If Wishes Were Horses (18 page)

He stopped six feet away. Little Gus was breathing hard and hung his head. Johnny was breathing hard, too. His face was pale and drawn . . . and he had an ugly wound above his eye. She gazed at it, then looked into his eyes. He regarded her uncertainly now.

“Do you intend to train him?” Etta asked.

“If you’ll allow it, I will.”

“It does not appear to me that I have any say in the matter.”

Johnny flinched at that. “Yes, ma’am, you do,” he said, and his eyes, very sad now, bored into her.

“Well . . .” Etta searched for something clever to say, but all she could think of was, “You might as well, I guess.”

The next day little Gus bucked on Johnny first thing, before Johnny even got sat down in the saddle. They hadn’t expected this, and Etta would have had to admit to delight that Little Gus showed his spirit, even as she held her breath, fearing Johnny was about to get his neck broken.

But Johnny found his seat and got the horse running around the training pen. He ran him there hard for five minutes and then hollered at Etta to throw open the gate. She scrambled to the ground and managed the gate, and horse and rider went shooting past her with a “Yaa!” and pounding hooves and stirring dust.

Latrice’s sheets on the clothesline snapped in the breeze and spooked Little Gus, causing him to veer so fast that he appeared to have simply jumped three yards to the right, leaving Johnny rolling left but hanging on. They headed out through the open pasture gate and down the dirt track that was now used as a road. Little Gus’s mane and tail flew out, and his coat gleamed in the bright sun.

Etta ran to the edge of the yard and gazed after them, going up on tiptoe and holding her hat against the wind, watching horse and rider disappear as the track dipped beyond a hill.

She stood there, waiting for their return with a type of breathless yearning.

When Johnny rode Little Gus back and stopped in front of her, he said, “This son-of-a-buck can move.”

His steely eyes shone like diamonds, and his grin seemed to hang there. His pleasure was so much that Etta had to turn from it, for fear of being overcome.

She looked at Little Gus, who stood breathing hard and hanging his head. Putting her cheek against his, she hugged him and inhaled the wonderful horse scent of him. He pressed his head against her.

The following days the pattern was repeated, Little Gus pitching and Johnny running him out and down the pasture track, and each day Etta watched them go and wished to fling herself after them.

It hurt, watching Johnny ride Little Gus, her horse that she had saved and raised and that still belonged to her, after all, one of the few things the bank or anyone else could not lay claim to.

The “month or so” that Johnny had bargained for in exchange for Roy’s IOU came and went, as did the horses he trained for Jed Stuart and Harry Flagg. Yet Johnny remained. He did not speak of leaving, and Etta would not ask him about it.

Another man brought five head of two-year-olds for breaking, and Johnny got excited about beginning with new horses, but he remained most excited about Little Gus. He said a number of times: “A few days of trainin’, and that red gelding is already worth five hundred dollars, Miz Etta.”

“Who would pay that?” Etta asked. It had been her experience that men tended to talk on the up side of selling a horse, but when it came to the actual selling, the price most generally was down.

“Well now, I don’t know right offhand, but he’s worth that.”

“He’s worth that to you maybe. To me, he’s priceless. To anyone else, he probably isn’t worth a penny.”

“You could get five hundred easy, once people see him run and move.”

“I thought you just said he was worth that right now.”

“I think you could get that, from the right buyer, now, and I know you can get it and more once people see him move,” Johnny said, getting annoyed that she was trying to confuse him. He was thoroughly puzzled as to why Etta seemed so angry at him all the time. Try as he might, he could not seem to please her.

He had the hopeful thought that perhaps if he fully explained the gelding’s talents, Etta would understand, and therefore he could please her.

He said, “This son-of-a-buck can sprint right out at a run in a single stride. He can practically turn back on himself, and by golly, he could go on doin’ it all day long. This horse has heart, and a horse that has that can do almost anything. You may just have a fortune on your hands here, Miz Etta.”

As he spoke and watched her cool, doubtful expression, he had a sinking feeling that he was not getting anywhere.

“I have heard that song and dance before,” she said, the words rolling off her tongue like beads off a table, “and what I know is that I could count on one hand the number of people who have made a fortune from a horse, and then it has been some kind of miracle. Owners of horses don’t make money from horses. Trainers make money, stable owners make money, sellers make money, but it’s the owners doin’ all the payin’. Owners had better have a good, steady income from something besides horses, and I do not.”

Johnny stared at her. Then he said, “You sure have a negative attitude,” and walked off.

None of Etta’s poor attitude, however, nor that of Latrice, who kept giving him the skeptical eye about like she suspected him of planning to rob the family safe, could subdue Johnny’s enthusiasm for the turn toward good fortune his life appeared to have taken once again. He was riding in high cotton. The two horses he had picked up for next to nothing at the sale barn were going to get him at least eight hundred each when he got ready to sell, and he knew he had been right all along about that red gelding.

Johnny felt himself vindicated as, if not the greatest horse trainer alive, at least one of them, because he had seen the potential in the red gelding, when everyone else had missed it.

He was anxious to prove his belief in the red gelding, and when he came across the notice of a rodeo to be held at the first of the month over in Anadarko, the first one of the season thereabouts, he immediately began to train Little Gus in earnest. Their greatest potential for making money would be when the horse had not yet won a race. With his poor looks, no one would suspect Little Gus could run like he could, therefore the odds would be against him. Johnny’s thoughts were to enter Little Gus in one of the rodeo races and to also get a match race.

He got carried away and showed Etta the flier announcing the rodeo. “The purse is a guaranteed one hundred and fifty dollars, plus whatever the entry fees added up to. It’ll go up to three hundred easy, and Gus’ll take that purse.”

Etta cast him a skeptical look, and Latrice said, “You have that straight from God, do you?”

Johnny wished he’d had the sense to keep his mouth shut. Now he was going to have to defend himself, and he never liked doing that.

“It says the entry fee is twenty-five dollars.” Etta was looking at the yellow flier, then raised her eyes to him. “I don’t have that.”

“I do. I’m willin’ to pay the entry fee.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? I’ll make it back. He’ll take the purse, and bein’ the dark horse, the side bets on him are gonna run five or six to one, easy. Fifty dollars will get you another three hundred in less than a minute.”

“I don’t have twenty-five dollars, and I sure don’t have fifty, and let me just tell you that if I did, I would put it toward a car that ran, so I would have somethin’ to leave here in when this place is taken from me.”

Her voice started low, through gritted teeth, and she ended up very close to yelling.

After a minute of gazing into her fury, Johnny said with deliberate quietness, “Ma’am, I see your point. But I know horses—and this one is a runner.” Tossing his napkin beside his plate, he got up and left the kitchen.

A second later he heard Etta at the door, yelling after him, “And what do you think everyone else is entering in the dang race—
walkers
?”

Johnny did not again bring up the subject of betting. Once or twice he mentioned the rodeo, in a manner of testing the waters, but Etta said nothing. She pointedly ignored him on the subject.

He wondered if she would let him take the gelding to the rodeo. He wasn’t concerned with the entry fee, or betting money. He’d put up all he had. He wanted the opportunity to tell her this, but nothing about her invited him to do so.

He didn’t know what he would do if she refused to allow him to take the horse to the rodeo. Likely, he thought, he would have to take the horse anyway, and the idea of doing this made him feel sick. He never set out to deliberately go against a person, and the horse was Etta’s. Just up and taking the gelding was certain to border on stealing, even if he did intend to bring him back.

But Johnny knew he could not miss the chance with the horse, either. The expectation and curiosity over the animal had burrowed deep beneath his skin, taking a firm hold on him. He knew he might be getting carried away, but it was such a seductive feeling that he couldn’t let it go.

He needed to prove that horse out for Etta’s sake, as well as his own, he told himself. He thought it a shame that Etta had lost her faith in horses, and in horsemen. It appeared that she had little faith in men all the way around.

In mulling it all over, he began to believe that he was in a position to give the faith back to her—to show her that there were men who did know horses and could live with wagering in a knowledgeable, honorable manner, and that he was such a man.

To this end, he continued to train Little Gus and to hope that Etta would see the truth in the horse. He wanted Etta to see that he was right. He wanted to show her what he could do with the horse.

More than anything, Johnny wanted Etta to believe in him.

Johnny talking as he did about Little Gus annoyed Etta no end. It frightened her, and it disappointed her. She saw Johnny’s enthusiasm for wagering as evidence of weak character.

“I don’t know why you thought he had a particularly strong character,” Latrice said. “He’s a drifter cowboy, and you yourself has said he drinks too much.”

“I don’t know, either,” Etta admitted. They were weeding the garden, and she jerked hard on a weed and tossed it aside. “I suppose I hoped he was stronger. He has seemed stronger at times.”

After a minute, she added, “He’s been a help around here. You yourself said that.”

Latrice looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m not arguin’ about that.”

Etta plopped down in the garden row, resting her back. The baby inside her kicked and pushed up on a rib. Etta looked over to where Johnny was working his filly on a longe line. He enjoyed the filly, babied her. He said she would never be a good using horse, that she had little stamina, but he thought he might make a good rider out of her for a child. Etta had been struck by him thinking of that—a horse for a child. She had wondered what other thoughts Johnny could have that she would not expect. She suspected there was a lot she could know about Johnny, should he remain around long enough.

Etta was always wondering when she might look up and Johnny would be gone. He was, as Latrice said, a drifter cowboy, and surely before long he would drift out of their lives.

“Do you think he could be right about Little Gus?” she asked, speaking thoughts before she realized.

“Even fools make a right guess now and then,” Latrice said. “It generally doesn’t mean all that much. If you want to keep eatin’, you had best keep weedin’.”

Etta returned to pulling weeds and told herself to quit thinking crazy. She had bills stacking up and a baby on the way and a very uncertain future that could not be helped by a drifter cowboy. Lordy, had she learned nothing by being married to Roy Rivers?

Nevertheless, with caution screaming every minute in her ears, she continued to watch Johnny and Little Gus run down the pasture track. She watched Obie plow the track and rake it smooth, and Johnny mark distances of two hundred and fifty, three hundred, and four hundred yards. Johnny had Obie operate the stopwatch, and Etta would stand there beside Obie, with longing tugging at her—and worry about Little Gus putting his foot in a prairie dog hole and breaking his neck, and possibly Johnny’s neck. She was still having a terrible time with hopeless thoughts.

A good deal of her watching Johnny and the horse had to do with her desire to keep connected with Little Gus. She felt it was silly, but she could not help being as jealous as a mother who’d had to give the care of her child over to a nursemaid from whom the child was learning his first steps and first words.

After Johnny would finish riding Little Gus, Etta would come forward and lead the horse away, where she lavished him with attention, washing him and grooming him, and giving him all manner of treats—of which Johnny did not approve.

She began to be very impatient for her daughter to be born so that she herself could get up on Little Gus’s back and ride like the wind. Once, temptation winning out, Etta did get up on him.

She had just washed him and let him dry in the sun. Using several bales of hay as an upping-block, she slipped onto his back. Easy as could be. He was silky and relaxed. She sat there a moment, stroking his neck. Then she dared to walk him around in a circle, rocking dreamily there on his bare back, feeling the heat and power of him between her legs and the sunlight on her head and the baby fluttering inside her.

Her woman’s body was a pure blessing in that moment. She stopped the horse and lifted her face to the sky, sighing.

Johnny came around the corner and came to pieces. “What are you doin’?”

Little Gus spooked and jumped back, and Etta took hold of the lead rope and his mane to keep from falling.

Johnny grabbed Little Gus’s halter. “Whoa, boy.”

“He was whoaed until you came yellin’ around the corner,” Etta said.

“Well, it could have been somethin’ other than me, and he might have knocked you right off. He’s not but green broke really. Geez, Etta.”

Bent over like she was, his face was only a foot away from her own, his silvery eyes close enough to see the golden flecks there. Etta realized he had said her name without the Miz, as he never had before.