Real Cowboys

“Yeah. You’ve got your hands full wading through lawyers. Of course, since this woman is the new widow in town, I could assign you Bill’s rotation for the hell of it.”

“Don’t you dare. Tell Marge I’ll check on her teacher. I’ll call after I see what’s what.” Ben crawled in his truck and gave one of his half-cynical smiles before shutting the door and starting the motor. He muttered to the child in the backseat, “Clover, girl, I hope you like the new teacher. ’Cause God’s truth—I’d be the happiest man in Owyhee if I never had to cross the school threshold until you graduate.”

“No school, Ben,” the little girl said firmly. “I’m gonna go with Bobbalou.”

“We’d both like that, but…there are laws, princess.”

“You don’t like laws.” She bounced against the seat. Strands of long black hair flew like errant smoke. “I’ll run off from school.”

“No you won’t.” Ben sighed. “It’s lawmakers I don’t like, Clover.” And he didn’t like being squeezed off his land. He’d much prefer to keep running his cattle without any fences. But, Ray and Marge were right in one sense. It was a hard life. From the minute Clover had landed in his barn, she’d been the bright spot in his harsh existence. From the get-go he’d approached raising her the way he did foals and calves. While it had seemed to work for a while, this past year he’d seen signs that she needed more. Their short-lived teacher, Sikes, had said Clover should be tested, maybe sent to a special school—one for mentally impaired kids. What kind of teacher said stuff like that about a sweet little girl?

Clover was a—free spirit, maybe. His fault, not hers.

Reaching back, Ben smoothed her long bangs with his fingers. “You’ll like the new teacher, princess. I bet she’s gonna love you.” He sounded fierce, and recognized desperation in his statement, as if repeating the words enough would make them come true.

Darkness had covered the purple hills by the time he bounced his heavy-duty Ford up the rocky slope to his remodeled line shack. A big Chevy sat outside the cabin, which was awash in light. Well, he had Marge’s answer. The teacher had arrived.

He saw they’d turned out a horse. Dang, the corral needed shoring up. Ben mentally added a note to ask Chad up to repair it. He would’ve driven on out again if the front door to the cabin hadn’t opened. A boy and a dog ran out and down the porch steps.

Letting the Ford idle, Ben stepped out on his running board. “Hi, there,” he called over the strident barking of a lunging dog. “I’m Ben Trueblood. Marge Goetz asked me to verify that the new teacher got moved in. You’d be her son, I imagine.”

The gangly kid gripped the dog’s collar, but Ben wondered for how long. “Glad to see you’ve got protection. Tell your mom the van arrives at school around 9:00 a.m.”

Before he could halt her, Clover crawled over the seat and shot out his door to plop on her knees in front of the dog, who quit barking and licked her face even as Ben’s heart jacked up into his throat.

He glimpsed a second silhouette at the door. The teacher? If so, she wasn’t much taller than her boy. What had made him think she’d be burly? Probably Ray’s talk about feisty Texas women who handled guns.

“Marge would’ve welcomed you,” he called, “but her car’s on the blink. I own this place.” He circled a hand. “Any problems, tell Clover at school. That’s her.” He stabbed a finger. “Princess, let’s go. We have to eat yet and get you a bath. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Clover kissed the dog’s nose, got up, waved to the boy she’d been chattering to and skipped back to the pickup. Ben had no more than lifted her in when the boy lost his hold on the retriever. In the semidarkness Ben saw a yellow streak zoom toward him. To make matters worse, the boy flailed his arms and chased his pet. The animal may have cottoned to Clover, but no one would mistake his bared teeth as a sign of affection for Ben, who felt those teeth sink into the soft leather of his left boot. Shaking his foot, Ben ultimately managed to close his door.

Triumphant, the dog gave a last growl and trotted back to his master.

KATE HAD CAUGHT ONLY SNATCHES of what their visitor said before Goldie went berserk. She’d levered herself out of her wheelchair and braced on the door casing as Dr. Pearsall said she could do now and then. She’d witnessed the unfolding scene and was glad the tall, lanky stranger managed to escape without being bitten. All she needed was to be told by her landlord to get rid of Danny’s dog. She’d caught that the man’s name was Trueblood and that the girl talking to Danny was his daughter. Oh, and Marge Goetz had car trouble.

After Goldie trotted meekly back to Danny, Kate watched the truck’s taillights fade. She found it odd the man hadn’t come to the door. Although, on second thought, she was glad. In the soft light shining from inside his pickup, she saw he wore the garb of a conventional cowboy, not a farmer. This cabin could be part of a ranch, she mused, sinking back into her wheelchair.

The last thing she wanted was for Danny to get friendly with a cowboy.

“Good watchdog,” she murmured to Goldie as the retriever bounded into the house.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE DID NEED HER SECOND RAMP at school to get her to the front door, which she unlocked with an old-style brass key Marge had included in the box of student folders that had been left on her kitchen counter.

The folders were a disappointment. No grades had been posted from the previous year and family information was sketchy. And there were eleven folders instead of fourteen. The number of students had dwindled even before Kate started. Schools closed when enrollment dipped too low.

That concern and the general anxiety that went with a new job had seen her sewing curtains for the cabin long after Danny and Goldie had gone to sleep. She would’ve hung the curtains, but she needed Danny’s help. The realization that she’d be more dependent on him than she would have liked troubled her, too. Danny was only ten. Was she expecting too much? Melanie Steele would say yes. Last night Danny had worked without complaint. Today, though, he was grouchy. Kate was glad to leave him standing by the pickup. His absence let her savor the pleasure of entering her first classroom in too many years.

It was a typical country school. A square box with weathered siding. The central cupola at the top of the peaked roof no longer held a school bell. The single main room fanned into wings on either side, housing the boys’ and girls’ restrooms. Wood floors were oiled a dark umber. Five short rows of desks with space to walk between occupied the center of the room. Kate counted desks for twenty students, but with Danny she would only have twelve.

A huge oak desk stood at the front of the room and behind it a massive chair. What did it say to students, Kate thought: I’m the boss?

She loved that the chalkboard was black, not green or white as in newer schools. It ran the length of the wall behind her desk. The U.S. flag stood in one corner and alongside it was a black potbellied stove. Dry wood had been stacked under one window.

As she passed the wood, Kate sniffed the pungent pine scent. The air smelled mustily of smoke, wood oil, chalk dust and industrial-grade soap. Closing her eyes, she soaked in what, to her, was the aroma of knowledge and opportunity. She had attended a similar school in rural Kansas, the one where her mom had taught until she’d died of a ruptured aneurism. Kate had always wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. She belonged in front of a classroom.

Laughing, she threw up her arms, hugged herself and twirled her motorized chair. The sound echoed in the empty room, prompting Danny, who’d finally wandered in, to exclaim, “Mom, what’s wrong?”

She sobered. “Everything is right for the first time in ages, honey.” Seeing his skepticism, she held out her arms. He cast a furtive glance toward the door to make sure he wouldn’t be observed before he accepted the hug. Then he pulled away fast.

“I hope you aren’t gonna do that in front of the other kids.”

“I won’t embarrass you, Danny. Are you worried kids here might bully you because you’re the teacher’s son?”

“I dunno. Maybe. In Fort Worth all the kids knew Pawpaw. They thought it was cool I got to live at the Bar R-S where all my friends trained for junior rodeo. Here…I’m nobody.”

“Just be yourself, Danny. I know you’ll make friends.”

He turned away.

“Wait, will you open the window? Oh, and put that monster teacher’s chair in the closet, please. You know, I wouldn’t turn down help in tacking up a bulletin board.”

He brightened, did as she requested, then worked feverishly to help Kate cover a small canvas board with red construction paper. Danny stapled on letters that spelled Welcome To School. Yellow happy faces peeked out from between letters. “It’s simple,” Kate said, “but it’s bright and cheery.”

“Yep, it’s nice, Mom.”

Finding a piece of chalk, Kate rose out of her chair and wrote Ms. Steele in printing and cursive on the blackboard.

A loud crunch of tires outside alerted them to someone’s arrival. Kate set the chalk in the tray and parked her wheelchair behind the desk. To anyone walking in the door, it would appear she was sitting in a regular chair.

At the door, Danny shouted, “It’s the van with the other kids.”

Kate’s confidence slipped. She caught herself rubbing damp palms down her slacks. “Let them follow their normal routine, Danny.” Calmly, Kate opened her book bag and pulled out papers.

“What should I do?” Danny asked.

“Pick a seat?” Kate waved at the desk he stood beside.

“What if some other kid sits there?”

“Oh. Good point. What do you think you should do?”

“Go back to Fort Worth. I hate it here.” He spoke with such fervor Kate winced.

“Honey, I agreed to work a full school year. In May I’ll reassess. Until then, we’re staying. Why don’t you ask the van driver what time he or she plans to return to pick up the students.”

“It’s a he,” Danny muttered, brushing past two boys who were timidly approaching.

Kate pasted on a smile. “Welcome boys. Take seats near the front of the room for now. Once I take attendance I’ll assign seating based on your grade.”

The duo, freckle-faced carrot tops, plopped down in the second row. Two giggly blond girls followed. All four appeared nervous.

The next five to straggle in tried to act cool and aloof. Three older boys waited to see where the girls who trailed in their wake decided to sit. The boys then put as much distance between themselves and the girls as humanly possible.

Kate noted that the last two students slipped in silently. The girl was possibly the youngest of the group. In a few years she would be stunning. Lustrous, straight black hair fell to below her shoulders. Eyes so dark they were almost purple studied Kate from beneath thick lashes. By comparison, the boy seemed bland. His black hair was cropped short, his liquid eyes somber. If Kate had to describe the color of his skin, she would call it flat tobacco, whereas the girl’s glowed like burnished copper. Kate had one Hispanic name on the list from Marge and two Native Americans. Checking grade levels, she concluded these two were her Native students.

Which meant the girl was her landlord’s daughter. Last night she’d barely glimpsed the child down beside Danny and Goldie.

Danny returned, trailed by a stocky man.

“You sent the boy to get me, ma’am? I’m Bill Hyder. Dave, there, is my youngest boy.” The van driver crushed a battered straw hat between work-scarred hands. His gaze lit proudly on a husky, toffee-haired teen who slumped in his seat.

Kate smiled, hoping to put the man and his son at ease. “I’m Ms. Steele. I forgot to ask Marge Goetz if I should stagger dismissals by grade levels.”

Bill shook his head, relaxing some. “All grades get out at two-thirty. I hope that’s okay. It saves on fuel and vehicle wear and tear. Plus, our driver volunteers pull double duty between farming, ranching or jobs in town.”

“Your board employs me, Mr. Hyder. I’ll abide by their rules. Two-thirty it is. Have a nice day.” She’d perfected a smile of dismissal.

He jammed on his hat and ducked out.

Kate beckoned to Danny. “Class, I’d like you to meet my son. Danny is in fifth grade. After he sits down, I’ll take attendance. Please raise your hand as I call your name. Then we’re going to have a two-page quiz. Simple questions designed to show me your skill levels in reading, math and science.” She expected groans or outright objection, but the room remained eerily silent.

The first sound was an audible gasp from the students after she completed attendance and motored out from behind her desk to hand out tests.

Kate hadn’t planned to explain her condition. The collective gasp changed her mind. “I was injured a couple of years ago in an auto accident.”

A boy Kate had already handed a test to raised his hand.

“Yes? You’re Terry Goetz, have I got that right?”

“Uh-huh. Did my mom know you were crippled?” he blurted, then yelped when the boy seated beside him, his younger brother, Jeff, socked him in the arm.

“Ow!” Terry scowled at Jeff. The other kids sat in shocked silence.

Kate felt shaky and needed a minute to collect her thoughts. She eased around the last seat in Terry’s row and headed up the next aisle, continuing to pass out tests. She had been right—Clover Trueblood was her youngest pupil. The girl had just turned eight. Kate recalled that Clover’s record hadn’t made it clear if she was in second or third grade. Kate set a test designed for second graders in front of Clover. Kate’s hands were empty now and it was time to deal with Terry Goetz.

“Terry,” she said quietly, crossing to her desk. “Do you think it’s necessary I be able to walk in order to teach?”

“I dunno,” the boy mumbled. “Depends on what you teach. Uh, I didn’t mean no offense, but me ’n’ Ron Quimby and Mike Delgado are probably gonna go to the consolidated high school next year. Sports are big there. Our last teacher, Mr. Sikes, he hung a basketball hoop on the back school wall and was teaching us how to make hook shots and blocks.” Terry slid lower on his spine.

“Basketball?” Kate repeated, stopping behind her desk. “It so happens I rarely miss watching an NBA game on TV. Naturally I can’t run with you on the court, but I bet I can help you. These tests are timed by the way,” she said in the same even tone. “Does everyone have a pencil?”

The kids scrambled to open their backpacks, and Kate saw she’d done the right thing in not coming down hard on Terry. She’d find a private moment to make him understand that the term cripple was hurtful.

“These scores won’t be recorded,” she assured them. “And accuracy is more important than speed. Is everyone ready?”

A blond girl named Shelly Bent raised her hand. “If we miss a lot of questions, Ms. Steele, are you going to move us back a grade?”

“Good question. The answer is no. Your most recent school year was interrupted. I’ll use these scores to see where you need help.”

That seemed to put them more at ease. At least they all sat forward and prepared to turn over their papers. “If that’s it for questions, you may begin,” Kate said.

She checked her watch for the start time. She’d learned from her mother the art of watching students without seeming to. Midway through the test, she noticed that a bird had flown in one of the open windows and was hopping along the sill. Kate didn’t know what kind of bird it was. It had gray feathers and a yellow underbelly and throat. The bird cocked its head and warbled, sounding almost flutelike.

Kate saw she wasn’t the only one captivated by the bird. Clover Trueblood set down her pencil and slipped from her seat. She answered the birdcall with an uncanny repetition of the flute sounds.

Or maybe the bird had warbled again. Not wanting to disrupt the whole class, Kate rolled toward the girl. She thought Clover would scare the bird, but that didn’t happen. Clover walked right up and planted an elbow on either side of the creature. They both trilled again. Thinking it must be a tame bird, Kate went closer. Her arrival startled the bird and it flew away.

The girl whirled, fright widening her eyes. Kate offered a gentle smile. “Clover, did you complete your test? If not, you need to go back to your seat.”

Without speaking, the child sidled around Kate.

“I’ll allow you a few extra minutes. Later maybe we can discuss the bird.”

Clover bounded back to her seat, but not before she lifted her chin and gazed straight into Kate’s eyes. Kate wasn’t sure whether she felt confounded or challenged. It was an unsettling experience.

Back at her desk, she noticed that several students were done. “Shelly, please collect the tests beginning with eighth graders. I’m allowing Clover an extra five minutes. She had a slight distraction.”

It pleased Kate to see that her landlord’s daughter was hunched over her desk, her pencil flying across her paper.

As students handed their tests to Shelly, they began to whisper among themselves, especially the Keevler sisters and Meg Wheeler.

“Jeff—Jeff Goetz,” Kate called. “Will you and Adam Lightfoot pass out these books? I’ve attached names on sticky notes. They’re reading texts. I’d like you each to begin reading the first story in your book while I glance over the tests. It’s possible I’ll trade books for a few of you after I check your reading comprehension. I expect I’ll move some of you to more difficult books.”

There was the usual disorder that went along with a break in routine. Kate found these children better disciplined than she’d expected, given none of them had been in a formal classroom since before Christmas of the previous year.

She worked quickly with the aid of an answer sheet. Ron Quimby, Shelly Bent and her clone, Meg Wheeler, made perfect scores. Ron and Shelly were in eighth grade. They were probably working well above that. Terry Goetz missed two questions. He had terrible handwriting, but she saw no need to change his eighth-grade reader. Others in fifth through seventh grades held their own. Kate was feeling quite pleased until she reached the last test, which she knew belonged to Clover.

The girl’s name was not written on the test and not one question had been answered. Quite by accident Kate turned one sheet over. Her breath caught. A perfect rendering of the bird on the windowsill stared up at her. Its feathers, the markings and intelligent eyes had been captured in exquisite detail. On the back of the second sheet was an equally complex drawing of a steer.

Stunned, she thumbed through the permanent record folders to locate Clover’s. Had she missed a reference to this talent? Or a note saying the girl showed a total lack of regard for a teacher-mandated assignment? The most telling thing in the file was its brevity. All eleven students lived on rural routes. Clover Trueblood was no exception. A space for her mother’s given and maiden names was blank. Nothing indicated whether Mrs. Trueblood lived elsewhere or was deceased. A notation was made that Clover had passed grade one, but Mr. Sikes’s progress note simply stated she hadn’t been tested in grade two.

Had she been absent the day of state-mandated tests? If so, why had no one administered a makeup? Kate frowned and tucked the artwork in the folder, then pulled a pad from her book bag to jot down contact phone numbers from Clover’s record. Vida Smith, a housekeeper, was listed for Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Her father’s radio-phone number said, message only, will return calls. Three other numbers without names were noted for emergency purposes.

Sighing, Kate wrote Clover’s father a note requesting a meeting at his earliest convenience. She put it in an envelope, sealed it and scrawled his name on the outside, then set it aside to send home with Clover.

Like most first days at school, this one passed quickly. As Kate was the only teacher, all grades broke for lunch and recess together. She was able to observe which kids paired up and who was on the outs. The older boys teamed up for three-on-a-side basketball.

From the sidelines, Kate suggested plays. She kept an eye on Jeff Goetz and Adam Lightfoot, who tossed a baseball in another part of the playground. She’d thought Danny would join them, but he moved off. Clover climbed on the monkey bars and chatted to Danny, who didn’t seem to mind.

At the end of the day, Kate stuck her note to Clover’s father into the girl’s pack. “This is important. Please give it to your dad as soon as you get home. Tell him I’ll be here tomorrow a half hour before school starts, or I’ll stay an hour after class.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clover skirted Kate’s wheelchair and bolted for the door.

Kate levered out of her chair to erase the math problems she’d had Meg Wheeler and Mike Delgado write on the board.

She and Danny were alone again.

“Did Clover do something wrong, Mom?”

“Wrong? Oh, you mean the note I sent her father? It’s nothing. Her record is incomplete so I need information from her dad. By the way, Danny, I saw you two talking at recess and lunch, after you left Jeff and Adam.”

“I asked them about a rodeo. Jeff doesn’t have horses, but Clover does. Her dad owns a bunch, a cavvy, she called them. She can ride any horse she wants. And her dad braids ropes. Clover said her dad used to teach a roping clinic. She knows all about slack handling, dallying, del viento, hoolihan, turnover and a bunch of other roping tricks.”

Kate set the eraser in its tray. “He used to teach roping?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe he still does.” Taking the eraser, Danny dusted it off in the waste basket. “Clover said he had to stop ’cause he spends so much time running back and forth to court. To Boise. When he’s gone she gets to ride in a real chuck wagon. Isn’t that the coolest thing, Mom?”

“Hmm.” Kate digested the news about Clover’s father spending a lot of time in court. A custody hassle might explain the girl’s distraction and account for the blanks on her permanent record.

A teacher ought to know if there was a court restraining order out against one parent or the other. Mentally, Kate added that to her list of things to discuss with Clover’s father.

That evening, Marge Goetz phoned. “Kate, may I call you that? During supper Jeff told his dad and me how rude Terry was today. He knows better. He will apologize tomorrow. And he’ll do without TV for a few days.”

“I’d planned to speak privately with Terry. He and the others wouldn’t have been so surprised if I’d mentioned my use of a wheelchair in my cover letter.”

“There’s no reason you should have. Except we would’ve provided better access to your cabin and the school. My husband, Ray, worries that you’ll have trouble when it snows.”

“Getting around is my problem to solve, Marge, and I’ll manage. When should I expect the first snow?”

“Could be another month. Two if we’re lucky. It won’t hurt the older boys to shovel a path from where you park into the school. I’ll have Ray or one of the other board members buy snow shovels for the school and your cabin.” After asking Kate if she needed anything else, the board president said goodbye.

Kate wished she’d asked if Marge knew a way to reach Clover Trueblood’s father. But maybe he’d show up in the morning.

The next day, Kate rousted Danny from bed early so she’d be at school in the event Trueblood chose to come for a morning meeting, but he didn’t show. Clover got off the bus. Entering the room alone, she shyly crossed to Kate’s desk, where she set a peanut-butter jar filled with fragrant wildflowers.

The gesture and the child’s almost palpable anxiety touched Kate. “Why, thank you, Clover. These are beautiful. Do they grow wild near your house?”

The girl bobbed her head. Kate’s obvious pleasure triggered a sweet responsive smile before Clover spun and skipped to her desk.

Kate hated to bring up the letter she’d sent home, but she needed to know. “Clover, did you give your dad my note?”