greased and the oil changed,” Donna said. “Rick is picking him up. You guys can go get it after practice.”
“Since when do they do oil changes on Saturdays?” Scott asked, even more confused.
“Since you’re dating the boss’ daughter, dear,” Donna answered, patting him on the head as she passed through the room.
Practice went great for the reunited members of Snakebite. They worked out about three 30-minute set lists. They were playing for Sunday night’s Queen’s Dance from 9 to 11. The idea was to play music for people to dance to, but from experience, there was just stuff people wanted to hear. And they all decided this was Snakebite’s last stand. “Let’s go out with a big show,” Mark said.
At 2:30, Wayne walked into the Wild Horse Junior High gym, just as everyone was packing up. They’d have another rehearsal Sunday, then pack up the instruments and get them over to the Stampede Arena stage. In the meantime, Scott and Wayne apparently had some other business to take care of.
Wayne had snuck out in Scott’s baby, his 1972 Honda 750-4 to pick-up his son from practice. Donna hated motorcycles, but she’d learned to put up with it.
“Can I drive it over to McIntyre’s?” Wayne asked playfully.
“Uh, no,” Scott said. “I’ve been waiting since March for this.”
He climbed on, kick-started the bike, and waited for his dad to climb on before he headed out of the parking lot and up Bowling Street toward the dealership.
They soon pulled into the sprawling lot of McIntyre Motors. Scott was looking around for the Creamsicle; normally if it was done, it would be sitting outside the shop next to the building. “I don’t see it,” Scott said to his dad.
“Well, let’s go check with Ray,” he said.
They walked into the building and across the showroom. It was then Scott spotted the Sky Bird out front. Ray was on the phone as they walked in, and Roni was standing there.
“Hi, baby,” she said as she came over to give Scott a kiss. “Hi, Wayne. You guys have good timing.”
She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a gray t-shirt with “1975 Wild Horse Stampede STAFF” printed across the heart. Her legs were dirty to from the bottom of the shorts to mid-calf, and her hair was in a bun and her face and arms were dirty all over.
“You’ve been working the horses, honey?” Scott asked.
“I thought I told you that. Yeah, I’ve been helping with Honor Escort this summer,” she said. “So, I’ve been helping the little girls get their horses ready for the parade tonight. I’m just gross.”
The Cheyenne County Trail Club was a Western rid ing club for girls that Roni’s Great-Grandma McIntyre helped found back in 1917. Roni and Brooke were fourth-generation members; there was always a McIntyre in the club, but Roni hadn’t ridden in the rodeo since high school. Honor Escort was for the most experienced, elite riders.
Scott loved to ride, and for a “townie,” he was pretty good. He hoped to have to time to ride with her while they were home.
“I think you look adorable, honey,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “But yeah, you need a shower.”
“Oh I do?” Roni asked. She then grabbed Scott by the back on the neck pulled his head down and shoved her armpit into his face.
“How’s that, Footer?” she said, laughing manically. “Do I really need a shower?”
“RONI!” Scott hollered, pulling back in disgust. “Damn! I’m going to live with you?”
She swatted him on the arm as Ray hung up the phone. “Roni Rae, you are supposed to be a grown-up now. Try acting like one.”
“Yes Daddy,” Roni said sweetly, then turned to Scott and stuck out her tongue.
“Way ne!” Ray said to Scott’s dad. “I just made arrangements for our food and beer for the weekend. Are you guys going to stay over? We already have the Airstream out in the campgrounds.”
“Yep,” Wayne said. “ Donna’s folks have the motor home ready and we’re going to be parked
“Since when do they do oil changes on Saturdays?” Scott asked, even more confused.
“Since you’re dating the boss’ daughter, dear,” Donna answered, patting him on the head as she passed through the room.
Practice went great for the reunited members of Snakebite. They worked out about three 30-minute set lists. They were playing for Sunday night’s Queen’s Dance from 9 to 11. The idea was to play music for people to dance to, but from experience, there was just stuff people wanted to hear. And they all decided this was Snakebite’s last stand. “Let’s go out with a big show,” Mark said.
At 2:30, Wayne walked into the Wild Horse Junior High gym, just as everyone was packing up. They’d have another rehearsal Sunday, then pack up the instruments and get them over to the Stampede Arena stage. In the meantime, Scott and Wayne apparently had some other business to take care of.
Wayne had snuck out in Scott’s baby, his 1972 Honda 750-4 to pick-up his son from practice. Donna hated motorcycles, but she’d learned to put up with it.
“Can I drive it over to McIntyre’s?” Wayne asked playfully.
“Uh, no,” Scott said. “I’ve been waiting since March for this.”
He climbed on, kick-started the bike, and waited for his dad to climb on before he headed out of the parking lot and up Bowling Street toward the dealership.
They soon pulled into the sprawling lot of McIntyre Motors. Scott was looking around for the Creamsicle; normally if it was done, it would be sitting outside the shop next to the building. “I don’t see it,” Scott said to his dad.
“Well, let’s go check with Ray,” he said.
They walked into the building and across the showroom. It was then Scott spotted the Sky Bird out front. Ray was on the phone as they walked in, and Roni was standing there.
“Hi, baby,” she said as she came over to give Scott a kiss. “Hi, Wayne. You guys have good timing.”
She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a gray t-shirt with “1975 Wild Horse Stampede STAFF” printed across the heart. Her legs were dirty to from the bottom of the shorts to mid-calf, and her hair was in a bun and her face and arms were dirty all over.
“You’ve been working the horses, honey?” Scott asked.
“I thought I told you that. Yeah, I’ve been helping with Honor Escort this summer,” she said. “So, I’ve been helping the little girls get their horses ready for the parade tonight. I’m just gross.”
The Cheyenne County Trail Club was a Western rid ing club for girls that Roni’s Great-Grandma McIntyre helped found back in 1917. Roni and Brooke were fourth-generation members; there was always a McIntyre in the club, but Roni hadn’t ridden in the rodeo since high school. Honor Escort was for the most experienced, elite riders.
Scott loved to ride, and for a “townie,” he was pretty good. He hoped to have to time to ride with her while they were home.
“I think you look adorable, honey,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “But yeah, you need a shower.”
“Oh I do?” Roni asked. She then grabbed Scott by the back on the neck pulled his head down and shoved her armpit into his face.
“How’s that, Footer?” she said, laughing manically. “Do I really need a shower?”
“RONI!” Scott hollered, pulling back in disgust. “Damn! I’m going to live with you?”
She swatted him on the arm as Ray hung up the phone. “Roni Rae, you are supposed to be a grown-up now. Try acting like one.”
“Yes Daddy,” Roni said sweetly, then turned to Scott and stuck out her tongue.
“Way ne!” Ray said to Scott’s dad. “I just made arrangements for our food and beer for the weekend. Are you guys going to stay over? We already have the Airstream out in the campgrounds.”
“Yep,” Wayne said. “ Donna’s folks have the motor home ready and we’re going to be parked
Similar Books
