If Wishes Were Horses (19 page)

Then Johnny was reaching for her and pulling her from the horse’s back, saying tensely, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly, staring into his luminous eyes.

His grip tightened on her arms, and he gave her a small shake. “You scared me to death, Etta.”

“I’m sorry.”

For one brief moment of insane passion, blinking against the bright hot sun and feeling his hot hands on her, she teetered on the brink of throwing herself into his arms.

Then Johnny was backing up and saying, “I’ve got a stall ready for him.”

He led Little Gus away into the barn, and Etta stared after him, sudden tears blurring her eyes and frustration boiling in her chest. She had enough with which to deal, without feeling all she was feeling about this man.

That evening was the first time Little Gus had ever been closed into a stall. Johnny allowed him access to the pen outside, and Little Gus ran from the stall to the end of the pen, loudly protesting the confinement.

“He’ll settle down,” Johnny said.

Etta watched Little Gus repeatedly gauge the fence, thinking of jumping. From her bedroom that night, she heard him call.

Two days later, when Johnny put Little Gus into his stall, he closed the door to the outside pen, only allowing Little Gus to stick his head out the window. Little Gus protested with a vehemence.

“He’ll settle down,” Johnny said again.

Etta spoke with Little Gus through the stall bars. She hated to leave him. Each time she tried to walk away, he began to cry and kick the stall walls.

All through supper, they could hear Little Gus kicking rhythmically. Johnny went right on eating, as if he didn’t hear a thing. Etta tried to do this. Latrice turned the radio up.

Obie arrived after the meal was over—in time for dessert, Latrice observed. “Do you know you got a horse out there kickin’ his stall?” he said.

“The red gelding,” Johnny said. “May I have a little more of that rhubarb pie, Miss Latrice?”

Etta watched Johnny eat and listened to the thuds of the horse’s hooves against the thick stall planks. At last, without a word, she rose and went out to the barn, opened the stall door, and went inside with Little Gus. He was sweaty and wide-eyed. She put up a hand, touched his neck. He quivered but lowered his head, his muscles relaxing a fraction. “You’re lonesome, aren’t you,” Etta crooned and rubbed his head.

Little Gus leaned into her caress. Then he sniffed her belly. The baby inside kicked, as if saying hello. Little Gus pricked his ears and blew on Etta’s belly. She laughed and put her cheek against him.

“He’s spoiled is what he is,” Johnny said. He had come up silently.

“He hasn’t been locked in a stall since he was weeks old. Why can’t we at least let him into the run?”

Johnny shook his head. “He has to learn to behave, and he has to learn to be confined. When you start taking him places, he’ll be confined.”

Etta turned back to the horse and stroked his neck.

“Come out of there, Etta,” Johnny said quietly.

His tone drew her head around. She gazed at him, puzzled by his intensity.

“You shouldn’t be confined in there with him. You don’t know what he might do.”

“Little Gus wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Little Gus is a fine horse . . . but he is still a horse, and he may be gelded, but he’s still male. Come out.” He was opening the stall door, moving very quietly and smoothly.

Etta looked at Little Gus, who had begun to get excited by the opening door. Johnny reached in and took her arm, pulling her out. He closed the door firmly in Little Gus’s face.

 “The sooner he learns, the easier it will be on him,” he said sharply. “You make it worse by comin’ out here and coddlin’ him.”

“I guess I can coddle him, if I want. He’s my horse.”

“Yes, ma’am, he is. But I’m trainin’ him. Unless you’re ready for me to quit.”

Etta stared at him, and he stared back. Then she pivoted and strode back to the house.

Little Gus set up a rhythmic kicking of his stall, on and on and on. Obie and Johnny drove away, and Little Gus continued to kick. Half a dozen times Etta almost went out to him, but she would recall Johnny’s words, “You only make it worse.” Around midnight Johnny returned, and Little Gus quit kicking. Etta breathed a sigh of relief, but within twenty minutes Little Gus began again. Etta pulled the pillow over her head and slept fitfully.

Just before dawn, Etta came awake with a suddenness. The kicking had stopped.

Both relieved and worried, Etta got out of bed and went to the window. She saw Johnny’s truck and a mist wafting here and there over the ground. She listened to the silence.

What if Little Gus had hurt his leg, maybe had cast himself in the stall and couldn’t move? What if he had dropped dead?

With all sorts of fears welling up inside, Etta went hurrying down the stairs, across the yard and into the barn. She stopped in the doorway, took hold of the frame. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of first light, she stared down the alley of the barn, at the small circle of light made by a single light bulb suspended from the rafter. There was a curious object in the alley opposite Little Gus’s stall. She peered at it as she went forward.

It was Johnny, she saw with amazement. He was stretched on a bed of straw covered with a blanket, propped up against the wall, with his hat over his face.

Etta stopped and looked from him to the horse, who stood quietly, dozing. She went to the stall bars and peered in at Little Gus’s rear legs. One of his ankles was swollen. Otherwise, he appeared fine. A sound drew her head around. Johnny was rising.

Giving her a sheepish look, he tossed his hat aside and raked a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t like to be alone,” he said.

“And how is he ever goin’ to learn?” Etta said, a grin tugging at he lips.

Johnny shook his head, and then he was looking at her . . . looking at her with the same fire and intensity as he had when he had pulled her from Little Gus’s back. In the way that made her breath come short, made her inordinately aware that she wore nothing but her nightgown, her belly swollen out, her feet bare on the cool concrete.

“I was just checkin’ to see how he was,” she said, hardly even aware of her words.

“He’s fine. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him, Etta.” He stepped toward her. His blue shirt was wrinkled, there was a piece of straw on his shoulder, his eyes were dark and shimmering. Filled with desire.

“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, her voice coming hoarsely.

Johnny stopped directly in front of her. Close enough for his scent to fill her nostrils and her to see his chest move with his breathing.

“Well, I’d better go on back in . . . since he’s okay.” Etta moved to slip past him and run for it. But then his hand was on her arm.

She stared at his hand, rough and dark against the pale sleeve of her cotton gown.

Then, slowly, she looked up at him.

With sweet abandonment, Etta turned into his arms and into his warmth and into his kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his lips and his ardor, tasting him and feeling his pounding heart beat in rhythm with her own. They kissed long and hard and demanding, and then Johnny was looking at her, his eyes all blue silver. She wished he would look at her forever.

The next instant, he pulled back and set her from him as firmly as setting aside evil intentions.

A small “oh,” escaped Etta. She put out a hand to steady herself.

Johnny’s face was turned from her, and she tried to think of something to say. All she kept thinking was
Good Lord a’mercy
.

Then she fled, not running, but walking quite quickly, all the while listening for Johnny to call her back. But he didn’t.

Johnny stood and watched Etta disappear out the barn door, while the warmth of her remained on his hands and his lips and echoed in his blood. Of a sudden, he pivoted, striding along the barn alley, unaware of where he headed, only thinking that he had to get out of there. Things had gotten out of hand, and he needed to throw his gear in the truck and hit the road.

He stopped, breathed deeply, and turned to look at the red horse in the stall. He went to the barn door and looked at the house and thought of the women inside. The horse . . . the women . . . It was a new experience for him. No one had ever needed him before.

He wondered just what he should do. He felt something was required on his part, some apology. He knew in that instant that he could not leave Etta Rivers.

Etta went in the kitchen door, closed it and leaned against it, only just that minute realizing the kitchen light was on, and Latrice, who had been sitting at the table with her Bible open, while the radio played out
The Morning Hour of Prayer
, raised her head and stared at her.

Etta shoved from the door and went across to the back stairs and up to her room. Latrice came right behind her, saying, “You might as well tell me what has happened.”

Etta shut the guest-room door against her and flung herself upon the bed and covered her cold feet and her head, while further thoughts filled her mind:
He is a wonderful kisser . . . his lips so sweet and moist . . . Did he feel my baby against him?

Latrice knocked at the door and called to be let in.

Etta. buried her face in the pillow until she could not breathe. The baby stirred within her belly. Etta thought of how she had wanted desperately to do all manner of things with Johnny Bellah. And still did. She thought of how she was pregnant, near destitution, and enamored with an itinerant cowboy.

Well, she was a
widow
. She couldn’t help it that the man who had fathered her child had gone and died. She had not killed him, after all.

Latrice said through the door, “I will be waiting in the kitchen,” and Etta heard her firm footsteps disappearing down the hall.

After nearly thirty minutes of considering her situation, of alternately burying her face in the pillow and dreamily caressing her belly, thinking of all of it and becoming thoroughly worn out with the thoughts, too, Etta got dressed and went downstairs to face Latrice and possibly Johnny, if he came to breakfast.

The thought of now having to face Johnny got her very nervous. She thought perhaps he would be equally nervous and not come to breakfast.

She had decided to tell Latrice that she had gone to check on Little Gus and had been overcome by the beauty of the dawn and sadness over Roy. Her mind took instantly to this idea, and she thought she might say she was so overcome that she needed to have her breakfast alone up in her room.

When faced with Latrice’s concern, however, Etta blurted out, “I kissed Johnny.” She was very curious as to what Latrice’s reaction would be, since she could not seem to fathom her own reaction.

Latrice said, “Out in the barn?”

Etta nodded. “It was an accident,” she said quickly. “I went out to check on Little Gus—I thought he might be dead—and Johnny was there, and . . . it just happened.”

Latrice frowned. “Why did you think the horse was dead?”

“I don’t know! I just did.” Etta picked up a dishtowel and ran it through her hands.

“Was it only kissin’?”

“Well, of course it was. Good grief. What do you think—in my condition?”

“No tellin’,” Latrice said dryly and poured herself a second cup of coffee.

More than any silly kiss, Latrice found it disconcerting that Etta had escaped the house without Latrice knowing. Latrice had always tried to keep a good watch on what went on about her. That Etta had slipped out and about without her knowledge made her feel she had failed in her vigilance, and that they were prey to all sorts of evil that might lurk about.

She said, “You might have stepped on a snake goin’ out there. We wouldn’t have to think so much about snakes if we lived in town, but we do out here.”

“I was not thinkin’ about snakes,” Etta said, a bit amazed that Latrice was.

She sat and put her head in her hands. "Oh, God, I must be crazy like Mama. Here I am kissin’ a man, and my husband’s grave doesn’t even have grass fully grown over it, and I have his child growin’ inside me.”

“Your mother didn’t go around kissin’ men—she thought she was Carole Lombard,” Latrice said. “And as for your husband, well, he is dead. Two days or two months or two years aren’t gonna make him any more dead than the day you buried him, so I don’t think that has any bearing at all.”

Etta was gratified at Latrice’s words, but her mind was already skimming ahead, imagining having to face Johnny. “I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I made such a fool of myself.”

“Oh, honey, it isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

“Well, thank you for that. That is extremely helpful,” she said sharply.

Wrapping her arms tight around herself, she went to the window and looked over to the barn, checking for Johnny’s pickup truck, before she even realized she was doing so. The possibility that he would leave brought a pain across her chest, and she was further distressed to find herself gazing out the window for him at all.

“He’ll probably leave now,” she said, deep melancholy coming over her.

“He might.” Latrice conceded. “Men do tend to run off from anything sticky. But he’s hung around this long, though, and as long as we keep feedin’ him, he’s likely to stay.”

“You talk like he’s a dog. I do imagine he could get fed most anywhere. Lots of women out there are willin’ to do that, and more.”

“True, but he loves my biscuits.”

“Roy did, too. That’s probably why he didn’t run off with Corinne. She doesn’t look like the type who can cook biscuits. He went over there and got what else he wanted from her and then would come home here for your biscuits.”

Etta wondered how she would possibly face Johnny. The way he had set her away from him played back through her thoughts.

Then she thought of Roy.

“I was crazy for one needy man,” she said, her voice coming husky through her tight throat. “I won’t make that same mistake again. I have a child to think of now.”

“Havin’ a child most generally gives a woman wisdom, if they allow it,” Latrice said. As she put the iron skillet on the burner, she added, “Johnny Bellah isn’t like Roy Rivers, though. There’s more to him.”