One Step Over the Border (34 page)

“I sure didn’t choose to be a cowboy to make a fortune either. I lost one friend to machine-gun fire in Afghanistan and another
to a car bomb in Baghdad. So, maybe I’m doing this for Lindale and Big T. We all give what we can, Major.”

Laramie held Luke and Tully behind the Humvee as the crowd filtered near the gravesite. He watched as the major spoke to the
gray-haired lady dressed in black, then hiked his way.

“Eh, Laramie, the widow asked about your cowboy hat. She assumed you would wear one.”

“I don’t wear a cowboy hat, except in the arena when I rope.”

“I’ll tell her you don’t have one.”

“Well, there’s one in the trailer, but I just don’t…” He glanced back across the cemetery. “Hold these lead ropes, I’ll go
get it.”

Mounted on Tully and clutching Luke’s lead rope, Laramie adjusted his hat. He couldn’t find a comfortable position, so he
jammed it on until it hit the top of his ears.

Rifle-packing soldiers stood at attention. The mourners congregated closer to the gravesite. The casket bearers with clusters
on their chests and stars on their hats assembled at the back of the hearse.

He patted Tully’s neck. “Okay, boy, it’s just about time. You stay nice and calm like your pal, Luke.”

Instead of signaling, the major jogged back to Laramie. “The widow asked if you would mind riding the black horse and leading
the bay. Her husband’s horse as a young man was a bay.”

“Major, I can’t do that. This bay is my horse and the black one is Hap’s. Now, old Luke there is bulletproof. He’ll stand
where you put him, even if fireworks go off under him. But Tully is a jealous cuss. He’ll pitch a fit if I ride Luke. He’ll
buck and kick and bite anyone in sight if he gets ticked off. It won’t be a pretty scene getting up there, and worse when
the shots are fired and the planes fly over.”

“I’ll go tell her.”

Laramie felt his heart beat faster when the lady in black got up from her chair next to the gravesite and hiked through the
crowd toward him. Every eye followed her movement. He stepped down from the saddle and pulled off his hat as she approached.

“Oh, please, leave your hat on. It looks very nice.”

He jammed it back on. “Thank you, ma’am. Did the major tell you why I can’t ride the black horse?”

“Yes, but it’s so important for me to give this one last tribute to Charles. All during our military life, he talked about
retiring to west Texas. He loved it here. But I whined and begged that we retire in Florida near my sisters. So he gave up
that dream. He had a bay horse when he was young. In his last days, when the pain was great and he was on a lot of medication,
he would think he was sixteen and riding that bay horse of his. When I spied that beautiful horse, I deemed it an answer to
prayer.”

“Ma’am, I would love to accommodate you. But Tully blows up easy. I really am concerned that he will pitch a fit and ruin
this memorable occasion.”

“That would only make it more memorable… and more western. My Charles would love it. Please.”

Laramie sighed, then rubbed his beard. “I’ll try, ma’am. But please forgive me ahead of time, if Tully acts up.”

“Thank you.” She pointed her finger at the blaze-faced bay. Laramie panicked that Tully would bite it.

“You behave yourself,” she told the horse, then slipped through the crowd back to her chair by the gravesite.

Laramie wrapped Tully’s lead rope around his left wrist, transferred the hat, then mounted Luke. “I know this is backward,
boys. Just relax.”

The solemn procession began. Both horses lumbered along as if in the open prairie, not a crowded cemetery. He rode the horses
around the dirt pile covered in green outdoor carpeting and faced the casket. Astride Luke, he pulled his hat off and held
it over his heart. As incredible as it was that Tully stood still, he dreaded the flyover and the rifle fire.

A trio sang “Amazing Grace.”

The chaplain read from Psalms and Revelation.

A three-star general eulogized the colonel’s bravery, leadership, and loyalty.

A man in his early forties who sat next to the widow stepped up to the head of the casket. There was a streak of premature
gray in his dark brown hair. His face cleanshaven, his eyes red. Laramie noted his dark suit and polished loafers fit him
well. He loosened his tie a little before he spoke.

“I haven’t seen a lot of you in years. I’m Andy, the youngest son. I need to say a few things to you… to Mom… and to my dad,
who I hope can hear and see what is going on today. Most all of you in the audience know that military life isn’t easy. I
lived in twenty-one houses during the first eighteen years of my life. A couple of them, Dad never even saw. Like some military
kids, there were times I resented the army taking my father from me. And when he was home there were a number of times, as
my mother knows, when I went to bed in tears at being treated like a raw recruit during basic training.”

Laramie leaned over and stroked Tully’s neck as the man continued.

“But today, I want to say how thankful I am for my dad. I’m thankful for the life of service he gave for our country. But
most of all, I’m thankful for the things he taught me. We all get the choice to remember whatever we want about family members
who have died. And I choose to remember a dad who was the bravest man on the face of the earth. This man taught me by example
about courage and keeping commitments and how to cure a slice in my golf swing.”

He paused while the audience chuckled. “He taught me how to face the fears of life… and in these last weeks, he demonstrated
how to face the fears of death. But, most of all, I want to thank my dad for the heritage of faith he left my brothers and
myself. He loved me the very best way he knew how and I will love him with every precious thought and memory. We knew from
the day we were born, to the day he died, of his faith and trust in almighty God. There’s just one last thing I want to say,
Dad.” He paused and wiped the corner of his eyes. “You taught it to me when I was a kid… and I believe it with all my heart…
‘Jesus loves me, this I know… for the Bible tell me so…’ Yeah, Daddy, enjoy your rewards in heaven. Your youngest finally
got it right.”

Laramie meditated on the idea of choosing which memories to hold on to as the final prayer concluded the service. He clutched
Tully’s lead rope tighter as the jets roared overhead. The one on the right peeled off and soared straight up into the wispy
clouds.

Luke raised his left rear hoof as if asleep when volleys of guns fired the twenty-one-gun salute. Then the flag was folded
and presented to the widow. A lonesome bugle sounded Taps.

Laramie let out a visible sigh of relief when the service concluded and the crowd encircled the widow. He rode Luke back a
few graves, then dismounted. The major marched over to shake his hand.

“That was nice, Laramie, thanks. You sure we can’t give you some gas money and buy you lunch?”

“No, sir. It was a privilege to be here. Give my condolences to the widow. I want to get these boys over to the trailer before
they plop all over someone’s ancestor.”

Laramie checked the cinch on Tully. “Okay, big boy, it’s your turn. Enough of riding ol’ Lukey. You did wonderful today, and
I’m proud of you.” He jammed his left foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. His right leg swung over the cantle.
He had just found the right stirrup when Tully dropped his head down and kicked his rear hooves toward the west Texas sky.

“Whoa… whoa, boy,” Laramie shouted as he yanked the rein hard to the right, attempting to get the bay horse to spin.

Instead, Tully jerked his head left and tossed Laramie forward. The saddle horn caught him in the gut and the reins slipped
in his fingers. As Tully bucked a trail around the outskirts of the stunned crowd, Laramie fought to regain his balance. With
both boots now back in the stirrups, he leaned back and tried to keep his seat. Tully dodged the tombstones as he crashed
his way toward the uniformed color guard. The soldiers broke ranks and dove as the bay gelding kicked his rear hooves at phantom
enemies.

Laramie reached up and swiped at his hat as it tumbled off his head. One hand gripped the reins, the other now clutched the
white straw cowboy hat, then, like a child realizing that the tantrum in the middle of Wal-Mart isn’t working, Tully stopped.
He snorted, then nibbled on the long grass next to
William T. Gimble, 1892–1959, Beloved Husband
.

The funeral congregation broke out in cheers and applause.

Laramie rubbed his forehead and shoved his hat back on.

Luke remained behind the dirt pile. He hadn’t moved since Laramie dropped his lead rope on Tully’s first buck. The major led
the black gelding over to Laramie.

“Sorry about that,” Laramie mumbled. “I’m glad he waited until after the service to blow up.”

“They thought it was wonderful.”

Laramie gazed over the crowd and noticed the widow wave.

He waved back.

“Most thought it was part of the service.” The major handed Luke’s lead rope to him, then gave him an informal salute.

Laramie tipped his hat.

The gray-haired lady behind the counter at the motel wore an institutional smile and a crooked name badge. As the dot-matrix
printer punched out a copy of the receipt, Laramie glanced around the lobby, with its automatic glass front doors, flowery
carpet, and dusty artificial trees. He marveled how all midpriced motel lobbies look the same. Most times he’d rather wake
up somewhere out on the prairie next to a campfire.

This was not one of those times.

Hap pulled the truck and loaded horse trailer under the awning. For some places the end of August spelled the end of summer,
but the El Paso heat blasted Laramie as he left the air-conditioned retreat of the Star-Lite Motel. He tossed his duffel bag
behind the seat and slipped into the passenger seat. “We need to get to a laundry.”

“We could just burn our stuff and buy all new clothes,” Hap suggested.

“Not until we get to Creede. I figure we can bury them with this whole obsession of yours. In the meantime, I need something
clean to wear.”

“Let’s do it this afternoon. I take it by the look on your face you got a phone call from a certain nurse in California.”

Laramie closed his eyes and thought about Annamarie’s wide, easy smile and penetrating hazel eyes. “Hap, did you ever notice
how some ladies have a lilt, a tone in their voice that makes you want to listen to them all day long?”

“Why is it those gals never become schoolteachers? My third-grade teacher, Miss Carlton, had a voice that made fingernail
scratches on a chalkboard sound like the Boston Symphony. What did the French-Vietnamese Texan tell you?”

“She said that she knows that it’s time for changes in her life. She knows what she is changing from, she’s just not sure
what’s up ahead. Those drives along the coast help her think things through.”

“Does she mention whether a tall, lanky, sometimes shy and pathetic cowboy figures in those dreams?”

“So far. That’s the good news. She said she’s fond of me and her heart is trying to convince her brain to love me.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“I’m not sure when we’ll see each other again. Even if we do… I can’t see how a Wyoming cowboy and a southern California nurse
can have much of a life together.”

“I feel like it’s gettin’ time to pass the baton,” Hap blurted out.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been chasin’ my dream for three months. Now, maybe, it’s time to go further west and chase yours.”

“We’re going to Creede, partner. You know we always finish what we start.”

“Yeah, that seems to be a theme, lately. Well, we ain’t goin’ to Creede right now. We have a birthday party to attend.”

“Tell me again. What’s the deal?”

“Rosa’s cousin’s daughter…”

“Juanita?”

“No, this one is Heather… on the other side of the family. Anyway, before Rosa took off for Lordsburg yesterday she was calling
some more family and her cousin mentioned today was Heather’s twelfth birthday. She likes to ride her horse, but she has a
dozen kids comin’ over for the party and they all want to ride. So the plan is that we take our horses over and let them pony
around some kids.”