by Paty Jager
“Don’t tell her you’re a Higheagle,” Velma advised.
Shandra rolled her eyes. Great. She had to figure out how to bring this woman into a conversation about thirty years ago and not tell her who she was and why she wanted to know. Glancing around the room, she spotted a poster for the Omak Stampede. It was worth a try.
She slung her bag over her shoulder and sat down on the bar stool next to Jessie. The woman looked her up and down, staring a long time at Shandra’s four-hundred-dollar boots.
“Nice boots,” Jessie said.
“Thanks. It took a while to save the money to get them.” Shandra glanced at Jessie’s feet. She wore cowboy boots too. Not as expensive but a good brand. So she liked boots. “Yours are nice. But you look like a real cowgirl. Your boots have been worn for more than walking around.”
Jessie smiled at her. Her teeth didn’t shine in the bar lights. They were brown squares that looked stained from tobacco smoke. “I was a rodeo queen years ago, tried the barrel circuit, then just stuck to training horses.”
“Really? You train barrel horses? I’ve always wondered what it took to train a horse to go fast around the barrels.” Shandra felt someone take the seat next to her. She glanced sideways. It was Coop. He ordered a beer. She glanced around the room and found Velma at the table closest to them with her chair turned to keep an ear on the conversation.
Jessie took a long draw on her beer and turned her attention to Shandra. “Why do you want to know about barrel racing?”
“Curiosity I guess.”
The older woman took another draw on the beer and fingered an unlit cigarette laying on the counter. She wanted to smoke. “You really interested in barrel racing?” Jessie asked.
Shandra nodded.
“You want the horse to learn to bend their ribcage, making their body in the shape of a ‘C’ this….”
Shandra stared at the woman talking, but her mind mixed and re-mixed what she knew about this woman and how to get her to talk about Charlie Frank.
“And that’s how you train a horse to run the barrels,” Jessie said.
“That’s fascinating. I’ve heard of another person who lives on the reservation who trains horses.” Shandra tapped her chin as if thinking. “I think it’s race horses.”
“There’s Randy Holmes. Wolf Red Cloud.”
“No, that doesn’t sound right. He’s been around a while. Charlie. Charlie something.”
Jessie coughed, fiddled with the cigarette, rolling it back and forth on the bar, and said, “Charlie Frank.”
“That’s it. He had two first names.” Shandra smiled at Jessie.
She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you want to know about that deadbeat?”
“His name came up in a conversation I had with Phil Seeton. I think they used to rodeo together or something.” If she couldn’t use her father, she’d use Phil. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind. “He told me about Charlie having a ranch and training horses.”
“Where did you run into Phil Seeton? He was nothing but a drunk. He couldn’t sit a horse to save his soul.” Jessie lifted her glass for a refill.
When the bartender put it down, Shandra pulled out her wallet. “I’ll get this, and I’ll have whatever you have on tap.”
“We don’t have tap. It comes out of a bottle,” the bartender said.
“I’ll have something out of a bottle then. But poured in a glass.” Shandra didn’t know the names of beer. She was a wine drinker, but had a feeling ordering wine in here would get her thrown out.
The bartender slid a glass of beer her way.
“Thanks. What’s your name?” Jessie tipped her glass to Shandra in a salute and took a long drink.
“Ann.” It was her middle name. She never used it, but this seemed like as good a time as any. Shandra was uncommon.
“Ann, did Phil tell you he made a better announcer once he sobered up than he did a rider?” Jessie let loose a crackly, smoker’s cackle at her own humor.
“No. He told me how he sobered up and how he wasn’t as prejudice against Indian rodeo contestants as some of the others back then.” She sipped her beer. “Is that true? Was he kind to the Native American riders? Were they hassled a lot?”
Jessie picked up the unlit cigarette as if to puff on it, then set it back on the bar and turned to her. “Why are you asking all these questions that sound like you’re a do-gooder?”
“I’m writing a paper on the inequalities of rodeo to the ethnic groups. I’m starting in the past and working my way forward.” Shandra wasn’t sure if she liked that she could think so fast or that she was becoming too good of a liar.
“You’re doing a paper on the inequalities of ethnic groups in rodeo? What about women? We took a backseat to the guys for years. Still do in some ways.” She gulped the last half of her beer and smacked the bottle on the bar.
Shandra motioned for the bartender to give Jessie another one.
“That was what I wanted to do my paper on and my professor was against it.” That was one of the more truthful things she’d said about this make-believe story. Her professor when she was in college would have had nothing to do with a thesis that would have extolled how women were poorly treated in a profession. He was the most chauvinistic, possessive man she’d ever had the poor judgement to get tangled with.
Jessie nodded. “Bet he’s a man.”
Shandra smiled at the fact Jessie was getting a bit loose and could hopefully give her an earful. “Yes, he is a man.”
“You want to know how the Indian boys were treated by the rodeo association?” Jessie asked, taking a couple more swallows of her beer.
“Yes, I would.” Shandra watched the woman closely.
“Where’s your notepad and pen?” Jessie asked, narrowing her eyes.
Shandra pulled her phone out of her purse. “I tape everything. Is that okay with you?”
Jessie eyed the phone suspiciously. “That got one of them recorder apps on it?”
“Yes.” Shandra put her finger on the side as if she were pressing a button. “Please state your name and that you don’t mind answering my questions.”
The bartender leaned on the bar. “What’s going on here?”
Shandra looked the man square in the eyes and lied. “I’m doing a thesis on the inequalities the Native American cowboy suffered from the rodeo association.”
The man stared at her a minute more, then rubbed a towel on the counter. “Jessie should know, she’s slept with all of them.”
“That’s not true,” she slurred.
“That’s right. Edward was the only one who wouldn’t slip into the gutter with you.” The bartender moved off before Jessie could retort.
Shandra’s interest went on high alert at the mention of Edward. She didn’t think there were many Native American Edwards from this area who rodeoed.
“Damn him. He always stuck his nose in the air at me, then rooted around with that snooty White princess and ended up catching her by getting her pregnant.” Jessie guzzled the rest of her drink. “Gotta pee.” She picked up her cigarette and slid off the bar stool, weaving her way to the ladies room.
Shandra slipped off the stool and walked over to Velma. “Will she be back?”
“I don’t think she leaves here until she’s thrown out or Raymond comes and gets her,” Velma said. “That’s what I’ve heard.”
Coop grabbed Shandra’s arm. “She’s coming back.”
Shandra slid back on her bar stool and sipped her drink. A jazz tune jingled from her phone. She glanced at the name and hit ignore. Then quickly typed. Call you back soon.
“What are you doin’?” Jessie asked, kind of oozing back onto the bar stool. She picked up her empty glass and stared at Shandra.
Getting someone drunk to get information and then sending them out to possibly drive a vehicle wasn’t something Shandra felt she could deal with. Coop bumped her arm. She glanced at him and he raised his beer.
“I was texting my friend. Letting
him know I’d call him later.” Shandra waved her hand to the bartender. He grinned. She’d bet it wasn’t often he got money from an off reservation patron.
“What’s his name?” Jessie asked.
“Who?” Shandra asked to stall.
“Your boyfriend.” Jessie picked up the bottle the bartender brought over and took two big swallows.
For a small woman she could sure down a lot of beer.
“Ryan.”
“He a cowboy?” Jessie asked, her dull grey eyes glinting with interest.
“Not for a living.” She had to change the subject soon or she’d ask his occupation. “You were going to tell me about Charlie, Phil, and someone named Edward?” Shandra took a chance that would get the woman chatty again.
“I don’t want to talk about Edward!” she shouted and shoved the bottle of beer across the bar and onto the floor behind the bar.
Chapter Eleven
The bartender hurried over, glaring at Shandra. “What are you doing upsetting my customers?”
“I didn’t mean to. I just asked her a question about the men she knew from here that rodeoed.”
A couple of the men who were playing pool walked up to the bar, their pool cues in their hands. “Someone bothering you, Jessie?” the oldest one asked.
“I’m not bothering her… I...”
Coop grabbed her arm. “We were leaving.”
“Ain’t you Martin Elwood’s oldest?” the younger man asked.
“Elwood?” Jessie came off the stool with her claws out.
Shandra shoved Coop behind her. The drunk woman came at her, but slammed against the bar when Velma shoved her from the side.
“We don’t want no trouble with you, Roger.” Velma shooed Coop and Shandra toward the door.
The older man was helping Jessie off the floor when Shandra turned her back on the bar and shoved out into the brisk night air.
“I learned nothing!” Shandra said in frustration.
Velma climbed into the passenger seat and Coop the back seat of the Jeep.
Shandra started the engine and backed out. She hadn’t found out a thing other than she could lie when the instance called for it.
Velma patted her arm. “Jo would be proud of the way you protected her boy.”
“I didn’t need protecting,” Coop said dejectedly from the back seat.
“I’m pretty sure Jessie won’t talk to me again any time soon. I never learned anything about Charlie.” Shandra made up her mind to look for answers in the rodeo association and the people who were at the rodeo the day her father died. She could get a list of the contestants and start interviewing them. Someone had to have seen something.
She pulled into Velma’s driveway. Lights blazed out of every window and music played loudly.
Velma had her door open and her foot out on the ground before Shandra put on the brake.
“Go on home. I’ll handle this.” Velma charged up to her door.
“Lawrence is going to be in trouble,” Coop said, sliding into the seat his aunt vacated.
“Who’s Lawrence?” Shandra asked backing out the drive. Young men and women started flowing out of Velma’s house.
“Velma’s youngest. He holds a party every time his mom is out for the evening.” Coop laughed. “He gets yelled at and Velma threatens to throw him out of the house and he’s there the next day.”
“Poor Velma.” Shandra knew she should call Ryan but didn’t want to with Coop listening in. Once they arrived at the ranch, she motioned to Coop. “Go on in. I’ll be there in a minute. I need to call Ryan.”
Coop slid out the door and walked into the house.
Shandra kept the Jeep running to stay warm and dialed Ryan.
“What took you so long to call back?” Ryan asked.
“Hello to you,” Shandra said. She’d known he’d be worried, but she hadn’t expected him to voice his concern so quickly.
“Sorry. I couldn’t figure out why you’d text me and not pick up the call.”
The contriteness in his voice soften her attitude. “I was in a bar and later in an almost bar fight.”
“See, I did have reason to be worried. Who did you almost get in a fight with?” His joking tone made her smile.
“A drunk woman who tried to sleep with my father.”
“What?”
Shandra laughed. “Yeah, it seems every White woman on the rodeo circuit thirty years ago wanted to sleep with my father. I’m not sure if I should be proud or disgusted.”
Ryan laughed. “You still coming tomorrow?”
“Yes. Trying to get information around here is like getting swallowed up in a tornado. Only little bits and pieces get spit out and I can’t make any sense of them.”
“I made sure no one calls me in to work tomorrow. Maybe we can piece some of the bits together.”
Shandra smiled. “I’d like that.
“See you about ten?” Ryan asked.
“Yes. Good-night.”
“Night.”
Shandra hung up, turned the Jeep off, and headed into the house.
“And then Jessie came at me like a wild cat, claws bared and screeching—”
Shandra cut Coop off. “And I shoved him behind me and Velma pushed Jessie into the bar.”
Jo and Andy’s wide eyes said they hadn’t come up against Jessie when she was drunk. Martin shook his head.
“You just ruined my story,” Coop moaned.
Everyone laughed at his dejected stance and expression.
“Did you learn anything?” Jo asked.
“Not really. I’ll go home and see if I can dig up some information from other people who were at the rodeo the day father died.” Shandra continued through the kitchen. “I’m turning in.”
“Good night,” chorused the family in the kitchen.
“Good night.” Shandra climbed the stairs, got ready for bed, and climbed in. Her mind raced with the events at the bar. Eventually, she slipped off to sleep.
Ella stood by Shandra’s bed, moving her hands in a way that swirled the air. Heads popped out of a small tornado. Charlie Frank. Jessie Lawyer. Father. Mother. Adam. And a man she didn’t know. The air moved faster and faster. The heads popped in and out mixing faces, changing expressions.
“Stop. Stop,” mumbled Shandra.
The faces blurred, the air swirled, and turned into the horses, standing in a circle, looking down at Father.
“No!” Shandra shouted and sat upright in bed.
Footsteps pounded down the hall and her door swung open. Coop stood in the door with a bat in his hand. Andy peered around him.
“You okay, Shandra?” Coop asked.
“Yes. Sorry. It was a nightmare. Go back to bed.” She shoved her fingers through her hair, shoving it off her face. It had tangled around her head like a web.
“You sure?” Coop set the bat on his shoulder.
“Yeah. Go back to bed.” She waited until the two closed the door and she heard their footsteps retreating, before she turned on the light. Picking up her tablet, she started the hunt for the people at the rodeo the day of her father’s death. She wanted to know who the man was in her dream.
***
Ryan paced from his living room into the kitchen. Shandra had called this morning saying she’d slept in and wouldn’t get there until noon. She wouldn’t say why she’d slept in, but he had a hunch she’d had a dream that included her grandmother. If the other police in the department knew he believed in her dreams they’d release him on grounds of insanity. However, his childhood had been full of tales of wee people and the like from his Irish mother. She’d told enough stories that he didn’t doubt Shandra’s grandmother came to her in dreams. What he didn’t like was not knowing if a dream would put Shandra in danger.
The sound of a car pulling up to his house, catapulted him to the front door. Shandra climbed out of her Jeep, hugging her coat tighter to her.
“Come in and get warmed up before I take you to lunch.” Ryan held out a hand
.
She wrapped her fingers around his in a tight grip.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, leading her through the door and hugging her to him.
“There was a nasty wreck about twenty minutes out of Warner.” She wrapped her arms around him. “If I hadn’t slept in, I could have been caught in it.”
Ryan hugged her close and kissed the top of her head. He’d missed her and worried about her, but his thoughts hadn’t gone to the possibility she was in danger from the snowfall they’d had the night before.
“We can sit and talk before going to lunch.” Ryan released her, slipping her coat from her shoulders.
“I’d like that. And maybe a cup of something hot, not coffee.” Her gaze fell on his velvet painting of dogs playing cards. “I can’t believe you still have that hanging there.”
“I haven’t found anything to replace it and it’s better than a large blank wall.” He tossed her coat over the back of his recliner and headed to the kitchen. “I have the tea you like.”
He heard her boot heels clicking behind him.
“How do you know what tea I like?” She stopped at the kitchen table and took a seat.
“I’ve spent enough time at your house to use my skills as a detective to discover your favorite things.” Ryan had the kettle already heated. He poured water into a cup with a green and white tea mix in a tea thing. There was a name for the little ball with millions of holes, but all he had to do was walk into the store ask for the section that had tea items and pick it up.
He carried the cup still steeping over to Shandra along with a small plate, spoon, and jar of honey.
“You do seem to know me,” Shandra said, sniffing the steam and tapping the honey with her finger.
Ryan poured a cup of coffee and took the seat across the table from Shandra. “Tell me about your trip.”
As Shandra told him about all the missed opportunities to gather information, he felt her frustration. “You don’t know how this Charlie came to afford a ranch after your father’s death. And you find this woman, Jessie’s, comment about your father and mother upsetting.”