“There you are.”
She studied the tall cowboy. “Good evening, Quint.”
He swung his long leg over a metal folding chair and sat in it backward to face her. “You’re a good dancer, I see.”
“I danced more tonight than I have in twenty-five years combined. I enjoyed it until my feet wore out.”
“Miss Emily loved to dance.”
“Do you miss her tonight?”
“Actually, I’ve been too busy. The governors decided to do some advance planning for the western governor’s conference … and in between that and the stopped-up toilets in the ladies’ room, I haven’t had much time for anything or anyone.”
“Oh, dear, are you the plumber?”
“And mechanic and electrician, etc. This far from town, you either fix it or keep it broke.” He glanced down at her sock-covered feet. “Your boots too tight?”
“Yes, I do believe I got to dance with every working cowboy in the county.”
“You might be close to the truth on that one.”
“Excuse the socks, but I’m not used to dancing in boots all evening.”
“What size do you wear?” Burdett asked.
“This is embarrassing,” Develyn mumbled. “Size ten.”
“That’s what I figured. Miss Emily wore the same. Say, she has … I mean, I have a pair of eel-skin boots that she said were so soft she could dance across Texas in them. She was from Amarillo, you know.”
“Did she grow up on a ranch?”
“Yep. Cattle … and, well … other more profitable interests. Let me get those boots for you.”
“Oh, no, Quint … don’t trouble yourself. I really am too tired to dance anymore.”
“I didn’t mean just tonight. I want to give them to you.”
“Oh, I couldn’t …”
“It would be a help to have someone enjoy them. Linds has size-six feet, so she will never need them. I insist. It’s a waste for them to sit in a closet until they rot.”
“Thank you for your generosity.”
Quint pointed toward the lights in the big house. “Did you get to meet the governors and their wives?”
“Yes, Linds introduced me.”
“I like them,” he reported.
“Yes, but I’m afraid I blabbed too much to Mrs. Schwarzenegger when I said I had a horse named Maria. I presume they all left in the helicopter.”
“Yes, they all flew to Jackson Hole. He left the Hummer here at the ranch and will pick it up next Wednesday.”
“You have a beautiful spread, Quint. Remote, but so peaceful.”
“I love it back here, Dev. Always have. My granddaddy bought this place back in 1909.”
“Did your Miss Emily enjoy the remoteness of the ranch?”
He pulled off his hat and ran calloused fingers through his hair. “She cried for the first two years, she was so lonesome. Then one day, she just sucked it up and said, ‘I’m through mop ing, Quintin. This is my home, and I choose to enjoy it.’”
“Good for her!”
“Of course, once we got the airplanes and learned to fly, she didn’t feel so isolated.”
“Miss Emily was a pilot too?”
“Yes, ma’am, the best of all of us … well, our boy, Ted, was probably the best.”
“Is there anything she couldn’t do? Oh, I didn’t mean that in a negative way.”
Burdett laughed. “Miss Emily couldn’t make a decent potato salad, if her life depended on it.”
“What?”
“I like potato salad, and hers was always awful. Other than that, she could do it all.”
When the music stopped and the dance floor cleared, Renny and Casey slalomed through scattered chairs and guests.
Cree-Ryder flopped down in a chair next to Develyn. “By daylight, I’ll be danced out.”
“How about you, Mr. Slater?” Develyn challenged. “Are you worn out?”
“Dancin’ with Cree-Ryder is always an adventure,” he drawled.
“Don’t tell me she steps on your cowboy toes.”
“Gettin’ my boots crushed is the least of my worries.”
“You braggin’ or complainin’, cowboy?” Casey challenged.
“Just statin’ the facts, ma’am. You have dance steps previously unknown by any man on the face of the earth.”
“Did you hear that, Dev? Renny likes my moves!”
Slater shook his head and grinned. “It has been a fun evenin’. Mr. Burdett, thanks for the invite. I think I’ll call it a night while I’m reasonably healthy.”
“See you Wednesday, Slater. It won’t be so fun, then,” Burdett said.
“I reckon not. How many you got for me?”
“Eighteen. The first dozen you won’t break a sweat. Four of them will take some time … and those other two … well … don’t get yourself hurt. They aren’t worth it. If you don’t break them, I’ll just shoot them and be done with it.”
“Ah, that’s what I like … a challenge. They aren’t as bad as those two you had back in ’99 are they?”
“Worse. And those broke your leg and dislocated your shoulder.”
“Hmmm … well, thanks for the warning.” Renny pulled off his hat. “Evenin,’ Miss Dev, thanks for the dances.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then turned to Cree-Ryder. “And thank you, ma’am, for the dances. I’ll kiss your cheek, too, if you promise not to maim me.”
“I ain’t promisin’ nothin’.”
Renny bent forward, and Cree-Ryder threw her arms around his neck and slammed her lips into his. When she released him, he staggered back.
“I don’t kiss cheeks well,” she said.
“And I think I’ll just shake hands,” Quint laughed. “See you in a couple of days, Renny.”
“Five o’clock?”
“Come on out at 4:00 and have breakfast. We’ll have room in the bunk house, of course.”
Renny scooted through the crowd.
“Did you ever notice that roughstock riders only kiss you for eight seconds, then quit as if the event was over?” Casey smirked.
“No,” Develyn said, “I don’t suppose I ever thought about that.”
“Well, it’s true.” Casey stood up. “I’m going for punch.”
“You goin’ to throw one or drink one?” Develyn asked.
“Now I’m gettin’ it from my best friend!”
I’ve known Casey a couple of weeks and I’m her best friend? Maybe she’s right. “Bring me some punch.”
“Which one? The red, the white, or the blue?”
“The white one.”
Quint pulled off his hat and twirled it in his hand. “Dev, I was hoping you and me could spend a little more time visiting tonight. It just got crazy. Sorry about that. Maybe you could come back out, and I’ll show you around in daylight.”
“That would be wonderful. I’d enjoy it.”
“Do you have any problem flying in a small plane?”
“I don’t think so. But I haven’t been in anything smaller than a commuter plane between Indy and Chicago.” And I thought I would die when we hit turbulence.
“I could land down near Argenta … there’s a strip out behind Mrs. Tagley’s. I could show you the ranch from the air.”
“That would be fun.” As long as I remember some Dramamine.
“In the old days, Miss Emily would tend to party details, and I would circulate and visit with everyone. Now I’m too busy to see them all. I miss that.”
“You make a very gracious host, Quint.”
“I must say, Dev … seeing you here … even when you danced with the hired help … put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. That feels so good.” He stood up and offered her his hand.
She reached up, and he pulled her to her feet. “Quint, you know how to make a middle-aged schoolteacher feel good about herself.” Her h
and lingered in his.
He stepped around in front of her, still clutching her hand. His other calloused hand slid across her shoulder and parked on the back of her neck.
“Miss Dev!” a cowboy shouted, and Burdett’s hands slid to his side.
She peered through the shadows to see Cuban hurrying toward her. “You promised me one more dance.”
“Cuban, I think I said my feet hurt.”
“Yes, ma’am, but you also said you wouldn’t dance until all the cowboys pulled off their boots.”
“Yes, I believe I did.”
He pointed down at his wiggling toes. “We are all barefooted, Miss Dev.”
Most nights the tap-tap-tap of a loose piece of tin roofing flapping in the wind drummed Develyn to sleep.
Not this night.
She reached under the feather mattress and extracted a small, steel flashlight and pointed it across the room. The brass alarm clock, with cracked glass, still read 12:20. Then she sat up and surveyed the floor with the light before she pressed her bare toes into the cold, worn linoleum. I don’t see any cockroaches or mice, so I’m not going to light the propane lantern. I need to go back to sleep.
She fumbled on the dresser for her watch.
Three a.m.? Why did I wake up now? I have been sleeping better for weeks. Go back to bed, Ms. Worrell.
I should fix some coffee, but I don’t want to turn on the gas stove. Where’s my Wal-Mart eighty-eight-dollar microwave when I need it?
She clutched the black plastic handle of the aluminum coffee pot and emptied its contents in a blue tin cup.
I hate cold coffee.
She grimaced and swallowed.
“But it’s not as bad as it used to be.” Her voice was barely audible.
She thought she heard voices float outside the cabin. She slid over to the front door, checked the gate latch that served as a lock, then leaned against the door. The raw wood scraped her ear.
No wonder pioneer women left alone would go insane in this wind. It haunts and torments like a classroom of first-graders after a chocolate party.
Develyn grabbed a small, tattered quilt from the bed and dragged it to the worn, overstuffed chair that smelled like the dust of 1969. She pulled her feet under her, covered her lap with the quilt, then turned off the flashlight. She sipped cold coffee and stared out the curtainless window. Stars flashed like galactic turn signals as the scattered clouds raced under them.
I don’t know why I can’t sleep, Lord. No, that’s not true. I do know. Monday will be three weeks since I’ve left home, and I still don’t have a clue why I’m here. I wanted to find my dirt-road town … and I did. I wanted to ride every day, and I’m doing that. I wanted to meet new friends, and I have. Casey has gone home to Tensleep for a few days, and I miss her even though she is so totally unlike me. I came out here to find out if I could relate to a man … any man … at my age. And I suppose I’ve succeeded. The cowboys make me feel special, but perhaps that’s because of their isolation. Renny makes me laugh and relax and forget about being the uptight Ms. Worrell. I like that a lot.
And, Quint … well … oh, my … maybe he’s the reason I can’t sleep.
He’s such a perfect gentleman … the hard-working rancher. When he flew me up to the ranch, I thought my heart would never stop racing. Casey was right. He owns half the county. He loves what he does. Even more important, he loves you, Lord. He loves his daughter and the memory of his son.
And, he still loves his Miss Emily.
But that’s OK. The man knows how to love.
Some men never learn.
She took another sip of cold coffee, then circled her head, trying to relax her stiff neck. I didn’t mean that, Lord. I truly hope Spencer is there with you in heaven. He never learned how to love me … or Delaney, really … but perhaps he learned how to love you. I never knew how to really love him, either.
That’s what scares me about Quint. He’s such a tender man.
I’m not sure I’d know how to take care of him. I didn’t do so good the first time around. But Quint … he and his Miss Emily were so wonderful together. As long as I can be Develyn Worrell, nothing more and nothing less, I’ll be OK.
Quint’s stern with naughty horses and lazy hired help, but so gentle with me. It’s as if he understands me and my struggles. He is strong in spirit and body … and not a bad body for a man that age.
Her hand went to her mouth. Dev Worrell, don’t you start thinking that way! She took another sip of cold coffee and swallowed it quickly.
I am forty-five years old, and I don’t know how to love a man. Yet I want a man to love me.
I really don’t know how to do a relationship with a man, especially a man like Quint. I wish Miss Emily had left instructions.
A shout or a dog bark echoed in the stiff wind. She glanced up at the window.
With this wind, a person could shout in Cody and it would blow across the state.
Develyn put the empty tin cup on the floor, then pulled the quilt up to her shoulders and hugged herself.
Lord, I like Wyoming. I do feel better about myself. I don’t have to be Ms. Worrell … they only want me to be Miss Dev … and certainly it’s been good for my ego … I hope it’s been good for my faith. I’ve prayed and talked to you more than I have in twenty-five years. I know now that you led me, but I’m not sure why.
I like Quint Burdett. Sometimes I think he’s a dream. He has to have some hidden vices and flaws, but I can’t find them. But if I’m truthful, ranch life scares me. I love the horses … for a while … but thinking about the isolation … the long, frigid winters … I’d have to drive two and a half hours to go to a mall. On the other hand, Quint could fly me there.
And to be honest … I don’t know if I could give up teaching. Some days I want to scream … but those fifth-graders have kept me alive for decades because they need me and love me. I’m an Indiana schoolteacher. I suppose I could change.
I wonder if he is really rich … or just puts on a show. I know most cattlemen have all their funds tied up in the land and the cows. Would I be so fascinated with him if he lived in a singlewide in Casper and worked in a minimart? There’s a sobering thought. Surely, Lord, I’m not swayed by possessions.
Or am I?
How strange. Why am I thinking about him at all? I’ve gotten along fine for years without thinking of a man. OK, I’ve sorta survived for several years without thinking of a man. Why now? Why this guy?
The howling wind and the constant tap of the loose tin roof didn’t mask the honk of a horn. Develyn stood up. Wearing the quilt like a cape, she scooted across the cold bare floor toward the window.
If Mr. Tallon is back, he is certainly making a lot of noise. I wonder if he’s drunk. I can’t imagine any other reason to honk a horn in your own driveway. If he comes near this cabin, I’ll call the police.
Develyn stood in the dark room and peered across the prairie toward the other cabin. Headlights from a parked truck illuminated the porch. She thought she could see two or three men.
He has company? At this hour? No one has sober company at 3:30 a.m. Where’s my cell phone?
Develyn padded her way to the chair, retrieved her flashlight, then found her phone on the dresser. She turned the flashlight off as she stepped in front of the window.
Any of you take one step in this direction and I’ll phone the county sheriff … or the state troopers … or the National Guard … or someone.
She thought she heard shouts, and studied the silhouettes as two of the men waved their arms.
This isn’t good, but why do I expect the worst? Lord, I don’t like Cooper Tallon very much, but I have no real reason for that. He misjudged me once … and perhaps I’m misjudging him. I just wish I knew what they were arguing about.
Develyn unlatched the window and shoved it open a couple of inches. A gust caught the window and slammed it against
the side of the cabin.
A blast of wind whipped in and she staggered back, then pushed her way to the counter in front of the window. Develyn tried to reach out and pull the multipane window closed, but was unable to grip it.
The whole cabin will be blown into a mess if I don’t get it closed.
Still wearing shorts and a T-shirt, she shoved her cell phone in her back pocket and plucked up the flashlight. She scurried barefoot to the front door and flipped the gate-latch lock. Clutching the door tight, she opened it and slipped out into the windy night.
Develyn closed the door, then paused on her porch. She staggered in the wind.
What am I doing? I have to close my window. Then I’m going to bed and pull the covers over my head and not come out for week. This is crazy. I’m freezing. They are one hundred feet away, and I’m running around in my pajamas. Well, what I’ve been using for pajamas. Lord, look after fools like me.
Her toes now numb, she turned off the flashlight and crept around the cabin to the east. The open window banged against the shutter, and she yanked on it to close it. It slammed closed.
The shouting next door stopped.
Develyn dropped to her bare knees on the rough dirt beside the cabin.
Did they see me? Oh, Lord, this is a bad dream. I want to wake up at home. Where is that rancher? Or Renny? Or even Casey Cree-Ryder when I need them?
The shouting continued and she turned and sat in the dirt, leaning against the cabin and watching the headlight-lit silhouettes at the other cabin.
“You owe me!” someone screamed.
“I owe you nothin’,” a deep voice replied.
“Don’t give me that crap.”
“Go home.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Get out of here.”
“We could take it, you know.”
“You could try.”
“You don’t scare me. You never scared me.”
“Get out of here.”
“You’re goin’ down, old man.”
“Not by myself, I’m not.”
“Is that a gun?”
Oh, my God … oh, no … I don’t want to be here … I don’t want to see this. I’m just an Indiana schoolteacher. I want to go home. I want to go home right now, Lord.
Stephen Bly's Horse Dreams Trilogy: Memories of a Dirt Road, the Mustang Breaker, Wish I'd Known You Tears Ago Page 14