“That’s about right.”
When Morgan was gone, David said, “She’s nice.”
“Yeah, she’s something special.”
“So, when is the wedding?”
“The spring, I guess.” I poured olive oil and balsamic vinegar over the salad and gave it a toss.
“I never imagined ranch people eating like you,” he said.
“All city people eat the same?” I asked.
“Okay, okay.” David stood and walked to the window. “Does the mule always just wander around like that?”
“I can’t stop him. Unfortunately, he’s mine now. I call him Pest. He answers to it, so I guess it’s his name.”
“John, I want to thank you for letting me come here.”
“You’re welcome. I don’t know if you’re going to be thanking me tomorrow when we’re riding the fence in ten-degree weather.”
“You should probably know, I’ve never ridden a horse,” David said.
I turned and looked at him. “Never? Not even a pony ride?”
The young man shook his head.
“Well, it will be a ten-degree riding lesson and then a fifteen-degree fence check. I’ll put you on my old App; she’s as safe as it gets.”
“Have you ever fallen off a horse?”
“I’ve been bucked off and launched off, but I’ve never fallen off a horse. You ever fall off a chair?”
“Chairs don’t move,” he said.
“Well, if you can sit on a chair without falling off, you can sit on a horse. You’ll like it.” I heard Morgan coming down the stairs. “David, why don’t you grab some plates out of that cupboard behind you.”
“It’s not ready?” Morgan said.
I gave the salad another toss. “Shadup and sidown,” I said. “But first, grab some silverware.”
She opened the drawer. “Don’t listen to him, David,” she said. “This is not silver. I’m not sure what it is.”
David chuckled.
“He’s not a bad cook, though,” Morgan said. “He’s kind of a keeper.”
The next morning was clear and hard cold. David was bundled up in a down coat and wore a watch cap pulled down over his ears. We finished the feeding, ate some cereal, and saddled the App for his lesson.
In the round pen I told him the basics of reining. “Touch her neck on the left side with the rein and she’ll go right. You don’t have to pull. The horse will go where your belly button points. Point your navel to where you want to go, lay the rein on her neck and you’re off. Now, give her a little kiss sound and a squeeze with your calves.”
He did and the horse walked.
“Go ahead and walk her around the circle.”
David was awkward, but the horse was confident and soon he looked comfortable enough.
“That’s all we’re going to do is walk,” I said.
“What if something scares her?” he asked.
“This old girl is bomb proof. But if a spaceship does land and gets her running, hang on and realize that she’s the least of your worries.”
We rode out the gate and toward the southeast.
“What are we doing again?”
“Duncan Camp wants to park some cattle on BLM adjacent to my place and I want to make sure my fence is good.”
“A range war,” David joked.
“That’s right. No, not really, but I don’t want his cows coming close and messing up things. I don’t much like cows, if you haven’t noticed. Besides, it will be easier for him to find the beasts if they can’t wander across my place and find their way onto the desert.”
We rode the fence and re-stretched barbed wire in places, rolled up discarded wire and made sure the gates were in good shape and closed. The work and the sun warmed us up and soon we were a little sweaty in our coats.
“I’m getting hot,” David said.
“Well, stay hot. Better to be hot in your coat. You take that jacket off and that cold hits your wet body and you’ll be sorry.”
“Got it.”
We stopped on a ridge and looked down at the valley. “This is something, isn’t it?” I said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“I never get used to it.” I looked at him. “I’m glad you’re here, David.”
“Me, too. Thanks.”
We came on one last sagging string of wire. David managed to tangle it around his leg. It ripped through his jeans and sliced his calf. He let out a scream and started hopping around.
“Let me see it,” I said. “You’re going to have to drop your pants.”
“Jesus, that hurts.” He undid his belt and exposed his leg.
I pulled my first aid kid from my saddlebag and began to treat the wound. “This is going to sting a little,” I told him, then put some antiseptic on.
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” I looked at the flap of skin. There wasn’t a lot of blood. “You’re not going to bleed to death. Tell me this, cowpoke, do you remember the last time you had a tetanus shot?”
“No.”
“In the past ten years?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Past five years?” I asked.
“No. I’m sure of that. Is that bad?”
I stared at the wound. “It would be real bad if we were in the middle of nowhere,” I said.
David looked around and started to laugh. “I guess everything’s relative. What now?”
“We drive into town and get you poked with a big needle,” I said. “That way you won’t get lockjaw and whooping cough and die before your time, leaving me to explain things to your parents.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“A big, fat needle.”
“That’s better.”
“Besides, you deserve a better dressing than the one I can give you,” I said. “Mount up.”
We dropped Morgan at her place and she planned to drive back in her car. We didn’t have any wait at the hospital. David got his shot and we left. I decided I wanted to buy some flowers for Morgan, so we stopped in at the only florist shop in town. As we walked out to the Jeep, I saw the BMW parked across the street. The rednecks were just getting out as we were getting in. They shot me a look as we drove away. I don’t think David saw them.
That night Gus called and told me what time his bus would be arriving the next day. He sounded low and I asked him how the tests went and he said he didn’t know, only that they were uncomfortable and he was tired.
“How is he?” Morgan asked. She was sitting on the sofa in the study, reading.
“Tired.”
“Thanks again for the flowers,” she said.
“Pretty gal like you needs pretty things around her,” I said in my best cowboy voice.
“You’re the one who’s tired,” she said. “I’ll pick up Gus tomorrow. You catch up around here. That will make three days into town in a row.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Thanks, honey.”
I fell onto the sofa next to her. “You know, I never called anybody else sweetie and honey before.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Where’s our guest?”
“I think the young man has retired for the evening,” I said. “It was a rough day for him. He was nervous the whole time he was on horseback.”
“At least he’s a sport,” Morgan said.
“He’s a good kid.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s twenty years old.”
“He’s not a kid to you because you’re a spring chicken,” I said. “He’s a kid to me because I’m old as dirt.”
The phone rang and I walked across the room to the desk to answer it. It was Daniel White Buffalo.
“Another cow dead?” I asked.
“No, but Clara Monday thinks somebody took a shot at her,” he said.
“Say again?”
“She was over in the Owl Creeks, just riding along, and she says somebody put a bullet into the slope behind her.”
“Did she see anyone?” I asked.