“It’s about the NFR in Las Vegas next month…”
Before Joe could object or April could make her case for attending the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas, Marybeth stepped into the kitchen doorway and said sharply, “Joe, can I talk to you for a minute?”
As he entered the kitchen in a dark rage, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Welcome home.”
Joe grunted.
“The testosterone was getting so thick in there I could cut it with a knife.”
3
Over Chugwater in southeastern Wyoming, Joe leaned over in the passenger seat of the governor’s Cessna Citation Encore small jet — dubbed Rulon One—and chanced a look outside the window. His stomach was in knots and his fingers gripped the armrests so tightly he was afraid he was leaving permanent impressions.
The terrain below was a sea of taupe and white: high prairie and patches of snow as far as he could see. There were a few skeletal trees choking the riverbeds, and the occasional lonely ranch building. Herds of cattle and pronghorn antelope dotted the terrain. If it weren’t for the commas of snow, the vista looked almost African, like documentary footage he’d seen of the Serengeti Plain. He was less than a half-hour from Cheyenne.
The accordion door for the cockpit folded and the copilot looked back at Joe with a mixture of amusement and malice. He looked too young and fresh-faced to be at the controls, Joe thought.
“How’s it going back there, partner?”
“Dandy,” Joe said sourly.
“Don’t like flying much, do you?”
Joe glared his response.
The copilot said with a smile, “There’s wind in Cheyenne — imagine that. It might be a little bumpy on the approach. Just pretend you’re riding a bull.”
“No thanks,” Joe said, thinking of the bull rider that had infiltrated his household.
Dallas Cates hadn’t stayed for dinner the night before, despite April’s begging him. He’d mumbled something about “knowing where he wasn’t wanted” and said good night to Mr. Pickett and Mrs. Pickett and thanked them for their hospitality while he gathered his NFR coat. April went outside with him to say good-bye.
“You remember that character Eddie Haskell on Leave It to Beaver?” Joe asked Marybeth.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, moving a steaming casserole dish of lasagna from the oven to the range top to cool. “What is it between you two?”
“I don’t like him.”
“That was obvious.”
“Good.”
“I’ll go let Lucy know we’re ready to eat,” Marybeth said, trying to stifle a smile. After she passed Joe, she paused in the doorway and looked back.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“I have to go to Cheyenne tomorrow.”
“The governor called?”
Joe nodded.
He felt her eyes on him.
“Let’s talk about this tonight,” Joe said, not wanting April to return in mid-conversation.
Dinner had been frosty. April sat fuming and pushing bits of food around on her plate after returning to the house. Joe had noted that it took her ten minutes to say good-bye to Dallas Cates, but he didn’t remark on it.
Marybeth tried to elevate the mood by saying things like “Isn’t this nice to all be around to eat dinner together?” but her words seemed to clunk against the walls. Joe noticed that Lucy warily looked from her mom to April to Joe, waiting for the fireworks to begin.
Finally, Lucy asked if she could go to the movies on Friday night.
“With who?” Marybeth asked.
“Noah.”
Joe grimaced. Noah After Buffalo was a Northern Arapaho from the reservation school. He was bright, polite, and handsome. Lucy had met him at a debate tournament where they competed against each other in dramatic interpretation. He seemed like a smart, well-adjusted boy. Still…
Marybeth asked, “Is he picking you up?”
“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “We haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Is he buying your ticket?”
Lucy shrugged.
Marybeth said, “When you get this all figured out, we can talk.”
Lucy sighed a heavy, put-upon sigh.
“Have you heard from Sheridan?” Joe asked Marybeth.
“A couple of texts,” she said. “She needs me to send her winter coat. I don’t know how she forgot it. And she needs some money for books.”
Joe waited for more, but that was it.
“She called me this afternoon and didn’t leave a message,” he said. “I was wondering if you knew why.”
Marybeth looked up, concerned. “No.”
“I’ll try her again later,” Joe said. “She never answers her phone.”
“Try texting.”
“I hate texting,” Joe grumbled.
After a beat of silence, April slammed down her fork and glared at Joe.
“Tell me why I can’t go to the NFR.” She leaned forward and bared her teeth. “Tell me why.”
“You’ll miss school,” Joe said.
“I’m getting all A’s and B’s,” April said. “I can take a few days off. I’m a senior, you know. I’m going to graduate.”
Joe looked at Marybeth for support.
Marybeth said, “April, how would you even get to Las Vegas? Where would you stay? How could you afford it?”
“Don’t worry about that,” April said. “I’ve got it covered. It won’t cost you a dime.”
“That’s not it,” Joe said, trying not to let his anger show in his voice. He knew she had a point.
“No, it isn’t, is it?” April said. “This is about Dallas.”
Joe said, “Yup.”
Marybeth said, “April, you need to give us some details. You need to have a plan before we can even consider it. So far, I haven’t heard anything.”
Joe noted the crack in their united front.
“You and your plans,” April said, rolling her eyes. Then: “Look, I can take care of myself. I’ve got a job and a car. You people forget I’m friggin’ eighteen.”
“And he’s twenty-four,” Joe said.
April turned on him and shouted, “Aha! I knew that was the reason.”
“It’s a big one.”
April sat back in her chair and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe the incredible ignorance she was hearing. She said, “This is Dallas Cates, PRCA champion bull rider. He could have asked any girl on the planet to go to the NFR and watch him ride, and he asked me. Me! And you two act like I’m too stupid and immature to know what I’m doing.”
Joe said, “Well…”
“The hell with both of you,” April cried out, and pushed away from the table. She rose and did an aggressive shoulder roll before stomping down the hallway toward her room. The slam of the door made the pictures on the walls jump — again.
“I’ll go talk with her,” Marybeth said, getting up.
When she was gone, Lucy looked to Joe with her eyebrows arched and said, “April. She’s b-a-a-a-a-a-ck.”
In bed, Marybeth put down her book and asked Joe what it was about Dallas Cates, besides the age difference, that bothered him.
Joe said, “Do you remember the name Serda Tibbs?”
Marybeth’s reaction indicated she did.
Eleven years before, when Joe had been on the job in the Saddlestring District for only two years, he’d heard the call from the sheriff’s department over the mutual aid channel. A half-naked girl had been picked up by a deputy while walking away from town down a rural county road. The few clothes she had on were ripped and dirty, and she was bruised and appeared to be in shock. If it hadn’t been in September when the weather was mild, she might have died of exposure out on that road.