Between Heaven and Texas (17 page)

C
HAPTER 31

G
raydon was leaning against the fence, holding a sleeping Howard on his shoulder as he stroked the neck of Dutch's horse, a buckskin bay named Billy Boy. The horse sputtered contentedly as Graydon's hand slid down his coat and stepped closer to the fence, urging him to go on. But when Graydon heard Mary Dell coming with an armload of bedding, he walked toward her.

“Maybe it'd be better if I left.”

“Don't do that,” Mary Dell said. “Please. I need your help.”

“I don't want to cause trouble between you and Taffy.”

“Any trouble I have with Momma has been around since long before you showed up. Trust me. I'm sorry you had to hear all that,” she said, tilting her head toward the house. “She didn't mean it like it sounded. Momma's had a hard year—mostly because she chooses to take everything so hard. Beats me why she gives a flyin' flip about what Marlena Benton and the rest say about us, but she does.”

Graydon nodded and scratched a spot on his neck just below his right ear, the exact same spot Donny had always scratched when he was thinking something through. Mary Dell felt a little catch in her throat, but she swallowed it back.

“Taffy's a proud woman.”

“She is,” Mary Dell agreed with a little laugh. “Though I can't think why. Look at us. It's not like we've got all that much to be proud of.”

Graydon, still holding Howard in his arms, took a long look from left to right, scanning miles of bright blue sky where it met the brown horizon, acres and acres of land, from the flat plain nearest the house where scores of fat, pregnant sheep lolled and dozed in the sun, beyond that to distant, rust-colored hillocks studded with stubborn mesquite trees, and farther still, where the hills sloped downward and met a narrow strip of brownish-green, like a bedraggled hair ribbon, the stingy stream that made the F-Bar-T, small as it was by Texas standards, one of the most desirable ranches in the county.

The stream was just a trickle now, dried up by months of drought. According to family lore that was the state it had been in when Flagadine and George arrived, more than 140 years ago, in the middle of another drought. The other settlers were in too much of a rush to notice such a miserly stream, preferring to stake claims closer to town before somebody else snapped them up. But Flagadine took her time, walked these acres personally, studied the landscape, read the soil, and came to realize that when the drought finally ended and the rains returned, this piddling little stream would swell, overflow its shallow banks, and flood the lowlands, feeding the soil and bringing forth new, tender green grass.

“Well,” Graydon said after a long moment, “this may not seem like anything special to people who live in New York, or San Francisco, or any place like that, but to a rancher, to a Texan, this looks an awful lot like heaven. Twelve hundred acres of God's country. The kind of place I used to dream of having myself, back in the days when I used to do that kind of thing. I don't mean to contradict you, Mary Dell, but it seems to me that your family has plenty to be proud of.”

Mary Dell moved her eyes across the horizon the way Graydon had, seeing what he had seen the way he had seen it, the stark beauty of the land and the unique heritage that she had only begun to fully appreciate when the responsibility for protecting it fell to her. It was a heritage to be proud of, an inheritance worth fighting for. She knew that. So did Graydon.

She laid her hand lightly on his forearm. “So you'll stay?”

He nodded. “For a while.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, locking her eyes with his for just a moment before removing her hand. “I'll just go and make up your bed.”

Graydon glanced at the baby. “Why don't we trade loads? I'm used to making my own bed, and I've got to unpack my gear anyway, what there is of it.”

He passed Howard over to her, took the pile of blankets and sheets, and loped off toward the barn.

Billy Boy, who had been munching a clump of not-very-green grass he'd discovered growing around a fence post, suddenly jerked his head up, looked around, and sputtered.

Mary Dell approached the paddock and scratched the horse gently between the eyes. “Are you wondering where Graydon ran off to? You like him? Me too.”

 

Mary Dell was still petting Billy Boy when Graydon returned. The kitchen door opened at the same time, and Jeb stepped out onto the porch.

“Grandma says come in and wash up before supper,” he yelled in a singsong voice. “And to wipe your boots when you do.”

“Jeb! That's no way to talk to company,” Mary Dell scolded. “Somebody'd think you were trying for first prize in a hog-calling contest, hollering like that. Come over here and say hello to your uncle Graydon.”

Jeb shuffled toward them, scuffing his boots in the dirt and giving Billy Boy a cautious glance before putting out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Graydon.”

Graydon shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too, Jeb.”

Jeb sniffed and used his hand to swipe at his nose. “Are you my real uncle? Or are you just a boyfriend uncle?”

“Boyfriend uncle?” Mary Dell asked.

Jeb nodded. “Like Carla Jean. Daddy says I'm supposed to call her Aunt Carla Jean. I don't like to. She's not my aunt, she's just Daddy's girlfriend.”

Jeb eyed Graydon suspiciously. “Are you Aunt Mary Dell's new boyfriend?”

Mary Dell blushed and started to say something, but Graydon beat her to it.

“I'm not anybody's boyfriend. I'm your uncle Donny's brother. I'm not sure if that makes me your uncle or not,” he said evenly, “but it does make me family.”

“Well, if you're family, then why haven't I met you before?”

“I've been living up in Kansas for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Jeb!” Mary Dell exclaimed. “Uncle Graydon didn't come all the way from Kansas so you could give him the third degree.”

“It's all right,” Graydon said with a wave of his hand. “He's just curious—means he's thinking.” He turned back to Jeb.

“I moved to Kansas before you were born. And before you ask, I'm here now to help out on the ranch for a while, at least through the lambing season.”

“Because Uncle Donny left?” Jeb asked. “My daddy left too. He lives in town, but he doesn't work at the ranch anymore.”

“Did you help out when he did?”

“No,” Jeb said irritably, as if offended by the question.

“There's a lot to do around here,” Graydon said. “Sure could use an extra hand if you're interested. I've got to ride out and take a look at the fences tomorrow. Want to come along?”

Jeb looked down and scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. “I don't ride. Don't like horses.”

Only a slight twitch of his lips told Mary Dell that Graydon was surprised by this information. Why wouldn't he be? Jeb was one of the few boys his age who didn't know how to ride, at least in this part of Texas. Mary Dell knew that Jeb wasn't telling the whole truth about his equestrian experiences. He had ridden, or tried to, once.

When Jeb was about six, Jack Benny had decided to teach him to ride. The boy was tense, frightened of Ranger, a mean-tempered, sixteen-hand-high black horse that Jack Benny rode on the few occasions when he actually showed up to work, and nervous that he would disappoint the father whose approval he so desperately craved. Naturally, that was exactly what happened.

Mary Dell and Lydia Dale were outside the paddock when it did, and Mary Dell could tell by the way her sister gripped the top rail of the fence with both her hands that she was just as nervous as her son.

The first thing that happened was that Jeb approached Ranger from behind, so the horse tried to nip at him. It wasn't Ranger's fault—no horse likes to be snuck up on, though one a little more patient and used to children might have taken it in stride. It wasn't Jeb's fault either; Jack Benny should have told the boy to approach the animal from the side. Actually, he did tell him, but not until Jeb had already made the mistake. Then Jack Benny snapped at his son, asking what the hell was the matter with him? Didn't he even know how to mount a horse?

“Of course not,” Lydia Dale mumbled under her breath. “You never took time to teach him.”

Mary Dell looked sideways at her sister. Her knuckles were white where they clutched at the rail, and her arm muscles were taut, pushing against it, as if poised to jump the fence and pull Jeb out of the paddock. Mary Dell wished she would.

Jeb's lower lip was trembling as he mounted the horse, and his eyes were wide with fright. Ranger must have seemed like a giant to a child so small. Why hadn't Jack Benny saddled up one of the ponies for him instead?

For a couple of minutes, it seemed like everything would be all right. Ranger, with Jeb astride, clutching the saddle horn for all he was worth, calmly circled the paddock. But when Jack Benny instructed the boy to give the horse a kick in the flanks so he'd pick up some speed and Jeb refused to do so, saying this was fast enough, Jack Benny scowled. He walked quickly to the opposite side of the paddock and slapped Ranger hard on the rump. The horse reared, not a lot but enough. Jeb tumbled off, landed in the dirt, and started to cry. Jack Benny walked over to the child. Towering over his son with his feet spread and arms crossed, he told Jeb to quit being such a crybaby and demanded that he get up and get back on the horse.

Lydia Dale practically vaulted over the fence and ran across the riding ring to comfort her sobbing son. After ascertaining that Jeb hadn't broken anything in the fall, she picked him up and carried him into the house. Jack Benny sneered as she left, saying it was no wonder Jeb was growing up to be such a momma's boy.

That was the first and last time Jeb had ever tried to mount a horse. Mary Dell wanted to pull Graydon aside and explain the situation but knew she couldn't, not without embarrassing Jeb. But she didn't have to explain; Graydon already seemed to have a pretty good bead on the boy. He'd always been that way, Mary Dell remembered. Not much of a talker but observant, able to understand what any creature, whether it walked on two feet or four, was feeling just by watching it. Donny had that same gift—that was part of what had made him such a good rancher—but Graydon possessed it in even greater measure. Mary Dell felt so lucky that Graydon had come to their aid.

“I used to be a rodeo rider,” Graydon said, looking at the top of Jeb's drooping head. “Did you know that? First time I met your aunt was outside a rodeo ring not far from here, at the fair. She tripped and fell and I helped her up. We talked, but just for a second. About the time she got to her feet, they called my name for the bull riding competition.”

Jeb lifted his head and looked up at Graydon, clearly impressed. “You were a bull rider?”

“Among other things. That was a good day,” Graydon said, smiling just a little. “I took first place in the bull riding. I met your aunt Mary Dell. And later, I met your momma.”

“You know my momma?”

“Yep,” Graydon answered quickly. “I met the whole family that day. The next day wasn't quite as good, though. I got thrown and broke a rib.”

Jeb winced. “Must have been a mean horse.”

“Naw.” Graydon shrugged. “Horses aren't mean, not naturally. But if they're in pain, or if people mistreat them, or frighten them, sometimes they act mean. If you take time to get to know a horse and let him get to know you, feed him, brush him, let him get familiar with the way you talk and smell, he won't be mean to you or try to throw you. See, that bronc that threw me, he was just scared. He was wild, had never been ridden, and didn't know me from Adam.

“Now that I think of it,” Graydon said, almost as if he were talking to himself, letting his gaze drift toward the horizon, “I don't believe I will ride fences tomorrow. Seems to me I should spend the day getting my feet under me. Dutch says y'all are missing some feed. I should introduce myself to the hands, assure them I'm aware of the situation and will be keeping an eye on it.”

He paused for a moment, scratched his thinking spot, just below his ear.

“Probably ought to spend some time looking over the stock too, get to know them a little better. Say,” he said, looking down at Jeb, “I don't suppose you'd like to help feed and curry the horses in the morning? You're pretty well filled out for your age. I need somebody strong to help me haul hay bales and water buckets, somebody who can show me the ropes and help me get the feel of the place.”

Jeb bit his lower lip, turning it from pink to white as he considered this offer. “I guess so,” he said cautiously and then, more stoutly, “Okay.”

“Thank you, son,” Graydon said, laying his arm on the boy's shoulder. “I sure appreciate the help.”

The kitchen door opened. Lydia Dale, carrying the baby and looking irritated, stepped out onto the porch calling, “Jeb! Where are you? Grandma says she sent you out—”

Seeing her eldest standing next to Graydon pulled her up short. She stopped in mid-sentence, closed her mouth, and opened it again.

“Hey.”

Graydon touched two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Hey, Lydia Dale.”

After an awkward pause she stared straight at Jeb, looking only at him.

“Where have you been? Grandma says she sent you out to round everybody up for supper fifteen minutes ago.”

“Sorry, Momma.”

She turned her attention to Mary Dell, looking past Graydon as if he were as insubstantial as a breath of wind. “Are you staying for supper?”

Mary Dell shook her head. “Howard still hasn't had his afternoon exercise session.”