If Wishes Were Horses (44 page)

Etta hoped Johnny would come to her. She would have had to admit she hoped he would chuck his ranch and come to her. It struck her that this was a wild hope, and an equally selfish one. She prayed for God to forgive her, and then she prayed that Johnny would come.

She kept remembering his touch and how it had been between them, and marveling. She would smile to herself. In fact, she continued to have these episodes of smiling to herself for several days.

“I’m supposin’ you found it to be all you had anticipated,” Latrice said dryly.

“Yes,” Etta said in a dreamy fashion.

She began again going out on the porch and looking toward the highway with yearning. Oh God, make him come. She knew He understood.

“Why don’t you just go in there and write him a letter?” Latrice said. “Ask him to come. I imagine if you ask him, he will.”

Etta shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. I went to him, and now it’s his turn. Besides, be loves his place, like I do here. It wouldn’t be right to ask him to give it up.”

“From what you and Obie tell me, this place is a lot better than his. It would be the practical thing to settle here.”

“How good it is has nothing to do with it,” Etta said. “Now leave it alone, please.”

Once she overheard Latrice berating Obie, “Look at her. She’s moonin’ after him again. This would not have happened if you hadn’t told her where he was. She’s likely to lose her mind if he doesn’t come.”

Etta slumped back against the wall with the thought that Johnny might not come.

She forced herself to go out and ride Little Gus and talk to people and make plans to take Little Gus to the rodeo in Oklahoma City. She would not let herself sink as she had done before. She could not afford to do that.

She cried into her pillow, and held Lattie Kate to her breast and gazed into her daughter’s face, and thought that a man did not matter. She told herself to be grateful for the one time with Johnny. She was not sorry about making love with him, and even though her love for him hurt, she did not regret it, either.

It was late at night and moths beat against the screen door. Latrice brought paper and pen to the table. She put on reading glasses she had recently bought; she hated having to wear them, which made her doubly annoyed with Johnny Bellah, since she was having to wear them to write to him.

Dear Johnny,

There is more than one way to skin a cat. If you will come up here and marry Etta, it is likely that she will in time become so attached to you that she will go with you anywhere.

I realize this is a gamble for you, but the odds are in your favor. She loves you. Should she never be willing to leave this place, you have not lost much, except a little pride. That seems a small price to pay for love and my biscuits.

She deliberated a moment as to just how to sign it, and ended with:
Yours truly, Latrice
.

The next day, she took the envelope to the mailbox at the time the mailman came by and placed it directly into his hand.

Johnny had been checking his mailbox each day. This day as he opened it, he cautioned himself not to be disappointed in not finding a letter from Etta. He had not written her, either. He had wanted to write her, but he’d been too confused, and starting up correspondence seemed like it would make everything worse.

Yet he went to his mailbox each day with a small hope in his chest, and this day he was surprised to see the familiar envelope. He drew it out and saw the unfamiliar handwriting. Then he opened it and read Latrice’ s words.

Throwing back his head, he laughed.

Starting for his house, he then began to run eagerly. Halfway there, he had to stop, as his knee was giving out.

Etta was in the barn helping Nathan Lee clean stalls, and was sweaty and dirty when Johnny came.

She heard a vehicle and recognized it instantly as Johnny’s truck. She set aside her pitchfork and hurried to the barn entrance, her heart beating wildly. Of course it isn’t him, she told herself, do not get overwrought.

Then she saw his blue truck coming slowly. She saw he had his golden dun in the back and another horse tied to the rear. He came to a stop in his usual place in front of the barn. She gazed at him through the dirty windshield. He got out slowly, and came around the front of the truck. He was limping badly.

Noticing her see his limp, he said, “I got kicked good yesterday.”

He stopped and looked at her, giving her a lopsided, hesitant grin.

Etta told herself not to jump to conclusions. She went forward slowly, stopping several feet in front of him. “Hi,” she said shyly.

He opened his arms, and she went into them and thought she would just go to pieces.

He said, “I’ve come to stay, if you’ll have me, Etta.”

Letting out a sob, she threw her arms around his neck.

Johnny, feeling like he’d done a very good thing, whispered, “You ask a hell of a lot from a man . . . but I’m up to it.’’

“Oh, Johnny, I love you.”

“I love you, too, darlin’,” he said through his choked throat.

He turned her toward the house and walked with her in the curve of his arm. Just as he entered, he experienced an instant of uncertainty. Etta, ahead of him, was saying how Lattie Kate had grown. Latrice was looking expectantly at him.

He saw the chair at the table where he had normally sat the past months, and although Obie was not there, he knew the older man would come later, and that they would all sit around the table. They would talk of Lattie Kate growing, and of the weather, and of the worth of a horse and the price of alfalfa.

He looked again at Etta, who smiled at him a smile that said she was thinking of his touch, and he thought of holding her in his arms in the night. Taking a breath, he stepped inside the house, and he knew with that act he made it his home.

Five years later

“Lattie Kate, come out from under that porch,” Etta said, feeling something of a panic. There could be snakes under the porch.

“I had to get Thomas,” her daughter said, coming forth with a smudged face and a big yellow tomcat. “We can’t leave Thomas behind.”

“Of course we won’t leave Thomas, honey. Obie has a cage for him.” She wiped the dirt from her daughter’s chubby cheeks and picked a dead leaf from her flaxen hair.

They got the cat into a cage in the back of Obie’s old black pickup truck, right alongside crates of chickens and a slatted box with a blue tick hound.

Etta helped Latrice carry out the last boxes from the kitchen. Obie took up Lattie Kate, who wanted to ride with him in the old truck.

“I’m ridin’ where I can spread out some,” Latrice said and got into the passenger seat of Etta’s new Impala. Etta called it the car that Little Gus bought, as she had purchased it largely from his barrel racing winnings.

“You forgot to shut the door,” Latrice told Etta.

Etta hurried back to the house and across the porch. When she took hold of the knob on the kitchen door, she paused and gazed into the now empty room.

Her heart seemed to pause, and she heard echoes of voices. Latrice’s voice singing hymns along with the radio, Roy hollering out that he was home, Obie asking after Latrice, Johnny asking for Pine-Sol that first day he moved here, and Lattie Kate crying to be fed.

She blinked, and the kitchen was empty again. Etta shut the door firmly.

“We’re off,” she said, plopping herself into the seat behind the wheel. “Anything that’s forgotten, the new owners can have.”

Shifting into gear, she headed away down the drive, passing beneath the tall elms for the last time. Obie followed behind. When she turned onto the highway, Etta gave the land and house a wave out the window, then pressed the gas pedal and never looked in the rearview minor. She was already eagerly thinking of Johnny waiting for them.

Etta spied him as soon as she pulled beneath the sign: Bellah Quarter Horses. He came down the steps of the front porch of the frame house he had bought years before.

Now the house was bigger, boasting not only the front porch, but a side one as well, and two more bedrooms. Johnny was planning ahead, hoping for a new baby. On the other side of the orchard was a small cottage; this was for Latrice and Obie, their own place at last, without a kitchen, because Latrice said the one at the main house was enough for her. She did not care to have to clean two kitchens.

Before Etta got out of the car, Lattie Kate was running toward Johnny with her arms outstretched. “Daddy . . . Daddy, we’re here!” Etta watched him pick her up and hug her tight.

“Well, here we are at a new home,” Latrice said.

Etta looked over at her. “Yes, here we are.”

They grinned knowingly at each other.

Then Etta got out of the car and walked to meet Johnny. “I was gettin’ a little worried,” he said.

“A lot more last-minute things than we’d thought,” Etta said, and he looked around to check out the backseat of the Impala.

“We didn’t forget Thomas or Blue,” Lattie Kate told him. She had her arms tight around his neck. “They’re part of the family, too.”

“Yes, they are, darlin’.”

Latrice right away put together a meal, and they all sat around the table to eat and talk about the day and ones to come. Afterward, Obie Lee read Lattie Kate a story, and Etta and Latrice cleaned the kitchen, arguing over where to put things, while Johnny checked on the stock. Then Latrice and Obie went to their cottage, Lattie Kate slept instantly in her new room, and Etta waited for Johnny in their bedroom. She had bought a new gown for the occasion.

“We have to move the bed over to there,” Etta told him, when he came.

“You move that bed anywhere you want,” Johnny said. Then he came over, drew her up to him, and kissed her thoroughly, until she could hardly stand. She wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek into his shoulder.

“You aren’t sorry for movin’ down here . . . leavin’ the other place?” Johnny said, and she felt him tense.

Drawing back, she looked into his eyes. “I have all I want right here. I know exactly the horse I’m ridin’, and it’s a sure winner.

“I love you, Johnny Bellah, with all my heart.” Then she kissed him.

While I am the one putting forth the endless hours in the chair, I could not get any book written alone. My everlasting gratitude goes to the following people who generously gave me their time, their knowledge, and their encouragement:

Carrie Feron, my editor, who provides valuable guidance and suggestions, and continued faith in my work.

Gordy Whitman, horseman and storyteller, who has fascinated me with tales of horses and Western life for as long as I have known him; and to Rick Ketcherside, for his experiences with horses and bush tracks in Oklahoma, as well as for always lending a neighborly helping hand.

Melva and John Gorham, for their recollections of life in Grady and Caddo counties; and Machelle Courtney, who shares with me her woman’s perspective of farming, and who manages to urge me out of the house for horseback riding when I most need it. Champion barrel racer Carol Goosetree was kind in relating much about the sport of barrel racing and her love of horses.

I am indebted to Christina Owen of the Anadarko Library for the information about the rodeo grounds, and to the Oklahoma Historical Society, a truly magical place where I lost myself in perusing back copies of newspapers of towns throughout the state. From the National Cowgirl Hall of Fame I received much inspiration for this book and others to follow.

My appreciation to the people at Computer Plus, who are very patient when I telephone, wailing that I have once more confused my machine.

I am grateful to my mother, who reminds me of Southern traditions too precious to let pass—such as the term CoCola. And to my dear friends who boost me when I get tired and discouraged that my talent is not all I wish—Dixie Browning, Karen Coughlan, Mary Doyle.

My husband’s contribution was to drive me all over the dusty backroads, to be at my side when I accosted strangers, very often men who uneasily suspected me of being some sort of investigator for the racing commission, with questions. My son helped by making me laugh at the right times, and by checking the oil in my truck.

I am grateful to God for putting me down in Oklahoma, a truly grand place with very special people. And thank God I’m a country girl.

Once called the 'Reba McEntire of women's fiction' because her books are much like country songs, Curtiss Ann confesses that her stories come from her own experiences and are stories of ordinary women "living and loving and learning." Warm and funny and told with a flowing Southern voice, the books are set in small towns and filled with colorful characters and keen observations about human nature.

Curtiss Ann has received two nominations for the Romance Writers of America
Rita
, two
Reader's Choice
awards, and the
Oklahoma Writer of the Year
award. She lives with her husband on a forty-acre ranch in Oklahoma, where she enjoys her horses, Western culture, and rose bushes.

Other books by Curtiss Ann include
Lost Highways
,
Driving Lessons
,
Cold Tea on a Hot Day
,
At the Corner of Love and Heartache
and
Recipes for Easy Living
.

Visit Curtiss Ann's website, http://www.curtissannmatlock.com, to find out more about her and her books. You can write to Curtiss Ann at PO Box 118, Union City, Oklahoma 73090, or email her at [email protected].

Copyright © 1998 by Curtiss Ann Matlock

Originally published by Avon Books

Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this ebook may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228