We both watched him walk away.
“Friend of yours?” I asked
“Boyd has hit on me for the last ten years. He's harmless.”
“What did he mean by hopping on the bull?”
“It's how wannabe cowboys show off.” She pointed a finger. “That mechanical bull over there.”
She pointed at the contraption that I thought looked like an oversized piece of luggage.
“Mechanical bull?”
“It's the closest you can ever get to the real thing, but like Jettie used to say, it hardly touches the fundamentals.”
We each took a drink of beer and I continued to observe the mechanical devise. Suddenly the jukebox quit playing. Bella grabbed my hand and escorted me to the opposite side, near the pool table, where the fancy music-playing machine resided below a poster of a buxom blonde in a bikini and cowboy hat, and in her hand held a longneck bottle of Budweiser.
Bella inserted a dollar bill into the jukebox scanner. “So who do you like to listen to?”
I looked through the glass at the many selections and saw everything from George Strait to Reba McIntire, and oldies like George Jones and Hank Williams. Out of fear of making a bad selection, I decided to let her choose. “Oh, I'm not too picky. You go ahead.”
Her first choice was Cowboy Take Me Away by the Dixie Chicks, which came over the speaker before she punched in the numbers of her second selection. She made four more selections then we found our way back to the table.
I grabbed the pitcher of beer and refilled our mugs. “So is this a better atmosphere?”
“Perfect.”
“Then now you're on the spot. You have to tell me about yourself.”
“I wouldn't know where to begin.”
“Let's start with where you grew up.”
“Talihina.”
“I've heard of that town. Isn't that where Jeremiah gets his homemade whiskey?”
“I wouldn't doubt it. I've heard of people having stills up in Winding Stair Mountain.”
“Do you still live there?”
“No, I live in Poteau now. I used to work fulltime at the hospital as a nursing assistant. But now I just work part-time in ER, train horses and concentrate on my barrel racing.”
“Do you have your own ranch?”
“No, I rent a stable in Poteau. But I've been thinking of buying one, especially now.”
“So what was it like growing up in Talihina?”
“My dad worked in a factory over in Wilburton, and he raised quarter horses on the side. That's how I learned to ride.”
“Do you still work with your dad?”
“He died when I was still in high school. He was an alcoholic.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's okay. You know, it's ironic. My mom was full-blooded Choctaw, and my dad was German/Scottish. Stereotypically, it's usually the Indian that's the drunkard. But my mom hated drinking. I think my father made her hate it.”
“That's understandable. And your mom is a hair stylist, right?”
“Yeah, she has a beauty parlor down in Talihina.”
“Did she ever remarry?”
“She almost did once, but the guy came home drunk one night. She kicked him out and swore she would never have another man in her life.”
“How sad.”
“Yeah, well that's my family.”
“Were you an only child?”
“Oh, no. I have three older brothers. None of them live around here. My dad drove them all away.”
“Sounds like you had a rough childhood.”
“Well, let's put it this way. I'd rather die than go through it again.”
Suddenly I began to worry about her. It seemed that all her life she had experienced great struggles, a family divided by her father's weak habit, then the habit finally claiming his life, and now, the loss of a man she loved. I was almost afraid to ask her anything more.
“If this is too much for you, we can stop,” I said.
“Oh, I've grown kind of rigid over the years. I can handle it.”
I wasn't sure I believed her, but then again, she seemed very strong and thus far was doing a great job of opening up to me. And who was to know if she'd ever do it again?
“Besides Jettie,” I said, “was there ever anyone else?”
“Yeah, I was married for six months.”
I don't know why but this surprised me. Not so much that she had been married, but for such a short period of time.
She continued. “He was a doctor at the hospital where I worked as a nursing assistant. I was young and he was so smooth. He took me out to fancy restaurants. Every now and then we'd fly to Dallas in his plane, spend the whole weekend shopping and dining out. He knew how much I wanted a horse ranch, and he used that to lure me into his life. Making promises he would never keep.”
“Why did he do that?”
Her face grew stern and almost pale. “Because all he wanted was a piece of ass. A pretty young Indian trophy wife to hang on his side and make him look good.”
“What a jerk.”
“Yeah, he was a jerk.”
“Well at least it's behind you.”
I figured this was enough for now, and tried to change the mood by giving her a smile. “So, you like horses?”
This made her laugh a little. She took a drink of her beer when suddenly the music quit playing and a voice came over a loud speaker and a light shined over the mechanical bull. Then a man in a cowboy hat and a short sleeved western shirt with a belly that hung over his belt walked under the light and spoke into a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a challenge! Boyd Simmons has opted to challenge the bull!”
Several people in the crowd cheered and applauded. The man with the belly walked away and Boyd hopped up on the bull. He had one buckskin glove on his right hand, and he jiggled and squirmed on top the bull as if he were looking for a comfortable position. With the gloved hand he grabbed a single handle that stuck up in front of him. He raised the other hand above his head and nodded to the big-bellied man who stood near him gripping a joystick.
Instantly, the bull started spinning while simultaneously the back end rose up and down. Boyd's free arm swayed with the jerking motions and after several seconds a horn sounded, the bull slowed and the crowd cheered.
As the bull stopped, Boyd jumped off and flashed his big teeth at his admirers. Eventually, his gaze found Bella, and along with his trademark smile he nodded at her.
“Very impressive,” I said.
“Hardly,” Bella said.
“Why?”
“If he did that on a real bull then he'd earn my respect.”
“Why don't he—ride a real bull, that is?”
“Oh he tries. But like I said, a real bull is much different. And besides that, Boyd is a dipshit.”
I laughed and instantly realized where she was coming from. A new song started on the jukebox, Amarillo by Morning by George Strait. Bella looked into my eyes for a short moment then smiled. “Do you like to dance?”
I looked out into the crowd of people. “Here?”
She gazed out into the crowd as well. “Sure, why not?”
“Whatever you say.”
She grabbed my hand and led me to a clear area not far from the jukebox, which was covered with imitation woodgrain tiles. She put her hands around my neck and I held mine around her waist. I gazed back at the seated crowd, but no one seemed to pay any mind to us dancing alone, except Boyd, who gazed at me with a contemptuous half-grin as he walked toward the pool table. So I tried to loosen up and let Bella lead. The song wasn't entirely slow, but it was peaceful enough to catch a comfortable rhythm.
“This was one of Jettie's favorite songs,” she said.
I listened to the words and quickly understood that it was about rodeo life. “I guess that makes sense.”
“He loved George Strait. Bought every piece of music he ever recorded.”
“So Jettie liked music?”
>
“Sort of. But he didn't care much for the new pop stuff. He liked guys like Keith Whitley, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and he liked cowboy music from guys like Chris LaDoux Michael Martin Murphy, and Ghost Town Council. Stuff with soul.”
“Cool.”
“Jettie wasn't a follower. He liked what he liked and that was it.”
“That's very admirable.”
She leaned back and looked into my eyes. “I'm sure you would have liked him.”
“Yeah, well my mom thought differently.”
“I didn't know him then, of course, so I can't help you there.”
“Yeah, I know. I guess that's why I'm going to have to meet some more people.”
“You know I'll help all I can?”
Her eyes seemed soft and compassionate, and like the last time I held her, I was feeling a sense of belonging. I tried to return the same compassion with my own smile, though unsure how successful I would be. “I know you will.”
Suddenly the song changed again and now the jukebox played Ain't Goin' Down (Till The Sun Comes Up) by Garth Brooks, and other couples began to join us on the dance floor.
She let loose of my waist and grabbed my hands and looked at me with a beguiling stare. “So now do you really want to dance?”
“Do I have a choice?”
She grinned and shook her head, then took my hand, raised my arm and twirled around underneath. At first I felt novice and awkward, but decided to let her lead the way, and before long dancing with Bella seemed amazingly simple. So simple that it became second nature, as did the number of beers that kept us going the rest of the night.
Fourteen
I knew Jeremiah would be surprised to see me, but from the way he jerked his head and stared, the image of me in a straw cowboy hat and driving Jettie's pickup appeared to disturb him.
He stood outside his machine shop, filling the GMC with gasoline out of a red barrel that lay on its side on top of a tall girded tower. When I stepped out of the truck, Jezebel came from under the GMC and barked at me, but on Jeremiah's command she hushed and went back to her shady post. After he hung the pump nozzle on a wire hook on the tower, he spun the gas cap back on the GMC and gave me the smile I had been waiting for.
“You sure know how to scare the hell out of a man,” he said.
“Didn't mean to.”
“I thought I was either seeing a ghost or that my whisky hangovers are getting way out of hand.”
I chuckled and we shook hands, then I looked back at Jettie's old pickup. “I thought I'd take her for a spin.”
“That was Jettie's pride and joy.”
“Yeah, and I'm yet to figure out why.”
“So, are you here for the weekend?”
“No, for the summer.”
He pushed his cowboy hat back and squinted at the light that now covered his face. “No shit? What about your job?”
“There are other jobs.”
The expression on his face seemed more relaxed and, in a squinting fashion, his eyes let me know that he was happy with my decision. “Well, you're just in time. I was about to go check for newborns.”
“Newborn what?”
“Calves.”
He opened the door to the GMC while simultaneously retrieving a cigarette and placing it between his lips. Jezebel darted swiftly from under the truck and leaped almost acrobatically onto the bed, then rested in what seemed to be a favorite spot next to the hay bale. I got in on the passenger side and we drove to one of the far pastures that waved with tall amber grass and where several head of cattle grazed. They were of an assortment of colors—black, red, white, gray, some with white faces, and several with large humps on the backs of their necks and long floppy ears. Many of them had small calves near their sides, which either sucked on their udders or frolicked in the grass.
Jeremiah pointed to a silvery gray cow with a neck hump and floppy ears. “She's about to pop one out,” he said.
The black circles around the cow's large glassy eyes gave her a natural and almost profound beauty. Like her eyes, her square black nose offered an attractive contrast to the silvery-white hide that formed over her skull. And her body, though slender and lean in many places, swelled in the center as though she'd swallowed one of Jeremiah's gasoline barrels.
“Interesting looking cow,” I said.
“She's a Brahma. I've raised some prize bulls out of that old girl.”
As we drew closer the cow turned swiftly; a long string of white snot flew from her nose into the grass and hung there. Then I noticed a thin bloody mass hanging from her backside.
“What's wrong with her?” I asked.
“Her water broke.”
“You mean she's about to give birth to a baby cow?”
I wasn't sure why, but Jeremiah chuckled a bit. “Yeah, that's right.”
The old cow bawled and strutted away from us, then stopped again and fell slowly to her side. A shiny, wet, bluish, membrane looking lump appeared on her backside. And in a matter of seconds, the wet lump plopped into the grass, unfolded and sprawled its limbs. The old cow went fast back to her feet and turned and licked the newborn.
“Atta girl,” Jeremiah said.
“That's one of the coolest things I've ever seen,” I said.
“Stick around and you'll see a lot more. About twenty more to go.”
“What will you do with all of them?”
“Different things. Some will be used for calf roping, steer wrestling, and when they grow up some will eventually join the cow or bull herd.”
“Where will this one end up?”
“When it gets on its feet I'll tell ya.”
The mother cow licked the little newborn until thick strands of almost white hair became more visible and it started to look more like a calf than a wet, bloody mass. Eventually it tried to stand, and amazingly, with very few attempts it wobbled to its feet and instinctively to its mother's udder.
“Ah,” Jeremiah said. “That could very well be the next Bodacious.”
“Say what?”
“Bodacious—the most famous bull that ever bucked inside an arena.”
“So that's a bull calf?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What's so good about Bodacious?”
“He was a champion, and one of the fiercest bulls in the business. Only seven cowboys ever rode him a full eight seconds. Some wouldn't even ride him.”
“That sounds almost counterproductive. What good is he if cowboys won't ride him?”
“To the cowboy, rodeo is a sport and to a few it's a way to make a living. To the rodeo promoters, it's a business. Fans would pile into the arena to see Bodacious. Bottom line, he sold tickets.”
“I see. So if you can raise another Bodacious, you can make a lot of money?”
“Well, sorta. I really don't give a damn about the money, I just enjoy the hell out of competing against other stock contractors.”
“Sounds like you've almost got your own little side competition going.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
We both watched the newborn suck aggressively; milk frothed around his miniature black mouth. The mother watched attentively as other calves came to inspect their new pasture mate, extending their noses and sniffing at him.
“This is better than the Discovery Channel,” I said. “Minus the stalking hyenas, that is.”
“No, they're out there.”
I gazed to the far reaches of the pasture. “Hyenas?”
“Coyotes.”
“Where?”
“Where we can't see them.”
“Do they bother the calves?”
“Oh yes.”
“That's not good. Is there anything you can do?”
“We do what we can. Me and Jettie and a few of the neighbors used to organize a hunt every so often. We'd kill quite a few but I think they produce ten to every one we kill.”
“So I guess ranching has its antagonists?”
“Yes, it does.”
“What happened in the accident?” I asked.
Jeremiah looked at me, as if frightened by my question. But he took a deep drag off his cigarette then smashed it into the ashtray.
“Jettie got on a bull named Cyclone. It was a young bull and no cowboy had ever succeeded in riding him.”
“Was Cyclone like Bodacious? Was he dangerous?”
“No, nothing like Bodacious. No different than any other bull, really.”
“So then it was just a freak accident?”
Jeremiah looked at me again, took a deep breath then reached for another cigarette. “There's something you need to know, Trevor. Jettie wasn't killed in an organized event. He was with me on a contracting job down in Fort Worth. He got drunk and accepted some stupid dare.”
“He rode a bull drunk?”
“And then some. It was two in the morning. He and a bunch of his old buddies and a few young cowboys got into an argument at a local pub. His old buddies tried to cool him down, but one of the young bucks had him hot and riled. So they all followed him back to the arena and they worked Cyclone into the chute.”
“At night?”
“Well, they turned a few of the arena lights on, but it didn't matter. Jettie was drunk, out of focus, and too damned old and out of shape to be riding a bull. That young bull spun so fast out of the chute that Jettie was airborne before the gate had completely opened.”
“Did the bull trample him?”
“No, his head hit the gate. From what I understand, it killed him instantly.”
“Damn.”
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