If Wishes Were Horses (27 page)

“Howdy, Bitta.” Johnny smiled; it was hard not to smile when he said the name.

All around them people were looking from the sleek roan to the squatty red gelding and shaking their heads.

Fudge said, “You can’t really want to race me on that horse, John.” He looked at Little Gus intently, as if seeking the trick of the thing. Fudge wasn’t stupid.

“Call me crazy,” Johnny said. “And I ain’t racin’ you—Woody Lee’s gonna ride him for me. I got a bum leg, you know.”

Woody was over shooting the breeze at the pens with some bull riders. Johnny lifted a hand and gave a shout, which was passed along to get Woody’s attention. Woody started forward at a trot, the fringe of his chaps fluttering. Johnny had begun to wonder if Woody slept in his chaps, as he’d never seen the boy without them.

“I don’t think another rider is gonna make any difference, seein’ as how that scrub only has about half the legs mine has,” Fudge said. “What did you come up with to bet?”

Johnny grinned and got out of the saddle. “Well now, I got six hundred dollars here, Bitta. Harry, what’d you say on the odds?”

Harry rubbed his chin. “I’m gonna call it four to one . . . the roan the favorite, of course,” he added, as if he needed to be exact.

Johnny looked back at Fudge. “You heard the man. I’ll go with that.”

“You’re crazy, John.”

“Maybe.” Johnny shrugged, then peered up at the man. “And if you think that, I guess you don’t mind coverin’ my money."

Fudge looked a little edgy at the taunt, but he didn’t take it. “I know my horse’s gonna win . . . anyone with any eyes knows it.”

“Then you’d get an easy six hundred dollars, wouldn’t ya?” Johnny shook the money in the air. “I got six hundred dollars here, bettin’ at four to one and cash only. Any takers?” He handed the money over to Harry Flagg.

Bitta Fudge jumped in and produced enough to take two hundred and fifty of the bet. As Johnny handed Woody the reins, he heard behind him other men stepping forward, saying things like: “I’ll take fifty of that crazy boy’s money,” and “That ol’ boy must have gotten his head kicked, here’s a hundred says so.”

Woody winked a velvet eye, and Johnny clapped him on the back, then gave him a boost up into the saddle. While he adjusted the stirrups up three notches for Woody’s shorter legs, Johnny cast a glance at Bitta Fudge. Fudge, a man caught between what his eye told him and what his intelligence whispered, was looking at him intently.

Johnny patted Gus’s chest and told Woody to ride like hell. Woody headed Little Gus away at a trot toward the starting line, his tail high and flicking. “I’ve bet on your red cob, sonny,” an old man with no teeth told Johnny.

At that particular minute, as if she’d called him, Etta popped into his mind. Good golly, he’d all but forgotten about her!

He peered over at his truck, but was unable to see Etta. He looked at Little Gus, still heading for the lap and tap starting line, then started off at a jog for his truck, casting glances down the track to see Woody, who was positioning Little Gus at the start.

“Etta!” Johnny reached the truck and looked in the open door.

She was sitting there, eating a ham sandwich. She looked at him, startled.

“Little Gus is about to race,” he told her. It seemed strange that she hadn’t been watching.

“Oh!” She threw aside the sandwich and shifted her legs out the door.

Johnny put out a hand to help her, and then he was tugging her along down the line of cars, to the finish of the track, while he strained to see the start. Doby Brown stood with the red flag, made from an old shop towel, held out for a full minute, and then it flashed downward, and the horses sprinted forward, tossing spirals of dust with their hooves.

From so far down the track, Johnny could not tell which horse took the lead. He could only hope Little Gus made his usual running start on one stride. He knew it would take the roan two, possibly three.

He and Etta reached the finish line, and he looked down the track at the horses and riders coming on like bandits running from the law.

Woody was low over Little Gus, his body compact, like a walnut growth attached there. Bitta Fudge’s hat flashed bright in the sun, and one of his arms was flailing wildly. Up and down the track people were screaming and yelling.

Johnny’s heart seemed to pound in rhythm to the horses’ hooves. He saw the horses’ legs a blur of motion, while he remembered how he had bet the entire six hundred dollars, and if Little Gus did not win, the money would be gone, and Johnny himself would look ridiculous, something he had not allowed himself to think of, but wished now he had considered.

Etta was suddenly gripping his arm, pressing her body against him. Then he saw Little Gus was ahead, by God, and pulling farther in front of the roan, coming on hellbent to win, and Johnny himself was yelling and urging the horse onward with every cell in his body.

When Little Gus crossed the finish line, Johnny jumped clear in the air. The next instant he realized he’d sent Etta stumbling backward. He grabbed her just in time to keep her from falling to the ground. She stared at him.

“He won, Etta.”

She didn’t seem to quite understand what had happened. In fact, her expression, sort of in shock, unnerved him.

“He won,” she repeated in a breathless manner, her gaze shifting beyond him to Little Gus, whom Woody was riding in circles, bringing the gelding back down. “Oh, my . . . he won!” she said in a most peculiar and laughable way.

“Yes, ma’am, he most certainly did,” Johnny said, and then he swept her to him and swung her around right up off the ground.

“Johnny . . . oh . . . I think I’m gonna faint.”

He quick got her over to sit on the bumper of a Buick and put her head down, while people crowded around to congratulate them. His elation was overwhelmed by his concern for Etta, and he worried that he never should have brought her, never should have brought the horse. He might end up being responsible for something dire happening to Etta and the baby, and he cursed his propensity for getting into predicaments.

At last, however, Etta raised her head and said, “I guess I should have bet, like Latrice wanted me to.”

Laughing, Johnny got thoroughly carried away, grabbed her cheeks and kissed her. Immediately embarrassed by what he’d done, there in front of everyone, he was relieved that Woody Lee appeared with Little Gus, so the attention turned to the horse.

“Can you believe it?” Etta said to Latrice several times on the public telephone. She gazed out the glass of the booth, squinting in the bright sunlight, her eyes watering and a great lump in her throat.

Latrice said, “Well, you’re tellin’ me. Don’t you know?”

 “I keep askin’ myself,” she replied. “Maybe I’m dreamin’ all this.”

She told Latrice everything she could think of as fast as possible, until her change ran out, and the operator cut them off. The line went dead right in the middle of Latrice telling Etta that she should bet all she could on the next race.

Etta thought it was a good time for the conversation to be cut off. She was somewhat amazed at Latrice’s predilection for wagering now that she was being given the chance. This was an entirely new side to Latrice, who had always been so very conservative. Although when Etta thought of it, Latrice had always been a big one for playing the Bright and White bingo game on the radio. When they had lived in town, Latrice and several of her neighbors would bet on the game.

Etta hung up the phone, stood holding on to it a moment, until a young man came running up wanting to use it.

Heading back to the truck, she ducked into the restroom on the way, then walked behind the grandstand, where children played, boys pretending to be cowboys and girls making hopscotch squares in the dusty ground. One woman rocked a baby in a stroller while talking with several other women, and one of them was pregnant, too, making Etta feel a little less odd. A line formed at the concession stand; a voice blared from the loudspeaker, testing. Two cowgirls sat atop their horses, talking and laughing with a number of fellows around them.

When she reached the truck Johnny was wiping Little Gus with a wet rag and whistling happily. Seeing him, a sharp emotion, something like a mixture of extreme happiness and extreme fear, swept her. She was so very happy he had come into her life, and she wondered how she would do without him, when it came time for him to go to wherever he would go.

He straightened and leaned against Little Gus. “Well now, Miz Etta, what do you think of your horse?” He was plainly cocky.

Etta knew what he wanted, and she gave it to him, saying, “I think he has a great trainer.”

“And I was right all along,” Johnny prompted her.

She laughed. “And you were right all along.”

She and Johnny gazed at each other, and the air seemed to grow very warm. She saw him gear up to say something, but at that moment Bitta Fudge came sauntering up.

Bitta slipped off his hat and gestured at Little Gus, saying, “That ugly son-of-a-buck sure shut our mouths, Etta. Congratulations.”

She said thank you, but she did take exception to him calling Little Gus ugly.

Bitta said to Johnny, “Man, you think you might train a horse or two for me?”

“We can talk about it, I guess,” Johnny told him, managing to look both proud and humble.

And next Harry Flagg came over to say he wanted to stable four horses at Etta’s barn, so that Johnny could break them.

“I don’t know how long Johnny’s gonna be stayin’ at my place,” Etta said. She looked squarely at Johnny. “Are you goin’ to stay long enough to break Harry’s horses, Johnny?”

He looked at her and blinked, then said, “I imagine I will. Harry, you bring those horses on over.” He gazed at Etta as he spoke.

“I’ll pay your goin’ fee, of course, Etta,” Harry said, “and I’ll spread the word that you’re boardin’ now, if you think you’ll have room.”

“I’ll have room for a few more,” Etta said, her gaze still on Johnny.

“Looks like you’re in the stable business,” Johnny said, when Harry walked away.

“Yes . . . I guess I am.”

They looked long at each other, their eyes asking questions and seeking answers, while their tongues tried to form them.

Etta turned toward the truck cab, saying, “Would you like a ham sandwich?”

Johnny said he would and quickly volunteered to go get her an Orange Crush at the concession stand. “We should celebrate.”

Etta thought he might kiss her when he left, but he just grinned and sauntered away. She watched him go.

When he returned, he had a woman walking beside him—a very pretty woman, with blond hair curling out from beneath her buff-colored hat, wearing a white Western shirt and turquoise pants and custom-made boots with roses embroidered on them.

Her name was Sissy Post, and she was a barrel racer, Johnny said, making the introductions. And she wanted to buy Little Gus for a thousand dollars.

Etta stared at her, then looked at Johnny standing there with a bottle of Orange Crush in each hand and gazing expectantly at her.

Etta said to Sissy Post, “I don’t believe we’re wantin’ to sell.”

“Well, I could go to fifteen hundred,” the woman said, just like that, almost without a blink of the eye. Then she added, “Cash money.”

Etta thought that maybe if she just stood there staring at Sissy Post, the woman might keep on going upward with her offer. Then she gathered her senses and said, “I appreciate your offer, Miss Post, but Little Gus is not for sale. I just couldn’t sell him.”

The woman frowned and then shrugged. “Well, I’ll be around, if you change your mind.” She turned smartly and walked away.

Etta looked at Johnny. He grinned. “Don’t you sell this bugger for anything less than five thousand . . . and if you wait, chances are you can get eight, maybe ten.”

Etta did not care for Johnny talking about selling Little Gus. Then she wondered. Would she have sold Little Gus, if she’d been offered five thousand? Would she sell him for ten? It was a good thing no one was likely to offer ten thousand, because she’d have to make a decision then.

The sun had just set and the pole lights come on when Johnny took Etta to the grandstands to watch the rodeo race. He took her hand, cautioning, “Watch your step.”

The seats were crowded, but they found a place not too high up yet high enough to see well, and with some shorter people in front, so Etta would have no trouble seeing above their heads. An older man in overalls and battered straw hat took a look at Etta, saw she was pregnant, and moved over to give her plenty of room.

When Johnny said he was going down to Harry Flagg’s truck, Etta knew it was to place a bet.

“Johnny, would you place one for me, too?”

His eyes went wide, and she ignored him. She thought if she said something, she would just be opening the way for him to make an I-told-you-so comment. She gave him two hundred dollars that she had brought with her, just in case, then changed her mind, and took one hundred back. Then, as he rose to go, she called to him and reduced her bet by fifty, saying, “He’s won one race today.”

“What’s that have to do with it?” Johnny asked.

“It’s not likely he can win two.”

“Thinking that way, we shouldn’t enter him.”

“Oh, no,” Etta said quickly, “we have to enter him.” She tried to act like she thought Little Gus had a chance in the rodeo race, but she found it very hard to believe that, having won one race, he could win a second. Wasn’t that too much to ask of God and the Universe?

Johnny shook his head as he went away. Etta followed his progress for a moment, until her attention was drawn away by two children riding their horses in a circle outside the cattle pen. More people came and squeezed into the row in front of her, and Etta had to look around a tall, skinny man.

The wind had picked up, and goosebumps rose on her arms. Etta put on her sweater, which she had been using as a cushion on the wooden board seat. The hope that Little Gus would win the race slipped across her thoughts. Johnny would be over the moon if Little Gus won. Roy had won two horse races in one day once, although not with the same horse. She did imagine that a single horse had been known to win two races. Gosh, Johnny had told them stories of horses that had won races all day long, to hear him tell it anyway. She did think he exaggerated; he was a horseman.