Percival Everett - Wounded

“Sort of?” she said. “Already I don’t know how I can resist.”

“Give me a break, sweetie.” The “sweetie” just came out. It felt easy saying it and I could see it soften Morgan. “There’s a memorial service for the kid who was murdered. “I just had lunch with an old friend’s kid and his boyfriend, partner I guess, and I’m going to go to this thing. Rally.”

“How was lunch?”

“It was fine,” I said. “At one point I felt a little defensive and I feel bad about that.”

“People are usually defensive when there’s something to be defensive about,” Morgan said.

I nodded.

“His being gay bother you?” she asked.

“You know, that’s the thing. I don’t think it did, but I’m not sure. I don’t care at all about that stuff, but I have to admit I wasn’t completely comfortable.”

“Yeah, but you’re uncomfortable around me most of the time,” she said.

“Point taken,” I said. “Anyway, they were okay. I’m just an old fart who doesn’t get out much.” I slid off the stool. “I’d better get moving. I’ve got a few horses to work yet.” I stepped to the door. “So, tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Dinner, tomorrow night as well. Emily’s invited, too.”

“She’ll like that,” Morgan said.

We walked back to the front of the house. Emily was talking to the white-haired kid who delivered her groceries while he leaned over the exposed engine of his little truck.

“What’s up, Cotton?” Morgan asked.

“Oh, I’m looking for this damn leak,” he said. “I gotta put antifreeze in this thing every time I turn around.”

“I told him to check his water pump,” Emily said.

Cotton ran a hand through his hair and left a streak of grease. “It’s got to be leaking, but I can’t find it. I put newspaper under it every night and nothing, not a single drip.”

I looked in the back of the truck and saw the gallon jugs of antifreeze. “Hey, Cotton, you ever see white smoke come out your exhaust?”

Cotton looked up from his engine and at me. “Yeah.”

Morgan, Emily and I said, together, “Blown head gasket.”

With that, Emily turned back to her gardening.

“Pick you up at eleven,” I said to Morgan.

I arrived home to get the latest coyote puppy update from Gus. He was sitting on the floor by the pup and Zoe. I knelt beside him.

“She’s taking more of the warm milk and she’s a lot stronger. She’s moving more but not much. She tires pretty quickly then drifts back to sleep. Still sounds like her breathing is labored. Smoke.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“She’s a cute little thing.” Gus was in love with her.

“She is that,” I said.

“I wish I could get my hands on those bastards,” Gus said.

I nodded. “I guess I’d better build a kennel crate of some kind next week. In case she makes it.”

“She’s a fighter,” Gus said. “She’s going to make it. And Zoe won’t get ten feet from her.”

“I wonder how this is going to work,” I said. “After all, this is a wild animal, Gus.”

“Right now she’s just a pound of misery,” he said.

“Okay, Gus, I read you.” I stood. “Well, I’m going to work. You’re in charge.”

“Hell, I’m always in charge. Sometimes I’m the only one who knows it, but I’m always in charge.”

I was on Felony and things were going pretty well. I felt good about the animal after the last long and desperate ride. The big horse was at ease in the open field, loping along, then coming to a jog trot.

It began with a twitch just behind the girth. I sensed it more than I felt it and I thought to turn the horse, to distract him and disengage his hind end, but my thought was slow finishing. Felony planted for a second then took off toward the fence of the big pasture. I seesawed the reins with increasing pressure, pulled on one rein and then the other, but I couldn’t pull him up or slow him down. I had another hundred yards before the fence and so I let the horse run, gave him his head and even urged him on. I just went with it. About thirty yards from the fence, and a real back wreck, I gently squaw-reined Felony left and the animal went with me, even slowing some. I kicked him a little and the horse opened up again. I let him run the length of the open area. I didn’t let him burn his tank though, but he was good and ready to stop when I asked him to whoa. I walked him some, let him lope, then took him back to the same spot where he had spooked. I had no idea what had gotten into him, but I’d made a breakthrough.

As I rode the horse in a walk back to the barn, I considered the fact that I didn’t have many wrecks left in my old body. I felt a wave of fear and then I felt the horse respond, felt the big muscles tense. I let my body melt and immediately the horse relaxed. I tightened my muscles on purpose and got no reaction. I tried to think back to what I was thinking just before Felony had blown up. I’d had an unpleasant memory, maybe of my wife’s death, I didn’t really know, but I’d had something bad go through my mind. I couldn’t believe that the horse had sensed it. I thought about Susie’s death again. Nothing. I thought about calling Wallace Castlebury’s brother. Nothing. I thought about having sex with Morgan. Felony tightened. All I could do was shake my head. I had to train this horse to tolerate the troubling thoughts of his rider. This was too much.

I took Felony back out into the field and thought through as many scary things as I could find. I thought about Gus getting sick, about getting thrown, about sex, about lunch with David and Robert, about bad snowstorms. I was confusing the hell out of the poor horse, but that was what I wanted. I’d clear my mind and he’d relax. I’d have to do this everyday for a while. My fear was, however, that all these things would cease to bother me. I gave Felony a rub on the neck, got off, loosened his girth, and walked him back to the barn.

WEATHER WALLYon the radio called for periods of heavy rain, but it was the stiffness in Gus’s knees that had me believing it was coming. The breeze was bracing out of the northwest and I remembered seeing snow this early. I spent the morning getting the barns and paddocks ready for wet weather, digging trenches along the perimeters of shelters, filling in low spots, pretty much trying to forestall anything that nature was going to do anyway. The mule had gotten out again and spent the wee hours munching at the alfalfa bales. I put him in a stall in the barn and gave him a half feeding.

Back in the house, I found Gus sitting at the kitchen table, sewing a ripped shirt pocket. I absently studied the project over the old man’s shoulder. “You sew like I weld,” I said.

“Yeah, but I’m old.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ride into town?” I asked. “I don’t plan to be there very long.”

“I’m sure. I’m gonna stay here and crank up the heat. Maybe that will make my knees feel better.”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Well, I’d better make myself presentable if I’m going to pick up a young lady.”

“Good luck,” Gus said. “With the getting-presentable part.”

The sky teased as I drove to Morgan’s. Emily was standing in her garden, surveying. She wore an apron that read Born to Be Old .

“Morning, Emily.”

Emily nodded.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Saying good-bye to everybody, my flowers,” she said. She looked at the sky. “Because as sure as dogs are smarter than people, it’s gonna snow.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It ain’t because of Weather Wally, I can tell you that. That idiot is calling for rain. That sky is full of snow.” She pointed up. “The hawks tell me. They’ve been circling all morning.”