Blue Moon (3 page)

Dad looked her up and down and I could see he was trying hard to say the right thing. “A little good feed might make quite a difference” was the best he could come up with.

Sara stepped up and inspected the horse at close range. “Bobbie Jo, that is the most totally gross excuse for a horse I ever saw in my life.”

The mare swung her head around and took a nip at Sara's leg. It was the first intelligent thing I'd seen her do. Unfortunately, she missed.

Dad cleared his throat. “Well, I don't know about anybody else, but I'm starved. Put your horse in the corral, Bobbie Jo, and let's go get some supper.”

I led the mare over to the corral where my old pony, Patchy Pete, was standing. Patchy had his head over the fence, waiting to meet his new friend. I shooed him out of the way and led the mare inside. Patchy rushed over like a Welcome Wagon hostess about to greet the new neighbor. The mare took one sniff at him, whirled around and landed both hind hoofs on his well-padded side. Patchy scuttled over to cower in the far corner of the corral. He looked downright disappointed—just like the rest of the family.

Fortunately, we had to rush through supper so no one had time to talk much. Sara had ballet lessons—yeah, I have a sister who actually takes ballet lessons—and Mom had to drive her to town by seven. That meant Dad and I got stuck with the dishes, but it was worth it just to get Sara out of my sight.

I was up to my elbows in greasy water when Sara passed by on her way out of the house. “Have a nice time with your moth-eaten horse,” she said sweetly. “Oh, and your twenty dollars is on your dresser.”

“My what?” I dropped the frying pan I was washing and slopped a tidal wave of soapy water onto the floor.

“Well, you don't have to take a hairy over it. You had a whole pile of them lying there this morning while you were in the shower. Mom forgot to give me money to get my hair cut and she was already gone, so I just borrowed a twenty from you. It's not as if I stole it or something. I gave it back. You probably didn't even miss it…”

I couldn't say a word. There are times when words just can't say how you feel like a greasy dishrag can. I was out of that sink and had Sara cornered and half the freckles scrubbed off her face before Dad yelled at me to leave her alone. I got a big lecture from him on mature behavior after Mom and Sara left. But the revenge had been well
worth it. Besides, I caught Dad grinning a little when he was supposed to be glaring. He's probably the only person on earth who even comes close to understanding me.

Later, as I sat sort of studying for my last exam of the year, Dad was going through the mail. Out loud. “Bill, bill, bill,” he muttered, tossing the first three envelopes in a pile. He paused a minute, studying a folder the government had sent out. “Student Farm Employment Program. Hey, maybe they'll actually pay you for helping me on the farm all summer.”

“What?” I came to full attention.

He read on for another few seconds. “Oh, forget it, Bobbie Jo. Fine print says the government will pay half the wages if a farmer hires a student for the summer. But the student can't be a member of your own family.”

“What a rip-off,” I muttered. I'd gone from poor to rich to poor again in one split second.

“Well, so much for that,” Dad said. “I don't know of any other kids who'd want to
spend their summer stacking bales and hauling manure.” He flicked the folder toward the garbage. And with a move that would have made any big-league shortstop proud, I picked it off in mid-flight. Dad raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I think you could be wrong about that, Dad,” I said slowly. “What if I can find someone who wants the job?”

Dad scratched his head. “Well now, that depends. Is this mysterious person going to be worth as much to have around as you are?”

“Not even close,” I said with a grin. “But I think he really needs the work. Is it a deal?”

Dad shrugged. “Sure, I'll give it a shot.” Then he got a teasing look in his eye. “This guy must be someone pretty special for you to go to all this trouble.”

“Not exactly,” I told him. “It's just because of a little debt I owe.”

Cole did actually show up for school the next day, but he was in no mood for a visit. First
I tried to give him the money I owed him. He just shook his head and turned away.

“Come on, Cole, take it. I said I was gonna give it back and I meant it.”

He shot me a smoldering look over his shoulder. “Forget it, Blue Jeans. Eight bucks ain't gonna make a whole lot of difference now.” He started to walk away.

I followed. “What is it with you anyhow? I didn't ask you to help me load the horse. You don't need to blame me for what happened.”

“Who said I was blamin' you?” he said, still walking.

“It's pretty obvious you are. Anyway, that's sort of what I need to talk to you about. A job, I mean.”

That stopped him in his tracks. “What job?”

“I know where you can get a summer job. If you want another job, that is.”

“Want?” Cole said with a bitter laugh. “Want don't have nothing to do with it. Need is more like it. So where's this job?”

“At my place. Helping my dad with haying and stuff.”

“Oh, I get it. You got to feelin' a little guilty so you talked your old man into inventing a job for the poor boy, huh?” He started walking again. “Well, you can forget it, Blue Jeans. I don't need your charity.”

I caught up to him again. “Look, Cole McCall, I couldn't care less if you take this job or not, but one thing you better know. It's not charity. And the job's not invented. There's plenty of work on our farm to keep a dozen guys like you busy. The only reason I'm not getting this job myself is that the government won't help pay for family. Job starts at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. If you had a little less pride and a little more ambition you might show up. But I won't hold my breath waiting for you.” I spun around and stalked away, wondering why I'd even bothered to try.

All through my chemistry exam, Cole kept interrupting my thoughts. Here I'd gone and knocked myself out to get him
another job and he decides it's time to get an attitude. Well, that was fine with me. I didn't want him hanging around all summer anyway. But I still had trouble keeping my mind on chemistry.

My last exam—and the school year— finally ended. I bounded off the bus, ready to get to know my new blue horse. I climbed up on top of the corral rail and just sat there studying her for a while, mentally checking off her good and bad points. The list of bad points grew a lot faster than the one of good points. Number one: She was so skinny her ribs stuck out. Okay, at least I could fix that. Lots of grass and some oats would do the trick. Number two: She limped on her left front leg. I hoped it was something she was going to get over real quick. Number three: She was all scarred up in half a dozen places. Some of the scars looked like teeth marks from other horses. If she treated all horses the way she'd treated Patchy last night, I could see how she wouldn't be real popular in the corral.

She also had a cinch sore behind her front leg. It was nearly healed so it wasn't going to be a problem. And it did prove one thing. If someone had ridden her enough to leave her cinch sore, she must at least be broke to ride. I decided I could move that point to the good side. There were a few more things I could have mentioned on the bad side—her mean temper for one—but I decided to move on to the good stuff.

Her color. That was her best point. How do you describe a blue roan? Well, believe it or not, they really are kind of blue. Not sky blue. Kind of smoky gray-blue. It comes from a blend of gray and black and white hairs all mixed together. That color covers the main part of the blue roan's body. The mane, tail, legs and head are usually jet black. Put it all together and it's about the neatest outfit a horse could wear. Sort of like they're all dressed up for dinner at a fancy restaurant.

I decided it was about time for the moment of truth. The moment when I found out what
happened when I actually got on this outlaw. I couldn't actually ride her anywhere till her limp got better, but it wouldn't hurt to get on her. At least, it wouldn't hurt her. What happened to me remained to be seen. I went to the barn and got a halter. Coming back out I met Dad.

“Hey, B.J., I've been looking for you. Got time to help me out for an hour or two?” I sighed inside but gave my dad a grin. He never asks for help unless he really needs it.

“Sure, Dad. What's happening?”

“I'm going to see if I can get that last little field of green feed planted. I think it's finally dried up enough not to get stuck on it. Can you drive me out in the truck and help me fill the seed drill with oats?”

“No problem.”

I gave the roan mare one last glance over my shoulder. I really had wanted to get on her today. She gave me a look that showed quite a lot of the whites of her eyes. I don't think she really wanted anybody to get on her.

By the time I got done helping Dad, it was starting to get dark. My first try at riding this horse wasn't something to rush into with ten minutes of daylight left. She'd still be there tomorrow, I hoped.

Then another thought hit me. Keeping her and Patchy in the corral eating hay was kind of a waste. Patchy always grazed out in the pasture with the milk cows. Now that the mare had been here for a day and was used to Patchy's company, I didn't figure she was likely to try to jump out.

“See, you blue streak of misery,” I said, opening the gate. “I trust you. I'm giving you your freedom.”

Patchy marched calmly out the gate and instantly attacked a patch of grass. The roan eyed me suspiciously. She made a slow approach to the opening, hugged the side farthest from me and eased her way out, pretending to be invisible. At last she was past me. Then she ducked her head, kicked up her heels, gave a defiant squeal and lit out across the pasture. I just shook my head. Well, at least she wasn't all that lame.

The first day of summer vacation. No bus to catch. No last-minute homework to finish. No fighting Sara for just five minutes out of her long-term lease on the bathroom. I was going to sleep and sleep and sleep…

“Bobbie Jo! Get out here right now.” It was Dad's voice and he sounded like he meant business. I unglued my eyelids and stared at the figures on the clock radio.
Seven-fifteen. Seven-fifteen on the first day of the holidays? Give me a break, Dad. “Bobbie Jo!” The volume was rising.

I muttered something that started in my brain as “I'm coming,” but came out of my mouth more like “Mmph hmhm.” I managed to get my sweatshirt on backwards. Then it took three tries before I stopped trying to fit both my legs into one leg of my jeans. Finally, I staggered to the kitchen.

Dad was the only one up. He usually got up first to get the cows in the barn and fed their grain. Either Mom or I went out a little later to help with the milking. Princess Sara did not involve herself with cows. They smelled.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

Dad pointed out the kitchen window. “Take a look out there and you'll see what's wrong. That crazy new horse of yours.”

I looked out the window expecting to see that the roan had jumped the fence and was grazing in the pea patch or something. But she was right there in the cow pasture
where I'd left her. The only problem was that she had all thirty of Dad's prize Holstein cows cornered in the far end of the pasture. She was standing in front of the herd like a prison guard or something. As I watched. one of them made a halfhearted attempt to start toward the barn. Instantly, the mare flattened her ears and made a dive in the cow's direction. The cow made an ungraceful retreat back into the bunch.

I couldn't believe my eyes. What did the mare think she was doing? In all Patchy's years of grazing with the cows, the worst thing he'd done was steal the juiciest clump of clover from some slow-witted cow. Now I'd gone and got a horse who thought she was a cowgirl.

Dad's voice interrupted my thoughts. “You've got exactly two minutes to get that horse out of…”

I tore out of the house and the slamming of the kitchen door cut off the end of his sentence. I grabbed a halter out of the barn and raced across the pasture. Racing up to
any horse you plan to catch is not exactly brilliant. Racing up to this horse sent her galloping to the opposite end of the pasture. It didn't get me one bit closer to catching her, but at least the milk cows escaped. They went streaming gratefully off to the barn for the morning milking.

I got the roan mare cornered. She and I looked at each other. “Whoa,” I growled between my gritted teeth. The mare stood still, trembling a little. I took another step toward her. “Whoa,” I said again. As I reached out to slip the halter rope around her neck, she swung around on her hind legs and took off across the pasture again. As she went she gave a light little whinny. It sounded an awful lot like a laugh to me.

I wasn't laughing. I was sweating and puffing and saying unladylike things under my breath. Dad told me once when I was little that to catch a horse you had to be smarter than the horse. That didn't say a lot for my IQ. I charged across the pasture, trying to cut her off at the pass. Suddenly
my foot hit something slippery and shot out from under me. Next thing I knew, I had landed on the seat of my pants in a pile of very fresh, very wet and very smelly cow manure. Slowly, I picked myself up, wiped off the thickest of the stinking mess and then washed my hands off on the dew-wet grass. I kept thinking that if I had just minded my own business, that blue roan mare might be in a can by now.

I set my teeth and started after her again. She was standing in the corner by the barn. By now I'd lost all idea of the smart way to catch her. I just plodded straight toward her. She didn't move. I knew she was waiting until the last second for a flashy getaway. I kept plodding. She kept standing. I was within reaching range. Slowly, my hand went out. She didn't move as I slipped the halter over her head and fastened the buckle. That's when I took my first breath in quite a while. I had her.