Handful of Sky Read Online Free Page A

Would sheever be thought of as anything other than a “little lady” or a “little niece”?
    “Looks like Willie is getting set.”
    In the first chute Shallie watched the young cowboy in red chaps ease down onto his mount’s back. He jammed his hat down so hard on his head that his ears stuck out like the handles on a jug. With a jerky nod he signaled for the gate to be thrown open. Mercury bolted out with all the speed of his namesake and the chaps became a red blur hurtling through space. The embarrassed hometown cowboy landed right where the chaps didn’t cover.
    “Ready on two?” Shallie asked the next contestant.
    “I was born ready, ma’am,” the leathery old veteran shot back.
    “Then let her rip.” Shallie laughed, turning her attention to the next contestant. Shallie didn’t watch the ride, she was too busy hurrying along the stumpy, muscle-bound cowboy who’d drawn Odin. Uncle Walter always prided himself on running a fast, well-paced show.
    “You let too much time pass,” he always said, “and the people in the stands are going to start noticing how hot it is or how hard the seat is and next thing you know they’re asking themselves why in blazes they ever left their plasma TVs and their internets to come out to some old rodeo. Then you’ve lost a paying customer, and we’ve got too few of them as it is.”
    “The judges have given J. T. Watkins a whopping big eighty-one for that last ride, folks.” The announcement brought a round of applause for the battered old veteran.
    The dude, who was the fourth rider, after the angry cowboy had his turn on Odin, was standing back helplessly. The third contestant was almost ready to call for the gate. There wasn’t much time. If she didn’t baby him along he’d hold up the action.
    “Okay, mister.” She eased alongside of him. “Step aboard.” She indicated Zeus’s back. The dude straddled the planks above the horse and settled gingerly down. In the next chute the third contestant nodded for the gate.
    “Grab ahold of the rigging,” Shallie coached the dude. He gripped the rawhide handle with both hands as if he were picking up a heavy suitcase. Shallie sighed and shook her head. She hoped this town had a good emergency room.
    Out in the arena the last rider picked himself up from where Odin had thrown him and beat the dust out of his hat, looking angrier than ever.
    “Let’s hear a big round of applause for Elroy Stivers on Odin,” the announcer coaxed the crowd, “because your applause is all he’ll be taking home tonight.”
    “Here, hang on to it like this.” Shallie demonstrated to the dude how he should slide just his right hand in underneath the grip with his palm pointed upward. Herpupil shook his head in understanding and switched his handhold.
    “Scoot up on your hand,” Shallie directed, holding her fist in front of her hips to demonstrate the position he needed to assume. Down by the gate Wade and Hoskins were elbowing one another and snickering at her impromptu bareback riding lesson. She was again about to give up the effort when she realized he wasn’t wearing a glove.
    “Your riding glove. Where is it?” When the dude shrugged she turned and borrowed one from the nearest cowboy.
    “Here, stick this on your riding hand.”
    He held up his right hand. Shallie tugged on the leather glove. As she did, she noticed a mound of pink scar tissue. This was the cowboy she had been so entranced with as she’d watched him limbering up. She stepped back, a sick feeling gathering in her stomach. It spread as she watched the “dude” settle his firm buttocks down on Zeus’s back and scoot forward until he was nearly sitting on his gloved hand. Zeus kicked a hoof against the chute in protest. Then, in a low, commanding voice she heard:
    “Turn him out, boys.”
    The gate rattled as it sprung open. Shallie swung back around. She witnessed exactly what she was afraid she might see—a freeze-action picture of perfect