Blue Moon (2 page)

I was in no position to be rude. I meant to be polite. Really, I did. But the words just came out. “No, you look like you should be standing in somebody's garden to scare the crows away. But I still need to know if you can lend me ten dollars.”

That remark should have finished my chances of borrowing ten cents from Cole McCall. I couldn't believe it when he started to laugh. “You're somethin' else, Blue Jeans.”

Before I could decide on an answer to that he reached into his pocket and came
out with a crumpled five-dollar bill and some change. “That's all she wrote. Seven good enough?”

I shook my head. I couldn't come this close and give up. “Check your other pockets. Maybe you've got some more change.”

He stared at me again for a minute, sighed and checked the other pocket of his jeans. He shook his head. “Out of luck, lady.”

“Are you sure?”

Cole sighed. “Honest, Officer, I'm sure. You want to search me or what?”

I could feel my face warming up again. “No!” I blurted out. “But what about your jacket pockets?”

He shrugged and jammed his hands into the pockets of his ragged jean jacket. His right hand came out the bottom of the pocket. He laughed and waved it at me. I just glared at him. Then he brought out his left hand, closed.

“Well?” I demanded.

Slowly, he opened his hand. He was holding three matches, his truck keys—and four coins. I pounced on the money. A loonie, two quarters, two dimes and a nickel.

“Close enough! Give it to me quick.” I held out my hand. “Please,” I added, remembering to be polite this time.

“Uh-uh. Not until you tell me what you want it for.”

I felt my temper fraying around the edges. If he kept this up the horse would be canned before I got back with the money. “To pay for the horse, okay?”

Cole raised his eyebrows. “Ten bucks for a horse? Must be a real winner.” But he handed me the money.

“For your information, I paid 690 dollars for her. I'm just short ten dollars. I'll pay you back at school tomorrow—if you happen to show up.”

“Wouldn't miss it, Blue Jeans,” he said, starting to turn away. “I better get back to work before I get fired.”

“You work here?”

“Yeah, I work here. You think throwing those bales around is a hobby? Low-rent bodybuilding or something?”

I glanced at the muscles in his forearms below his rolled-up sleeves. Throwing bales wasn't doing Cole any harm in the bodybuilding department.

“Hey, kid!” one of the guys over at the truck called. “Get over here. You can talk to your girlfriend on your own time.”

Cole looked at me. “Now look what you've gone and done to my reputation,” he said with a taunting grin. He turned and was gone before I could say thanks—if I'd been going to say thanks, that is.

I recounted my $680 and pushed it across to the clerk. Then I handed over Cole's bills and change. Last, I gave him a smoothed-out gum wrapper. He looked down at the money, flicked the gum wrapper aside and then looked up at me. “Short a buck and a quarter,” he growled.

“I know that,” I said. “That's why I gave you this.” I pushed the gum wrapper back across the desk.

“I don't want a gum wrapper.”

“Read it. Never mind. Maybe you can't. I'll read it to you. ‘IOU a dollar twenty-five. Signed, B.J. Brooks.' I'll mail you the money tomorrow.”

The clerk sighed wearily and rubbed his head as if he had a real bad headache.

“Aw, come on!” I burst out. “I swear you'll get the money. You aren't gonna resell my horse on account of a buck and a quarter, are you?”

The clerk didn't answer. He just reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of change. He picked out a loonie and a quarter and put them on top of my pile of money. Then he took the bill of sale and scrawled PAID IN FULL across it in big, black letters. He handed it to me.

“Hey, uh, thanks,”” I said. “That was nice of you.”

“Just do me a favor, miss. Take your horse and go. Go far and go fast.”

I took the bill of sale and went. I had to get my horse and load her into Dad's stock
trailer. The thought of hauling her home made me more nervous than I wanted to admit. I hadn't done much driving with the trailer behind me. And what if I couldn't get the horse into the trailer? Stop worrying about that, I told myself. After all, she hadn't walked from wherever she came from. Somebody must have loaded her.

I glanced down the row of parked trailers. A kid about my age was leading a big, strong-looking red mare up to the back of a trailer. I remembered seeing that horse sell. The meat buyers had been the only ones bidding on her, too. I guessed it was because of her age. She was a real old horse. But at the last minute this kid had jumped in and bought her. I wondered at the time if he knew what he was doing. Now I watched as he opened the trailer door and stepped inside without even looking back. The big mare lifted her feet neatly and calmly stepped into the trailer, too. The boy came out, fastened the door and got into the truck. Loading his horse had taken about two minutes. Maybe
the kid did know what he was doing. At least the old mare had manners.

Okay, B.J., you saw how that guy did it. Walk right in and assume the horse is going to follow. Don't look back. Never let her know you're not sure of yourself.

I led the horse to the trailer and stepped right up into it as smoothly as I could—considering the tightness of my jeans. I took two more steps inside the trailer. The rope went taut so suddenly that I almost did the world's first sideways bungee jump. I decided that now might be a good time to look back. My roan mare had stopped dead at the trailer door. She was standing there rooted to the ground like a big oak tree, and I could see she had no plans for travel.

Must be time for Plan B. Now, what was Plan B? Well, there was always the oats. My old pony would walk through fire for oats. I got out the pail I'd brought along, scooped out a handful and held them out to the roan. Her eyes lit up with interest. From the way her ribs showed through her moth-eaten
hair, I'd bet she hadn't seen a whole lot of oats lately. She stuck her lips out, gathered up a few kernels and crunched them thoughtfully. “Good girl,” I said. Then I backed a step closer to the trailer, taking up the slack of the rope. My horse blew suspiciously through her nostrils and took a step back. Then she just stood there, eyeing me like she knew I was up to something. She refused to even sniff the next handful of oats I held out. This was one horse with self-control.

Plan C. Get tough. I led the mare around in a circle and up to the trailer again. Again she balked at the door. “Come here!” I commanded, sounding tough, I hoped. The horse didn't move. I gave the rope a little jerk. The mare threw up her head and gave the rope a bigger jerk. “Come on, horse,” I said through my teeth. I gave the rope a good yank. The mare reared, lunged backward and almost fell on her back. The rope went sizzling through my right hand. I managed to grab on with the other hand just in time to keep her from getting away. She came down
on all four feet, got her balance back and stood there snorting and trembling.

I looked at the palm of my right hand. The rope had burned most of the top few layers of skin off. The burn was bright pink and oozing clear liquid. That was going to really hurt in a few minutes. As a matter of fact, it hurt enough already.

I sank down on the edge of the trailer floor and sat blowing cool air on my hand and staring out at my horse. She glared back at me from the far end of the rope, waiting for my next move. Unfortunately, I didn't have a next move. In fact, if I'd been the crying type this would have been a real good time to start blubbering. But I didn't. I just sat there with my head in my hands and tried to think.

“Anything I can do, Blue Jeans?” My head shot up so fast I spooked the horse, and she jumped back, almost giving me another rope burn. “I was watchin' you try to load her from the hay truck over there,” Cole said. He was looking down at me with
kind of a half-grin on his face. “Didn't look like you were havin' much luck.”

This was all I needed. Cole McCall rubbing in the fact that I'd bought an outlaw. About five nasty comments ran through my head. But, for once, none of them made it out of my mouth. “You got that right,” was all I said.

“I know a trick that sometimes works when a horse won't load any other way. Want me to give it a try?”

I shrugged. “You want to play cowboy hero, go ahead.”

Cole just smiled and uncoiled the rope he'd brought along. He tied one end to a steel brace on the side of the trailer. Then he walked around the mare, bringing the other end of the rope with him but leaving lots of slack.

“Okay,” he said, “you try to lead her in and I'll bring the rope around tight behind her rump. Sometimes a horse steps forward when they feel the push from behind.”

“Yeah?” I said doubtfully. “And sometimes the horse just kicks the teeth out of whoever's back there.”

Cole grinned. “Yeah, that too. But that's not your problem. You just worry about getting out of the way if she comes in with a flyin' leap.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, my voice tired. “And the man in the moon had better be ready to get out of the way if she takes a flyin' leap up there, too.”

Cole ignored that. “Okay,” he said. “Try and get her to come forward.”

I gave a pull on the halter rope. The mare showed the whites of her eyes and started to step backward. Cole pulled on the rope so it snugged up around her hindquarters. She gave a startled snort and flicked her ears back to check out what was happening. I could see her getting ready to freak out. “Give her another pull,” Cole ordered. I did.

The mare reared. Cole took in the slack and pulled the rope up tighter behind her. I had a hunch the mare was going to rear again. If she did, she'd bash her head against the top of the door frame. Then I felt the
tension in the rope change. I saw the mare gather her muscles. The next thing I knew she'd taken a flying leap up into the trailer. It was more reflexes than brains that made me take a flying leap off to the side before she landed on top of me. Then the trailer door slammed behind the horse. She was blowing through her nostrils with a kind of terrified snort.

I did the only thing I could think of. I reached out a hand, touched a quivering, sweating shoulder and said, “Easy, girl, you're all right.” I'm sure my shaking voice didn't come out real easy, but the horse stopped snorting.

Just then the trailer's side door opened and Cole looked in. “Aren't you coming out, Blue Jeans?” he asked innocently.

I gave him a fierce glare as I climbed out the door. “Thanks a lot for locking me in there with her,” I said.

Cole shrugged. “You didn't want her to get out again, did you?” He slid the latch into place and breathed a big sigh. “Okay,
Blue Jeans, you got yourself a horse in a trailer. Try not to spill her on the way home, okay?”

I flashed him a look. “After all that, I'm—”

A voice interrupted me. It was Merv Miller, one of the owners of the auction barn. He was staring at Cole. “This is the second time today you've been talking when you're supposed to be working. Last Thursday you didn't bother showing up at all. I've had it with you, McCall.”

“Hey, come on, Mr. Miller,” Cole said. “I explained all that. And I was just helping out—”

“Save it for somebody who cares, McCall. I don't. And don't bother showing up for work next week. I'll mail your wages.”

Cole gave him an unbelieving stare. “You're firing me?”

“You catch on quick, kid.” He started to walk away but Cole grabbed his arm.

“Come on, Mr. Miller, you can't do that. I need this job.”

Miller shook off his hand and gave him an icy stare. “I just did. Touch me again and I'll have you up for assault.” He turned and strode off.

Cole swore under his breath and slammed his fist into the back of the trailer so hard it spooked the mare. She slammed a hoof against the gate.

“Cole, I…” I began, but Cole spun around and just kept walking away.

I drove home carefully, like I was hauling a load of dynamite—which in a way I probably was. And all the way home I kept on thinking about Cole McCall. About him getting fired, I mean. And how it was my fault. And that really made me mad because it wasn't my fault. Did I ask him to come over and stick his nose into my business while he was supposed to be working? No,
it wasn't my fault. But I still couldn't stop feeling guilty about it.

At last I was home. I wheeled the truck up our lane, cut the engine and for a minute just sat there letting the tension ease out of my muscles. But then the kitchen door opened and the welcoming committee came pouring out. Mom, Dad and my stupid twelve-year-old sister. I took a deep breath and got out of the truck.

“Thank goodness you're home. We were beginning to think you'd had an accident.” Mom, always the worrier.

“So what'd you buy? Bet it's not any good.” Sara, my upbeat sister.

“Hmm, no major body damage,” Dad said with a grin as he pretended to check out the truck and trailer. “Well, open the door, Bobbie Jo. Let's see the colt that's going to be a future barrel racing champion.”

I hadn't been looking forward to this moment. “Well, it's not exactly a…” I began, but Dad was already opening the trailer door. I just had time to catch the halter
rope before the mare exploded out of there like a blue tornado. Before I got her under control she managed to drag the rope through my already rope-burned hand. “Whoa!” I roared furiously and, amazingly, she stopped. She stood there trembling and eyeing my family like they'd just landed from Mars. They stood there looking at her in about the same way.

“Well, she's, uh, an interesting color,” my mother managed at last.