Heart of a Shepherd Read Free Page B

like a cow does when she wants her calf to move along. I give her a couple more shoves, and the calf starts walking.
    “That's the way, baby.” I pull on the rope, and she follows me step by step. I get back in the saddle. We ride nice and slow down the wash, with the calf a few steps behind, until we are at the spot where Spud brushed me against the blackberries. Only this time, Spud stops dead and puts back her ears.
    This is not a good sign. I love Spud, but she has her stubborn moments.
    “Come on. Let's go. Git up now,” I say.
    Then I lose my temper and kick her. Spud just snorts, and I am about to kick her again when something about the way she's breathing makes me think she's afraid. I look up at the sky for a thunderhead and along the rim of the gully for cougars. Suddenly, from the ground, I hear the faintest shiver of dry grass in the still air. Before I can even look, Spud rears up and kicks. She bucks me right off. My hat and rope go flying. I come down flat on my back. All the air whooshes out of my lungs. My head is ringing. I still hear the swoosh, and in a second I can see it—a rattlesnake zigzagging through the dead grass, straight at my face.
    I am dying to jump up and run, to scream, to breathe. Spud rears up again and tramples the snake with her front feet. I hear a hiss and a faint rattle—thesnake is still moving. Just as I finally pull in a ragged, dusty breath, Dad jumps into the gully between me and the snake with his Colt .45 drawn. He takes aim, but doesn't need to fire. The snake is broken in the middle. It drops its head, struggles to lift it again, and uncoils. A dark line of snake blood rolls downhill in the dust.
    “You all right, Brother?” Dad holsters his gun.
    I nod, even though I've never felt worse in my life. Dad goes after the calf, and I get on my feet and look after my horse. She's a little spooked, and sweaty. I'm glad I'm not the only one. I give her plenty of strokes and soft talk, and when I look up, Dad's standing there with the calf, waiting for me.
    He looks me over for a minute and says, “You're going to be more bruises than body come morning. There's nothing worse than coming off a horse onto rocks. Did you break anything?”
    I shake my head, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready to ride on?”
    As soon as Dad touches me, my whole body starts shaking like a leaf. “I've been scared of snakes for a while, but I guess it's going to be a permanent thing after this.”
    “A healthy fear of snakes won't bring you to harm. Might do you some good, if you decide to stick with ranch work.”
    I try to smile, but I'm still shaking.
    “You don't have to be brave,” he says, real quiet. “Neither of us does. A man's life is not so much about courage. You just have to keep going. You have to do what you've promised, brave or not.”
    “But I don't want you to go, Dad,” I whisper, and then I hug him as hard as I can and say it over and over: “Don't go, Dad. Don't. Don't go.”
    And Dad hugs me, and he says nothing, but I can feel him cry.

O CTOBER
    “Good game,” Grandpa says, and he stands up from the kitchen table to shake my hand.
    I say “Good game” back, just out of habit. It's our usual Sunday night chess game, and I still haven't found a way to beat him.
    Nobody ever beats Grandpa. My brothers don't even play chess with him anymore. Dad beats him once in a while, but Dad's been in Iraq for two months and sixteen days. Grandpa goes to the shelf by the wood-stove in the living room and reaches down the felt-lined cigar box that holds the chessmen. We lay them in, ebony on one side and ivory on the other because you wouldn't want the troops to mingle and then have to kill each other the next day, would you? It would be bad for morale.
    Grandma's got four lamb bottles and a fresh light-bulb waiting for me. She holds up my barn coat and I slide it on, catching a draft of molasses cookies from the left front pocket. I get a wink and a little shove