Chapter 2

We got in the truck, and dad drove out of Billings, but going east, not west where our ranch is. When he turned off the highway, I saw the nicest horse fence I’d ever seen along the road. The fence enclosed pastures of green grass, and the sleekest quarter horses were grazing and playing. When we got to the ranch gate and turned in, I was as excited as I can ever remember. The brand on the sign above the gate was a B with wings. Everyone around southern Montana knew old Mr. Brewster raised the fastest quarter horses, and his cutting horses were from some of the best lines in the country. His prize stud had won 5 consecutive Montana cutting horse championships.

“What are we doing at the Flying B, dad?”

“Well, pumpkin, you’ve done real well with old Jessie, but I think you are ready for a real horse.”

We drove up to the parking area by the horse barn, and got out of the truck. Old Mr. Brewster himself met us, along with Mandy, his daughter. She is a senior at Billings High, and she is a champion barrel racer.

Apparently dad knew Mr. Brewster from his rodeo days. They started talking about the old days, and Mandy took me down to the barn.

“What kind of horse do you dream about, Misty?”

“Well, I like to ride fast, but I really hate cows, so I have zero interest in cutting, either on the ranch, or in competition. I’ve always just wanted a nice mellow horse that likes to run. I guess in my dreams it’s a buckskin filly, with a black mane and tail.”

“Have you ever thought about barrel racing? That’s a fun way to ride fast. I’ll bet all the boys would mob you after seeing your hair flying as you rounded the last barrel and raced for the finish.”

“I don’t think we have the money, and I know dad can’t take the time away from the ranch for me to do something so useless. I probably should go talk to dad, and see what he’s thinking about.”

“Why don’t you come have a look at the horse your dad picked out for you first?”

I reluctantly followed Mandy to a small corral beside the barn. Inside the portable metal fence was the horse I’d always dreamed of. She was a little bit on the tall side of the Quarter Horse range, dark buckskin, with a black mane and tail, and four black stockings. She had a black star on her forehead.

I walked up to the fence and climbed up so I could sit on the top bar. The filly walked right over to me. She put her head in my lap, and I scratched her behind her ears. She didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t have a treat for her.

I looked at Mandy. She nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

I swung my leg over the filly, and settled on her back. I nudged her with a knee, and she walked around the corral. Dad showed up about that time.

“Is that the horse you had in mind?” dad asked.

“You actually listened to every word I’ve ever said about horses!” I said, and laughed. I was a little embarrassed, because it almost sounded like a giggle.

One of the Flying B hands came down to the corral carrying a new saddle and bridle. I got down. He opened the gate, threw a nice thick Navajo blanket on her back, and then slung the saddle up. He adjusted the position, and then cinched it down. He put the bridle on her, and led her out of the corral.

I followed, and he handed me the reigns. I looked at dad, and he smiled and nodded. I swung up, and was on her back in a second. The ranch hand went to the pasture gate, and motioned for me to follow. I touched the filly with my heel, and she walked over to the gate. The hand opened it, and I guided her through. I was happy to see she didn’t shy. So far, she seemed like a calm, balanced horse.

Once we were in the pasture, I worked her to see how she responded. I only needed a very light hand, knee, or heel pressure to guide her, and she was coordinated and agile. I must have had the world’s biggest smile on my face. I looked around and found the place where there weren’t horses grazing, and the land was flat. I pointed her in that direction, and touched her with my heel. The filly took off. I was surprised at how fast she accelerated. She was up to a full gallop in nothing flat. I eased her back to a lope, and headed her toward the fence, guiding her to run parallel to it, and we made a circuit of the pasture. I eased her back to a walk, and we did another circuit for her to cool down. I hate trotting, so I was glad she followed my touches, and understood what I wanted her to do. I rode her back to the gate and dismounted. She stood quiet while I opened the gate, and very calmly followed me as I led her through the gate. She stood quietly as I closed the gate.

Dad was waiting, smiling like I hadn’t seen before. “She isn’t registered, so you can name her.” He told me.

“Her name is Star,” I said.

I was about to ask how we were getting her home, when I saw the new, two-horse trailer hitched to the pickup. The door was open and the ramp was down, so I led her over to the trailer. I clipped a rope lead on her halter, tied the rope to a ring on the side of the trailer, and took off her bridle. I unfastened the girths, and slung the saddle over my shoulder. I carried it to the front of the trailer and put it away in the tack box. I went back and got the saddle blanket, rolled it up, and stowed it next to the saddle.

There were new combs and brushes in a compartment of the trailer. I combed and brushed her until she was cooled down and clean. I unfastened the rope, and led her to the stock tank to get a drink. Then I led her into the trailer. She walked right in, with no fuss. I tied the rope lead at the front of the stall, made sure the hay in the bin was good, and went out the side door. I closed the door, made sure it was latched, then went to the back of the trailer and put away the ramp and latched the back door.

We climbed in the truck, and dad pulled out of the driveway and started for home.

“Misty, I know you almost always wear jeans, but you are wearing a dress today. You kind of put on a show, sitting on the fence, and then when you were riding Star. There’s nothing wrong with what you did, but sometimes people judge you by what you wear, or if you show a lot of your body.”

“Oh daddy, I’m just fourteen, and most people say I’m a tomboy. There’s nothing much to see.”

“You’d be surprised how grown-up you look when you are sitting on a fence and showing your pale blue panties to the world.”

“Well dad, I am who I am, and I really don’t care what anyone but you thinks of me. If the world was the way I think it should be, I’d go naked if I felt like it, and no one ought to be able to say anything about it!” I declared.

“OK, baby girl. Just call me to bail you out,” Daddy said.

“Dad, did you think I was being bad?” I asked.

“No honey, but I was surprised how grown up you look. I had to remind myself that you are my daughter, and not some hot rodeo cowgirl,” Daddy explained.

“Do you think I look hot dad? None of the boys at school do. They just want to say nasty things and be mean. It’s hard to know if they are just prejudiced because mom was Crow, or if I don’t look pretty enough to be a girlfriend,” I said.

“Yes pumpkin, you definitely look hot. You have long legs, they are strong, and a nice shape. Then, seeing that you were wearing girl’s panties, not boxers, it made me see you as a hot teenage girl, not a little tomboy anymore,” Daddy said.

“I really like it that you are always honest with me daddy. Thanks for telling me what you were really thinking when you looked at me. Did I remind you of my mom? Did you think I am as pretty as she was?” I asked.

“Yes, Misty. Your mom had the same hair, the same beautiful skin, and a really nice figure like yours. She was a very pretty, very sexy girl, and you are just as pretty,” Dad said.

“Do you think I look sexy daddy?” I asked

“Well, dads are not supposed to look at their daughters that way, but yes, you are a sexy girl. The boys at school are either blind or stupid,” Daddy said.

I unfastened my seatbelt and moved to the middle seat, fastened the lap belt, and leaned against dad, and put my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks dad. It’s hard for a girl to know for sure how she looks. When I look in the mirror, I think I look OK. I think maybe I’m cute, but not quite pretty. I think my butt looks pretty good in jeans, but I don’t know if that’s enough to look sexy,” I said.

“Honey, you are fourteen, you have lots of time to grow up. When you are a little older, you will definitely look sexy, and none of the boys will be able to ignore you,” Dad told me.