Read Online Mama Rides Shotgun by Deborah Sharp - Free Book Online Page B

there could be any explanation. ‘Save it for somebody who gives a shit,’ I told him. And, no, I’m not real proud that I cussed a man who just lost his daddy.’’
    Val nudged my hip with the top of her head. It might have been sympathy; then again, she might just have ear mites.
    My sister Maddie says it’s weird that I talk to animals. I don’t agree. It’s not like I think they’re going to talk back.
    Brandy, Mama’s loaner horse for the trail ride, ambled over to get her share of the late-night snack. I tossed half the hay to her and half to Val, the quarter horse I’d borrowed to ride.
    Nothing like food to create a captive audience.
    “So,’’ I continued, edging closer to Val, “I just grabbed the flashlight Trey left on the log and hightailed it out of there. Of course, I lost a little steam when I ran into a clump of palmetto so thick I had to turn around and stalk right back past to find a way out.’’
    Brandy munched away. Val shook her head.
    “We’ll get the vet to take a look at those ears, girl.’’ I ran a hand over Val’s back and across her broad chest. She was the perfect horse for working cattle: strong, quick, and agile. My family quit keeping stock after Daddy lost our ranch. But we still had plenty of friends in the cattle business. I’d had no trouble scaring up two horses and a trailer when Mama announced we were making the ride.
    “Okay, then.’’ I gave Val a last pat on her rump. “Time for me to turn in and dream about what an idiot I am.’’
    I heard the whirr of a power window sliding down. Sinatra crooned softly in the near-distance.
    “Mace!’’ Mama’s whisper came from the front seat of Sal’s enormous Cadillac. He’d parked on one side of our makeshift horse paddock; my tent was on the other. “Quit talking to the horses and get some sleep. Are you sure you don’t want to join us, honey? The temperature’s supposed to really drop, and this sure beats the heck out of the ground. I can bunk in the back seat with Sal, and you’ll have the front all to yourself.’’
    I couldn’t think of anyplace I’d rather not be.
    “No, thanks. Mama,’’ I whispered back. “The tent will do just fine.’’
    ___
    The ground under my sleeping bag felt like a slab of concrete that someone had left overnight in the freezer. In addition to my thermal long johns, I had a long-sleeved T-shirt tied around my head and the turtleneck of my sweater pulled up over my mouth. I’d slipped a dirty pair of socks over my hands. My nose was the only body part I hadn’t covered, and I could no longer feel it on the front of my face. My version of cold-weather wear was no match for the temperature plunge. It had to be in the thirties, which feels sub-zero to a native Floridian like me. I envied the horses the thicker coats they grow each winter.
    Holding my breath against the onslaught of cold, I climbed out of my sleeping bag, pulled on boots and a parka, and fled my tent for Sal’s car.
    “Let me in. I changed my mind,’’ I hissed, rapping on the passenger-side window. “I need to get warm.’’
    Mama pushed open the car door and scooted over on the wide leather seat. Her hair looked like a platinum-colored soufflé, except collapsed to one side. “C’mon in, honey. We’ll turn the heater on for a little bit.’’ She cranked the car engine and put a hand to my face. “My stars, Mace! Your cheek is like ice. And are those socks clean?’’
    Sal grumbled something, stirring in the back seat like a poked bear in hibernation.
    “I left my gloves in the horse trailer.’’ I held up my hands. “This is what I could find.’’
    “Sally, honey, toss Mace that extra blanket from the floor back there.’’
    An unintelligible mumble sounded from behind us. A few seconds later, a wool blanket sailed over the seat.
    “Who’d have thought I’d need an Arctic-rated sleeping bag in the Sunshine State?’’
    “I’ve got some hot chocolate in my thermos. Want a