Little Red’s Riding by Nicole Casey
Wyatt
Even with theclip-clop of a dozen horses, the back-and-forth orders shouted from cowboys to stable hands, and the hammering of the grandstand supports, I could still hear Wolf’s voice barking at some poor soul in the distance.
Normally, I wouldn’t have paid it any mind except for the fact that I managed to catch a few words quite distinctly, ‘Blanchette Davis’ and ‘over my dead body’. This wasn’t the usual ‘quit your yappin’ and get back to work’ diatribe coming from Wolf.
I finished tying up the mare and went over to see what all the fuss was about.
I spotted Wolf pointing and yelling—classic Wolf. When I turned to see who he was yelling at, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Ruby? Is that Ruby?
It sure looked like that fiery redhead that I used to race back when I worked at Magnolia Stables. Funny how I recognized her from the back. I was accustomed to seeing her from the back since she always seemed to be racing a few strides ahead of me. I still remembered the little rhyme the others would tease me with:
What’s red and fast, leaving Wyatt in the dust?
It’s Ruby the Racer and she passes in a gust
Wyatt keeps ridin’, thinks he’s gaining on her steady
But Ruby the Racer’s got him lapped already.
That was probably five years ago, those races. Now, this version of that red-headed jockey was all grown up. She had filled out nicely, too: generous hips, generous ass. She was glancing back over her shoulder at Wolf, luscious lips opened in a look of surprise, her green eyes wide with worry. No sooner had I spotted her than she turned and hurried away.
I hurried after her.
“Ruby!”
She weaved in-between and around the trailers heading for the lane.
“Ruby, wait up.”
She stopped and looked at me. I didn’t see any recognition on her face. Not too surprising. We’d only met briefly; never really talked aside from a quick ‘good race’ or ‘congratulations, see you next time.’.
I caught up to her. “You’re Ruby, right?”
Her brow creased. “Yes.”
“I thought so.” I slid my thumbs in my belt loops and smiled at her. “I’m Wyatt.”
She glanced over in Wolf’s direction then back at me.
I swatted at the air dismissively. “Don’t worry about Wolf. He’s just a sore old crank.”
“Wolf?”
I hitched my thumb in his direction. “I heard him snapping at you, ran over to see what the commotion was about.”
She shrugged. “He asked me to leave. Said this was his rodeo and that my grandmother was trying to shut it down. How do you know my name, Wyatt?”
I looked at the ground, shrugged, and kicked the toe of my boot at some loose dirt. I suddenly felt silly. I’d recognized her, but she hadn’t recognized me. I didn’t want to come off like an obsessive, and I didn’t want to admit that I was usually the guy finishing a pace or two after her. Finally, I told the truth (or part of it). “I used to work at Magnolia Stables.”
“Oh.” The suspicious, worried expression on her face had softened a bit.
I was about to make a joke: that it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t recognize me because when we were racing, I was always behind her, but Wolf started barking again. “Go on. Get, you lousy meddler.”
I turned to him to shout back, but he was already heading off—probably to bark orders at some poor stableboy.
“Jeeze, I was just having a look,” she said under her breath.
I swatted the air. “Forget about Wolf. He talks like that to everybody.”
We walked side by side down the lane. I motioned to the basket she was carrying. “Whatcha got, there?”
“Oh, their treats for Gran, for my grandmother.” She furrowed her brow. “Wolf said my grandmother was trying to shut down the rodeo. What’s that about? Gran loves the rodeo.”
“Your grandmother’s Blanchette Davis?”
She nodded. “Uh, huh.”
“She says the animals aren’t treated right.”
“Really!?” She looked at me wide-eyed.
I put my hands in the air and lifted my shoulders. “That’s what she says. I haven’t seen anything like that myself. Of course, I’ve only been here three days.”
Ruby looked down at the ground thoughtfully. “I hope that isn’t true.”
“It’s just what I’ve heard.” I hopped off the lane and ran over to the edge of the pen where a patch of pink yarrow had sprouted around one of the posts. I plucked a few and ran back to her.
“I heard word that she’s not been feeling too well, your grandmother.”
She nodded.
I handed her the yarrow. “Would you give these to her?”
“Ah, they’re lovely. Thank you, Wyatt.”
“You can tell her they’re from the boys down at the rodeo. We don’t want to harm any animals. If I see anything, I’ll be sure to let her know.” I added almost as a question, “Or let you know.”
She didn’t seem to get the hint. She simply tucked the yarrow in her basket, and we walked the rest of the lane in silence.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Wyatt.”
I chuckled. “You don’t recognize me then, do you?”
She tilted her head to the side and studied my face a moment with a creased brow. “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
I smiled and shook my head. “That’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
She lifted her basket. “Thanks again for the flowers.”
“Don’t mention it.” I tipped my hat to her. “You take care now, Ruby. And send my best to Mayor Blanchette, will you?”
“Will do,” she said. She flashed me a smile that had the fringes on my chaps stand up then she turned and headed down the road.
