his hand—a long-handled hypodermic, most likely. He and my father grinned at each other.
Mr. Shelton stabbed down smartly and then, as they say, all hell broke loose.
chapter
SIX
THE second that long-handled syringe jabbed him, the bull let out a bellow and leaped straight in the air, kicking his rear legs. His mighty hooves slammed the wooden walls of the enclosure with a tremendous boom, rocking the platform and nearly spilling Mr. Shelburton to the ground.
The panic went through the rest of the herd like electricity. They surged forward and the stout wooden fence of the corral broke apart with a ripping, splintering sound. Mr. Shelburton leaped back onto his horse as the platform toppled and the buffalo stormed past him. Many of them smashed into the red truck and it was hard to tell if it was by accident or if they were just plain mad. They hit that vehicle with blow after blow from their butting heads. The headlights broke and the windshield spiderwebbed as the truck rocked back on its shocks.
And then all we could see was the herd’s backsides as they took off at a dead run, their hooves winking black in the dust cloud.
The freight train–like rumble faded as the buffalo, still going flat out, crested a small hill and dipped below its horizon. The only sound was the truck’s tires, two of which were giving up the ghost in a slow hiss. The side of the vehicle was ruined, dented up and down its length. One half of the corral gaped open, wood fragments from the fence lying trampled into the mud. Mr. Shelburton and my father just stared at the destruction, their mouths open, unable to speak.
I stood and cupped my hands over my mouth to shout, “That’s one!”
I made a careful mark on the paper and looked at the men expectantly.
My dad gave me an unreadable stare and then, for the first time in more than a year, he threw back his head and laughed. Pretty soon he and Mr. Shelburton were standing on the ground in the ruins of the corral, their hands on their knees, laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe.
For the first time ever I began to hope Dad and I were going to allow ourselves to enjoy life after all, no matter how unfair it was that we were here and Mom was not.
I had a lot to ponder that night, with the Grassy Valley Ranch and the brief visit by a grizzly bear who seemed to have disappeared as abruptly as he had come, but mostly, as I lay in bed that night, I thought about Kay. My love for her felt like a buffalo stampede thundering through my blood, capable of smashing through any fence I tried to put around it. It made me feel powerful one minute and weak the next. My bones ached with it.
By the time I eased myself out of bed the next morning my dad was back on the ranch. He left me a note telling me that he and Mr. Shelburton had “a lot of work to do.”
My dad has always had something of a gift for stating the obvious.
It was Sunday, a whole week away from the next junior-lifesaving lesson. A car pulled in the driveway around noon. I guiltily snapped off the television—my dad hated when I watched television on a sunny day—and went to see who it was.
Yvonne. She emerged from a Chevy Vega, bending over to pull an aluminum-covered pan from the passenger side floorboards. She nudged her door shut with a hip. She was wearing a knee-length skirt and a white blouse with a big floppy collar. She set the pan on the hood of her car and messed with her blouse in the reflection of her car window. What do you think, Yvonne, that I can’t see you unbuttoning your shirt from in here?
I toyed with the idea of not answering her knock but figured that maneuver would have consequences for me. You could see into the dining area from the driveway—I imagined she’d probably spotted me spying on her. I opened the door and she blinked at me, smiling.
“Hello, Charlie.”
“Hi, Miss Mandeville.”
She suddenly remembered the circumstances of our last meeting. “Are you feeling any better?”
Mr. Shelton stabbed down smartly and then, as they say, all hell broke loose.
chapter
SIX
THE second that long-handled syringe jabbed him, the bull let out a bellow and leaped straight in the air, kicking his rear legs. His mighty hooves slammed the wooden walls of the enclosure with a tremendous boom, rocking the platform and nearly spilling Mr. Shelburton to the ground.
The panic went through the rest of the herd like electricity. They surged forward and the stout wooden fence of the corral broke apart with a ripping, splintering sound. Mr. Shelburton leaped back onto his horse as the platform toppled and the buffalo stormed past him. Many of them smashed into the red truck and it was hard to tell if it was by accident or if they were just plain mad. They hit that vehicle with blow after blow from their butting heads. The headlights broke and the windshield spiderwebbed as the truck rocked back on its shocks.
And then all we could see was the herd’s backsides as they took off at a dead run, their hooves winking black in the dust cloud.
The freight train–like rumble faded as the buffalo, still going flat out, crested a small hill and dipped below its horizon. The only sound was the truck’s tires, two of which were giving up the ghost in a slow hiss. The side of the vehicle was ruined, dented up and down its length. One half of the corral gaped open, wood fragments from the fence lying trampled into the mud. Mr. Shelburton and my father just stared at the destruction, their mouths open, unable to speak.
I stood and cupped my hands over my mouth to shout, “That’s one!”
I made a careful mark on the paper and looked at the men expectantly.
My dad gave me an unreadable stare and then, for the first time in more than a year, he threw back his head and laughed. Pretty soon he and Mr. Shelburton were standing on the ground in the ruins of the corral, their hands on their knees, laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe.
For the first time ever I began to hope Dad and I were going to allow ourselves to enjoy life after all, no matter how unfair it was that we were here and Mom was not.
I had a lot to ponder that night, with the Grassy Valley Ranch and the brief visit by a grizzly bear who seemed to have disappeared as abruptly as he had come, but mostly, as I lay in bed that night, I thought about Kay. My love for her felt like a buffalo stampede thundering through my blood, capable of smashing through any fence I tried to put around it. It made me feel powerful one minute and weak the next. My bones ached with it.
By the time I eased myself out of bed the next morning my dad was back on the ranch. He left me a note telling me that he and Mr. Shelburton had “a lot of work to do.”
My dad has always had something of a gift for stating the obvious.
It was Sunday, a whole week away from the next junior-lifesaving lesson. A car pulled in the driveway around noon. I guiltily snapped off the television—my dad hated when I watched television on a sunny day—and went to see who it was.
Yvonne. She emerged from a Chevy Vega, bending over to pull an aluminum-covered pan from the passenger side floorboards. She nudged her door shut with a hip. She was wearing a knee-length skirt and a white blouse with a big floppy collar. She set the pan on the hood of her car and messed with her blouse in the reflection of her car window. What do you think, Yvonne, that I can’t see you unbuttoning your shirt from in here?
I toyed with the idea of not answering her knock but figured that maneuver would have consequences for me. You could see into the dining area from the driveway—I imagined she’d probably spotted me spying on her. I opened the door and she blinked at me, smiling.
“Hello, Charlie.”
“Hi, Miss Mandeville.”
She suddenly remembered the circumstances of our last meeting. “Are you feeling any better?”
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