Читать книгу Cowgirl, Say Yes - Brenda Mott - Страница 11

MACY WHIMPERED in her sleep.

Her arms and legs felt heavy when she tried to move them. Why wouldn’t they work right? She needed to run. Had to warn her mother of the danger that lay just around the bend.

The train tracks crossed the road above, stretching as far as she could see both ways. In the distance the engine’s whistle blew—a ghostly sound that made her shiver. Fighting to get her arms and legs to work, she moved through the thick grass of the field below the tracks. Her ankles caught in each tuft, toes snagging, causing her to stumble. She had to reach the road in time….

Her mother’s blue car grew closer, headed for the railroad crossing. Macy could see her behind the wheel, though her face wasn’t clear. What she saw in detail was her mother’s hands, knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. She was focused on nothing more than getting home. She seemed unaware of the train.

The car picked up speed. The same car Macy rode in with her mother when they went to the grocery store to pick out cereal and cookies and the big red apples Macy loved. The car she liked so much because it had a huge back seat where she could bounce…up…down…up…while her mother piled bags of groceries all around her until she felt safe and concealed, where she pretended to be a soldier hiding in the jungle of paper and plastic. And the seat belt—when her mother said, “Buckle up, cupcake”—that was really the safety strap that belted her into her fighter jet.

But she wasn’t in the car now, and this wasn’t a game. Macy saw her mother pull up to the railroad crossing and gradually slow. Yes! Macy tried to shout. That’s it. Stop. Just stop, Mommy, please.

She could make out her mom’s long, blond hair, scooped up in a ponytail, just like her own. And then, behind the blue car, a pickup truck came to a halt. Clem McMurty climbed from the truck, his face scrunched and mean-looking. He clenched a buggy whip in one big fist, and he began to snap it in the air as he walked toward her mother’s car. “Go!” he shouted. “Just go.”

No! The word caught in Macy’s throat.

Fearfully, her mother looked over her shoulder at Clem, then back at the railroad tracks. The warning lights began to flash above, bells clanging, hurting Macy’s ears. The black-and-white striped barrier trembled, prepared to lower.

And Mommy stepped on the gas. Sped onto the tracks.

The train whistle blared. The engine was no longer in the distance. It was there. Right there. Bearing down.