One Step Over the Border (20 page)

Sara barked.

Hap scratched her head.

“Where was I? Oh, yeah. I hurt my shoulder and we headed home to Wyoming right after Pendleton. I got a phone call a week
or so later. It was from Juanita’s aunt Becky. She had been trying to reach Juanita for weeks and heard that she and me were
a number. Juanita’s father was in the hospital and had been asking for her.

“I lit into that poor lady, telling her what I thought of Juanita’s daddy, how he treated his daughters and his wife. Aunt
Becky got real quiet. Then she told me that the mother had died when Juanita was three years old, that there was no sister…
no siblings at all… and that her father had raised her by himself. He was a teetotaler and Juanita ran off because he wouldn’t
let her drink and carouse. Over the years, the aunt said, the only time she showed up was when she was short of cash. She
ended with the warning that I should never lend Juanita money.”

Hap recognized the tall, lanky, hatless cowboy swerving through the parking lot.

“I tracked her down a couple times that next year. She was rodeoin’ in Arizona and New Mexico. When I called, she hung up.
You can understand why I don’t aim to see her now.”

Sara jumped up, jammed her front paws on the armrest, and let out two barks.

“Yep, that’s Uncle Laramie. Maybe he’s bringin’ us some barbecue.”

Laramie shoved a paper plate of steaming pork at Hap, then slid into the truck seat.

“Did you see her?”

Laramie shook his head. In the shadows of the contestant parking lot, he stabbed a bite of the sauce-coated meat. “Eli Keller
said hello.”

“Eli’s here?”

“Just pulled out for New Mexico. Remember his little sis? She used to go down the road with him when she was a kid?”

“She was a cutie.”

“She’s still traveling with him, but now she’s Miss Rodeo New Mexico.”

“Is she ridin’ that taupe-colored paint horse? I’ve never seen that color on another horse.”

“Don’t know about that. You missed some other visits.”

“I didn’t miss anything.”

“This is good barbecue,” Laramie said. “I wouldn’t mind eating the same tomorrow night.”

Hap wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “You tryin’ to talk me into stayin’ for the short go?”

“I think we should. We don’t ever turn out, you know that. We committed to this thing and we should see it through. Remember
your lecture to E. A. Greene about how we never quit a job? Besides, we can use the money. Let’s stick it out a day and see
what happens. Maybe Annamarie will show up looking for her baby.”

Hap fed the boxer a French fry. “I’ll stay just as long as me and Sara can hang out here at the truck.”

They tied off the horses’ lead ropes at the side of the trailer. Both men flopped on top of their sleeping bags stretched
out on the packed brown grass pasture/parking lot next to the pickup. Sara slept between them.

“A man cain’t go to sleep with a big ol’ dang shinin’ moon like that,” Hap grumbled.

“Close your eyes.”

“I did. I think I got thin eyelids.”

“Pull a towel over your head.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You can fall asleep any time you want.”

“That’s not true. Sometimes people talk so much, a man can’t sleep.”

Hap rolled over on his side. “I been layin’ here tryin’ to figure out what I’m goin’ to say if I see her.”

“Don’t say anything. Just ignore her.”

“I can’t do that. If she smiles and says, ‘Hi,’ what am I supposed to do?”

“Be polite. Say, ‘Hello, Miss Guzman, I trust your life has been going well.’ Then tell her where she can spend eternity.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I’m thinkin’.”

“Good. That’s settled. Go to sleep.”

“If she says she wants to try to explain it all to me, should I listen?”

“Geez, Hap, it’s after midnight. Let it go for tonight.”

“She probably ain’t as young and beautiful-lookin’ as she used to be.”

“That’s right. She could be ugly and weigh enough to take on Mike Tyson. Go to sleep, partner.”

“I ain’t never seen a good barrel racer who was plump, have you?”

“Come on, Hap, give me a break. I’m tired. Real tired.” Laramie stood and dragged his sleeping bag to the front of the truck.

“Where you goin’?”

“I’m sleeping on the other side. See you in the morning, partner.”

Sara’s growl caused Hap to roll over and reach for the dog. Three more panicked yaps and he sat straight up. The morning sky
loomed dark slate gray. Ebony silhouettes in the contestant parking area slowly came into focus.

Some of the shadowy forms hulked and glided like alien monsters in a cheap Hollywood thriller.

Sara growled at the two-thousand-pound beast that snorted and pawed hooves only a few feet from Hap.

“Where did that dadgum bull come from?” He scooped up the quivering dog and jumped inside the cab of the truck, then scooted
across and pushed open the passenger door. “Laramie, get in here!”

His partner raised up on an elbow, then rubbed his eyes. “What’s goin’ on?” A one-horned Brahma bull thundered by only inches
from Laramie’s sleeping bag.

Barefoot and wearing only jeans, Laramie crawled into the truck.

“The buckin’ bulls got loose,” Hap said.

“Who’s rounding them up?”

“I ain’t seen no one on horseback.”

“Then let’s get going.”

Laramie and Hap ran for the nervous horses, who strained against their lead ropes. Shouts echoed from the far side of the
parking lot campground. Engines gunned. Horns honked.

A huge, brindle shorthorn bull lumbered past Hap. Sara leaped from his arms and barked her way after the bull.

“Sara!”

Hap sailed his hat straight at the bull.

The massive bovine whipped around and ignored the yapping dog. Instead, he glared at Hap, who reached down and scooped up
his hat.

“Come on, bull,” he shouted as he blustered into a clearing, away from Laramie, who was saddling the horses. “Come on, you
snot-faced butcher shop bait!”

The bull snorted.

Sara snarled.

Hap waved his hat. “Come on, your mamma’s a cheeseburger at McDonald’s!”

The bull lunged at the black, beaver-felt cowboy hat. At the last moment, Hap darted sidewise and slapped the bull in the
rear with his hat.

“Come on, is that it? Is that your best shot?”

The boxer ran up behind the bull with a tirade of canine curses.

“Sara… no! Get back here.”

The bull’s swift left hoof caught Sara midsection and flung the dog twenty feet. She staggered up, then dove under the horse
trailer.

Hap peered down to see if the dog was injured. He heard the snort, then felt the huge animal’s forehead slam against his backside.
He reached around and grabbed the bull’s horns and was lifted straight up as the bull tried to toss him off.

Astride the bull’s nose and forehead, but facing forward, Hap clamped his jaw and his grip. The bull sprinted toward a camper
in back of a black GMC truck.

He jammed his hooves in the dirt, spun left, then spun right. With wild abandon, he shook his head and kicked his rear hooves
high at an imaginary foe.

Hap’s grip loosened.

With a violent sling of his head to the right, the bull tossed Hap into the air, landing him on his shoulder between Luke
and Tully.

Laramie hovered over him. “Sara’s safe under the trailer. If you’re through playing with that bull, it’s time to mount up.”

The first three bulls, two Brahma crosses and a little black shorthorn, returned to the pen without fuss. Bullfighter Kenny
McMillen, wearing cutoff jeans and a tank top, swung open the gate.

“I’ll get dressed and come help,” he shouted. “Watch out for the one-horned sucker. He’ll try to hurt you if he can.”

By the time Laramie and Hap had six bulls penned, two more cowboys rode with them. When they had ten put back, the stock contractor,
Will Clausen, joined up.

“Thanks, boys, you’re on the payroll this mornin’. Leave Northstar to me.”

“Is that the one-horned bull?” Hap asked.

“Yeah; if we can’t pen him, I’ll shoot him. He’s the reason for this. Him and two drunken cowboys who just got fired.”

It took thirty more minutes to round up four more. Laramie, Hap, and the others darted between pickups, trailers, and campers
to avoid the charging bulls.

Kenney McMillen, now dressed from boots to cap, swung up behind Hap. They rode out to search for Will Clausen and the one-horned
bull. Shouts from the back of the south bleachers drew them to the closed concession stands.

When they arrived at the grassy promenade, Clausen and several other mounted cowboys surrounded the teriyaki shish kebab booth.
“We’ve got to coax him out of there, boys.”

“I ate there last night. He’ll die of food poisoning, if we don’t get him out,” one of the cowboys quipped.

“I got him to run at the door a time or two, but he won’t come out,” Clausen said.

Kenny McMillen poked his head in the open doorway. “He’s snortin’ mad, now. That’s the way he looked at Odessa when he knocked
out Johnny Chavez on the first buck out of the gate. Come on, you sorry excuse for animal flesh… this is your old pal, Kenny…
remember how many times you wished you could stomp me to death? Well, here’s your chance.” McMillen pulled off his Colorado
Rockies baseball cap and sailed it into the teriyaki stand.

“Ohhhhh, man!” Kenny dove to the left of the open doorway.

Northstar charged, snorted, and pawed, then backed up into the shadows. The bullfighter repeated the routine three times.
The bull refused to leave his sanctuary.

Kenny lifted the swinging door that hung over the front counter and glared at the rebellious bull. Then he hiked over to Laramie
and Hap, “Someone needs to hop in there when he charges the door and whip his butt with a rope. He’ll keep running if we could
do that.”

Hap handed the reins to Laramie, then dismounted. “I can’t believe I’m doin’ this.” He untied his coiled rope and clutched
it in his right hand as he stalked up to the teriyaki stand, peered in, then covered his nose. “What a mess. He ain’t exactly
been sleepin’ in there.”

With mounted cowboys in position, Hap crouched outside the front counter.

“You ready, Hap?” Kenny called out.

“Do it quick before it dawns on me what an idiot I am.”

Kenny yelled and bounced a quirt off the bull’s nose. Northstar pawed the ground.

“Hap?” Like an English phrase spoken in an Italian opera, the voice seemed out of place.

Ready to leap, he turned back. “Juanita?”

“Now, Hap,” Laramie hollered. “Now!”

Hap vaulted into the concession stand before he realized that in the split second Juanita had diverted him, North-star had
charged the doorway and stopped.

“Ohhhh… no…” Hap moaned. He raised the coiled rope. The bull spun on him and charged. Hap whipped the coiled rope against
Northstar’s nose. The bull paused for one second. His eyes blazed.

Hap stumbled on a crate of bell peppers, then flung himself out the opening. He hit the ground hard and scampered on his hands
and knees toward a row of portable johns.

He reeled to his feet when he heard a crash. Hap turned to see Northstar plow through the plywood on the side of the teriyaki
stand, shattering two-by-fours and the corner post. The bull charged at Hap, who ducked behind Royal Throne Portable Toilet
Number 16B. Northstar lowered his head and crashed into the john like it was a clown’s barrel in the middle of the arena.
Hap jumped back as the outhouse slammed on its side.