Mama Rides Shotgun

“Do you . . .’’

“Would you . . .’’

Both of us spoke at the same time.

“You first,’’ I said.

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to sit over there on that log for a while. I could really use a friend.’’

I wasn’t about to say I wanted to be more than that. I wasn’t even sure myself where that spark of desire for him had come from. Maybe it was a combination: My memories of him as Himmarshee High’s golden boy. The sorrow I felt that he’d lost his daddy. The mess I’d made of my short-lived affair with Carlos Martinez.

I let Trey Bramble lead me to that fallen log.

Once we were settled side-by-side, our thighs almost touching, he offered a cigarette from his pack. I shook my head no.

“I’m down to a half-pack a day,’’ he said, careful to blow the smoke away from me. “I’ve been trying to quit. But this sure isn’t the time.’’

He wet his fingers to extinguish the match, then tucked it into the top pocket of his shirt. I liked that he was mindful about the threat of wildfires during Florida’s winter dry season.

“I haven’t had the chance to tell you, Trey. I’m sure sorry about your loss. My own daddy died when my sisters and I were little. It’s an awful thing to bear.’’

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, Mace. Daddy was bigger than life.’’

He took two last drags, stubbing out the cigarette under his boot. As with the match, he put the crushed butt into his pocket.

“I just wish things had been right between us,’’ Trey continued. “I’ll never forgive myself for being such a bastard. I was a major disappointment.’’

My mind flashed back to the tight, angry set to Lawton’s mouth when he’d talked about his son to Mama and me. I didn’t know enough about their relationship to reassure Trey that his father had loved him. But I did know what I’d seen at the ranch house. I took the plunge.

“Was the trouble between you and Lawton over Wyno

A look of pure surprise flitted across his face. “Wyno

I watched a tiger beetle crawl over the rough bark of our downed tree. Finally, I said what I had to say.

“That’s not how it looked to me tonight at the ranch house.’’

Trey raised his eyebrows. “How what looked?’’

“You and Wyno

He touched the front of his shirt, as if feeling for evidence of Wyno

I stared into his eyes. “So, there’s nothing between you two?’’

“Good God, no. Well, nothing but a lot of hard feelings. I wouldn’t put it past Wyno

I looked down at the beetle again. It had stopped at my right leg to confront what must look like a mountain range of denim. I gently brushed the bug to the ground.

“You believe me, don’t you?’’ Trey took my chin in his hand and lifted my face to his. His blue eyes were pleading. “Mace?’’

I leaned forward, just a couple of inches. But it was enough. Trey met me more than halfway. I felt the rough edge of his beard against my face. He must have showered, because he smelled like soap. But he hadn’t taken the time to shave. His lips brushed mine, softly at first and then more insistently. His hand moved to cup the back of my head. He entwined his fingers into my hair. He’d just pulled us even closer, when a woman’s angry voice broke the spell.

“Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do. I drive all the way here to comfort you about your daddy, and you’ve already found some trashy little tramp to take my place.’’

I pushed away like Trey was radioactive. But the trashy tramp part of me wished we’d kissed a little longer before I did.

“Who’s she?’’ The other woman shouted, as she stormed toward where we sat on the log. “I can tell you right now, whoever she is, you and her both are go

She thrust a lantern into my face. I about tumbled backwards off the log, until Trey caught me.

“This is Mace Bauer,’’ he said, seeming not the least bit embarrassed. “She’s a good friend of mine from high school.’’

She lifted the light in her hand up and down, getting a good look at me. Her other hand was fastened at her tiny waist, just above the swell of her hip. Her jeans were painted on. Sun-ta

I wasn’t sure of the greeting etiquette after someone has called you a tramp. A handshake? A head nod? I settled on saying, “Hey.’’

“Charmed, I’m sure.’’ She tossed her perfect auburn curls in my direction. “And I’m Austin Close. Trey’s fiancée.’’

“She was Trey’s fiancée, Val. Can you imagine?’’

Val seemed less interested in my plight than in the pad of hay I was dividing to drop on the ground.

“You should have seen it, girl. It was pure humiliation.’’ I leaned my face against her muscular neck and whispered into her mane. “Oh, Trey tried to explain. Not that there could be any explanation. ‘Save it for somebody who gives a shit,’ I told him. And, no, I’m not real proud that I cussed a man who just lost his daddy.’’

Val nudged my hip with the top of her head. It might have been sympathy; then again, she might just have ear mites.

My sister Maddie says it’s weird that I talk to animals. I don’t agree. It’s not like I think they’re going to talk back.

Brandy, Mama’s loaner horse for the trail ride, ambled over to get her share of the late-night snack. I tossed half the hay to her and half to Val, the quarter horse I’d borrowed to ride.

Nothing like food to create a captive audience.

“So,’’ I continued, edging closer to Val, “I just grabbed the flashlight Trey left on the log and hightailed it out of there. Of course, I lost a little steam when I ran into a clump of palmetto so thick I had to turn around and stalk right back past to find a way out.’’

Brandy munched away. Val shook her head.

“We’ll get the vet to take a look at those ears, girl.’’ I ran a hand over Val’s back and across her broad chest. She was the perfect horse for working cattle: strong, quick, and agile. My family quit keeping stock after Daddy lost our ranch. But we still had plenty of friends in the cattle business. I’d had no trouble scaring up two horses and a trailer when Mama a

“Okay, then.’’ I gave Val a last pat on her rump. “Time for me to turn in and dream about what an idiot I am.’’

I heard the whirr of a power window sliding down. Sinatra crooned softly in the near-distance.

“Mace!’’ Mama’s whisper came from the front seat of Sal’s enormous Cadillac. He’d parked on one side of our makeshift horse paddock; my tent was on the other. “Quit talking to the horses and get some sleep. Are you sure you don’t want to join us, honey? The temperature’s supposed to really drop, and this sure beats the heck out of the ground. I can bunk in the back seat with Sal, and you’ll have the front all to yourself.’’