Catching Calhoun. Tina Leonard

some reason, Calhoun thought as he tugged on his creased, well-worn leather riding glove, that challenge just made him determined to be the one who took Olivia Spinlove for a moonlight stroll.

      IN ACTUALITY, that stroll would have to be postponed.

      Calhoun limped from the arena after Bloodthirsty tossed him to the ground with a flare of outstretched hooves and a ha-ha! attitude. He took stock of his body after he eased onto a barrel in an abandoned stall. Spleen rearranged, armpit felt loose, knee seemed dicey—perhaps a cranial dislocation. Damn, he was seeing stars.

      “You okay, cowboy?” he heard a worried child ask.

      And his two new friends seemed to be anxious to stick to him like gum on a boot heel. “I’m fine,” he gasped out. “You two run along.”

      The girl looked at him curiously. “You don’t look fine. You look like you might need a cup of hot tea. That’s what Momma always gives us when we’re not feeling ‘up to par.’”

      He groaned. “Well, now,” he said, stripping off his glove and swallowing a pained groan. “I’d have to say I’m about three strokes shy of par.”

      “Not your best day,” the boy said. “You’ll play better another time.”

      “There won’t be another time.” Calhoun wished they’d go find another time in the next county and leave him to his busted pride. “Hey, you kids beat it for now, okay?”

      With some guilt, he watched the little boy’s eyes fill with tears.

      “Oh, come on,” Calhoun said grumpily. “You can’t expect me to be friendly right now. My tongue’s lodged somewhere behind my ears and my teeth seem weirdly disconnected.”

      “Kenny just wants an autograph,” the little girl said, her tone mildly reproachful. “At least you tried to ride that bull, and that oughta be worth getting an autograph from you. So we can say we met the cowboy who tried.”

      Calhoun perked up. “An…autograph?”

      The boy nodded, his eyes round and huge with either adoration or hope.

      Calhoun’s chest puffed out a little with male pride. “No one’s ever asked me for an autograph before.”

      “You stayed on for three seconds,” the girl said. “Kenny’s easily impressed.”

      “Hmmph.” Calhoun gave her an assessing eye. “You’re too young to be sarcastic.”

      “Sarcastic?” Her eyebrows raised.

      “Never mind.” He scribbled his signature on the number he’d been wearing and gave it to Kenny, who seemed astonished over the gift. The little boy clutched it to his chest as if he feared Calhoun would change his mind and take back his number. “Now what? Don’t y’all have someplace to be?” He eased himself into a different sitting position, wondering if he should take off his shirt to inspect his rib cage when there was a young lady about.

      Probably not.

      “Well, since the show’s over,” Minnie said, “we should go watch Gypsy find Grandpa in the barrels. Wanna come with us?”

      Kenny’s face beamed at him when he heard his big sister’s offer. “Uh—” Calhoun began.

      “You don’t want to miss what Gypsy can do,” Minnie bragged. “Mom’s a great rider.”

      He perked up at the word “Mom.” What the heck. At the end of every bull tossing should be a pretty woman. And he had a couple hours before the art showing. “Sure. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

      “Can you stand up?” Minnie asked. “’Cause we can help—”

      “I can stand!” Calhoun insisted, annoyed that the kids thought he was so flimsy. “Now look, you two ragamuffins don’t try to work me over, okay, because I know what you’re up to.”

      Minnie blinked her big, innocent eyes. “You do?”

      Satisfied, he nodded. “Yeah. I do. You want me for your mom.”

      The children stared at him.

      “Grandpa said he’d kick the bejesu—” Kenny started.

      “Shh! You’re not supposed to say that!” Minnie reminded him. She looked up at Calhoun. “Cowboy, we want you to hide in a barrel. And that’s all we’re looking for.”

      Calhoun blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Hide in a barrel? Do I look like the kind of stuffingless cowboy who needs to hide in a barrel?”

      “From the way you ran from Bloodthirsty Black, we think you’ve got what it takes,” Minnie said earnestly.

      “Now, look,” Calhoun said, pretty certain now that he was getting railroaded, “just because I said you were too young to be sarcastic doesn’t mean I don’t know when you are.”

      Kenny looked at him sorrowfully. “You don’t want to be in our act? It’s lots of fun.” He got big tears in his eyes. “I told Mom I’d do it, but she said no. She said Gypsy goes out to pasture when Grandpa does.”

      They stared at him solemnly. Sighing, Calhoun eased to his feet. “You know what? You two are kind of strange. But I’m from the original House O’ Strange, so I’ll go along with the game for a couple hours. I’ve got nothing better to do.” And if it meant getting a second look at Olivia Spinlove, then a man could do worse with his time.

      THE GAME THAT BARLEY and Gypsy played was basically hide-the-pea-under-the-shell, only they used Barley and a barrel. Audiences were thrilled with the hide-and-go-seek game between Grandpa and Gypsy, because Gypsy wore blinders and therefore seemed to really be able to figure out where Grandpa was hiding, even when Olivia made Gypsy go over to a child in the audience, giving Grandpa a chance to hurriedly switch barrels. Gypsy always went to the new barrel immediately, making the audience laugh as she reached in with her nose to check for him. On command, she would whinny very loudly, as if to say, Ahha! She could push barrels over with Barley in them, and she could kick them, making Barley yell “Ouch!” much to the delight of the children in the crowd.

      Olivia was responsible for the gag running quickly and smoothly. She herself wore a mask over her eyes, so that she couldn’t “cue” Gypsy to the correct barrel.

      Sometimes Gypsy pretended she didn’t know where he was, and Olivia would ask the kids to “help” Gypsy find Grandpa. While they called out answers, clowns would run through the audience giving fresh apples to kids who participated, even if they just pointed a finger. Most of the time, every child ended up with a pretty apple.

      And at the end, Grandpa did a sparkler show while sitting on Gypsy, his arms pinwheeling in figure eights and lasso motions as the children watched in amazement.

      Then every child who wanted to could pet Gypsy.

      Olivia adjusted her mask, thinking that it was sad that the show would be over at the end of this school year. In fact, this was the final time they’d perform in the south. Lonely Hearts Station had been one of the few places where they hadn’t performed. Barley had ditched the town many years ago, after Marvella and he had a row.

      Olivia suspected he’d never gotten over Marvella. He really was an old softie, though he had a reputation for being mean. They’d probably never get back together, but first flames often burned in the memory. Still, life went on.

      She waited for her cue to bring Gypsy into the ring.

      “Hey, pretty lady,” a deep voice said next to her ear.

      “Don’t take your mask off, Momma,” Minnie said. “Guess who’s come to watch the act?”

      Her heart sank. He’d spoken the exact words she’d imagined him speaking. Truly, this cowboy was a player at the master level. “Minnie,” she said, her voice warning her daughter to remember the rules—no cowboys.

      The