and said, “Tell me a story.”
“About what?”
“Just a cowboy story.”
“And how does just a cowboy story start?”
“Like all good stories, once upon a time. Tell me about a cowboy.”
He smiled and began, “Once upon a time a cowboy wished he could go back in time. Just get on his horse and ride out across the pasture and when he got back home everything would be way back in the past. So he got this opportunity to play like he could do that for a whole month. The End.”
“That’s not long enough,” she grumbled.
“It is for Rachel.”
“And who is Rachel?”
“Rachel is my niece and she likes once upon a time stories, but I’ve learned to keep the beginning and end close together. So that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.” He laughed.
“Okay, then question time. Why did the cowboy want to go back in time anyway?”
“Because he always thought he’d been born in the wrong century. You ever feel like that, Haley?” Dewar asked.
“Not in the wrong century. In the wrong place maybe.”
“And where would that be?”
“Dallas, Texas. I always liked the wild freedom when Momma and I went to visit the Cajun cousins down on the bayou in southern Louisiana. Have you always lived in Ringgold? My Granny Jones lives in a little bitty community outside of Jeanerette. It reminds me of Ringgold.”
“I was born in the Bowie hospital and brought home to the ranch. It’s where I’ve lived my whole life and I love it there. It’s home and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I’ve got friends and family everywhere and I’m doin’ what I love. Granny O’Malley says that makes a man a success.”
Sawyer whistled loudly and Dewar left her side to go round up a couple of strays that wanted to turn around and go back south. Haley fell back to travel with Coosie, who was ready to talk about the store and what all he’d bought. Evidently, shopping for flour and sugar loosened up his tongue.
They camped that evening on a flat piece of ground with nothing but dirt and sky as far as she could see. Another farm pond provided water for the cattle and her new best friend, Eeyore. It wasn’t fit for bathing, so she made do with her washcloth and soap and a pan full of water that she carried under a weeping willow tree and pretended that the drooping branches were the walls of her bathroom in Dallas.
Time on the trail was like time in a hospital. It was all out of kilter, going as slow as a lazy snail, and then suddenly the whole day or night had passed. She couldn’t believe that she’d survived six whole days, and who would have guessed she would be washing up under the semi-privacy of a weeping willow tree and enjoying it? When did she stop hating the trip and enjoying it, anyway?
The twang of guitar music floated across the pasture and she cocked her head to one side. Surely she was imagining such things. Music in the middle of nowhere? She buttoned her shirt and peeked out between the thick tree branches. Coosie stirred a pot of stew and the warm night breeze carried the aroma straight to her nose. Sawyer, Finn, and Rhett lazed on their beds and Buddy sat on an old stump not far from the campfire.
Dewar strummed the guitar, frowned, and tightened up a couple of strings. To be just a plain old cowboy, he sure had a lot of surprises up his sleeve. He strummed again and then broke into a guitar medley. She recognized “Bill Bailey” and “Red River Valley,” but that was all.
“Sing something,” Coosie said.
Haley dropped the tree branch, combed her hair with her fingertips, and dumped the water. She didn’t want to miss hearing Dewar sing, not even if he was off-key and it had the coyotes howling at the moon.
“What do you want to hear?” Dewar asked.
When Haley parted the willow limbs and started toward the campsite, Buddy motioned for her to take his tree stump for a chair. She thanked him and shook her head.
“I’d rather sit on the ground after riding all day. Does
“About what?”
“Just a cowboy story.”
“And how does just a cowboy story start?”
“Like all good stories, once upon a time. Tell me about a cowboy.”
He smiled and began, “Once upon a time a cowboy wished he could go back in time. Just get on his horse and ride out across the pasture and when he got back home everything would be way back in the past. So he got this opportunity to play like he could do that for a whole month. The End.”
“That’s not long enough,” she grumbled.
“It is for Rachel.”
“And who is Rachel?”
“Rachel is my niece and she likes once upon a time stories, but I’ve learned to keep the beginning and end close together. So that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.” He laughed.
“Okay, then question time. Why did the cowboy want to go back in time anyway?”
“Because he always thought he’d been born in the wrong century. You ever feel like that, Haley?” Dewar asked.
“Not in the wrong century. In the wrong place maybe.”
“And where would that be?”
“Dallas, Texas. I always liked the wild freedom when Momma and I went to visit the Cajun cousins down on the bayou in southern Louisiana. Have you always lived in Ringgold? My Granny Jones lives in a little bitty community outside of Jeanerette. It reminds me of Ringgold.”
“I was born in the Bowie hospital and brought home to the ranch. It’s where I’ve lived my whole life and I love it there. It’s home and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. I’ve got friends and family everywhere and I’m doin’ what I love. Granny O’Malley says that makes a man a success.”
Sawyer whistled loudly and Dewar left her side to go round up a couple of strays that wanted to turn around and go back south. Haley fell back to travel with Coosie, who was ready to talk about the store and what all he’d bought. Evidently, shopping for flour and sugar loosened up his tongue.
They camped that evening on a flat piece of ground with nothing but dirt and sky as far as she could see. Another farm pond provided water for the cattle and her new best friend, Eeyore. It wasn’t fit for bathing, so she made do with her washcloth and soap and a pan full of water that she carried under a weeping willow tree and pretended that the drooping branches were the walls of her bathroom in Dallas.
Time on the trail was like time in a hospital. It was all out of kilter, going as slow as a lazy snail, and then suddenly the whole day or night had passed. She couldn’t believe that she’d survived six whole days, and who would have guessed she would be washing up under the semi-privacy of a weeping willow tree and enjoying it? When did she stop hating the trip and enjoying it, anyway?
The twang of guitar music floated across the pasture and she cocked her head to one side. Surely she was imagining such things. Music in the middle of nowhere? She buttoned her shirt and peeked out between the thick tree branches. Coosie stirred a pot of stew and the warm night breeze carried the aroma straight to her nose. Sawyer, Finn, and Rhett lazed on their beds and Buddy sat on an old stump not far from the campfire.
Dewar strummed the guitar, frowned, and tightened up a couple of strings. To be just a plain old cowboy, he sure had a lot of surprises up his sleeve. He strummed again and then broke into a guitar medley. She recognized “Bill Bailey” and “Red River Valley,” but that was all.
“Sing something,” Coosie said.
Haley dropped the tree branch, combed her hair with her fingertips, and dumped the water. She didn’t want to miss hearing Dewar sing, not even if he was off-key and it had the coyotes howling at the moon.
“What do you want to hear?” Dewar asked.
When Haley parted the willow limbs and started toward the campsite, Buddy motioned for her to take his tree stump for a chair. She thanked him and shook her head.
“I’d rather sit on the ground after riding all day. Does
Similar Books
