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Chapter 9: Ruptured
Hank woke up next morning with Daisy snuggled against him. His big hand on her bare belly, he trailed his fingers over her ribs, whispering, “You want to go ride now? I’ll make pancakes after.”
“Your Ma taught you to cook?” Daisy grinned, stretching and yawning, her hair a tangle. Last night, after Hymie’s, they’d showered together in the big white guest bath. It had been some experience, lathering up Daisy . . .
Dressing quickly, they hustled to the barn. Hank had left Lucky out all night to work out the kinks, and he was quieter now, as Daisy saddled him; she seemed to have gained the gelding’s trust.
Down at the other end of the big barn, the crew was loading fence posts and wire into the old ranch truck. He and Renardo had driven the fence line yesterday, looking over what needed patching.
Daisy was tightening the cinch on her saddle when Julio started the truck. It backfired, sounding like a shot. Startled, Lucky squealed and threw his head up, dancing and pawing the ground.
Grabbing reins, Hank muttered, “Dang-it, I had Sam replace those spark plugs last week; he musta crossed a wire. I’ll have to tear into it first thing Monday after we get back.”
Unfazed, Daisy let the horse settle, then finished cinching and led him out to the corral. The paint moved smoothly, looking around with interest—aware, but not nervous. He held the horse’s bridle while Daisy swung up into the saddle. Her face broke into a wide grin. “Wait ‘til you see us in Lamesa this weekend, Hank. I’m gonna make you real happy you went to the trouble to get this guy. We’re gonna have so much fun.”
With a big smile for him, she closed her legs around the horse’s sides, starting off. He took a seat on the top rail of the corral fence, calling, “Can’t wait to shop for a new leather, once you win that belt buckle, Daisy Mae!”
She warmed up and started Lucky around the cloverleaf, loping easy when he saw his father’s white Cadillac sedan pull through the gates.
What the. . .? His mother had said they’d be in Corpus Christi this weekend, shopping for furniture for their new place. Red pulled alongside the corral and lowered his window, squinting at Hank.
He didn’t like the look on his daddy’s face; it spelled trouble. Pulling a leg over the fence, he dropped to the ground. “What’s happenin’, Pop? Hey, Ma. You guys have breakfast? Go on in, I’ll be in to get it started. I’m makin’ pancakes.”
“We ate,” his father grunted, motioning to the corral. “Looks like things are turning real domestic around here, son, aren’t they?”
Hank met Ella Jean’s eyes, saw the warning look on her face. Raising an eyebrow, he made his voice very quiet so his father wouldn’t mistake his intentions. “I got company, Pop. Don’t start anything, hear?”
“So you do!” Red Gallagher spat, slapping the steering wheel. He dropped a hand to his wife’s knee. “C’mon, Ella Jean. Hank’s got company. Let’s get out, say hello!”
Voice tense, Ella said, “Let them finish up, Red, they’re busy. We’ll see Daisy in a minute, once she’s done with her ride.”
“Nope, Hank’s got company!” his father called, swinging his door open and grabbing in back for his cane.
Ella Jean tried again. “Let me get in and mix up some batter, get the pancakes started, Red. We can visit with Hank and Daisy at the breakfast table.”
Red was standing now. He spoke in a loud voice. “No, sirree, Hank’s got company, and, hell, Ella Jean, it looks like she’s riding a new horse!”
Ella turned to Hank, nervous and chagrined, and her eyes begged him to intervene.
Since when does the bastard have a case against Daisy?
Red was at the fence now, calling to the far end of the ring in a loud voice, “That a new horse, Daisy?”
Daisy loped in a big circle, pulling up short at the fence, so the gelding’s feet skittered in the dust. Polite as can be, she said, “This is Lucky, Mr. Gallagher.” Hank heard the pop and groan of the fully loaded work truck as it pulled away from the barn. He watched the guys hop on the tailgate.
“He’s Hank’s new barrel horse,” she was saying, “He’s smart and agile, quick as a fish.”
Flashing his son a look of defiance, Red bellowed, “What’s Hank need a barrel horse for?”
Easy in the saddle, Daisy took off her hat, raised an arm to wipe the perspiration from her brow, then said matter-of-factly, “I don’t know, sir, why don’t you ask Hank?”
She looked at him and he shook his head, unable to hide his fury. The truck was at the backside of the corral, just behind Lucky. Hat still in hand, the reins were in Daisy’s relaxed spare hand. Hank tensed, sensing what would happen before it did. Daisy!
The loaded truck backfired. Startled, Lucky reared. His front legs came high up off the ground, stretching, reaching for air. Daisy’s reins flew loose and she dropped her hat, leaning forward, grabbing the horse’s neck.
The paint’s front legs touched down, pawing the ground, and then he bucked—once, twice—big bucks that thrust Daisy forward then snapped her head back.
“Keep your chin down, Daisy!” Hank screamed, running towards her.
