still feel the same in a few years, we’ll put up a little place for them on the ranch. Gracie knows how to clean, and she can heat up things in the microwave. I try to keep her away from the stove. Tom and I won’t live forever. It’s best they have someone and a place to be.”
“Tom?”
“Tom ‘Snuffy’ Jones, my one and only.”
“Like the old, sexy disco star way back when?”
“He always hated the comparison, but you just can’t call your husband Snuffy now, can you?”
“Would you know Clint’s middle name?”
“Can’t say as I do. Anything starting with an O has got to be bad.”
“Oliver, Ozzie, Otto, Olaf?” Renee guessed.
“Could be Obediah, Oscar, or Opie for all I know,” said Ruth Ann. “Whatever. If you’re looking to marry, you could do worse than Clint Beck.”
“But could I marry a man with the middle name of Omar?” Renee joked. What Ruth Ann didn’t know was that Clinton O. Beck couldn’t afford to keep a woman like Renee Hayes—in more ways than one—and there was no need to tell her.
The two women were still laughing when Clint and Gracie returned bearing sweating cans of soft drinks. Clint tossed a Diet Coke to Renee and popped the top on a Mountain Dew. Gracie gave her mom a root beer and opened an orange drink for herself. The four sat in the bleachers sipping their drinks with Gracie carrying on most of the conversation.
“This afternoon, I get to ride in the real barrel races, not the pretend ones they got for the little kids. My horse is named Pete.”
“What kind of horse is Pete?” Renee asked, doing her part.
“Brown,” said Gracie. “But my favorite kind of horse is a unicorn. They got big, golden horns. I’ve seen pictures of them.”
“Really? Clint, could I have the keys to the truck for a minute?”
“Snuffy has them. He’s using the Nelle for his act. Supposed to start in a few minutes.”
“What did you do with the stuff on the dashboard?”
“Put it all in a plastic sack in the trailer. Why?”
“I want to get something. Be back in a minute. Save my seat, Gracie.”
Renee went back to The Tin Can, found the sack of stuffed toys and rooted through it until she found the blue unicorn with the white yarn mane. She trotted back to where Gracie sat and held out the fuzzy animal like a grand prize.
“For me? I can add him to my herd. I know he’s a boy because he’s blue. I’ll call him Clint.” Gracie hugged the stuffed unicorn.
“Oh, you already have some.”
“Gracious, her room is full of them. Tom brings them home all the time.” Seeing the disappointment on Renee’s face, Ruth Ann added, “But each one is special. She’ll remember the lady with the red hair gave it to her.”
“Miss Renee gave him to me,” Gracie corrected. “She’s a nice lady.”
Suddenly it occurred to Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes that for a whole half a day, she’d been a nice lady—not a slutty gold digger, as Gerry’s family had called her, or Dr. Bouchard’s cheating trophy wife. Not a soul in Casper knew her bad reputation, and that felt good. She could be anything she wanted to be, and today, she was a nice lady.
An old truck, the Belly Nelle herself, careened into the arena, her bed loaded to bursting with retired rodeo clowns in full paint and regalia. The announcer called out for the truck to get out of the ring because the barrel racing was about to begin, but unfortunately, the old heap had broken down in the dead center of the oval. Clowns tumbled out, kicking tires, looking at the undercarriage. Snuffy Jones, the driver, got down and opened the hood. Black smoke billowed.
Renee gasped. Their ride to Arizona looked in pretty bad shape. Clint leaned over. “Don’t worry, just a little oil sprayed on the engine block. She’ll be fine in the morning.”
Snuffy announced grandly, “I’ve found the problem. There’s a hair in the engine.” He held up a black rabbit that Renee was fairly sure had been pulled out of his baggy
“Tom?”
“Tom ‘Snuffy’ Jones, my one and only.”
“Like the old, sexy disco star way back when?”
“He always hated the comparison, but you just can’t call your husband Snuffy now, can you?”
“Would you know Clint’s middle name?”
“Can’t say as I do. Anything starting with an O has got to be bad.”
“Oliver, Ozzie, Otto, Olaf?” Renee guessed.
“Could be Obediah, Oscar, or Opie for all I know,” said Ruth Ann. “Whatever. If you’re looking to marry, you could do worse than Clint Beck.”
“But could I marry a man with the middle name of Omar?” Renee joked. What Ruth Ann didn’t know was that Clinton O. Beck couldn’t afford to keep a woman like Renee Hayes—in more ways than one—and there was no need to tell her.
The two women were still laughing when Clint and Gracie returned bearing sweating cans of soft drinks. Clint tossed a Diet Coke to Renee and popped the top on a Mountain Dew. Gracie gave her mom a root beer and opened an orange drink for herself. The four sat in the bleachers sipping their drinks with Gracie carrying on most of the conversation.
“This afternoon, I get to ride in the real barrel races, not the pretend ones they got for the little kids. My horse is named Pete.”
“What kind of horse is Pete?” Renee asked, doing her part.
“Brown,” said Gracie. “But my favorite kind of horse is a unicorn. They got big, golden horns. I’ve seen pictures of them.”
“Really? Clint, could I have the keys to the truck for a minute?”
“Snuffy has them. He’s using the Nelle for his act. Supposed to start in a few minutes.”
“What did you do with the stuff on the dashboard?”
“Put it all in a plastic sack in the trailer. Why?”
“I want to get something. Be back in a minute. Save my seat, Gracie.”
Renee went back to The Tin Can, found the sack of stuffed toys and rooted through it until she found the blue unicorn with the white yarn mane. She trotted back to where Gracie sat and held out the fuzzy animal like a grand prize.
“For me? I can add him to my herd. I know he’s a boy because he’s blue. I’ll call him Clint.” Gracie hugged the stuffed unicorn.
“Oh, you already have some.”
“Gracious, her room is full of them. Tom brings them home all the time.” Seeing the disappointment on Renee’s face, Ruth Ann added, “But each one is special. She’ll remember the lady with the red hair gave it to her.”
“Miss Renee gave him to me,” Gracie corrected. “She’s a nice lady.”
Suddenly it occurred to Renee Niles Bouchard Hayes that for a whole half a day, she’d been a nice lady—not a slutty gold digger, as Gerry’s family had called her, or Dr. Bouchard’s cheating trophy wife. Not a soul in Casper knew her bad reputation, and that felt good. She could be anything she wanted to be, and today, she was a nice lady.
An old truck, the Belly Nelle herself, careened into the arena, her bed loaded to bursting with retired rodeo clowns in full paint and regalia. The announcer called out for the truck to get out of the ring because the barrel racing was about to begin, but unfortunately, the old heap had broken down in the dead center of the oval. Clowns tumbled out, kicking tires, looking at the undercarriage. Snuffy Jones, the driver, got down and opened the hood. Black smoke billowed.
Renee gasped. Their ride to Arizona looked in pretty bad shape. Clint leaned over. “Don’t worry, just a little oil sprayed on the engine block. She’ll be fine in the morning.”
Snuffy announced grandly, “I’ve found the problem. There’s a hair in the engine.” He held up a black rabbit that Renee was fairly sure had been pulled out of his baggy
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