Any Man of Mine (13 page)

I climbed up a few dusty steps and dropped onto a rough wooden board that served as a seat.

Below me, the boys had set up a temporary round pen, and James was inside. His brown shirt had dust streaks on it from, I presumed, getting bucked off. His blue jeans were the same. He was throwing a rope at a horse, making him go round and round the metal pen. I knew roughly what he was doing. My
brothers had tried their hand at “horse whispering” from time to time, but mostly they ended up “horse yelling.”

Patience was not in their makeup.

But it seemed it was in James's. As I watched he kept the horse going, then, when the gelding was licking his lips, signaling his intention to “talk,” James let him stop. He moved slowly toward the young horse, ran his gloved hands over his withers and down to his feet.

The horse shied away, and Chip and Neil groaned. But James only smiled and with a snap of his rope got him going in circles again.

Then James turned, looked up and saw me. He threw the rope at Chip. “Just get him doing what you want,” he said. “Make it easy for him to do what you want, hard for him to do what he wants.”

James vaulted over the boards and at my side, his cowboy hat still planted firmly on his head. “Sherry okay?” He pulled his gloves off and slipped them in the back pocket of his blue jeans. Dust streaked his face and he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

“She wouldn't quiet down, so I put her in the car and took her for a drive. Jace is with her now.”

“I should go then.” He was about to turn away, when I caught his arm and stopped him.

“No. She's fine for now. She'll settle once I get her back home.” I let go of him, suddenly self-conscious and not particularly caring for the feeling. “Jace told me what you were doing and I, uh, wanted to see you work.”

His smile was white against his dusty skin. “That's neat.”

“Well, it's interesting. You do this often?” I glanced past him at Chip, who was trying, without much success, to emulate the smooth throws that James had been doing.

“Sometimes. Didn't always have time on the rigs. When my dad was still alive, he taught me what he knew.” James rocked back on his heels, his hands in his back pockets, his eyes on me.

“So the whole bucking bronc thing…”

“Part of the training sometimes. But, I have to confess, I like to pit my skills against a bronc. From time to time. Very guy of me, I know.”

I gave him a smile, pleased to see him still looking at me. “Well, you can't work against your nature, can you?”

“No. But like any good horse, a man can be trained. The trick is to make it hard to do the thing he wants to do and easy to do the thing he doesn't.”

“Are you giving me an inside edge into the convoluted workings of a guy's mind?” I asked him with a laugh.

“Convoluted would be describing a woman's mind.” This was said with another grin and a faint wink. Now normally winks don't do anything for me except set my teeth on edge, but somehow, from James, it seemed kind of cute. “Guys are straightforward. Eat. Work. Television. Sleep. Get up and do it again.”

“Thanks for the invaluable lesson,” I said. “I better get back to Sherry.”

James glanced over his shoulder and pushed his cowboy hat back on his head and sighed. “Actually, I better take over. I shouldn't have asked you to do that for me. She's my responsibility.” He looked back at me, his hazel eyes serious now. “Sorry about that. Chip said you really wanted to do that. I should have known better.”

“Hey, don't blame yourself. Chip can be persuasive in his own way. And I didn't mind.”

“You shouldn't lie.” James angled me a knowing look. “You're not that good at it.”

“Should I feel insulted?”

James laughed. “I think it was supposed to be a convoluted compliment. Sometimes guys can be complex.” He pulled his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. Still shaggy. Still in need of a cut. Still looking good. He dropped his hat back on his head and blew his breath out through pursed lips. “Thanks for doing this, but I'll take her home.”

“She's sleeping now. All I have to do is put her in bed.”

“Then I'll follow you.” He called out to my brothers, telling them that he was leaving with me. Chip nodded, then, when he thought I wasn't looking, high-fived his brother.

The drive home was quiet. Sherry still slept. The lights of James's truck hung behind me in my rearview mirror, high up. Though I like to think of
myself as an independent woman—hear me roar when I find laundry on the floor—I found it comforting to know that this big truck with this big man was behind me. Keeping an eye on me.

 

“So, you're heading to the good life.” Casey posed in the doorway of my office, holding a file folder in one hand, a briefcase in the other. He was wearing his navy suit today and navy tie. The poster boy for government worker on his way to an important budget meeting. “I got a call from someone named Dan Crittenden asking for a reference.” He nodded, his “knowing” look planted firmly on his face. “Nice fancy job for a nice fancy company. Guess you won't be getting your hands dirty working in the trenches.”

I ignored the latter comment and pounced on the word “reference.” “What did he want to know?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral and non-threatening. Casey had an interior geiger counter that could pick up eagerness vibes faster than you could say “balanced budget.” Casey knew I wanted to leave, but if he knew how badly I wanted this job, I was sure he would find a way to mess it up. Casey was a happiness vacuum.

“I believe that would be classified information,” he said with a curt nod of his head as he walked into my office.

I let him have his little secret.

“However, you are still an employee of the government and until you no longer are, I expect that the
taxpayers shall continue to get full value for their dollar.” His beady eyes bounced over my desk with its horizontal filing system. “And where shall I put this so you don't lose it?” He held out the file folder he had been carrying.

“What is it?” I cleared a space and took the file from him, refusing to apologize for the mess. My little rebellion.

“A new case for you. Henry had it but he has been less than diligent. I thought you could take care of it.”

Usually I counted to twelve. Ten never gave me enough time to calm down, but I was latching on to the idea that I would be leaving so this time I only gave Casey seven. “I don't know if I want to be cleaning up after Henry. Why don't you give it to Oden?”

“Oden has a full case load.”

And I didn't? I sighed, then flipped the file open and skimmed the particulars as best as I could.

A family of four. Absent mother. Father with alcohol problems. His name was Stan Bowick. Needed in-home support that Henry was supposed to arrange and hadn't. Sticky notes and papers that looked like they had been ripped out of old scribblers filled the file. “This is a boar's nest, Casey,” I said, glancing up at him. “How am I supposed to make heads or tails of this?”

“You'll have to figure that out.” He gave me what he thought of as a reassuring smile, then flicked the
cuff of his white shirt and pointedly glanced at his watch. “Talk to Henry if you have any concerns.” And off he pranced like he was the only busy person in this office and the rest of us peons spent most of our time sending jokes by e-mail.

I rubbed my forehead with my knuckles, grimacing at the ever-increasing workload. Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill had it easy compared to me. There was no way I was going to get all my paperwork done today. Or even tomorrow. I could sense panic creeping around the edges of the day, but I didn't dare indulge. I would get this done. It was just a matter of focusing. Staying on track.
Help me get this done, Lord,
I prayed.
These people are depending on me.

I buzzed Bobby and told her to hold all my calls unless it was an emergency. I let her decide what constituted an emergency.

Ten minutes later, Bobby buzzed me back. “Sorry to bother you, but it's Laurel. She claims it's very serious.”

As I picked up the phone, I sent up a prayer for patience.

“Hubie feels hot.” Laurel was crying. “I don't know what to do.”

No time. No time. The words resonated through my head as I cast a now panicked look over the files on my desk. “Did you take his temperature?”

“No.” She sniffed. “His face is all red. I saw a program on TV? About kids that couldn't learn so good? This kid had the same thing?”

Deliver me from television diagnoses. “Laurel, take his temperature and if it's higher than normal, give him some Children's Tylenol. If that doesn't help bring it down, then take him to the hospital.”

“But how do I know what normal is? I'm not a nurse.”

I explained how to read a thermometer, trying to keep my own terror in check at my increasing workload. Then I hung up and promptly picked up the phone again to arrange some kind of help for the man with four kids. As I talked, I typed up a report for a court appearance I had to do next week.

An hour later Bobby put through an urgent call from a lawyer representing the drunk mother of the two children I had apprehended last week. I disliked him from “hello” and liked him even less by “goodbye.” Where was that good feeling I had about my work when I was sitting in church on Sunday? That whole idea of justice and mercy.

My tired mind stopped there a moment, remembering the sermon and how serious James looked when the minister was preaching. The sound of James's voice. How he looked at me and his nice smile. And his nice hair.

The shrill ring of the phone split through the moment. I pulled myself back to the present and the job that I was going to be leaving. Soon. Soon. The words were a soothing comfort.

It was seven o'clock before I finally dragged myself out of the office, angry with Casey, Henry, the
pompous lawyer and Jace, who had called me to tell me that he and Dad were going to be late for supper, could I keep it warm for them?

Why did my brothers seem to think that my work was easier and less busy than theirs?

Maybe it's because they don't know?

The thought slid in behind my anger as I walked across the still hot asphalt of the parking lot. I remembered James's words of a few days ago. Was he right? Did I simply let things happen and then react?

My car was still an oven by the time I got in, the heat of the day nicely trapped inside. I worked up a sweat starting it up. Of course the air conditioning wasn't working.

So down went the only window that worked, the passenger one, and of course the grader had been down our gravel road. Dust roiled up behind my car, into my car, into my mouth and hair.

On a scale of world suffering I knew my current irritations were minimal. I knew I had clients who were worse off than me. However I still felt cranky, out of sorts and sorry for myself by the time I pulled into our driveway. I needed to vent. Jace and Dad were going to be late and it looked like Neil and Chip weren't home yet.

Ten minutes later after changing into blue jeans and a shirt I was slipping a bridle over Spook's head and mounting up. It had been too long since I'd been on his back and I needed to get out, be on my own. Away from demands and people and expectations.

Spook danced around as I gathered up the reins. He didn't need much urging and soon he was trotting down a well worn path toward the open fields, the warm wind blowing all the cobwebs and dust out of my brain. Spook shook his head, impatient with this slow trot, but I held him in. I liked to keep things tame.

I got Spook down to a walk, but I could tell by the way he tossed his head and kept pulling on the reins he wasn't happy. I didn't care. For now I was content to follow the trail through the trees and simply enjoy the muffled sound of Spook's hooves on the ground, the mocking squawk of the magpies in the trees above. Half an hour later, duty tugged with relentless fingers, so I reluctantly turned Spook around to head back home. He shook his head and tried to go back the other way, but I was firm with him and he obeyed. We broke out into the open field and he started acting up again. After spending too much time cooped up in the smaller pasture he wanted to run.

Now I wasn't a galloper. I wasn't the kind of girl who imagined herself flying across field and dale, her hair streaming out behind her. One fact being that no matter how I shampooed, conditioned and treated, my hair would just flop. The other was that I was always a bit afraid when I galloped. When I was out with the boys, I let my horse run simply because if I didn't, I would be fighting my horse all the way home.

But after half an hour of holding Spook back, I
was tired. Jace hadn't worked the fields yet, so I turned Spook around, clucked lightly and gave him his head. Spook bunched up his muscles, gave a couple of small hops and took off. I leaned forward, excitement threaded with fear, pounding through me. My hat blew off and my hair flapped behind me. Just like I figured it would.

But I wasn't going to get judged on artistic impression. And to my own surprise, in spite of my fear I was having fun. My fear melted away as exhilaration took over. Spook wouldn't let me fall, wouldn't go out of control. He wanted to run and I wanted to let him.

Spook's muscles were rippling under me, his head stretched out and I was completely focused on keeping my balance and not letting my feet slip out of the stirrups. On and on we ran, dirt flying up in great clods behind us.

Then we were bearing down on the barnyard. I gently pulled him up. He shook his head, but obeyed and by the time we got close to James's house, which was beside the corral, I had Spook down to a quick trot. His best gait. I sucked in a deep breath, my face flushed and feeling as if I had adequately blown all the worries out of my brain.