Little Red’s Riding by Nicole Casey
Ruby
I was stickingto the road like my mother had told me to. The ranch was far behind me now, out of sight, but I still heard the occasional patter of hammers. I was anxious to get to Gran’s and ask her about the rumor Wyatt shared about her trying to shut down the rodeo.
I shifted the basket from one hand to the other then stole another peek at the flowers Wyatt had picked.
Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt. Where have I met you before?
He hadn’t looked familiar, though he did say it was a long time ago. He must have been one of those homely kids who unexpectedly blossoms into a tasty catch. Deep-brown eyes, chiseled jawline, tan skin: unless he had materialized from one of my dreams, I couldn’t for the life of me place him.
I took the flowers out and gave them a whiff. They smelled like flowers. What was I expecting, leather, sweat, and whiskey transferred from my right-out-of-my dreams cowboy?
I put the flowers back in the basket.
Silly girl.
* * *
Gran’s house, on the edge of the forest, I had forgotten how far away it was from home. By the time I arrived my legs ached, and I was ready to pass out on the couch.
“Look at you, sweet Ruby!” Gran greeted me with a big hug and a kiss. “Your mother phoned and said you were on your way. That was nearly two hours ago. I was getting worried.”
“Not to worry, Gran. It’s a long walk, you know?”
She cocked her head to the side and looked at me out of the corners of her eyes. “It’s not that long of a walk.”
I handed her the basket. “Mom and I baked you some cookies!”
She beamed as though she had never seen a basket before. She put her hands to her cheeks and exclaimed, “Oh, my. That’s so sweet of you!”
“Actually, Mom made the cookies. I helped, or more like I watched her make them and I offered to help.”
“And you walked all the way here to give them to me. Come. Sit. You must be tired. I’ll put the kettle on, and we can have tea with our cookies.”
As she turned from me, I could see her wince.
I put a hand on her back. “How are you holding up, Gran?”
She shooed me away. “Sit. Sit. Your Gran’s doing fine. I’ll just run to the kitchen for a minute. Go, make yourself comfy in the living room.”
Reluctantly, I obeyed. As soon as I sat down I realized how sore my feet were. I groaned, took off my shoes, and gave my feet a rub.
“Oh, and pickled peppers, how lovely!” Gran called out from the kitchen. “And pickled beets, my favorite.”
I laid my head down, just for a second, but I must have faded because when I opened my eyes Gran was putting the yarrows in a vase on the center of the table, and before me was a cup of steaming tea and a plate of cookies.
“The flowers are lovely. I just love wild yarrows, don’t you?”
“Sure,” I said, though in truth I couldn’t recall ever having paid yarrows much mind before.
Gran took a seat opposite me. “Oh, dear, look at you.”
I put a hand to my cheek. “What? What is it?”
She chuckled. “You look exhausted. Which way did you come by? You didn’t go down by the ranch did you?”
I couldn’t lie to Gran, so instead, I just bit my lip and helped myself to a cookie.
Gran wasn’t letting me off that easily. She didn’t move, just kept her eyes on me waiting for an answer.
“My, what big eyes you’ve got, Gran.”
“Big enough to tell when my Ruby is trying to avoid a simple question,” she said with a knowing grin.
“And what a big grin.”
“Big enough to eat you all up, swallow you whole, if you don’t come out with it!”
I laughed then covered my mouth to stop the crumbs from coming out.
Gran adjusted the yarrows in the vase. “I suppose it can’t be helped. You love horses and whatnot, can’t be blamed for wanting to go down to the ranch and take a gander.” She looked at me, serious this time. “But your mother’s right, that rodeo’s no place for a girl to be going on her own.”
I pointed to the yarrows. “Those flowers are from one of the cowboys. He said he’d heard you weren’t feeling in top form. He said to send you his best from the boys at the rodeo.”
She eyed the flowers suspiciously. “Is that right?” she mumbled.
“His name is Wyatt. Do you know a Wyatt?”
She furrowed her brow and rubbed her chin. “I know a Wyatt. Wyatt Standhill.” She looked at me and pantomimed her description. “Was he yea tall with a bushy white beard, missing half his upper teeth?”
I laughed. “Um, not exactly. More like my age, tall, dark ruggedly handsome.”
Now it was me she eyed suspiciously. “Sounds dangerous.”
I hope so!
“Nah.” I swatted down her objection dismissively. “He seemed quite sweet, actually. But he told me something about you wanting to shut down the rodeo? I thought you liked rodeos.”
Gran straightened her shirt and straightened her posture. “I like rodeos when they’re done right. Like when Ed Grimsman used to run it.”
“Yeah, whatever happened to him?”
“Ed Grimsman.” She shook her head. “Good man. Good with the horses, not so good with the books. He had to sell. Last I heard he’d gone off to Cheyenne to stay with some kin he got living there.”
I took a sip of tea, scalding hot, but it woke me up.
“Some out-of-towner bought it from him. Real nasty fella.” She twisted her lips and wrinkled her nose. “They call him Wolf.” She looked at me wide-eyed. “And he ain’t in sheep’s clothing, believe you me!”
I chuckled.
“It’s no joke, young lady. You ever see Wolf, you better high tail it out of there. I don’t think he got his name because he’s good at pulling sleds.”
I took another cookie. “Delicious. Mmm, mmm. My compliments to the chef, and to her little helper.” I leaned back in the couch. A dangerous move, because it was so comfy, I very easily could have fallen asleep again. But a loud noise, like bowling pins knocked about, came from just outside the window and startled me upright.
“What was that?”
Gran didn’t look too surprised, though I did see her wince again. “I had Ryder clear out the brush. He gets the work done, but he’s always clumsy about it.”
My jaw dropped. “Ryder? As in Ryder Cook?”
Gran pursed her lips and eyed me with a mix of sympathy and disappointment. “Are you two still not speaking?”
I straightened my teacup and the plate of cookies. Everything was a mess. Everything was out of place. Ryder should have moved out to the city as he’d always said he would do. He should be running his own carpentry business in Cheyenne. He should be anywhere but at Gran’s house!
“No,” I said. “We haven’t spoken in… well, since the... well, we haven’t spoken since then.”
