Carly
We’ve made our meandering way to Ruidoso the past week, picking up extra cash by feeding people at industrial complexes, offices, and the random parking lot. Nevada was her normal attitudinal self, but we’ve worked together a bit better; which is to say she managed about ten minutes of conversation per day. But we haven’t gone all roller derby, so that’s progress, right there.
Friday morning in the lead on the bike, I take the road out of Ruidoso into the mountains, a section of Highway 48 known as the Billy the Kid Trail. The air is fresh and pine-infused, the scenery beautiful. My spirits lift.
Unforgiven tugs like a tether on my heart. One more rodeo. By Sunday, I’ll be on my way home.
I’ve changed from the girl who scooted out of town like a scared bunny. I’ve felt the shift inside that the baby is only partly responsible for. I may not have it all figured out yet, but I feel forged; as though the fire has made me stronger, tougher. I don’t need to be half of a couple franchise.
Next time, I’m going to choose a man who wants to be a partner.
In the tiny town of Capitan, Nevada passes me and pulls in at the Horse Head Motor Inn, a single-story cinder block from the ’60s, painted baby-barf gold. The sign out front is missing most of its old-fashioned lightbulbs.
We park, and Nevada steps out of the truck.
I shut down the bike and pull my helmet off. “This place is sketchier than usual. You sure you don’t want to drive up the road and see what else there is?”
She squints at the worn façade. “It does look more like a horse’s ass than its head, but it’ll mean less expense for Cora.” She looks down her nose at me. “Not up to your queenly standards?”
There’s that sweet temperament. “By all means, lead on.” I throw my leg over, stand, and pull the key. I guess I should be happy that she wants to do right by Cora, but my back hurts just imagining the mattress in a place like this. I check us in, and the measly nightly rate about guarantees the bed is going to be bad.
The huge fluffy thunderheads that gathered as we ascended have morphed to flat-bottomed steel wool, parked on our heads. “We’d better get everything in before those things let loose,” I yell over the wind to Nevada on the way back to the truck. “It’s gonna come a gully-washer.”
“Golly, Elly May, wonder if’n they got a ceeement pond in this here place?”
“Oh, hush up, city girl.” I roll my bike under the overhang in front of our window. It’ll save me a wet butt later. I unstrap my duffel from the sissy-bar, and open the door with the key on an old plastic fob.
The smell of stale Lysol smacks me in the face. The room is small and boxy, and a bare lightbulb with a long pull chain hangs in the middle of the ceiling. Linoleum, cinderblock walls, vinyl curtains, and paint-by-number artwork over the beds. The bathroom fixtures are chipped and rust stained, and I refuse to look too closely at the shower grout.
My cozy bedroom back home calls to me, with the bed under the window covered in the quilt Nana made by hand. I sigh and toss my duffel on the saggy bed. It squeals. Great.
Nevada slams through the door. “The gully-washer’s here.” Beyond her, rain drums the broken asphalt parking lot.
“That should make for a mud-fest rodeo.” I untie the top of my duffel.
“Nah, they’ll cancel.” She sits on the bed and bounces. It squeaks like a stepped-on rat.
“You’re kidding, right? In rodeo, anything less than a full-on lightning storm is considered entertainment. For the audience, it is, anyway.” I pull out a change of clothes. Not my good ones.
“Seriously?”
“Hey, the projects aren’t the only dangerous places, you know.” I’m learning that if I’m to survive her razor-sharp snark, I’ve got to give as good as I get. “I’m going to grab a shower. We’ll head to the rodeo grounds in an hour. It’s about two miles out of town, and I want to snag a spot on some grass, so we don’t get bogged down.”
“Can hardly wait.”
I wear flip-flops in the shower, in case of athlete’s foot, or worse. At least there’s hot water. When I step out, I rub the mirror twice, but it keeps fogging and the fan just makes noise. I pull on my clothes, open the door, and walk into the room. “I’m going to have to wait to do my hair. It’s a sauna—What are you doing?” But I can see plainly what. She’s leaning over my bed, pawing through my duffel.
Her face goes red and her eyes widen—the picture of “busted.”
The raw emotions of the past days gather, swirling into a black whirlpool of anger in my chest. “Oh, I get it. You pick crap hotels to save Cora money, but you feel free to steal from me.” I take the three steps to the bed to snatch my duffel from her, ripping the cord through her fingers. “I should have known. Once a thief, always a—”
“Don’t you say that!” She bounces off the bed, right into my face. “I am not a thief!”
“Says the felon. Then why were you pawing through my things?”
“Because I…I just wanted to…Oh, fuck it. You believe what you want. I don’t give two shits and a gully-washer what you think of me. You hear me?”
“They can hear you at the rodeo grounds!”
“Don’t you dare yell at me.”
“What are you going to do, beat me up, city girl?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“No, you know what? How about I just call the cops?”
She flinches.
“Yeah. Then I’ll call Cora, and let her know she’s been wrong about you.”
As if her tension was held by her stare, her shoulders slump and her chin drops to point at the floor. “I wasn’t stealing. I did that one time, but I had a good reason. And I paid for it.”
I cross my arms. “Tell me about what happened, back then. Depending on your answer, maybe I won’t call the cops.” She doesn’t need to know I wouldn’t.
Her bed rat-squeaks when she drops onto it. “I’d just started working as a maid in one of the nice hotels on the north side of Houston. A cherry job.” She shoots a look around the room. “I lived in a rented room, worse than this. I was eating dinner at a cheap diner when I saw her. A teenager; not much more than a kid, really, hanging out in front, trying not to stare at the people eating inside. She was dirty, had a ripped-up backpack and a windbreaker that wasn’t made for Texas in December.”
My bed squeals when my butt hits it.
“She looked sad, pissed, and scared. I know what that’s like. I went out, brought her inside, and bought her a meal. While she wolfed it down, she told me she was from Dallas. Her mother had a new boyfriend that was bad news, so she took off. She didn’t have to tell me what ‘bad news’ meant. Her darting eyes and shaky hands did that.” Nevada tucks escapees from her ponytail behind her ear. “She was trying to get to Lafayette, where her grandma lived, but she ran out of money. I took her to my room, let her take a shower and sleep on my floor. I wanted to give her the money she needed, but I’d just started working, and every penny I had went to rent the room and buy me one meal a day.
“I’m an honest person. I am.” She glares at me. “But the guests at that hotel, they were rich. I was cleaning this guy’s room and found his wallet in the bathroom. It was stuffed with cash. He wouldn’t notice if I just took enough to buy a bus ticket to Louisiana and maybe a couple of candy bars to tide her over. It was a worthy cause, after all. I stuffed a fifty and a twenty in my pocket, and was putting the wallet back when the guy walked in. He pressed charges, and they charged me with stealing the whole fifteen hundred dollars in his wallet. I did twelve months.”
“What happened to the girl?”
She shrugs.
From the little I know of Nevada’s childhood from her “rats and junkies and Johns” comment, she saw herself in that girl. Her tough-chick façade is to cover a scared kid who had to grow up way too fast.
We sit in silence for a time, until I remember. “So why were you going through my things?”
“Makeup.” It comes out like she’s a little girl, caught in the act.
From her squirm, this is harder to admit than grand larceny. “What?”
“Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? I just wanted to see what brands you use, so I could, you know…” The rest is unintelligible.
“So you could what?”
When she looks up, her face is pink, heading for scarlet. “Buy some.”
“Well, heck, why didn’t you just ask?”
She shrugs. “Because you’d laugh at me, and make a big deal about it.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
She studies my face. Closely. “No.”
“You might find that not everyone is out to put you down, or make you feel bad, if you’d stop snapping at them long enough to listen.”
“Where I came from, they did.”
“Well, good on you, for being smart enough to get away from that place. You want to give the rest of the world a chance?”
Her jaw takes that familiar hard line, and I realize I’ve pushed too far. I pull out my two makeup bags, unzip them, and dump the contents on the bed. “What do you want to know?”
She looks at the pile like it could be harboring a rattler. “Everything?”
“Nevada Sweet. Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never worn makeup?”
“When there’s not enough money for food and the rent”—she waves her hand at the pile—“all this is unimportant.”
Sweet Jesus. “Okay, let’s see. You and I have different coloring, so not everything I have will work, but…” I dig through the pile for pastel eyeshadow samples I got at a makeup party once.
“You’re not putting all that glop on me, are you? I don’t want to look like I’m turning tricks behind the food truck.”
I put a fist on my hip. “Does my makeup look the least bit whorish?”
“N-n-no.”
“Then shut up. And follow me. There’s not enough light in here to see a shadow from a spook. The bathroom light is garish, but we’ll make do.”
A half hour later, I’m looking in the mirror at a fresh-faced, All-American girl. “Are you sure you won’t let me show you how to do the false eyelashes?”
“Oh hell, no. I’m good.”
“You’re better than good. The cowboys are going to be drooling on the counter of the lunch truck.” I pat her curly high ponytail. “When we go to buy you makeup, we’re getting you some Shimmer highlights.”
“I don’t know…”
“And I do. That’s why you asked me for help.”
She sticks her tongue out at me in the mirror.
“We could stop by a mall when we get to Alamogordo. You know, to update your wardrobe.”
“Stop right there. I like my clothes. If you don’t, you can bite me.”
“It was worth a shot.” I check my phone. “We’d better get a move on if we’re going to catch the lunch crowd.”
When we step out in the parking lot, the showers have ended. The air is washed clean and smells good enough to bite down on. But there are pools of water everywhere. “It’s going to be a goat rodeo.”
“What? Those guys are way too big—”
“No, city girl.” I can’t help my chuckle. “A goat rodeo is a screwup. A fubar. A—”
“A cluster-fuck.”
I know now. She uses tough as a primer, to cover the gaps in her education, manners, and her soft spots. “You’ve got to work on your vocabulary.”
She smiles. “You want to ride in the truck? We’re coming back here tonight, and that way, you won’t trash out the bike.”
“Brilliant idea, Sweet.”
We park, and Nevada heads to the back, for the grill. I stop her with a hand on her arm. “You go open the window. I’m cooking today.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes. I am.” I plant a fist on my hip. “You think I can’t do it? I cut my teeth as a short-order cook at the diner.”
“It’s my job.” She manages it with her teeth clenched. She’d make a pretty good ventriloquist.
“Not today, it’s not. I’m the boss, remember?”
Grumbling, she takes the steps out the back door.
An hour later, I flip a burger and mentally pat myself on the back. I’ve seen the cowboys eyeing her backside at the grill. Now that they’ve gotten to see her face, they’re swarming.
“Hey, Nevada, come go out with me tonight.”
“Screw off, dude. I don’t date cowboys.”
“How come?”
“Why waste your time on a guy who probably won’t be alive on Monday?”
Another jumps in. “I’m a team-roper. We never get hurt. Will you go out with me?”
“No.”
I sneak a look over my shoulder. She’s smiling.
Score! No woman I ever met could resist a charming cowboy.
Including me.
I know Austin’s routine. He’s over shooting the bull with the guys, stretching and getting ready. If he bought lunch, it was from another vendor—I haven’t seen him. “Longing” is a pale shadow of a word compared to this thing…this feeling that I don’t have a name for. Like a magnet in my chest, pulling, always pulling. I haven’t found a way to turn it off, or ignore it. It’s there all day, every day. But especially at night; like in the dark, it goes searching. It finds him and pulls him into my dreams.
I swipe sweat out of my eye with the back of my wrist. I survived the fallout from that night in Albuquerque by putting the past behind me and facing forward; time to do that again.
* * *
Austin
Shane cinches my bareback rigging on the broomtail in the chute, turns, and claps me on the shoulder. “Go get him, Dude.”
The rodeo dog I had for lunch churns in my stomach. I know better than to eat before I ride. Too late now. I climb the chute and settle on the fidgety gelding.
Focus or die.
I shove my hand in the rigging, banging my fingers closed with my other fist. I scoot up, lean back, rest my spurs on the point of the bronc’s shoulder, and nod.
The horse rears out of the chute, and I’m balanced, lying back, until the first jarring thump of his front hooves. Then I pull my knees up…Toes out, toes out…Mud slaps me in the face; my neck explodes in a burst of pain from the whip. The bronc duck-dives away, heading right for the fence. There’s a roar. I don’t know if it’s the crowd, or it’s in my head. My hand is loosening, every buck, every—
Clang!
I lift my face out of the mud, thankful my knees hit the metal fence before my face did. Get up. Never let them see you…The world wobbles, and my knees follow. Black dots dance at the edge of my vision. Someone grabs my elbow. “I’m okay. I’m okay. Leggo.”
I swipe mud out of my eyes. When my knees firm up, I limp for the gate.
I’m too old for this shit. Bareback is the hardest event on a cowboy’s body. The best ride, you’re a rag doll, flopping around.
“Shit, Austin. You okay?” Shane knows better than to help if I don’t ask, but he’s hovering.
“Yeah. God, it’s a mud bath out there.”
“Bad luck that arm-jerker headed for the damned fence.”
“No shit.” I put my hand to my neck, and roll my head. No permanent damage, but this is going to hurt like a mother tonight. “You’d better get ready; you’re up in a few.”
He walks off, and I limp for my gear bag. Twenty-nine is ancient for this event. I need to quit bareback. But if I do, my chances for purse money go down.
But wait…My brain kicks in. Without Carly, I’ve got no reason to save anymore. All the joy has gone out of my dream of starting a rough-stock business. C&A is nothing without the “C.” Maybe I’ll just go to work for Dad, like he’s wanted me to, forever.
The sunny future I had planned now looks like a long, gray day. Forecast—icy rain. When I hunker beside my bag, my knees pop. Goddamn, that hurts.
Screw it. Ice and Jack Daniels will fix anything that’s not broken.
* * *
Carly
“Aw, come on, ladies.” Jake Straw, a bullfighter, stands leaning on the counter while we clean up. Well, him and five other cowboys. “There’s a beer truck, and a live band tonight. You don’t wanna miss this.”
Yeah, I do. After being on my feet all day, all I can think of is a hot bath, and bed. It’s got to be the bean that’s sapping my strength; I’m usually raring to go about now.
“I can vouch for most of these guys. They’re gentlemen.” He looks over his shoulder. “’Cept Skank Lewis…He’s a little sketchy.”
“Hey!” Skank’s offended shout raises a laugh.
“But luckily, I fight two-thousand-pound bulls for a living. I can protect you.”
I snap at his arm with a dishtowel. “Quit oozing all over that counter. I just cleaned it.”
“Aw, Carly, you don’t mean that. You tell Nevada how sweet I am, willya?”
Nevada is watching them out of the corner of her eye. They’re watching her butt sway as she cleans the grill.
I step over to her and lean in. “These are nice guys. You wouldn’t have to worry about any of them.”
“Huh,” she chuffs. “Do I look like I’d be scared of a couple of good ol’ boys?”
“Then go. Have a good time. I’ll finish up here.”
She shoots a look back at the guys. “You’re not coming?”
“Nah. I want a bath and a nap, and I don’t even care which order they’re in.”
“You sure?”
“Sure.” I turn back to the window. “Someone who is sober will need to drive Nevada back to the hotel. Do you think any of you can promise that?”
Pete Stevens raises his hand. “I can. I’m not old enough to drink yet.”
“Okay, Nevada says she’ll come. But she’s a city girl, and doesn’t know all y’all’s ways. So, anybody gets out of hand, you’re gonna answer to me, y’hear?”
“Yes’m, Carly.”
“We’re perfect gentlemen.”
Nevada steps up beside me. “I can about guarantee we’re not going to have a problem.” Snick!
She holds up a switchblade and the light flashes off the wicked steel.
The guys take a step back.
I hiss at her, “Jesus, Nevada. Put that pig sticker away. You’ll scare them off.”
Her smile is mostly mischievous, with a sliver of scary as she pushes the blade back in.
Oh, she’ll do just fine.