boring.”
“I can’t believe you just drove out there and found that town. It can’t be that simple.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. But I’m here, and it feels good, Lily. How are my cats?”
“Naughty. They miss mama. One of them shredded your silk date palm by the front door.”
“Oh, dear, she does get rather opinionated.”
“Do you have indoor plumbing?”
Develyn thought about her tiny bathroom. “Of course.”
“Does it work?”
“Sort of. But you don’t want to hear about that,” Develyn insisted.
“Tell me everything you see,” Lily pressed.
“What?”
“Describe where you are right now.”
“OK, I’m on the uncovered front porch of a log cabin that is painted a dull red, and I’m sitting on an empty wooden box labeled ‘Caution: Dynamite.’ The cabin has two rooms: a bedroom-kitchen-living room combo and a bathroom. It’s musty, but Casey and I cleaned it up.”
“Where’s your gun-totin’ pal now?”
“She went to Tensleep, but she’ll be back tomorrow.”
“What else do you see?”
“An identical cabin about one hundred feet to the east.”
“Is it for rent?” Lily asked.
“No, Mr. Tallon uses it when he’s here. I think he lives in Colorado.”
“He’s one hundred feet away, and he despises you?”
“I believe so. Anyway, about one hundred yards to the south is the town of Argenta, Wyoming. There’s a service station right out of the early fifties on the corner of the road to the highway. A couple of houses sit back in the trees. Mrs. Tagley’s store is next with dirt parking out front and covered-wagon-seat benches on the porch. Beside that is a big concrete foundation that had been the Francis B. Saloon, with a dance hall up above, but it burned down on V.E. Day in 1945. After that are three old singlewides, surrounded by a dozen pickups in varying degrees of working order. To the right is a meat market about the size of Gloria Peter’s gladiola stand. A half mile further west are corrals and the arena.”
“And what’s on your side of the railroad tracks?”
“A half dozen houses set back in the cottonwoods and these two cabins. That’s it.”
“That’s the whole town?”
“Yes, isn’t it great?”
“Great? It sounds like a bad dream. So, where is that horse of yours? What’s its name?”
“My Maria’s in the jacuzzi.”
“What?”
“Oh, Lily … sorry. It’s just that everyone out here is always teasing me. My Maria is about fifty feet from me in a three-acre pasture that came with the cabin.”
“Are you in the mountains?”
“It’s kind of like a high rolling prairie. Mainly light green grass and sagebrush all around. It was windy most of the day, but it’s still, now. The sun just dropped behind the horizon. Now do you get the picture? If I stood on top of my cabin, I would see the Bighorn Mountain to the distant north, and oil wells pumping in the south.”
“So, no one is there with you?” Lily quizzed.
Develyn surveyed the bare dirt yard. “Uncle Henry is here.”
“Uncle who?”
“Uncle Henry.”
“Who is this?”
“There was an old man … an old cowboy at the auction. His name is Uncle Henry.”
“Ms. Worrell, are you opening a home for old cowboys?”
“He held my purse when I got bucked off. I told you about that.
I guess he took ten dollars from my wallet and bid on a donkey.”
“A donkey? You don’t mean a mule?”
“No, a wild burro. Anyway, he won the bid, but since it was my money, he gave me the burro.”
“You call the burro Uncle Henry?”
“Yep.”
“Yep? Dev, you’re an Indiana schoolteacher. Don’t you ‘yep’ me!”
“Oh, Lily, this is all strange, and yet so nice.”
“You sound happy, honey. I’m glad you didn’t break your collarbone or something. I would hate to have to fly out there and nurse-maid you.”
“Hmmm … are you begging?”
“No, Ms. Worrell … that’s your adventure; I’ve got mine.”
“Oh?”
“I met this man at the steakhouse in Greencastle. One thing led to…”
“I can’t believe this. You are going wild! Another man already?”
“Me? Honey, may I remind you that I’m still in the same old house tonight. You’re the one out there on the edge of … who knows where.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
“You didn’t tell me what he’s like.”
“He seems nice. We’re going to a summer theater play at the college.”
“Are you having fun, Lily?”
“Yes, I am. I keep asking the Lord if that’s OK.”
“What does he tell you?”
“He tells me to call back later; he’s on the other line trying to keep Ms. Worrell from doing something dangerous or dumb.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Speaking of your mother, did you…”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her…”
“Sort of.”
“Is she…”
“Ticked off? I suppose so.” Develyn shook her cell phone. “Lil, I think I’m losing my cell. I’ll have to charge it up in the Jeep tomorrow.”
“Why? I mean, you do have electricity, don’t you?”
“No. I have to go down to Mrs. Tagley’s to check my e-mail. I’ve got to go, sweetie … Uncle Henry is trying to eat my side-view mirror.”
“Dev, am I losing you?”
“Yes, the cell battery’s getting weak.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ms. Worrell.”
6
Develyn washed her hair in a galvanized bucket of lukewarm water. It had been steaming hot when she used it for a sponge bath. The shoulders and neck of her white shirt dripped as she wrapped the olive green and brown plaid towel around her head. Worn linoleum chilled her bare feet. She swung open the heavy front door and stepped out on the splintery front porch. A warm, drifting west wind greeted her.
The thin blue clear sky sported an out-of-focus, almost mystical hue. She heard a low crunching sound and surveyed the surroundings. A distant plume of dust followed a truck speeding south out of Argenta. A red-tailed hawk soared heavenward on a thermal. She searched for other movement. Then she spotted Uncle Henry down at the gravel road at the end of the drive, chewing on an abandoned cedar fence post.
The only sound is a munching burro a hundred yards away? I can’t believe I even hear him. No motors racing, horns honking, playground shouts, garbage truck clangs, or dog barks. This might be the quietest place in the whole country. Maybe this is the edge of the earth, Lord. But I need it.
“Uncle Henry, why are you eating a fence post?” she called out.
The short burro glanced back at the cabin, then trotted straight toward her.
“No, I didn’t mean you had to…”
Uncle Henry didn’t stop until his front hooves banged on the porch step.
Develyn walked over and scratched his ears. “What am I going to do with you? I don’t know anything about horses and even less about burros.” His huge brown eyes seemed alert, as though he expected the conversation to continue.
Dust rolled up from the end of the rutted driveway. A red Dodge pickup bounced toward her.
“Renny? I … I’m …” She yanked the towel off her hair. She looked down at the burro. “Uncle Henry, I’m not ready to receive guests. You entertain him for a while.”
She scampered into the cabin and squinted into the small, foggy mirror. It hung crooked above the laundry basin that served as her only sink. With every stroke of the comb, she felt the tangles tug on her short blonde hair.
It’s only 7:00 a.m. No one comes to visit at 7:00 a.m. That’s rude, Mr. Slater. Very, very rude. Where’s my mascara brush? I don’t have time for foundation, let alone makeup. Lipstick … no man is going to see Develyn Worrell without lipstick. Pale, Puritan lips, Spencer used to call them. I’m not sure he liked anything about me. Forgive me, Lord, I don’t want to become a bitter old lady, for Dee’s sake as well as my own. She loved her father dearly. He will always be wonderful in her eyes.
She heard the truck stop.
A pickup door slammed.
Uncle Henry brayed.
“Mornin’, Devy-girl … I saw you out on the porch, so don’t go hidin’ on me,” Renny called from the yard.
She stepped to the front door, but left it closed. “Renny, I’m not decent yet.”
“Pull on some clothes and come on out. I want to ask you something.”
“I have clothes on,” she snapped. “But I’m barefoot and uncombed.”
He laughed, then hollered. “So is that mare you bought, but that don’t keep her from prancing around in the pasture for all to see.”
Develyn pushed the door open a few inches. “I do not intend to prance in the pasture.”
His black cowboy hat was pushed back, and he chewed on a blue plastic toothpick. “You ought to be out ridin’. Mornin’ is half gone.”
“Half gone?” She glanced at her bare wrist as if wearing a watch. “It’s 7:00 a.m.”
“That’s what I said,” he said.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
Develyn scurried to the mirror and smeared on Coral Silk lips. She glanced at the white bottle labeled “Wander Lust,” but left the perfume unopened. She ran her fingers through her wet hair, then sighed. It really doesn’t matter, Lord. Who am I trying to impress now?
The sun glared as she stepped on to the porch. Develyn shaded her eyes with her hand. “Renny Slater, if you say one word about my ugly toes, I will turn Casey Cree-Ryder loose on you with her brass knuckles and hunting knife.”
Twin dimples appeared in his cheeks under his blue eyes. “Hey, you look good fired up. I’ll bet every fifth-grade boy in Indiana has a crush on Ms. Worrell.”
She shook her head and couldn’t suppress her grin. “Slater, you could charm middle-aged parents to give up their only child kindergartener.”
“Is that good?”
“Unparalleled.”
He started toward the front step, but Uncle Henry cut him off. “Thank you, ma’am. Does this mean you’ll forgive me for the burr under the saddle?” Slater scratched the burro behind the ears.
Develyn kept her arms folded across her chest. “Never. I will merely wait until a proper time to respond.” I should have changed my shirt. I’m glad it’s only wet on the shoulders.
“That sounds like revenge. Doesn’t the Good Book say don’t repay evil for evil?”
She had one light brown eyebrow cocked high. “But it doesn’t prohibit repaying a practical joke with a practical joke.”
“I see your point.” He glanced out at the pasture. “You did get yourself a nice-looking mare.”
“Thank you for that.” Develyn stepped to the side of the porch, and Uncle Henry moved over with her. “Casey Cree-Ryder’s coming to ride with me this morning.”
When he cocked his head, deep, tanned creases formed around his eyes. “Dev, I need to go to town and pick up some medicine at the vet’s early evenin’. I was wonderin’ if you’d like to ride along. It would be a privilege to buy you supper.”
She peered at the blond-headed cowboy. Dimples. Bowlegs. Little boy grin. Worn boots. Sweat-stained hat. There a
re men all over the world who wish they could be you, Renny Slater. “Renny … I just met you yesterday. So far, all you’ve done is purposely get me bucked off a horse.”
“It’s just a trip to the vet’s and supper at El Sombrero … not like some big, romantic date, Ms. Worrell.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, Lord. I don’t know if I want him to ask me out or not. She hesitated.
Now it was Renny Slater who had his arms folded in front of him. “Dev, do you reckon we need to get to know each other better, before you go out with me?”
“That might be nice.” Dev Worrell, you are forty-five years old and your voice is as shaky as a thirteen-year-old. It’s been years since I felt this way.
“My thoughts exactly. Now, your burro won’t let me up on the porch, and I don’t go into a woman’s home unless there’s company around … so just exactly how are we going to get to know each other better?”
She stepped to the edge of the porch and stroked Uncle Henry’s back. “Come to think of it, I think a trip to town will be nice, Renny.”
Once again the dimples punctuated his brown, leathery cheeks. “That’s fine. I was plannin’ on headin’ out about 3:30 or 4:00.”
She tried to fluff her damp hair out with her fingers. “Will we be home by dark?”
“If you want to. Are you afraid of the dark, Ms. Worrell?”
“No, Mr. Slater. I’m not afraid of the dark, but I am concerned about what happens after dark.”
He tugged his hat down and swaggered to the open door of his red pickup. “Do you like Mexican food?”
Uncle Henry trotted after him with a snort and a bray.
“Yes, I do, Renny. But I’m from Indiana where black pepper is considered spicy and jalapeno peppers are outlawed as lethal weapons.”
“I like your wit, Develyn Worrell. Have you ever noticed that most purdy women have a lousy sense of humor?”
“No, I haven’t. And thank you for the compliment. I should have returned to Wyoming long ago,” she chuckled.
He stared out across the pasture. “Yes, ma’am … I wish you would have.”
This is getting too serious too quick. “Renny, I’ll look forward to the drive.”
“That’s mighty fine, Devy-girl. I’ll see you later.” He stood on the running board and glanced at her over the cab of the truck. “You can bring your burro along, but he’ll have to ride in back.”