Along Came a Cowboy by Christine Lynxwiler

snorting, stomping bull.
    â€œI really want to ride bulls,” she says, her big green eyes trainedon Dad. “You said I could do anything I put my mind to.”
    Dad looks at Mom then back to Jennifer. “Have you ever seen anyone ride a bull? Other than on TV?”
    She shakes her head.
    â€œThen that’s your first step.”
    She smirks. “You think if I do I’ll chicken out, but I won’t.”
    â€œChicken out?” Dad says, disbelief in his voice. “No granddaughter of mine is going to chicken out of anything.”
    Mom leans forward in her chair. “Of course, if you decided you didn’t want to do it, no one would—”
    Dad reaches over and puts his hand gently on Mom’s arm, and she stops in midsentence. “You’ll need a padded vest and a helmet,” he says to Jennifer.
    â€œAnd a spare brain,” I mutter. I cannot believe he’s seriously considering letting her do this. Even in the best of situations, she could break a bone.
    â€œI know just the person to help you,” Dad finishes as he walks over to the desk, picks up the cordless phone, and dials a number. Then he holds up a finger as he apparently waits for an answer on the other end. “Jack?” he booms. “Alton Donovan here. My fifteen-year-old granddaughter is visiting this summer, and she wants to learn to ride bulls.”
    Jack? As in Jack Westwood? Great.
    â€œYes, she’s here with me now, and she rides horses, but she thinks riding bulls sounds like fun.”
    Jennifer is watching Dad, who is apparently listening intently to Jack, but I catch Mom’s eye and lower my eyebrows. Has he lost his mind?
    She shrugs.
    That’s comforting.
    â€œMm hm, mm hm. You will? I sure appreciate it.”
    He hangs up the phone and beams at Jennifer. “My neighborwill be glad to show you a few things about bull riding.”
    â€œBut I—” I stop. I don’t even know what to say.
    He looks at Jennifer in her shorts and sandals and then looks at me. “You mind running her home to get some jeans on? Maybe she can fit into a pair of your boots. Jack said if you’ll bring her by this afternoon, he’ll introduce her to a bull and see what she thinks.”
    Jennifer is already heading toward the door.
    â€œBut what will Tammy. . .” I stand.
    He puts a hand at my back and gives me a very gentle push toward the door. “You girls go on. I’ll call Tammy and explain.”
    I nod. When my dad makes up his mind, there’s no room for argument. I’m sure he sees himself as a master of psychology. I just hope it doesn’t backfire on him.

W hat’s the deal with you and the Grands?” Jennifer asks on our way to the Lazy W.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I play dumb, like adults always seem to do when they’re uncomfortable with a question. Something I never thought I’d do. But it beats handing her the iPod that’s lying on the console between us and suggesting she find some good music to listen to. Which appears to be my other option.
    â€œYou kept apologizing. And when y’all talked”—she picks up the iPod herself, apparently growing tired of the conversation already, thankfully—“it was just weird. Nothing like when we’re here for Christmas.”
    She’s right. It’s amazing what a buffer two extra adults can be. But without Russ and Tammy there, the awkwardness is palpable. Which is why, even though I drive out to the barn and ride several mornings a week, I don’t go up to the house often.
    Oh, I drop by on their birthdays. . .Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. . .and stay long enough to give them a generic-sounding card and equally generic gift. They mail me a card with a check in August for my birthday. And Mom usually calls. One time a few years ago, she got my machine and sheand dad sang “Happy Birthday” complete with