Where Hearts Run Wild Read online

  “Hi, Armos,” said Mary Lou. “Are you ready to order?”

  “I believe we are, Mary Lou,” Armos said, “my favorite gal in all of Colorado.”

  Mary Lou laughed. “You can keep trying,” Mary Lou said, “but my dad told me no discounts for sweet words. He can’t afford it these days.”

  “I understand,” Armos said with a chuckle. “And if I don’t get a chance, say hi to your pop for me.” Armos indicated Bobby. “This here is Bobby. Bobby, this is Mary Lou.”

  Bobby swallowed hard, not knowing what to say as he realized he had never been introduced to someone like Mary Lou. She was, Bobby thought, something special.

  “Hi, Bobby,” Mary Lou said in a friendly manner. Armos looked at Bobby as a few seconds passed, which seemed like a few hours to Bobby.

  “Hi,” Bobby said with a small, crackly voice. He was surprised, discovering a tad of modesty in himself he never knew existed. But then again, he had to go easy on himself as the sight of Mary Lou could cause any fifteen-year-old boy to withdraw his macho.

  The moment was awkward for Mary Lou as well. Armos could only smile as he remembered he too was once a young buck who suffered the ping of an arrow in his heart when meeting girls he took a fancy to, regardless of the circumstances. Having mercy on the couple, he decided he would step in and put an end to the wonderful tension.

  “I’ll have a hamburger,” said Armos. “Well done, no cheese and no onions. And an order of fries with a cup of coffee, please.”

  Mary Lou was glad Armos rescued her as she began to write his order on her order pad.

  “How about you, Bobby?” said Mary Lou.

  When Bobby heard Mary Lou say his name, well, it sounded like music. Wow! He never thought a voice could sound so pleasant. Even though he knew the realities of the situation, it was something he would cherish for some time to come—or maybe longer.

  “Aren’t you going to order something?” Mary Lou said.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Bobby. “I’ll have…”

  And then Bobby blew it as he lifted up his left arm to point at the menu. The move caused Armos to lift his right arm, and that exposed the handcuffs with a clinking noise that sounded like ringing steeple bells to Bobby.

  Mary Lou’s eyes widened, seeing the cuffs. She regarded Bobby, and her sweetness vanished.

  Bobby glanced up at Mary Lou with a plea in his eyes. He slowly lowered his arm, concealing the handcuffs under the table. Armos eyed Bobby with genuine sympathy. Mary Lou studied her order pad again, attempting to let the incident glide by as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll have the same as him,” said Bobby. “No coffee, just water.”

  Mary Lou wrote Bobby’s order on her pad and attempted to act as though all was normal. However, her act was not convincing, and it showed in the sympathetic smile she gave Bobby.

  Mary Lou studied her order pad. “That’s two burgers, no onions, no cheese. Two fries, one coffee and…” Mary Lou looked at Bobby. “Would you like to try one of our famous chocolate shakes? It tastes a lot better than water.”

  Bobby stared down at the table, feeling defeated. He had not been waited on like this for a long time, and he was not sure if the Colorado law authorities allowed such luxuries as “famous chocolate shakes.”

  Armos eyed Bobby, and one could see by his mellow expression Armos had taken a liking to the boy. Armos had handled many a young firecracker with short fuses before. Some exploded, some disarmed. Armos felt Bobby could fit into the latter category. Armos nodded to Mary Lou. She wrote down the milkshake order.

  “Great,” Mary Lou said with her bubbly voice. “Thanks, guys.” Mary Lou turned and walked away. Bobby gawked her with slight awe, Armos noticed with a smile.

  “Too bad you’re not a free man,” said Armos.

  This snapped Bobby back into reality as he gave Armos a scowling look.

  “Hey,” said Armos, “don’t look at me like that! I didn’t write your book.”

  Bobby glanced back down at the table as if it were somehow a place to hide. He would never admit it, but the experience of being with Armos and meeting Mary Lou, the cafe, and the forgiving feel of the countryside, in general, were having a positive impression on him. With Mary Lou at the top of his list, a warmth rushed through his body that gave him a feeling of inner peace. Bobby looked off in the direction of the departed country girl, and it appeared Cupid's arrow made a direct hit.

  * * * *

  Bobby and Armos walked out of the diner and crossed to the correctional van. The two were still handcuffed to each other. Bobby turned and gazed up at the diner’s tall sign, making a mental note of it. Armos opened the passenger door of the van for Bobby. But before Bobby could climb in, Armos saw something on the nearby range that brought a look of serious surprise. He took a few steps forward, dragging Bobby with him by the handcuff.

  “It’s him!” Armos shouted.

  “It’s who?” said a confused Bobby.

  “I’d know him anywhere.”

  “Know who anywhere? What are you talking about, Armos?”

  Armos pointed toward the mountain range with his handcuffed right hand, causing Bobby’s left hand to raise awkwardly. “Just look at that horse.”

  Bobby glanced in the direction Armos pointed.

  Rebel stood gallantly on the distant hillside and peered down at Bobby and Armos. Rebel’s long mane and tail flowed majestically in the wind. He snorted as if to say hello.

  Armos moved quickly back to the van, pulling Bobby along with him. Armos reached into the passenger door and withdrew a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. He turned toward the distant horse and looked through the binoculars.

  “Yeah,” said Armos, “sure enough, that’s Rebel all right.” Armos handed the binoculars to Bobby.

  “Take a look at somethin’ special.”

  Bobby held the binoculars up to his eyes. It was a stunning moment for a boy who ran on tough city streets to witness, firsthand, the magnificence of Rebel. The binoculars gave Bobby a close-up view of this natural wonder, an animal who stood proud and tall with bold confidence as he stared back at Bobby and Armos.

  “He recognizes the van,” said Armos. “The old buzzard seems curious every time I make this trip. Almost like he’s looking for something, or someone, maybe.”

  “He doesn’t look old,” Bobby said as he continued to look through the binoculars at Rebel.

  “Well, he’s not,” Armos said excitedly. “That’s just a phrase. Nobody has ever been on his back long enough to count to three! We’re talkin’ about a wild one here.”

  Still glued to the binoculars, Bobby said, “How do you know?”

  “Because we rounded him up one time. We tried to break him, but he beat us all and escaped. From that day on we named him Rebel. He’s smart. And I guess if you’re going to go through life like him, you need to be two things. Tough, and smart. And that’s what he is.”

  Rebel suddenly turned and ran quickly up the slope toward the mountains in the background. Bobby lowered the binoculars in a state of awe over Rebel’s appearance. Then, from over an adjacent hill, a thundering herd of wild horses appeared. There were perhaps eighty to a hundred of the running animals. A cloud of dust mushroomed into the wind and trailed behind the horses as they galloped over the terrain and began to follow Rebel.

  “Awesome!” Bobby said, totally impressed. “They’re following Rebel! I mean, he’s like their leader!”

  “He sure is,” said Armos. “Where Rebel goes, they go. But sometimes he runs without ’em. Sort of like any great leader, I guess—he needs his time alone to plot and plan his moves in order to stay out of the hands of cowboys, and keep his neck out of a noose.”

  “You make him sound almost human,” Bobby said with mystery in his voice.

  The horses disappeared over the hillside. A moment of silence passed as Bobby and Armos looked off into the distance with a keen sense of wonder and admiration f
or Rebel and his followers.

  Chapter 5

  A plain, brown-colored mare bucked violently, attempting to throw a young man off her back in a dust-filled corral. The young man hung on to the reins as the horse raised his front legs, then immediately lowered onto her front legs and kicked up her rear hooves, whinnying angrily as she bucked. Back and forth went the horse and young man as though riding on a see-saw.

  There were a dozen or so other boys, ages fourteen to seventeen, standing near or sitting on a wooden corral fence. They watched intently as the wild horse and the rider continued their battle. One could only hope the horse would tire and stop heaving its thousand-pound body in the air and allow the rider to stay aboard.

  But this was not about to happen as the mare gave one horrific, up-ending buck and the young rider took flight and landed in a dusty heap near the corral fence. The horse ran in small circles, calming for the moment, knowing she was the winner of the duel. Several of the young men who had been observing broke out into laughter at the fallen “cowboy.”

  However, John R. Lysaker was not one to laugh at in a situation like this. Lysaker, or J. R. as everyone called him, had been sentenced to the Breakem Youth Correctional Institution for Youths—more commonly known as the “Wild Horse Training and Reform Camp.” He was seventeen and positive he was as tough as the streets he came from. J. R. was a calculator, quick to stay ahead of the pack, no matter the cost to others. He was yet another product of a broken home with no parental guidance, growing up with gangs and trouble, starting at a young age. But somehow his sandy hair and blue eyes had always let him get away.

  Being defeated by the semiwild mare in front of the other young men was a serious slam to J. R.’s ego. He stood, dusted himself off, all the while watching the mare as she continued to circle the corral. He then looked over at the laughing boys with a mean stare. They stopped laughing, and their expressions gave evidence that Lysaker was the boss—if not out of respect, out of fear.

  J. R. quickly moved to the corral fence and retrieved a small training whip. He then ran after the mare and began striking her with the leather strap. The horse cried out with a whinny shriek as the whip cracked on her backside, ribs, and anywhere else J. R. could make contact.

  Thirty-five-year-old Sam Wyler ran into the corral and grabbed the whip from J. R. and took the young man by the arm, stopping him from chasing the horse.

  Sam was a real cowboy and supervisor of vocational instruction and in charge of the wild horse inmate program.

  “I’ve told you before, Lysaker,” Sam exclaimed angrily, “never whip the horses! That’s not the way to break ’em, and win ’em over, and you know it!”

  J. R. pulled his arm from Sam’s grip. “Then what’s the whip doin’ around here anyway?”

  Sam took a breath, capping his anger with J. R. He then tossed the whip aside. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s only used to make a sound that gets the horses attention. Never to hit ’em!”

  J. R. turned his head to spit out some dust. He then looked back at Sam with defiance. “That horse needs it! It needs a beating, so it knows who rules!”

  “No,” said Sam. “She’s just a little wild, and she’s scared. You’ve got to have patience. It takes time.”

  “I rode her for over three minutes!” said J. R. “It’s just stupid, that’s all!”

  “No, she’s not,” said Sam. “You’re just not giving her a chance. Now go take the saddle off her and hose her down, then feed her—do it now!”

  J. R. looked over at the other boys who were intently observing the confrontation between Sam and J. R., wondering if J. R. was going to do as he was told. Some anticipated real trouble, but J. R. was too smart to have it out with Sam.

  Sam was fair and honest with the young men, straightforward and disciplined. He was also a warm and caring man who loved the western way of life and genuinely enjoyed teaching the boys how to break horses and ride. There were many reasons for this, reasons he never revealed to the youths. However, he was a real cowboy and physically fit having been in a few brawls of his own in his younger days.

  J. R. knew this well—simply by the squeeze Sam had put on his arm.

  J. R. turned and walked away. Sam looked after him, then focused on the other young men. “You just saw what not to do!” said Sam. “Any questions?”

  The boys were silent, and their expressions revealed they had some respect for Sam.

  “Okay, let’s break for chow. After lunch we’re going to clean the corrals.”

  A few of the boys groaned in protest.

  “Sorry, fellas,” Sam said with a faint grin, understanding full well how a teenager felt about shoveling manure. “It’s part of the program.”

  * * * *

  The sign posted on the exterior wall at the entrance of the administration read: Breakem Youth Correctional Facility. The building was standard government issue covered with brown clapboard wood, nothing fancy.

  There was a small green grassy knoll in front of the structure where a United States flag clung to a tall silver metal pole. The wind ruffled Old Glory high above the building. A few plain white government vehicles were parked in no particular manner in front of the office building.

  Bobby sat in the passenger seat and stared anxiously through the windshield as Armos drove the white correctional van into the driveway and came to a halt in front of the administration offices. Bobby gazed over at the building and the surroundings with cool indifference. Armos noticed as the two sat for a silent moment. He was waiting for a response from Bobby, but Bobby was tight-lipped, secretly apprehensive as he wondered exactly what was behind the walls of the facility. Suddenly, twelve months of living on a horse ranch was startlingly real. Maybe too real for a juvenile who was only familiar with paved streets, tall buildings, and noisy traffic.

  “It’s not that bad, kid,” said Armos. “You ever heard of the Gray Bar Hotel?”

  Bobby was not too quick to answer as he continued to look out over the grounds.

  “Yeah, I know,” Bobby said in a flat tone of voice. “It’s a prison, with steel bars for doors. So what about it?”

  “Well,” said Armos, “at least here you get a regular room. It’s minimum security. And if you don’t mess up, you can learn somethin’.”

  “About horses?” Bobby responded, brushing off the notion he might learn something. “I told you before, I don’t want to be a cowboy, and I sure don’t want to be here.”

  Armos studied Bobby a thoughtful moment and said, “You’re not here to be a cowboy, son—”

  Before Armos could finish his thought, Bobby interrupted with, “Armos, please don’t call me ‘son.’ I’m nobody’s son. And I’m not a dumb kid either.”

  Armos remained his patient self as he too looked over the compound site.

  “Okay,” said Armos. “Let me just throw this out for thought. As I was sayin’, you’re not here to become a cowboy. You’re here to grow a little. Maybe to see somethin’ else besides nasty streets and all the garbage that goes with ’em. Fair enough?”

  Bobby looked ahead, not sure whether to pay attention to Armos or just keep thinking his gloomy thoughts.

  Armos knew what Bobby was thinking as he had been here many times before. He was a stone of understanding, and he would bide his time as Bobby did not need to be kicked around any more than he already had been. And he also knew the hostilities Bobby displayed were the only way the boy could cope in what he deemed as a hostile world.

  Chapter 6

  The administration office was small, housing a desk with a chair behind it and a table with four other chairs surrounding it. A filing cabinet sat in one corner. The walls were painted a dull light blue, giving the office a chilly feeling. Bobby sat alone in the quiet room on another chair that faced the desk. However, there was a bright spot in the room, and Bobby noticed it—a wall covered with many framed photos. Bobby stood and walked slowly to the wall of pictures.

>   Armos was featured in several of the pictures. One was of him standing between two young men, one black, and the other Caucasian. The three smiled back at the camera with the two boys having their arms around Armos’ shoulders as if he were their loving father and the three were celebrating such a relationship. They stood in the training corral with horses in the background. Another picture had Armos standing with a Latino youth and Sam. All three grinned brightly. This photo was also taken in the corral and had horses in the background as well. There were several other photos that depicted the same scenario—friendship, brotherhood, and genuine companionship.

  Bobby studied the pictures thoughtfully as they gave credence to Armos’ brief lecture as to why Bobby was here.

  Was there more to this old ranch than he thought?

  Suddenly, the door to the room opened. Bobby turned quickly and saw Nina Ford as she entered and moved to the desk with a file in her hand.

  Nina was in her thirties. She was naturally pretty in her deputy warden uniform. Nina wore little makeup and a simple hairstyle. She had worked in the juvenile criminal system since she graduated from college with a major in Criminal Psychology. She always maintained a pleasant, yet businesslike manner with a soft and friendly voice.

  “Great pictures, aren’t they?” Nina said with a friendly smile. “We call it ‘the wall of fame’.”

  Bobby shrugged half-heartedly.

  Nina studied the wall of successful cases for a moment. Every time she looked at them, it brought a feeling of satisfaction in knowing all the trials and tribulations she had worked through with the inmates were not in vain.

  “You might appreciate them after you’ve been here awhile,” said Nina. “Sit down, Bobby.”

  Bobby moved back to his chair and sat. The “hot” seat, he regretfully thought. When would he ever get out of the crummy hot seat? He was not sure exactly what he was going to hear from Nina, but he knew it was not going to be good news.

  “I’m Nina Ford, deputy warden here at the facility. I keep track of your progress, or lack of it, while you’re here. You’ve been sentenced for a one-year period. We like to think you’ve been given an opportunity. But you’ll have to be the judge of that. With good behavior, your time here could be less. If you break the rules, try to escape, or simply don’t follow orders, we have the authority to recommend you are sent to a youth center. Which is, as you know, basically a nice word for prison.”