Buffalo Summer

by Nadia Nichols

  “Time!” the loudspeaker blared. “Sixty-two seconds! Not a bad ride!” The crowd burst into enthusiastic applause as the dust settled.

  “They have to get all three cattle in the pen in under ninety seconds,” Pony explained when the noise had abated. The boys were still staring.

  “Wow,” Jimmy breathed. “You think we’ll ever be able to ride like that?”

  The cattle were being herded out of the arena and the temporary corral was being taken down in preparation for the next event. “Sure,” Caleb said. “Maybe next season you can even compete in team penning.”

  “Next season?” Martin said. All the boys studied Caleb intently while Pony pretended to read the rodeo pamphlet.

  “Well, I’d say this season would be a little too soon. That sort of riding and teamwork requires a lot of practice.”

  “Bareback bronc riding is next,” Pony said, changing the subject.

  “Does Pete ride in that?” Martin said.

  “Yeah, stupid,” Jimmy said. “That’s how he broke his leg that time at Crow Fair, the same year the other guy got his head kicked in.”

  The loudspeaker blared again, giving the lineup of riders and horses. Pete was riding fifth on Twister. Pony clutched the pamphlet in her hands. Twister. The name was ominous, but bucking horses often had bad-sounding names. It was part of their image.

  From where Pony and the group sat, they could see the first rider perched on the edge of the chute while the crew struggled with the horse, tightening the leather strap behind its withers. The cowboy snugged down his hat, pulled his gloves tight and then dropped onto the horse’s back and curled his gloved fingers beneath the leather strap. There was a lot of fussing and fidgeting before the rider gave a nod and the gate burst open. He only stayed aboard five seconds before being tossed into the dirt of the arena. He jumped up, grabbed his hat, dusted off his britches and trotted over to the fence. That was the end for rider number one. Number two fared worse. Number three rode it out to the buzzer, but his horse was predictable. “They call that kind of horse a dead-easy ride,” Pony said, quoting something she’d heard Pete say long ago.

  “What about Pete’s horse, Twister?” Jimmy asked.

  “That kind of horse is like a bolt of lightning wrapped in barbed wire and blown up with dynamite,” she said, watching as number four came out of the chute on a horse called Gunshot. It was a good ride on a good horse and it put the rider in the lead.

  “Pete’s next,” Martin said, leaning forward and pushing his glasses back up his nose and craning to see. “What’s he doing? How does he look?”

  “He looks like all the others except he’s an Indian,” Jimmy said.

  “I’d say that makes him look a whole lot better than all the others,” Roon said. “Pete’s the best horseman here,” he said. “He’s going to ride that mustang. You wait and see.”

  Pony was unaware that she had crumpled her rodeo program until Caleb reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “He’ll be all right,” he said.

  She could see Pete perched on the edge of the chute, black hat pulled down, studying the bay mustang he was about to ride. He glanced up as if he felt her looking at him, and for a moment their eyes locked. She stood as he lowered himself astride Twister.

  Caleb rose to his feet to stand beside her. Pete gave the nod, the chute opened and suddenly the whole crowd stood, too, because they knew the reputation of this wild and dangerous mustang who had never been ridden to the bell. People shouted and screamed and much as Pony didn’t want to watch, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Four seconds, five…

  It was impossible that Pete could still be aboard. Six seconds. Seven… The mustang gave no pattern to his desperate attempts to dislodge the man from his back.

  No man could possibly ride that horse, yet one man was. The screams of the crowd and the deafening blare of the announcer dulled Pony’s senses. She felt light-headed. “Nine! Ten!” The crowd went insane. Then, as if the little mustang had begun to realize that he couldn’t rid himself of the man on his back, he flung himself at the fence.

  Twister climbed halfway up the fence and fell backward in a writhing tangle of panic and fear with Pete trying to fling himself clear. They went down together in a crashing heap. The mustang scrambled up with a desperate lunge, spinning on his hind legs and parrying at the chase ponies who tried to drive him off. He flung himself at the fence again, trying to scale it, and caught one foreleg between the stout boards. For a moment it seemed as if he was hopelessly entangled, but then he wrenched free and fell backward once again. Pete had gained his feet and made it to the fence. He began to pull himself up, climbing painfully, and was helped by reaching hands from above who seized onto him and lifted him over the fence to safety. The cheers and applause of the crowd drowned out the loudspeaker proclaiming Pete the new leader of the bareback bronc riding.

  Pony sat down abruptly as her muscles turned to water. She listened to the screams and applause of the crowd and the enthusiastic blare of the announcer’s voice and felt suddenly very ill. She felt a hand on her arm, lifting her back to her feet. An arm around her shoulders, protectively supporting her. Caleb.

  She let herself be led from the stadium, relieved to get away from the noise and brutality of it all. She leaned against him, grateful for his calm strength as they moved from the arena. The boys were anxious to find Pete. “He got a perfect score!” she heard Jimmy saying. “Has anyone ever gotten a perfect score before?”

  “Has any Indian ever gotten a perfect score,” Martin corrected.

  “No, stupid,” Jimmy said. “I mean, this is really something. Pete got a perfect score. That makes him famous!”

  “Boys,” Pony said, stopping abruptly. “Pete is hurt, and that beautiful wild horse is hurt. What are you talking about?”

  “Money,” Roon said, his voice mirroring his scowl. “They’re talking about money.”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Mother Roon. Pete could make a lot of money from this,” Jimmy said defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Why don’t we go check on him and make sure he’s okay,” Caleb said, his low, firm voice ending the conversation. “Maybe we can give him a lift to the hospital. After what just happened, I’m sure he’ll need it.”

  Pony was surprised to find her brother Steven with Pete in the corrals. Pete’s shirt was off and the rodeo’s veterinarian was taping his ribs and grumbling about how damn foolish rodeo riders were. “If just half the world’s population had your mentality,” he muttered as he wrapped the wide adhesive tape around and around, “there’d be no world population at all.”

  “I could argue that point,” Pete said, lowering his arms when the procedure was finished and reaching for his shirt, “but I have a bull to ride.”

  “You have some busted ribs. Ride at your own risk.”

  “I always do, Doc. You know that.” He nodded at Pony. “Hello.”

  “You’re crazy,” she said.

  Pete grinned. “I know. Your brother just told me the same thing.”

  “How’s Twister?” McCutcheon asked the veterinarian.

  “I don’t think the leg is broken but he’s got bad tendon damage, that’s plain enough. He’s through with the rodeo and it’s just as well. The poor thing hated it, but he gave Pete, here, the ride of his life. He’ll never draw another horse like that.”

  Pete buttoned his shirt while the veterinarian packed up his gear and departed. Steven shook each of the boys’ hands in greeting and then shook McCutcheon’s as well. “Things going well at the ranch?” he asked, and Caleb nodded.

  “Couldn’t be better. Your sister’s great. She really knows the buffalo.”

  “She had a good teacher,” Pete said, tucking his shirttail into his jeans and giving her a faint grin.

  Pony felt her cheeks warm under her brother’s keen scrutiny, and in the awkward silence that followed, the boys stared at Pete as if he were a god.

  “You got a perfect score!” Jimmy su
ddenly burst out. “That makes you perfect.”

  Pete reached for his hat and pulled it over his long black hair. “No, Jimmy. I’m not perfect. Did you see the horse I rode?” Jimmy nodded. “Everything about that mustang was perfect, from the way he was built right down to his attitude. He didn’t want to be civilized. He didn’t want to be tamed. He didn’t want to be domesticated. He wanted to be free. That horse I rode was perfect, and by riding him tonight, I killed him. So how perfect does that make me?”

  Jimmy stared and then dropped his eyes.

  “He’s not dead,” Caleb said.

  Pete shrugged. “He will be. They’ll ship him out in the morning and process him into dog food cans.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “They hazed him into that chute over there, thinking the vet might be able to fix him up. But there’s the hell of it. He’s so wild he won’t let anyone touch him, especially his lower legs.”

  “Wild horses don’t like to have their legs touched,” Roon said. “Their legs are all they have to carry them away from danger.”

  Pete nodded. “True, Roon. So the way things stand, we can’t help him.”

  “Maybe all he needs is a good long rest,” Caleb said.

  “Maybe,” Pete said. “But there’s no guarantee he’ll ever be sound again. The rodeo boss already handed down the verdict and he’s a practical man.”

  “What’s the going price for eight hundred pounds of horse meat?” Caleb said.

  Pete looked at Caleb for a long appraising moment. “Not much,” he said.

  “Who do I talk to about buying him?”

  “The rodeo boss. He owns all these broncs. I’ll find him for you.” Pete shot Caleb a quizzical glance. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Caleb didn’t hesitate. “I think that horse deserves a chance.”

  “He’ll want more money from you than he will from me or the knacker.”

  Caleb withdrew a blank check from his wallet, signed it and handed the piece of paper to Pete, who took it with a nod. “All right. I’ll catch up with him tonight and strike the best bargain I can. I’ll trailer the colt over to your place in the morning.” He paused, hitched a painful breath and then looked at Roon. “My guess is you’ll be the one to get through to that mustang, if anyone can,” he said, and when Roon didn’t reply, he said, “You know the language and you have a way, but be careful around him. He has a lot of anger inside, and you’ll need a lot of patience.”

  He shook Caleb’s hand and slapped Steven’s shoulder. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have a bull to ride,” he said. He glanced at Pony, nodded to the boys and walked back toward the arena in a tucked-over limp.

  “Maybe we should go watch him,” Jimmy said after a long moment.

  But suddenly there was a deep bass thump and a bright spangle of light across the dark sky, and Martin said, “Fireworks! Down at the park!”

  “But what if he gets hurt again?” Jimmy said.

  “I’ll stick with him,” Steven said. “Don’t worry. He’ll be okay.”

  “I’m for the fireworks, boys,” Caleb said, and it seemed that the boys were of the same opinion, because as a group they immediately began walking toward the river. Pony hesitated. She looked over at the corral that held the injured mustang, then walked quietly there. In the darkness, lit by sporadic bursts of dazzling light, she gazed between the fence board at the trembling hide of the frightened colt. She felt Caleb’s presence beside her and wished she had the courage to reach out for his hand. Instead, she made a gentle, soothing noise and the colt’s head lifted and turned. She saw the dark shine of that wild eye as he sought her out. She spoke to the mustang in her native tongue and it was as if the animal understood she was a sympathetic spirit who wanted to help.

  Caleb reached for her hand and she was grateful for the strong warmth of his grasp. She whispered, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” to the injured horse and then allowed Caleb to lead her toward the river. After several minutes of silence, she said, “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For trying to save Twister.”

  “It’s not practical, but I guess I’m not a very practical man.”

  She smiled at him as the dark sky was illuminated in another burst of bright fireworks. “I think that you’re a wonderful man, Caleb McCutcheon,” she said. “Thank you for being so impractical. And thank you for being so kind to the boys. And thank you…” Her hand tightened on his as she struggled for the words to tell him how she felt. For a moment they regarded each other in the fading light. Suddenly he stepped closer and his other hand slipped to the curve of her waist as if it belonged there.

  “Pony,” he said, in a voice rough with emotion. She closed her eyes in anticipation of a kiss….

  “Hey! Hurry up!” Jimmy’s strident tone reached them from somewhere up ahead. “We’re going to miss the fireworks.”

  THE SMALL SOUND that woke him came from the floor; a soft scurrying that stopped when he opened his eyes and tried to focus. He was lying on his stomach, one arm dangling over the edge of the mattress and the bedsheet tangled around his hips. He blinked and saw a pair of bright eyes staring up at him. A mouse sat within an easy jump of his hand.

  Morning already. Late morning, he amended, noticing the patches of sunlight on the ground.

  “She told me she thought I was wonderful,” he mumbled to the mouse, “and she told Pete she thought he was crazy. I guess that puts me ahead a little, but I have a long way to go, because I’m pretty sure she’s still in love with Pete.” The mouse stared as if waiting for more. “You see, this is what I think,” Caleb continued. “I think they were in love once, but something bad happened between them and they broke up. They still care about each other, but for some reason they can’t get beyond that bad thing that happened.”

  The mouse’s whiskers twitched.

  “I know I’m being foolish to think she might fall in love with me even a little bit. I mean, we’ve only known each other a few weeks. But that doesn’t matter, does it? How long you know someone isn’t as important as how strongly you feel about them, right? And last night we both felt something strong.”

  The mouse dropped to all four feet and disappeared. Caleb rolled onto his back with a moan. He ached all over. Maybe that was because all night long in his troubled dreams he’d been beating up the drunk who’d insulted Pony. If Caleb felt this bad after beating up an imaginary foe, he could only imagine how Pete must be feeling this morning.

  He sat up with a surge of adrenaline. Pete was probably already on the road, hauling that wild mustang out to the ranch. And here he was, lying in bed like a lazy gentleman rancher, the one thing in the world he didn’t want to be perceived as by Pony. He climbed out of bed and was showered, dressed and pulling on his boots when he heard the thump of footsteps on the porch. He pushed open the screen door and saw Guthrie standing there holding a pot of coffee.

  “Ramalda sent me down to make sure you were alive,” he said, giving Caleb a brief up and down. “Those boys must’ve wrung you out.”

  Caleb carried two mugs onto the porch, and Guthrie filled them both. They sat side by side watching the creek run by and enjoying Ramalda’s hot strong brew. “We got home late,” Caleb said.

  “Yessir. The boys told me all about it. They told me about the mustang, too. I moved the horses around and freed up the small corral. We can hold him there until we figure out what our next move will be.”

  “I know that buying an injured wild horse isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” Caleb said. “But dammit, it just happened.”

  “I’ve heard of that mustang. He’s all the buzz in the bronc-riding world.”

  “Not anymore. Nor do I have the foggiest idea what a person does with a crippled horse that hates people.” Caleb drank some more of his coffee. “How’s Absa?”

  “She behaved pretty well yesterday. Blue helped me baby-sit. And I milked that damn cow. Twice. I don’t like milk cows. They kick.”

>   “She kicked you?”

  “Yessir. Twice.”

  “I’m pulling Pony off the fence detail. You, Badger and I can handle the boys. She’ll be more useful overseeing the construction of the holding corrals and entering data into the computer than cutting up her hands with that damn barbed wire. She’ll probably be better at milking the cow, too.”

  Guthrie gave him a hopeful look. “She agreed to that?”

  “Not really. She didn’t like the insinuation that I thought she was too delicate for fence work.”

  The younger man grinned. “Jessie would’ve called me a few choice names if I’d done the same. She might even have kicked me in the shin.” He paused and listened. “I hear somethin’ comin’.”

  Leaning over the porch rail, they caught a glimpse of Pete’s old truck hauling an equally decrepit trailer across the bridge toward the ranch house. Caleb finished his coffee and set the cup on the porch rail. “I wonder if maybe Pete would want to keep that horse,” he said hopefully.

  Guthrie was already starting down the steps and he looked back. “What for?”

  “If that hurt leg gets better, he could sell Twister back to the rodeo and make a killing.”

  Guthrie grinned. “Pete would’ve bought the horse himself if he thought it had a snowball’s chance in hell of recoverin’.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  PONY WAS IN THE BARN with Roon and Absa when Pete drove into the yard. It was just past 10:00 a.m. and Caleb had not come up to the house for breakfast. She wondered if she had said or done something the night before that might have made him want to keep to himself or if maybe he needed a break from her and the boys. She walked out of the barn and into the hot sunlight and stood beside the corral while Roon indicated where Pete needed to park the trailer. Pete waved, then backed the old trailer right up to the open gate of the small holding corral. He cut the engine, popped the rusted door open and sat there looking at her.