When Little Gus crossed the finish line, Johnny jumped clear in the air. The next instant he realized he’d sent Etta stumbling backward. He grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling to the ground. She stared at him.
“He won, Etta.”
She didn’t seem to quite understand what had happened. In fact, her expression, sort of in shock, unnerved him.
“He won,” she repeated in a breathless manner, her gaze shifting beyond him to Little Gus, whom Woody was riding in circles, bringing the gelding back down. “Oh, my . . . he won!” she said in a most peculiar and laughable way.
“Yes, ma’am, he most certainly did,” Johnny said, and then he swept her to him and swung her around right up off the ground.
“Johnny . . . oh . . . I think I’m gonna faint.”
He quick got her over to sit on the bumper of a Buick and put her head down, while people crowded around to congratulate them. His elation was overwhelmed by his concern for Etta, and he worried that he never should have brought her, never should have brought the horse. He might end up being responsible for something dire happening to Etta and the baby, and he cursed his propensity for getting into predicaments.
At last, however, Etta raised her head and said, “I guess I should have bet, like Latrice wanted me to.”
Laughing, Johnny got thoroughly carried away, grabbed her cheeks and kissed her. Immediately embarrassed by what he’d done, there in front of everyone, he was relieved that Woody Lee appeared with Little Gus, so the attention turned to the horse.
* * * *
“Can you believe it?” Etta said to Latrice several times on the public telephone. She gazed out the glass of the booth, squinting in the bright sunlight, her eyes watering and a great lump in her throat.
Latrice said, “Well, you’re tellin’ me. Don’t you know?”
“I keep askin’ myself,” she replied. “Maybe I’m dreamin’ all this.”
She told Latrice everything she could think of as fast as possible, until her change ran out, and the operator cut them off. The line went dead right in the middle of Latrice telling Etta that she should bet all she could on the next race.
Etta thought it was a good time for the conversation to be cut off. She was somewhat amazed at Latrice’s predilection for wagering now that she was being given the chance. This was an entirely new side to Latrice, who had always been so very conservative. Although when Etta thought of it, Latrice had always been a big one for playing the Bright and White bingo game on the radio. When they had lived in town, Latrice and several of her neighbors would bet on the game.
Etta hung up the phone, stood holding on to it a moment, until a young man came running up wanting to use it.
Heading back to the truck, she ducked into the restroom on the way, then walked behind the grandstand, where children played, boys pretending to be cowboys and girls making hopscotch squares in the dusty ground. One woman rocked a baby in a stroller while talking with several other women, and one of them was pregnant, too, making Etta feel a little less odd. A line formed at the concession stand; a voice blared from the loudspeaker, testing. Two cowgirls sat atop their horses, talking and laughing with a number of fellows around them.
When she reached the truck Johnny was wiping Little Gus with a wet rag and whistling happily. Seeing him, a sharp emotion, something like a mixture of extreme happiness and extreme fear, swept her. She was so very happy he had come into her life, and she wondered how she would do without him, when it came time for him to go to wherever he would go.
He straightened and leaned against Little Gus. “Well now, Miz Etta, what do you think of your horse?” He was plainly cocky.
Etta knew what he wanted, and she gave it to him, saying, “I think he has a great trainer.”
“And I was right all along,” Johnny prompted her.
She laughed. “And you were right all along.”
She and Johnny gazed at each other, and the air seemed to grow very warm. She saw him gear up to say something, but at that moment Bitta Fudge came sauntering up.
Bitta slipped off his hat and gestured at Little Gus, saying, “That ugly son-of-a-buck sure shut our mouths, Etta. Congratulations.”
She said thank you, but she did take exception to him calling Little Gus ugly.
Bitta said to Johnny, “Man, you think you might train a horse or two for me?”
“We can talk about it, I guess,” Johnny told him, managing to look both proud and humble.
And next Harry Flagg came over to say he wanted to stable four horses at Etta’s barn, so that Johnny could break them.
“I don’t know how long Johnny’s gonna be stayin’ at my place,” Etta said. She looked squarely at Johnny. “Are you goin’ to stay long enough to break Harry’s horses, Johnny?”
He looked at her and blinked, then said, “I imagine I will. Harry, you bring those horses on over.” He gazed at Etta as he spoke.
“I’ll pay your goin’ fee, of course, Etta,” Harry said, “and I’ll spread the word that you’re boardin’ now, if you think you’ll have room.”
“I’ll have room for a few more,” Etta said, her gaze still on Johnny.
“Looks like you’re in the stable business,” Johnny said, when Harry walked away.
“Yes . . . I guess I am.”
They looked long at each other, their eyes asking questions and seeking answers, while their tongues tried to form them.
Etta turned toward the truck cab, saying, “Would you like a ham sandwich?”
Johnny said he would and quickly volunteered to go get her an Orange Crush at the concession stand. “We should celebrate.”
Etta thought he might kiss her when he left, but he just grinned and sauntered away. She watched him go.
When he returned, he had a woman walking beside him—a very pretty woman, with blond hair curling out from beneath her buff-colored hat, wearing a white Western shirt and turquoise pants and custom-made boots with roses embroidered on them.
Her name was Sissy Post, and she was a barrel racer, Johnny said, making the introductions. And she wanted to buy Little Gus for a thousand dollars.
Etta stared at her, then looked at Johnny standing there with a bottle of Orange Crush in each hand and gazing expectantly at her.
Etta said to Sissy Post, “I don’t believe we’re wantin’ to sell.”
“Well, I could go to fifteen hundred,” the woman said, just like that, almost without a blink of the eye. Then she added, “Cash money.”
Etta thought that maybe if she just stood there staring at Sissy Post, the woman might keep on going upward with her offer. Then she gathered her senses and said, “I appreciate your offer, Miss Post, but Little Gus is not for sale. I just couldn’t sell him.”
The woman frowned and then shrugged. “Well, I’ll be around, if you change your mind.” She turned smartly and walked away.
Etta looked at Johnny. He grinned. “Don’t you sell this bugger for anything less than five thousand . . . and if you wait, chances are you can get eight, maybe ten.”
Etta did not care for Johnny talking about selling Little Gus. Then she wondered. Would she have sold Little Gus, if she’d been offered five thousand? Would she sell him for ten? It was a good thing no one was likely to offer ten thousand, because she’d have to make a decision then.
* * * *
The sun had just set and the pole lights come on when Johnny took Etta to the grandstands to watch the rodeo race. He took her hand, cautioning, “Watch your step.”
The seats were crowded, but they found a place not too high up yet high enough to see well, and with some shorter people in front, so Etta would have no trouble seeing above their heads. An older man in overalls and battered straw hat took a look at Etta, saw she was pregnant, and moved over to give her plenty of room.
When Johnny said he was going down to Harry Flagg’s truck, Etta knew it was to place a bet.
“Johnny, would you place one for me, too?”
His eyes w
ent wide, and she ignored him. She thought if she said something, she would just be opening the way for him to make an I-told-you-so comment. She gave him two hundred dollars that she had brought with her, just in case, then changed her mind, and took one hundred back. Then, as he rose to go, she called to him and reduced her bet by fifty, saying, “He’s won one race today.”
“What’s that have to do with it?” Johnny asked.
“It’s not likely he can win two.”
“Thinking that way, we shouldn’t enter him.”
“Oh, no,” Etta said quickly, “we have to enter him.” She tried to act like she thought Little Gus had a chance in the rodeo race, but she found it very hard to believe that, having won one race, he could win a second. Wasn’t that too much to ask of God and the Universe?
Johnny shook his head as he went away. Etta followed his progress for a moment, until her attention was drawn away by two children riding their horses in a circle outside the cattle pen. More people came and squeezed into the row in front of her, and Etta had to look around a tall, skinny man.
The wind had picked up, and goosebumps rose on her arms. Etta put on her sweater, which she had been using as a cushion on the wooden board seat. The hope that Little Gus would win the race slipped across her thoughts. Johnny would be over the moon if Little Gus won. Roy had won two horse races in one day once, although not with the same horse. She did imagine that a single horse had been known to win two races. Gosh, Johnny had told them stories of horses that had won races all day long, to hear him tell it anyway. She did think he exaggerated; he was a horseman.
She thought that she was in a very strange place, sitting in a crowded grandstand, a baby kicking up a storm inside her, while she thought about a horse and a man, one who was not her husband.
Two races had been run and a third was about to start, when Johnny returned. “He’s up against eight horses,” he told her. “I bet at five to one odds.”
Etta thought of her fifty dollars. Maybe she should have bet more. She didn’t want to lose more, though, which was why she didn’t bet. It was just too nerve-wracking.
“Little Gus has stamina,” Johnny said, easing down on the seat, relaxing his bad leg. “That’s his edge, and this race is gonna go four hundred forty yards. That’s why I entered him in it.”
The old man in the overalls sitting next to Johnny picked up on that comment and struck up a conversation with Johnny, and in the process learned Etta’s name. “I knew your husband, Roy. He owed me for a ton of alfalfa,” he said flatly.
Etta told him to see Leon Thibodeaux about it. She thought this sort of thing might continue to happen for the rest of her life.
For his race, Little Gus was lined up second from the inside. Etta was about to ask Johnny who decided the positions, when the horses were off and running. She watched them all, then kept her eye on Little Gus. Four horses went out in front of him. She thought maybe he would catch up, but told herself it would be all right if he did not. She struggled to keep calm.
Then there he was, catching up, and then he was catching up to the lead horse ridden by a man in a blue plaid shirt and not wearing a hat. Woody’s big brown hat and the other man’s head were side by side, and then Woody was ahead, Little Gus just flying.
What Etta had thought too much to ask had happened.
She looked at Johnny. His eyes were soft with wonder and emotion. And she knew in that moment that the entire thing was for Johnny. That he had needed Little Gus to win, and that for some reason the day would always be there to bind them together, no matter where each of them went.
“He won, Etta,” Johnny said, a grin blooming on his face. “By damn he did it, just like I said he could.”
Then he took her face between his rough hands and kissed her in a way that a woman treasures until her dying day.
* * *
Chapter 16
Johnny brought the winning check and the cash from her bet to Etta at the truck. She took the money, then watched Johnny fold his own winnings and tuck them into his boot. He obviously had made quite a bit, which meant he had bet quite a bit.
“It’s a good thing Little Gus won,” she said, “or you would be broke.”
But Johnny shook his head. “No, ma’am. I always save some back.” He cast her a crooked grin. “I know when to bet, and when not to.”
His cockiness both perturbed and charmed her, although she didn’t think she should let on how much he charmed her.
Etta put her money deep into the bottom of her purse, closed it securely, and tucked it way behind the seat. For an instant she thought of Roy and more clearly understood his weakness for gambling. Self-control was perhaps the biggest problem for a human being, and everyone had weaknesses in this area. Poor Roy had been overcome with it in all areas, and it had broken him, she thought.
Johnny touched her elbow. “Etta?”
His voice seemed to demand she return to him. She looked into his eyes and was so very glad he was there.
“Would you like to watch the rodeo from the truck?” he asked. “The view won’t be as good, but the seat will be more comfortable. And you know, now that your horse is gettin’ to be worth a lot, we might not should leave him alone.” He smiled with that.
Johnny was able to position the truck nearer the arena, although their view was obstructed by the railings and occasionally by men and children climbing on the railings. They watched the bronc riding, the bulldogging, in which Woody competed and took first place, and the barrel racing. Sissy Post ran the barrels on a stocky bay and came in second place with a time of twenty-two seconds, which Johnny said was not bad and might have won at some rodeos.
Etta had seen barrel racing a number of times before. After the first run, she got out and climbed up on the fence for a better view, while Johnny hovered behind, as if ready to catch her.
She got very excited when the barrel racer came charging into the arena and rounding the barrels. Her heart beat wildly, and she cried with others, urging the horse and rider on. At one point during a rider’s go, however, Etta got so excited that she lost her hold on the fence and toppled backward, right into Johnny’s arms.
Breathless and shaking, she hung on to Johnny, pressing against his strong chest.
He looked down at her and said in a husky voice, “I think we need to get you sittin’ back in the truck.”
He carried her back to the truck and sat her in the seat. Etta, whose thoughts had been absorbed with barrel racing, found herself a little dazed. She watched Johnny walk around the front of the truck and then slip in beside her. She looked down at her belly. How she thought and felt did not seem to match her pregnant state. She felt suddenly frustrated and tired and told Johnny that she was ready to go home.
“Okay,” he said, clearly puzzled at her sudden change in attitude. “I guess if we go now, we’ll miss all the traffic anyway.”
As they were leaving the rodeo grounds, Sissy Post rode her bay mare up beside Etta’s open window and said, “I’ll give you two thousand dollars for that gelding.”
When Etta declined, as politely as possible, the other woman rode away mad, evidenced by the way she jerked on her poor mare’s mouth and spurred. Etta was glad she had not sold Little Gus to a woman with a temper, even as the thought of two thousand dollars echoed in her mind. Thinking of the money in her purse and Sissy Post’s offers for Little Gus, Etta pondered the fact that things were looking up.
“We’re gonna have to start keepin’ an eye on this son-of-a-buck now, Miz Etta,” Johnny said. “He’s gettin’ valuable enough to steal. It was simpler when everyone thought him a cob.”
He pulled onto the highway and headed in the direction of home. Etta rolled up her window. Johnny turned on the radio, and country music came softly: Kitty Wells singing “Making Believe.”
With the sultry song filling her ears, Etta looked at the blackness beyond the truck, then looked over at Johnny. Her gaze moved over his profile and lingered on his lips. She thought of how he h
ad kissed her. She gazed at him and was swept with the pure passion that comes when a person is exhausted and can no longer keep a firm hold on common sense.
Taking a deep breath, she moved the picnic basket to the far passenger side and scooted herself across next to Johnny. She might have thought about what he might think, but she was too tired and knew only what she wanted to do.
He glanced at her, his eyebrows rising, then returned his gaze to the road. She waited, gazing at him, at his eyes that stared intently out the windshield. Slowly but deliberately, he put his arm along the back of the seat, brought it down to her shoulders, and drew her against him. She relaxed with a sigh onto his shoulder and let her heart start beating again. Her hand rested on his leg, the denim stiff and warm beneath it, while she looked at the silvery glow of the dashboard and how it reflected on Johnny’s legs. She thought, with the emotion filling her chest and slipping warmly through her limbs so that she felt fairly weak, that maybe she should tell him she didn’t expect anything, that this was no promise and didn’t require any, that she simply had not been able to resist tender emotions and needs at this moment.
Then all thought went flying as his hand came to her neck, and his thumb moved on her skin in little, tingling circles. With a silent intake of breath, Etta lifted her head and buried her face in his neck, pressing her lips ever so gently against his skin, tasting the wonderful saltiness, and rubbing her nose there, smelling the delicious warm maleness of him, in this almost innocent way pulling him into her.
She felt a tremor shake him. He kissed her forehead and rubbed his cheek against her hair. She closed her eyes and let herself drift on the sweet sensations like drifting on a cloud in the summer. Like riding that red flying horse up into the sunlit sky.
Thus swept away, Etta was only vaguely aware of Johnny taking the route that went through Chickasha. Then the truck began slowing and doing a peculiar chugging. Pulling herself out of her very pleasant lethargic doze, Etta saw they were turning into a gas station. Apparently unwilling to disturb her, Johnny had been letting the truck slow without shifting. She straightened, and he quickly shifted the stick and rolled the truck to a stop in front of the gas pump.
If Wishes Were Horses Page 23