A Gentle Rain (18 page)

"Aw, shucks."

"Ben, I'm not flattering you. I'm sincerely impressed."

I sat up. "But see, here's the thing: I'm not doing anything special. I'm just doing what's right."

"That's what makes you special."

"I wish it'd make me a little more money."

"It will. In the long run ..."

"There may not be a long run. But that's just between you and me."

She searched my face. "I thought there was a good bit of profit in beef cattle ranching."

"Some years, yeah. Some not. Tell everybody to go back to low-carb diets. I almost had my hay baler paid off."

"Perhaps beef cattle aren't your best product. If you're sincerely interested in doing what's best for the planet-"

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you're against eaten' red meat."

She hesitated, frowning. "Don't take it personally."

I stood, whipping my hat off and slapping it on one leg. "I'm not sellin' my herd. Drop this subject right now. I don't want to hear it."

"You don't have to sell the herd overnight. Just ... transition ...

"Into what? Raising beef cattle is all I know. It's what I do best. All I need're a few breaks to get back in the black." I gestured at her t-shirt. It had a humpback whale on it. "What I don't need is an ignorant do-gooder giving me lectures about how to save the whales."

She stood, looking huffy. "My whales and your Herefords are connected by an intricate ecosystem. They're not a separate issue."

"Well, when a humpback swims up the Little Hatchawatchee and starts eating grain at the feeding troughs, I'll put my brand on it."

"You stubborn, knee-jerk-"

Whoosh. Swish of gray, thundering hooves. A quick breeze.

The gray mare raced by us, trailing her lead rope, or at least, what was left of it where she'd chewed through the nylon. Her ears flattened, her muzzle curled back, she bared her teeth. She hated the cows, and she was about to show `em who was boss.

"See there," I said to Karen, as I ran to save the herd. "Even that mare's a meat eater."

Kara

I leaned my chin on my folded hands, gazing sadly at the gray mare through the top rail of her corral. "We have to have a talk about a little psychological problem called `transferal of hostility."' I spoke to her in Portuguese. I didn't want anyone to know I was conducting a therapy session. "Yes, it can be emotionally satisfying to foist your anger onto innocent and helpless bystanders. But ultimately, the only one who suffers is you." I paused. "Although I suppose there might be some disagreement on that point, from the perspective of the five cows you bit."

She snorted softly, as if enjoying the fond memory.

I cleared my throat. "Luckily, they'll all recover with the help of a little antibiotic ointment. The fact that you only inflicted surface wounds tells me you were merely `acting out.' You're just looking for attention. But attacking others is not the way to get it? Understand?"

The mare eased closer to me, exhaled, then rubbed her head on my elbow. Moving carefully, I stroked her nearest ear. "See there? When you give up your stubborn isolationism, when you actively open your heart and mind to new ideas and the possibility of friendship, the hostility and distrust all fade away."

I gave her another pat on the head, then stepped back. "Now, think about what I've said, and then go share the lesson with Ben."

I turned to walk away. Ben stood there. A little dusty, and smeared with cow blood. "I heard my name in all that," he said grimly. "And it didn't sound good."

"Let's just say, I'm sure Bone Mizell would be proud of you."

"I don't think you mean that in a good way," he said, as I walked off.

I never meant to start a beefeating war. I swear. I was only toying with small agents of change while I tried to decide how best to help Ben save his ranch, not just for his sake, but for Mac and Lily's.

"You're not hungry tonight, Lily?" Ben asked. "This pot roast is great."

But Lily shook her head. "I'm eating salads now. And lots of fresh vegetables. And ... low gly ... gly-" she looked at me for help.

"Glycemic," I said in a low voice, keeping my head down.

"Low glycemic starches."

She handed the platter of pot roast past her, to Cheech. But then Cheech shook his head and handed the pot roast to Bigfoot. Bigfoot speared a piece, then wavered, finally put it back on the platter, and passed the platter to Mac.

Mac looked down at the pile of beef, new potatoes, carrots and onions with true longing, but passed the platter to Possum. Possum broke the pot-roast chain letter by raking a huge serving onto his plate. I sighed with relief.

"Karen?" Ben said in a low, even growl. "Is there something I need to know about the pot roast?"

"It's f-fine, Ben!" Mac said cheerfully. "But this 1-little girl here, she cooks lots of g-good things that aren't b-beef When I s-sat up with the m-mares in the foaling b-barn the other n-night, K-Karen brought me a f-fried squash sandwich. Fried. Squash. And it was g-good!"

Fried squash sandwich. Ben's dark eyebrows flattened. Even the other non-pot-roast eaters gawked at me. "Nothing wrong with a squash ... sandwich," Miriam said uncertainly.

"Aw come on, Miriam, that's just plain damned weird," Lula countered. "No man can spend a night helpin' birth foals with nothing but fried squash for a snack."

Lily's eyes flashed. "Yes, they can! Karen says it's smart not to eat meat. She says it's bad for the world. And so ... let's eat fried squash, instead!"

Silence.

I groaned. Ben stabbed a fork into the pot roast and lifted it to his mouth. "Shut your eyes, everybody, I'm about to ruin the planet." He chewed and swallowed.

"I didn't ask everyone to follow my lead," I said stiffly. "It's a personal choice, not a political statement. Please, all ofyou, eat your pot roast. Mac, please. Joey, it's all right." Joey frowned and poked his entree as if deciding a hard loyalty.

Finally, he took another bite of beef, but then looked at me for approval. I nodded. But that was the only bite he ate. I stabbed a fork full of salad into my mouth and chewed defiantly, staring at Ben. But Ben was looking at Joey.

And Ben was not happy at all.

Immediately after dinner I stomped out to the back yard to scatter scraps on the kitchen compost pile, which was otherwise known as `the night crawler bed,' since Cheech and Bigfoot pulled fishing worms from it. I had instructed them to bring me all the edible fish they could catch in the creek.

Ben followed me into the shadows. He held a cigar in one hand. The smoke wafted into a starry spring sky. "You got something against smoking an occasional hand-rolled cheroot," he growled, "or is that bad for the planet, too?"

"You may smoke whatever you like. Moderate smoking of organic tobacco is a harmless and ritualistic ceremony, in my opinion. The problem is in smoking processed and artificially enhanced tobacco products that are designed to be highly addictive."

"Hell, I don't know whether you just insulted my cigars or not. I need a translator."

I slung my bucket of leftovers onto the compost then faced him angrily. "I'm not a threat, Ben. I'm not trying to convert you and your employees to some strange religion. You're already an environmentalist, whether you'll admit it or not."

He stubbed the cigar on a post then flung it on the compost pile. "Let's just cut to the chase. Joey loves pot roast. He loves hamburgers, and T-bone steaks and beef tacos. He loves barbecue pork ribs and hotdogs and breakfast sausage with his biscuits. He ain't got a lotta things left to enjoy. Don't you scare him off the food he loves. Don't take that away from him."

My anger faded. This explained so much. "Ben, I'm sorry. I didn't understand how seriously he and others would react to a few simple comments. I'll talk to him. I'll reassure him. I am sorry."

"You think I'm a dumb cowboy? Because only ... only guys who went to college can understand the difference between good food and bad food?"

"No! I would never elevate a college diploma over life experience and common sense. You have to understand, I've seen the genius of natural l i f e s t y l e s and native ... "

"Those T-bones and blocks of ground beef stored under the junk food you hate in the freezer? They're from fat, happy cattle I raised with my own two hands. Some people call it `free-range' beef I call it my `livin'. I raised those animals, I cared for them kindly, and by God, I had the balls to admit they were meant to be food for me and my people. I killed `em quick and clean and said a prayer of thanks over their blood. And I butchered their meat, and I'm proud to eat it, and I'm proud it feeds the people who work for me."

"Ben, please don't think-"

"This country's full of people who never had to kill an animal to put meat on the table. Kids who think meat comes from a magic machine in the grocery store. Damn. I eat meat, and my people eat meat, and we don't ask nobody to look in the eyes of an animal for us and to kill it for us so we can pretend that steak on the plate wasn't ever part of a living, breathing, fellow creature. We know what it takes to live and eat and survive. And I ain't ever gonna apologize for that. Not to you or anybody."

I held out my hands desperately. "I do respect the sustainable harvesting of animal resources. Fish, shellfish s h e l l fi s h..." "

"Why just them? You think a trout don't want to avoid being somebody's dinner?"

I groaned and shook my head. "You're missing the point. The mass production of large animals for meat is inefficient and ecologically unsound."

"At the risk of sounding like Dale, that's not what Jesus said." He threw out a hand. "Hell, all those people in the Bible owned goats! And I'm pretty sure they are some of `em."

"I'm not tryin' to challenge the entire Judeo-Christian tradition of meat consumption, all right? And I'm certainly not trying to belittle your livelihood."

"Belittle it all you want. But don't go puttun' the wrong ideas in Joey's head or anybody else's around here. They tend to take ideas to heart. Kinda got tunnel vision. They think you're a wonder worker. They'll do what you say, and they'll mimic what you do."

"You assume I have tremendous influence over people. I only wish I were such a force in the world."

He pulled another half-smoked cigar butt from his dusty shirt pocket, started to light it, then cursed and threw it on the compost pile, too. "You want to take care of everybody's problems? Well, how about your own? Why do you cry in your bed almost every night?"

"How could you possibly know-oh, no."

"Yeah, Mac and Lily. They worry about you. They hear you."

"Then I'll ... I'll put a pillow over my head." I started past him. He grabbed my arm. Gently. When I lasered his hand with my eyes, he lifted the hand quickly. His dark gaze held me in place, regardless. "You sure you don't have a problem I need to know about?"

"I'm certain. And I promise you, I'm not going to disrupt your routines or bring any serious trouble to your life, here. I promise you. I'm only trying to help."

"I ... dammit, maybe I could help you."

"No, you can't." I wavered a little, looking up at him i n the starlight. "But thank you. You're a good man. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"What planet are you from?" His voice was gruff, maybe even wistful. "I've never met anybody like you in my whole life."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I hugged my slop bucket and headed back toward the house, then stopped and looked back at him. "Would you try a fried squash sandwich sometime?"

"Not even if you paid me," he said.

Chapter 9

Kara

After the infamous pot roast debacle, not to mention my complicity in the gray mare's cow assault, I felt as if I were a rich dilettante flailing about foolishly in the world of real people. Maybe I deserved my oval realty TV show. I could have made Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie look positively sensible.

I could not change the past or my own misgivings, but maybe I could help an abused horse Mac and Lily cherished.

"She still hasn't bit you even once," Miriam opined cheerfully. "B en's jealous."

Lily, Miriam, Joey and I stood outside the mare's stall. She snapped at other horses, more out of worry than real anger, so she continued to live a separate life from the herd. "Jailbird," Mr. Darcy said to her from a safe place on a barn rafter.

Maybe so, but the main horse barn was a lovely place in which to serve prison time. It had ceiling fans and skylights. The stalls were large and well-kept, and all faced a large, enclosed ring. The paddock was large enough for basic riding maneuvers, making a dry, sheltered area in which to train horses even on bad-weather days. A high wooden fence separated the ring from the alley fronting the stalls.

Ben often turned Cougar, his breeding stallion, into the ring. Cougar was twenty years old, and had a touch of arthritis. He seemed happy to stay indoors, wandering the large ring and saying a rakish hello to various mares in his harem. They watched him like adoring spectators.

Except for the gray mare. One morning I'd watched him meander over and crane his head at her across the ring's top rail. They could have touched noses if she'd liked. Instead she flattened her ears, snapped at him, then turned her rump to her stall door.