O.L. Shepp's upcoming middle grade fiction novel "Big Horn Catchemquick"
Chapter One
He’s the Rock for a reason. He’s never gotten sick, never been crippled or injured. Dad says, “He’s The Rock, because he’s never missed a day’s work in his life.” Dad also says, “Rocky’s head is just that, a rock.” They don’t like to share the same space. Rocky, he’s still on winter vacation running free in the south pasture, leaving either May-Bee or Bucky my only options to ride today.
Trotting May-Bee around behind the bulls to burn off his extra energy, I keep him from rushing the young animals through the rocks. “HOT,” I shout to the birds. “This horse is hot, always in a hurry and never in the right direction.” These young boys need to be kept close; nature is testing the fences around the bull’s pasture as winter turns to spring.
For a mountain’s slope, it’s normal to imagine lush conifers and aspen, but not this mountain. Here, we’re talking the edge of The Rocky Mountains where sagebrush grows above your horse’s head and grease wood and buck brush that’ll tear your legs apart at a trot. Boulders intermittently present then SNAP, you’ll find that you are toppling through confectioner’s sand so fine that when the wind blows you have no other choice but to stand still.
There is no wind today. No wind yet, anyway. Dad always says, “The wind is good for the animals. It blows the snow away from the grass, making it easier for the animals to graze.” Dad loves the wind. I hate it; reminds me of our relationship.
Laced in white, my breath crystallizes in the afternoon air, despite the sunshine ablaze overhead. I wish I had worn my heavier coat and dang, stupid me, a pair of gloves would be nice. I’m always second guessing myself. Perhaps, it’s the weather in the mountains that is never predictable.
Plumes of dust in my eyes, I shove my feet further into the stirrups and grab hold of May-Bee’s black mane. Reaching for the saddle horn, there is nothing. Smack. Air escapes my chest with a, “Humph,” as I return to my seat in the saddle. Finally, I clutch the horn and pull his head around. May-Bee, pulls fast to the right, catapulting me toward a jet stream streaking the pale sky.
Lying motionless, humiliated and angry, I look up wishing I could be one of the passengers in that plane overhead headed anywhere.
A dull pain pulsates in my wrist. A lone wolf howls from across the ridge. Another, much closer wolf, drones his reply.
I stand up to scan the surroundings. I feel eyes on me. Over my shoulder I see that blasted mule standing there staring. “You’re done! It’s time for a trip to the sale barn.” Rubbing my arm I attempt to wriggle my fingers. “Always was a better horse to look at than to ride, you pretty thing.”
I creep to stand beside the buckskin. Taking a deep breath, I bite my lip as hard as possible. No sign of Jackson yet, and I know I need to stay with the two young bovines. Dad will be furious with me, if I lose them a second time. Leaning close, I grab one dangling rein with my good hand.
“Where’s Jackson?” My hand begins to tingle. I move my fingers just as much as the pain allows. “Got ya,” I gather the second rein and stuff both in my hip pocket. “I can’t ride you,” Cradling my lame arm close to my side I lead May-Bee down the slope. Picking and choosing my footing, the travel is slow. May-Bee tries continuously to overcome me and leave. On I walk hopeful, but doubtful of seeing my two bulls again. The wolves, now, sing a duet.
Dusk creeps on, I turn to May-Bee and toss a rein over each shoulder. I have to keep up with those two bulls. Exhaling through clenched teeth, I gather the courage I have left and grab the saddle horn. Pulling the reins short, I jab my boot through the stirrup and climb into the saddle. Hunting for signs of my two strays, Jackson gallops up the slope grinning.
“Hurry up, Sis,” he hollers. “Frances came to help. We’ve got your boys at the windmill. Where’ve you been?” Jackson rides up beside me, his smile disappears. “Dumped ya, didn’t he? Hurt?” Jackson slows to a walk. “Mom’ll be home, she texted. She bought two horses. We can quit this beauty. He’s better suited for the movies. Don’t ya think?”
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