Big Girl Boots

Four

"C'mon, Blakey! Let's get these boys ready!"

After greeting me with the bear hug I thought I deserved at lunch, my dad had gone back out to the shop to finish working on the four-wheeler that he'd broken by running over a huge rock too fast. Now, he was hollering from the bottom of our stairs, his robust voice echoing throughout the house.

"I'm coming," I shouted back, my boots making a resounding thud as I pushed myself up from the couch. Coda and I had spent the majority of the afternoon lounging in my room with the windows open and the TV on. She'd fallen asleep halfway through our first movie and I tried my best to keep from waking her up.

Since coming to live with us, Coda had obviously started sleeping better. These days she dozed off a lot less and the dark circles under her eyes were gradually starting to fade. Even though she was looking better, I wanted to let her sleep as long as possible, knowing it would be a long week.

Inevitably, my yells jerked her awake and she went scrambling to find the boots she'd kicked off.

I slapped on the ball cap I'd discarded before turning on the TV and turned to my sleepy-eyed best friend. "You don't have to come out if you don't want to. Me and dad can catch them, easy."

She shook her head vigorously and yanked on the left boot with a grunt. "Nope, I'm coming. Just give me a second."

Ignoring her stubbornness, I waited with my hands on my hips.

Finally, she stood up, running a hand through the blonde waves that cascaded down her back, following when I started towards the door.

We burst out into the hot evening air and I was again reminded of why I didn't like living in southern Idaho. The heat made me sick and I was eternally sunburnt.

"Get a halter, sis. You can catch Remi," my dad instructed, his back turned away from the house. His bulky arms rested on top of the gate to the main pasture, a navy blue rope halter hanging from one hand.

I nodded even though he couldn't see me and traipsed into the side shed of our barn, Coda on my heels.

"Wow," she gasped, staring into our tack room.

Unlike the one at Kellan's house, ours was meticulously organized, courtesy of my two neat-freak parents. Every halter, saddle, and blanket had its place and all hell tended to break loose if things were out of order in the slightest.

"I bet this ain't a sight you're used to," I chuckled, retrieving a rope halter that was more brown than bubblegum pink from years of use.

She shook her head, still staring. That was something Coda did often. Being the shy type, she'd mastered the art of staring to get a point across. I knew she wished she could be more verbal and outspoken, but I found her typical awed silences kind of adorable.

"Here," I dug one of the small, bruised apples my dad liked to keep on hand out of the two-gallon bucket on the floor, "Remi's an apple lover."

"What about Dax?" Her big blue eyes stared innocently into mine.

I shrugged. "He's not a big apple eater. Don't worry about him, anyway. Dad's got it handled."

Nodding silently, she followed me back out into the still harsh light, clutching the apple.

"Remi!" I belted out, knowing full well that this horse wasn't one that came when called. Remington was a stocky little palomino that my dad had trained when I was just a kid. Now, at ten years old, he was a sturdy, reliable roping and cutting horse. Like Uncle Mark's dad who would be riding him, Remi was well seasoned in both the rodeo world and life itself. Because Pete Dace was starting to show his age, we figured it would be best to put him on an animal that knew his way around an arena. Even though Century roping was also referred to as old guy roping, as I'd told Coda earlier, Mark and Pete Dace took the event very seriously. The last thing we needed was one of them embarrassing themselves.