If Wishes Were Horses (33 page)

Jed was the first man of the area who had given Johnny horses to break; after hearing of Johnny’s success with Little Gus, he wanted Johnny to train two of his geldings, who were bred of quarterhorse racing stock.

“Jed told me to name a price, and I did—and he paid it,” Johnny said with such a sense of wonder that Etta had to laugh.

“Of course he did. He knows enough to know that if he wants the best he has to pay for it,” she told him.

He blushed bright red and looked down at the leather he was braiding.

It was evening, the sun just setting and the warm breeze easing down. They were sitting on the porch, their feet on the top step. Etta had come out to join Johnny, leaving Obie and Latrice in the kitchen. While Obie held Lattie Kate, Latrice taught him words from the newspaper crossword puzzle. Latrice had embarked on a new project to improve Obie’s vocabulary, and Obie was set to please her.

Etta had looked out and seen Johnny on the porch and known he was waiting for her, in the way women knew these sorts of things. As she sat down beside him and arranged the skirt of her summer dress (one Latrice had let out in the waist and tried to let out in the bosom) over her bent knees, she mused about how a woman simply knew some things and how just that day she had seemed to look up from Lattie Kate and see Johnny looking at her. She had looked right into his silvery eyes, and in that instant she had felt much more a woman than a mother.

This had been disturbing, but not unpleasantly so. It was as if it had only just then occurred to her that she was both a mother and a woman.

Watching Johnny’s strong, rough fingers work the leather, Etta said, “You know, I really need to start payin’ you for trainin’ Little Gus. Our deal was for you to break him. You’ve more than done that.”

His eyes came up, and he gazed at her intently. “You start that, and I’ll have to start rentin’ corrals and stalls, and payin’ for my room and board, and then we’ll have to figure my hourly wage for doin’ occasional repairs, and it’ll just get all confusin’. I’d just as soon call it even, if you will.”

Of course she was relieved to hear this, as she had no idea how she would pay him, but she had thought she should offer. Then she was gazing into his eyes so deep and silver, and they seemed to be saying a lot more than about the horse.

She looked quickly away, out at the corrals.

“Why is it so hard for you to let me do things for you?” he asked, his voice sharp and bringing her eyes around to him.

“Because it’s frightenin’ to me,” she said at last while she smoothed her skirt tightly over her knees. Searching for the correct words, she glanced at him and saw his puzzled frown and his eyes so silvery.

“I feel like I owe you so much,” she said. She gestured at the corrals and Little Gus with the golden sunlight shining on him. “I never would have him like he is, if you hadn’t come that day, and I’d likely be banned from Overman’s Grocery, and I wouldn’t have gone up to Oklahoma City to the pawnshops, and I sure wouldn’t have anything like it is around here—rentin’ stalls and makin’ a little money from Little Gus . . . none of it without your help. I owe you, and I’ll never be able to repay you,” she said, at last bringing her gaze back to meet his.

He nodded, a softness coming over his face. “Well now, you’ve done a lot for me, too,” he said, thoughtfully running his gaze over to the door, up at the porch ceiling, out at the corrals. “You’ve given me a place. You and Latrice . . . well, I guess this is as close to a home as I’ve ever known. So you don’t need to let your pride get all bent. It’s even, like I said.”

His gaze moved over her, lingering on her breasts, before returning to her eyes. Etta felt the strong urge to lean over, put her hand on his cheek, and kiss him fiercely.

She looked away, resisting all that swelled and churned inside her. Emotions that could not be trusted—she had learned that well enough. She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he was here, and that she needed him, but that same need scared her socks off, and she wasn’t ready to trust him with her fear. She kept thinking that she would say these things, and away he’d go, or maybe come and go, or maybe stay and end up being not at all the man she had thought.

It seemed that her newfound self-confidence was not quite so sturdy as she had believed, and this brought a gloom over her.

She said, “I might not be able to hold on to this place, you know. Edward might force me to sell. He’s stretched the bank’s patience as it is. And likely he’ll say that I’m a woman and can’t be doin’ any of this.” The gloom deepened. If she could not hold this place, she and Latrice would be gone, and so would Obie and Johnny and his training.

“There’s always another place to go to somewhere,” Johnny said after a long minute.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to do that. And I wouldn’t ever get enough money to go elsewhere and get a barn like this and the corrals, and the pasture and alfalfa field.” She gazed at it all. “No, this is it.”

“I think you might could,” Johnny said, “if we threw in together to do it.”

Etta looked at him, startled. He kept his gaze on the leather he braided.

“Together?” she said breathlessly, her eyes searching his tanned cheek.

“It’s somethin’ to think about.” His voice was even and low.

“It is?”

He raised his head, looked at her, his silvery eyes sharp. “Well, we seem to want the same things—a house and barn and corrals, a place to raise and train horses. I’ve thought about that sometimes, but I just never had a reason to go to all the trouble, I guess. It’s not so important to a man alone.”

“No, I imagine not,” Etta said, staring into his eyes. Her thoughts skipped around.
She needed a man to help her . . . and she would lie naked with him in bed . . . He would continue to train Little Gus . . . He would make love to her . . . likely he would make decisions . . . She would have him to make repairs . . . She would have him . . .

Johnny said, “I think we could make a go of it, both of us . . . and Latrice and Obie, too.”

“And Lattie Kate,” Etta said.

“That goes without sayin’.”

Etta looked away at the corrals that were no color now as the evening got darker and cooler. Johnny returned to braiding, and Etta sat very still, feeling Johnny’s heat beside her. The scent of him, all male and musky, came strongly to her.

After a long silence, she said, “I have this place, and this is where I want to stay. I think we might do just as well together here.”

She listened intently and found it a little annoying that he did not answer right away. Then, to her surprise, he pushed to his feet. He looked down at her, and his face was shadowed with the twilight.

He said, flat and hard, “This place is yours. I don’t know about fittin’ here.” Then he shook his head. “And I guess I haven’t never stayed in one place, anyway, Miz Etta, and likely you couldn’t count on me to. I guess it is sort of pie-in-the-sky talkin’, idn’t it?”

And with that he walked away.

Etta jumped to her feet and yelled after him, “Well, you seem to have been fittin’ here pretty good so far—you even said that!” and her tone was as flat and hard as his had been.

When he didn’t stop, she went into the house, letting the screen door slam. Obie and Latrice looked at her in surprise.

Pretending not to notice, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out a cold Orange Crush. As she opened it, she heard Johnny’s truck start. She went quickly to the door and watched his truck drive away. Turning, she saw Latrice eyeing her.

“That was Johnny drivin’ off,” Etta said.

“Well, I didn’t think it was one of the horses,” Latrice said.

Obie looked edgy, as if feeling he must leave in the midst of whatever crisis had suddenly fallen, but casting regretful glances at Latrice. Etta did not think that she needed to spoil their time and told them both she was going to take a bath.

“Would you please watch Lattie Kate while I go get a bath?” she asked Obie.

“Well, of course, Miz Etta. I don’t want to give up this jewel until I have to.” Then he added, having become bold with Latrice’s recent attention, “I’m not as stupid as Johnny and runnin’ off from beautiful women.”

He sought her smile, and Etta gave him one, touching his shoulder gently as she passed. When she got in the dining room, she found she was close to tears. She thought that was foolish. Tears were not going to solve any of her problems, and she really didn’t have energy for them, either.

The entire time Etta bathed, she thought of Johnny and their conversation, which she began to wonder if perhaps she had misinterpreted. She had thought he had been asking her to marry him and move away. On further consideration, she became totally uncertain.

He had not actually mentioned the word marriage—although she could not imagine what else he could have been saying. Two together, he had said, and he had not seemed to be speaking of a platonic partnership. He had not looked at her in a platonic fashion.

One thing she was certain about was that Johnny had been uncertain.

Etta did not appreciate this. She was uncertain enough, without Johnny adding to it. She supposed it was old-fashioned thinking, and maybe a little irrational, but she believed women were naturally uncertain . . . Uncertainty was a product of their changing emotions, and also a woman’s open-mindedness. She expected men, however, to be certain. Especially if they were going to start bringing up marriage.

It was all a terrible muddle, and the thoughts went round and round in her head as she washed her hair and brushed it shining and sprayed on perfume. She tried to put on a summery dress, but it would not fit over her motherly breasts or thicker waist. At last, promising herself a shopping trip for new clothes, she settled for a cotton gown and her silk robe and a blue ribbon to hold her hair.

For the next hours, she kept looking out the window for Johnny’s return. She hoped he would return sober because she did not think she could handle him drinking. Every bit of hope she was having about them might just be killed outright, should he come in drinking.

It occurred to her that he might not return at all.

Johnny returned at quarter past ten. Etta had just sat down in the rocker in the kitchen and was putting Lattie Kate to her breast. She heard Johnny’s truck pull in, imagined it over by the barn. Listened to the engine shut off, closed her eyes, and sighed.
He had come back.

Then she immediately wondered if he had returned drunk or sober. She thought to look but kept herself in the chair, rocking harder.

The next instant, when she heard his boots on the porch, she turned her head and saw his shadowy form at the screen door. He rapped lightly, and she said, “Come in,” and quickly threw a diaper over her shoulder, covering her breast and Lattie Kate’s head.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, backing out the door when he saw what she was doing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s all right . . . come on in. Latrice’s takin’ a hot bath, but she made coffee about an hour ago, if you want some.” She spoke quickly, trying to cover any nervousness, while her heart beat rapidly with the thought:
Don’t go!

If he left, she would just have to chase him down. She had things to say. She intended to get some things clear.

His eyes, shadowed by his hat, met hers, then skittered away. Lifting his hat, he tossed it atop the refrigerator, then sauntered over to the counter. He walked straight, although there was the scent of the roadhouse about him, cigarettes and whiskey and a hint of pool playing.

Lattie Kate began to fuss because Etta's tension had allowed only a trickle of milk to flow.

Johnny, pouring a cup of coffee, asked if Etta wanted any, and she said no. “It’s not so good for Lattie Kate.”

He leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, gazing down at the floor, as if he dared not look at her. Etta was noticing the way his jeans stretched over his thighs, when her milk suddenly let down. She felt the languid heat flush her body, Lattie Kate’s tugging on her breast, and the tugging deep in her womb. And she felt Johnny’s gaze.

She lifted her head to look at him.

He looked at her for a long minute, then he moved to sit at the table and began to tell her about racetracks he’d heard of in the northwest part of the state.

“They got racin’ every weekend at some of those places,” he said, “and they get pretty good money goin’ once in a while. Some of those ol’ boys bring their horses to try out before goin’ on over to New Mexico and Arkansas. We might could take the son-of-a-buck up there and make us a bit of money and run his worth up. Wouldn’t take but a time or two. Woody couldn’t go up there, though, so we’ll need to find someone to ride for us.’’

There, surrounded by the glow of the warm kitchen light, Etta listened to him tell her all about it and rocked softly and felt her daughter tugging on her breast and stirrings deep inside, and thought how she was no longer pregnant and Johnny had asked her to marry him. Again and again, she felt and saw Johnny’s gaze upon her, and again and again, she looked at him, at his dark hair shining in the kitchen light and his sweat-dampened shirt over his thick shoulders and his rough, thick fingers holding his coffee cup.

Latrice came out of the bathroom, looked into the kitchen and said hello to Johnny, met Etta’s gaze, and then closed her bedroom door, leaving them alone again. The refrigerator made a noise, and Lattie Kate sighed a snuffly sigh as she slipped into sleep.

Etta said, “Let me put Lattie Kate in her bassinet, and we can step out on the porch.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, somewhat startled. His gaze hit on her breast, and he caught a glimpse of creamy flesh as she took the baby from her breast.

He rose as she did, and he watched her lay the baby into the basket that sat on the table, watched the opening of her robe hang, revealing the white skin of her neck and swell of the tops of her breasts. Etta straightened and tightened her robe, and Johnny leaned over to gaze at the baby.

He always found himself drawn to doing this. He was nervous about touching the baby, but he was drawn like a magnet to look at her. She looked then as she always did, like an angel sleeping.