Fool's Gold (6 page)

So they all three—four counting Ophelia—settled down on the saggy old couch in the living room and Rudy read the werewolf chapter. It was another big success. The M and M's were crazy about his werewolf impressions, and even when he was just reading they listened so hard they almost forgot to blink.

When he got to the end of the chapter he had a brainstorm. “Hey,” he said. “What if Barbie was at a dance one night and she stayed until midnight and on the way home she started getting these big fangs and fur all over—”

He didn't have to go any further. He hadn't even finished the sentence when they dashed out of the room.

The M and M's played Barbie doll werewolves all the rest of the afternoon and Rudy was able to get some more reading done and do the vacuuming and even spend some time making plans about Heather's riding lessons.

Natasha came home a little bit later than usual. She looked tired and tense, and when Rudy asked how her day had gone she said she'd had another quarrel with her boss and smashed her finger in the antique cash register, and her brand-new panty hose had sprung a gigantic run.

“Other than that, it was lovely,” she said. Then she collapsed on the couch and kicked off her shoes and twisted her leg around to look at the run. “Look at that,” she said. “Just bought them yesterday. Three eighty-five down the drain.”

She was looking pretty depressed and she didn't even laugh when Rudy said, “Hey, how about if we make a lot more runs in them so you can pretend they were meant to be that way. You know, like buckshot jeans. That kind of stuff is really in lately.”

All Natasha managed was a weak smile, and then she sighed, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. She sat that way for several minutes. Rudy sat down sideways across the overstuffed chair and waited.

With her head tipped back that way and her dark hair kind of smoothed back Natasha looked—well, like a ballet dancer, which is what she was until she gave it up when she was only nineteen and came back home to Pyramid. She'd been pregnant with Rudy at the time, but that wasn't the only reason she'd given up on the dancing. She had, as she'd told Rudy more than once, decided to come home even before she found out she was pregnant, because her mother was very sick and needed her. So she came back to the old house where the Drummond family had lived since soon after the gold rush and took care of her mother, and after his birth, of Rudy too. Then her mother died while Rudy was still a baby and a couple of years later Art Mumford came along and Natasha decided to marry him. Of course, Art didn't last too long as a husband, but by the time he left there were the M and M's and Natasha was pretty much stuck in Pyramid Hill.

Not having a legal father had never bothered Rudy all that much. Natasha said his real father was a really great guy, but that he wasn't the marrying kind and that she didn't blame him for what happened. So Rudy had never particularly blamed him either—although he could see how having a baby when she was so young hadn't made Natasha's life very easy. And marrying Mumford and having the M and M's certainly hadn't helped either.

Rudy was still thinking about all the extra problems Natasha had gotten herself into by marrying Mumford when, right on cue, the sound of squeals and thuds drifted down the hall. Two little Mumford problems heard from. Natasha opened her eyes, looked toward the door, and sighed. “Fighting again,” she said. “And again and again, I suppose?”

“No, not really,” Rudy said. “Things have been pretty peaceful around here, actually. Only a minor skirmish or two all afternoon.” Raising his voice, he called, “Hey, you two,
knock it off.
Mom's home.”

The M and M's appeared in the doorway a second or two later looking startled. “Knock what off?” Margot asked, doing a superinnocent thing with her big round eyes.

“You know what,” Rudy said. “We heard you.”

They stared at each other blankly for a moment before Moira laughed. “Oh, that,” she said. “We weren't fighting. We were just killing a werewolf.”

Natasha looked puzzled, but when Rudy grinned and said, “Oh well, that's perfectly all right, then,” she finally smiled too. She held out her arms and the M and M's ran to hug her. They were all three curled up on the couch together and the M and M's were chattering away about how good they'd been and how they hadn't had any fights, and Natasha was laughing and chattering, too, when Rudy struggled out of the saggy old chair and wandered into the kitchen.

While he was staring into the refrigerator and hoping that Natasha had something planned for dinner he could still hear the three of them giggling back in the living room. Natasha was like that—up one minute and down the next. Rudy had always figured that being a ballet dancer had something to do with it.

R
UDY HAD PLANNED
to phone Heather the next morning, but when he was out on the veranda seeing the M and M's off to the sitter he happened to glance down toward the Hanrahans and there she was in her front yard. So he decided to drop by for an in-person talk instead. It was an especially hot morning and Heather, who was watering the rose bushes, was wearing short shorts and a tank top. Rudy really had to concentrate to keep his mind on what he'd planned to say.

“Well, how bad was it?” he asked as soon as they'd both said hello.

“How bad? Oh, you mean the riding lesson. You were right, I guess. About riding-stable lessons being pretty awful. We spent most of the hour learning how to mount and dismount.” She sighed. “I heard it so many times I know it by heart. Let's see. ‘Mount from the left of the horse. Hold the saddle horn and the reins in your left hand. Turn the stirrup with your right hand and put your left foot into it. Swing around and up.'”

“Yeah,” Rudy said. “That's pretty much what Charlie says. You know, Barney's granddad. I mean, he wanted you to have control of the reins while you're getting on. But how come you had to do it so many times?”

Heather laughed and shrugged. “Well, there were some special problems in the class. Like a bunch of very little kids and two very big women. Okay—fat, actually. Every time we mounted, each of the little kids needed a booster person, and the fat ladies needed two. There were only the two instructors, so it turned out to be a fairly time-consuming process. Then the instructors insisted that we all had to keep doing it until everyone had it right.”

“And the horses just stood still and let them get on and off all those times?” Rudy asked. “Some horses get kind of impatient when you do stuff like that.”

Heather grinned. “Well, I'm afraid you were right about riding-stable horses. Most of them seemed perfectly happy just to stand still. It's just when you try to get them to do something else that you run into problems.”

“Yeah,” Rudy said. “So I hear. But just wait till I tell you about Applesauce.”

“You're going to tell me about applesauce?” Heather's frown was almost as mind-boggling as her smile. “What are you raving about now, Rudy Drummond?”

So he told her. About how Applesauce was a part Arabian that belonged to the Crookshanks. A dapple-gray mare with a long wavy mane and tail, and very lively and full of energy without being a bit hard to handle. He knew he was doing a good job, because when he finally ran down Heather's eyes had a glassy out-of-focus look and she sighed wistfully before she said, “But are you sure it's all right with Barney?”

“Absolutely,” Rudy told her.

Heather sighed again, turned off the water, and dried her wet hands on her shorts… and for a moment Rudy lost track of what she was saying. Almost everything Heather did seemed to have that kind of effect on him lately. “Rudy. Are you listening to me? How about his parents?” she was saying when he tuned back in. “Don't they care if he uses their valuable horses to give lessons to beginners? You sure this isn't just another one of your crazy ideas, Rudy?”

“Look,” he said, “I'll have Barney call you himself and tell you it's all right. Okay?”

Heather seemed to like that idea, so as soon as he got home Rudy called up Barney and told him that Heather wanted to talk to him.

There was a long pause before Barney said, “You mean you want me to call her up?”

“Yeah. That's what I said. Weren't you listening?”

“Me? Call up Heather Hanrahan? On the phone?”

Rudy chuckled. “Yeah. You want me to tell you how it's done? First you pick up the receiver and—”

“Knock it off, Drummond,” Barney said. “I just mean… I don't think she'll talk to me.”

“Of course she will. She
said
she wanted you to call and tell her if it was all right. Why wouldn't she talk to you?”

“Well, I don't know. It's just that—well, I was with Ty that time he tried to get funny with her and I think she blamed me too. She told us both to get lost and stay lost. So I don't know if…” Barney's voice trailed off.

Rudy was puzzled. It just didn't sound like Barney Crookshank. Not old Easy-knees Barney, who was always so superrelaxed in any kind of situation, even when girls were around. Not that he said all that much to girls—but being Barney, he didn't have to. When girls were around Barney they tended to do all the talking necessary—not to mention giggling and flirting—so all he had to do was stand there looking cool. Barney had always been a natural at
cool,
but at the moment he didn't sound that way at all.

“Look, Barn,” Rudy said. “I promise that she said she wanted you to call. And all you have to do is tell her it's all right with you and your folks if she rides Applesauce. Oh, and Barney. Be sure to make the lesson early in the morning or else on a Monday or Tuesday. Otherwise I can't be there.”

“Okay,” Barney said. “Okay. I'll tell her Monday or Tuesday. And you'll come too? Okay? You be sure to be here.”

“Okay,” Rudy said, and then he hung up and just sat there wondering what in the world had gotten into Barney. But later in the day Barney called back, sounding more like himself, and said it was all arranged and Heather's first lesson was scheduled for Tuesday, because Barney had promised to give Ty Lewis a crash course in cowboying on Monday.

Ty's first lesson was something Rudy didn't want to miss, although he wasn't too sure how he wanted it to turn out. The thing was, he wanted Ty to like horseback riding well enough that he wouldn't start pressuring Barney to forget about the whole thing and go back to concentrating on gold mining. But at the same time he couldn't help hoping that Ty didn't exactly turn out to be a natural-born cowboy. Anyway, he was really curious to see how it would go.

On Monday morning he got out his rickety old bike and rode out to the Crooked Bar Ranch right after breakfast.

The house and most of the other ranch buildings at the Crooked Bar were set in the middle of a wide valley. On each side grassy hills swept upward to where stands of pine and oak made green splashes on the smooth golden slopes. On the road that curved down from the highway you got only occasional glimpses of buildings and fences until you turned a corner and there it was spread out just below—a typical cattle ranch right out of
Gunsmoke
or an old John Wayne movie. On the left was the long, low ranch house surrounded by shade trees and a high hedge. Then came the big open barnyard with a hay barn and some sheds off to one side. And farther over to the right were the stock barn, several corrals, and a big practice arena.

Rudy always got a charge out of that first sight of the Crooked Bar. And the smell of it too—a kind of dusty western perfume made up of mixed parts of piney hills and grassy fields, with a subtle hint of horse and cow. He sniffed appreciatively as he pedaled across the cattle guard and headed down the long drive. It was a smell that always seemed to bring back a lot of good memories: when Barney had seemed like a brother and Belle and Charlie Crookshank had seemed very much like his own grandparents. There had been a lot of good times during those years and the sight and smell of the valley always brought it all back.

Applesauce was already tied to the hitching rail outside the tack room when Rudy pedaled around the end of the hedge and into the barnyard. He was getting off his bike when Barney came out of the barn leading Dynamo, a big bay cow pony that belonged to his dad.

“Hey, Rudy-dudey,” Barney said. “What're you doing here?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I said I'd come help with the riding lessons.”

“Oh, yeah. I thought you just meant tomorrow when Heather's here. Today it's just old Styler.” (Styler was one of Ty's nicknames because of the fact that he was always wearing the latest stuff.) “But that's great,” Barney went on. “Old Styler can probably use all the help he can get.” He threw Rudy a currycomb and brush. “Here. Make yourself useful while I get the tack.”

Rudy started grooming Applesauce and Barney disappeared into the tack room. When he came out carrying bridles and saddle blankets he said, “I'm going to start him out in the arena. But after he's got the hang of it I thought we'd go up the trail a ways toward the high pasture. Why don't you come too. On Bluebell—or else Badger.”

Rudy thought about it and decided on Badger, a big eager-beaver sorrel that he'd ridden quite a lot before. Actually Bluebell, who had smoother gaits, was a better ride, but Badger with his head-tossing high-stepping ways was more—well, more impressive.

He was leading the sorrel out of the barn when Ty's father's big Mercedes roared into the yard in a cloud of dust and skidded to a stop. Ty got out—wearing buckshot jeans with holes in all the right places
and
new black-and-red cowboy boots. As the Mercedes spun in a tight circle and then trailed its dust cloud back toward the cattle guard, Ty sauntered across to the barn, running his comb through his spiky hair.

Barney gave Rudy one of his silent comments—a raised eyebrow and a quick twitch at one corner of his mouth. Barney and his granddad were both experts at silent comments. Then he went on tightening the cinch on Applesauce.