“Yup.”
“Like where?”
“Anywhere there’s a rodeo in North America.”
“Like where?” I say again. “Tell me some of the places you’ve been.”
He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “Well, for starters, every cow town in B.C. — and then some. Alberta and Saskatchewan too. Even more places in the States. Wyoming, South Dakota, Nevada, New Mexico. You name it — I’ve been there.”
I grin. “It sounds exciting. Mom said you’ve been away for the last few months. Is that what you were doing? Riding rodeo?”
Sam stops scrubbing the chili pot and looks out the kitchen window. I can only see the side of his face, but his smile lines are gone, and his jaw is tight. Finally, he shakes his head and goes back to washing the pot. He rinses it and passes it to me. Then he says, “I gave rodeo up a couple of years back. It’s hard on a body, and I’d been at it for nineteen years. I’ve broken more bones than I can count and pulled more muscles than I even knew I had. I was tired of aching all over all of the time.”
My mind starts doing math. Nineteen years. That would make Sam about nineteen when he got into rodeo. Mom said he was twenty-two when he had the blow-up with my grandparents.
“Is that what the fight was about?” I ask point-blank. “The one between you and your parents? Was it because they didn’t want you working in rodeo?”
Sam actually looks surprised, but only for a split second. Faster than I can blink, he’s smiling again. “As I recollect,” he says, “you and I have a whole six weeks to get to know one another. You don’t want to find out everything on the very first day now, do you? And besides, I do believe it’s my turn to ask you some questions.”
Chapter Six
When the dishes are done, Sam and I go outside and sit on the steps. He pulls a thin, silver case from his shirt pocket and opens it to reveal a row of cigarettes. They aren’t factory-made, though. These ones are hand-rolled, and they don’t have filters. Sam takes one out, taps it on the case, and slides it between his lips. Then he produces a fancy silver lighter and in one motion flips the lid and runs his thumb over the friction wheel inside. A flame jumps up and flutters in the breeze. Sam cups his hand around it and holds it to the cigarette.
“You smoke?” I say with surprise.
He answers me with a phlegmy cough.
“You shouldn’t, you know. Smoking is bad for you. Haven’t you seen the health warnings on cigarette packages?”
Sam’s eyes glint as he looks at me sideways, and the laugh-lines around his mouth threaten to break loose. “’Course I have. Why do you think I roll my own?”
I’m not amused. “That’s worse!” I tell him. “It means even more tar and nicotine are getting into your body.”
He drags heavily on the cigarette. It glows red before turning to ash. Sam exhales, and a cloud of smoke dances off with the breeze. He coughs again.
“You should quit,” I say.
He nods. “I do quit. At least two or three times a day. Matter of fact, I quit just before I went to pick you up. Problem is it never seems to take. Quitting isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
“But you —”
Sam grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Then he flicks the remains of his cigarette into the fire pit. “There you go,” he says. “I didn’t even get my money’s worth out of that one. Now don’t be a nag. You’ll never land yourself a husband. Besides, I don’t need another conscience. Believe it or not, I already have one. And the truth is you can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Come on. I want to introduce you to someone.” He starts tugging me toward the shed.
“Who?” I do a quick scan of the area. As far as I can see, Sam and I are the only ones around.
“A girlfriend.”
“She lives in your shed?”
“Yup.”
“Wow. You really know how to treat a girl.”
He sends me a dirty look. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
The shed is open on both ends, and the evening sun shoots dusty beams of light straight through and into my eyes. Otherwise, the inside of the shed is in shadow. A plank fence barricades one side while the other is clearly used for storage. There are shelves of lanterns, blankets, brushes, and coloured bottles. A sawhorse under a saddle. Huge rusted spikes hung with harnesses and horseshoes. A couple of wooden barrels of feed. In a corner, a white pail. Beside it, a pitchfork and shovel. Every other bit of ground is taken up with pallets of sweet-smelling hay. More bales in the rafters.
Movement behind the fence catches my attention. I squint into the shadows, but before my eyes can adjust, I hear a whinny. Then I see the horse. Her coat is tawny, but her mane is black, and an elongated white diamond runs down her nose. When she sees Sam, she neighs again and rubs her big body against the fence, reaching for him.
Stretching her neck and head, she nuzzles him, knocking his hat nearly off. His face relaxes into love. He strokes her nose and rests his cheek against hers. Then he whispers something into her ear that I don’t hear.
“Okay?” he says.
I swear the horse nods.
Then he turns to me. “Dani, this is Jasmine. Jasmine — Dani.”
I go to stand by Sam. “Her name is beautiful. She’s beautiful.” Tentatively, I lift my hand. “Can I touch her?”
“Here.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a sugar cube. “Give her this. She’s a lady who can be bribed. Just offer it to her on your open hand. She has a gentle mouth.”
I do as Sam says. Jasmine briefly sniffs my hand before taking the cube. Her breath is hot, and her lips tickle my palm. She makes a big show of chomping the sugar. When she’s done, I stroke her nose. It’s velvet-soft.
“Is Jasmine your rodeo horse?” I ask.
“One of them,” Sam says. “My last one. When I retired, so did she. No more calf-roping or steer-wrestling for Jasmine. These days she’s lucky to find a rabbit to chase. Mostly she’s happy to wander through the wildflowers and gallop in the creek.” He pats her rump. “Aren’t you, girl?” Then he looks at me and says, “I have ten acres here. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for me. And Jasmine knows every rock and blade of grass on it. She’d be more than happy to take you for a tour.”
I feel my eyes open wide. “You mean ride her?”
Sam shrugs. “Unless you’d rather run behind.”
“But I don’t ride,” I tell him. “I’ve never been on a horse in my life.”
“Well then, I reckon we’ll have to teach you.”
He says it as such a matter of fact that I don’t even consider arguing. Besides, how hard can it be? All I have to do is sit.
———
The next morning I wake up to the delicious smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing. For a few minutes, I let the tantalizing aromas float over me and weave themselves into my dream. Then reality works its way into my dream too, and suddenly I’m wide awake. But I’m not in my comfy bed in Vancouver. I’m on a narrow, lumpy futon in a dingy trailer in the middle of nowhere, and down the hall in the kitchen is a man I’ve known for about sixteen hours.
Then I inhale the food smells again and suddenly remember — it’s my day to cook!