Читать книгу Texas Standoff - Ruth Smith Alana - Страница 9

COLIN HAD NO DIFFICULTY getting back on course once Riley deposited him in San Antonio. Since the boss lady had ordered the old wrangler to take good care of Mr. Majors, he’d done exactly as instructed, driving him to a reputable garage and supplying the exact location of the out-of-commission Mercedes to the tow truck driver. Though Colin tried to assure him he could handle the remaining arrangements himself, Riley hung around the garage, drinking soda pop and making small talk with the mechanics while Colin spoke to his insurance agent and got the matter of his stranded vehicle completely resolved.

“We’re in luck. There’s a satellite claims office here jn San Antonio. The agent said to have my car towed directly there and they’ll fix me up with a rental.”

Riley apparently wanted to make certain he could tell E.Z. that the pilgrim was on his way to parts unknown when he’d left him. “Hop in ‘n I’ll carry ya over to the claims place.”

Colin considered declining the offer, but Riley seemed to think of him as his personal responsibility. It was more expedient to let the old man complete his babysitting assignment than debate the point. Four blocks and a handshake later, Riley was headed back to Cheyenne Moon, and Colin was inside the claims office asking to borrow their phone.

It startled him to hear his cousin’s voice on the opposite end of the line. They hadn’t conversed very much through the years.

“I figured you’d be callin’.” His cousin had a slow, heavy drawl that made every elongated syllable he uttered the same consistency as lead. Hud acted as though words were either a precious commodity or a real bother. He sometimes butchered the English language, but he never squandered it. He preferred to dole out his words sparingly.

“I got delayed by yesterday’s storm. The high water washed out my car.”

“Where are ya?”

“San Antonio.” Colin began measuring his words, also. He did not want to reveal too much of what had occurred during the past twenty-four hours to his cousin. It was none of Hud’s business, and he’d meant it when he’d promised E.Z. to keep private matters private. He did not want to risk compromising her standing in this community by loose words that could be strung together to make idle gossip.

“Need a ride?”

“No, just directions from San Antonio. I’ve made arrangements for a rental car. Did I miss the meeting with the oil company rep?”

“Naw. He postponed comin’ out. Supposed to show up this afternoon. Had better sense than to try it yesterday.”

His meaning was clear-only a damn fool would’ve braved such a gully washer. Colin envisioned his cousin smirking into the receiver. Ever since they were boys, Hud had had a way of ticking him off with his briny brand of humor: It was probably a good thing they hadn’t been thrown together very often throughout the years. Colin had the impression that Hud got immense pleasure out of cutting the younger, city-bred, University of Baylor graduate down to size. Of course, it was done in slow, mocking doses of dry West Texas wit-a trait Hud had inherited from the other side of his family and perfected by age ten.

“Yeah, well, I just wanted to let you know I’m okay in case you were forming a search party.” It was on the tip of his tongue to remind his ungrateful cousin that if he had simply refused his request for free legal advice, he would’ve avoided this disastrous trip-the grueling drive, the pleasure of floating like flotsam on ravaging flood waters, the loss of a brand-new Mercedes. Then he thought of his rescuer and, in spite of it all, considered himself lucky. Had it not been for Hud’s mistrust of strangers and unwillingness to part with a dollar, his path might never have crossed with E.Z. Winston’s. That truly would’ve been a loss, a very personal one.

“Got a pencil?” His cousin’s voice reclaimed him.

“Yeah. And don’t send me via any shortcuts. I want to stick to the main roads.”

Hud obliged, ending with, “It’ll take ya longer.”

It was Colin’s turn to smirk. “Maybe, but I’d just as soon avoid taking another swim in a ravine with mesquite branches scraping my ass. See you in an hour or so.”

UPON RILEY’S RETURN to Cheyenne Moon, he reported to Elise that Mr. Majors was, by this time, well on his way to wherever he’d originally been headed. She received the news with a dismissing nod. Neither Riley nor anyone else at the ranch, with the exception, perhaps, of Mamie Smallwood, gave the overnight houseguest another thought. Elise did her best to put him out of her mind, also, by burying herself in therapeutic work. The day passed quickly. With sunset came the usual quiet that settled over Cheyenne Moon at the end of a hard day. Supper had been devoured and the hands were unwinding in the bunkhouse or lolling about on the grounds. Elise had no appetite. Her supper sat untouched on the kitchen table inside the big house. Andele noticed her ensconced in the porch swing beyond the back screen door.

He addressed her in Spanish, asking if she wished him to rewarm the food.

“Has Buddy eaten?”

“Si,” he told her.

“Then just clear it away. I’m not hungry tonight.” He heard something more than mere weariness in her tone.

“Is the senorita sick?” he asked, worried.

Sensing he was studying her through the screen door, she angled herself in the swing so he couldn’t read her face. “Just moody, I guess. Call it a day, Andele. I know you’re anxious to be off. I’ll see you on Monday.”

It was obvious she wished to be left alone, and Andele was happy to abide by her wishes. One weekend a month he traveled south to return to his roots in Mexico. Once the table was cleared, he retrieved a faded gym bag he’d earlier stowed in the broom closet, bid the kind senorita adios and sprinted down the main drive to meet up with the van full of other homesick Mexican laborers heading for the border at full speed. Elise sat studying the faint star clusters. The sway of the porch swing was soothing. She loved this hushed time on the ranch. The quiet, the stars and the cool touch of night air on her face had a calming effect. Generally she treasured such a moment, especially after spending hours on end with a bunch of rowdy men. Tonight, however, these very same things-the quiet, the distant stars, the cool night air-only served to underscore a feeling of aloneness she rarely acknowledged. It was too quiet after the stimulating exchanges she and Colin had briefly traded, and the stars were a reminder of the great distance between them. She and he might as well be light-years apart for all the differences that separated them. A close encounter of foreign bodies might make for a good sci-fi script, but when the same event was translated into romantic terms, it came off more like a soft-porn novel. Yet the sex between them had been anything but sleazy, and the strong feelings that had prompted the act nothing but honest. The accidental collision was perhaps unorthodox, definitely unreal, but never, ever would she characterize the sex she’d shared with the Dallasite as tawdry.

She had regrets about the whole affair. The fact that she’d let her guard down and given in to the hot blood that flowed through her veins disturbed her greatly. But most of all she regretted having gone to bed with a man she had no chance of ever knowing in the deep way she’d like to have known him.

Engrossed in remembering in vivid detail the kisses and touch of a man who had promised nothing and left with only a vague hint that he might return, Elise did not hear her brother come up the back porch steps.

“Ya thinkin’ hard on somethin’, E.Z.?” Buddy Winston settled on the top step. Stretching out his long legs, he leaned back on his hands, took careful aim and spat a wad of chewing gun dead center in the rock garden Andele had designed and now tended with artistlike fervor.

It never ceased to amaze Elise how handsome a young man Buddy had become. Tall, like their father. Fair, like their mother. Sweet and honest, as so many folks only wished they could be. Perfect in every way-except one. His mind had not developed beyond that of an eight-year-old child, which made him fragile and vulnerable, which made her adore and protect him all the more.

She smiied down at him. “I was just thinking how much I’ve missed seeing your funny face around here the past few days. Did you have fun with Stu in Kerrville?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “His folks are nice. They treated me real good. We went to the picture show. Had ice cream both nights, too.” He beamed as he related the details of his trip to Kerrville. Stu Petty was one of the younger “punks” who’d recently come to work at the ranch. Buddy had instantly taken a shine to him. When he learned that Elise was sending Stu into Kerrville to buy some necessary equipment to mend a broken windmill and that Stu planned to stretch the trip a few extra days so he could visit his family, Buddy wanted to tag along. The Petty boy was fond of Buddy, and like E.Z., he didn’t have the heart to refuse most anything Buddy asked of him.

Though they were both twenty-four, Stu treated Buddy like a kid brother. Sometimes seeing the pair together broke Elise’s heart. Her brother was by far the best-looking of the two, but he would never know the wonder of young love, which Stu had recently discovered. Her brother was physically superior to Stu, but he would never be able to work the same as he did or hold down any real responsibilities. Buddy’s attention drifted, the same as any child’s. He always had to be watched to ensure against any harm coming to him. Sometimes it seemed so unfair. Yet Buddy was the one constant joy of her life. His cheery disposition and disarming innocence were a precious gift. In her eyes, he was a blessing, and anyone who dared to refer to him as a burden was never fool enough to do it again. Though they’d been separated for a year or so after Buddy’s birth, Elise had been the one who’d mothered and cared for him since he was two and she seven. And she’d done a fine job of it.

Elise could not understand or forgive the mother who had, in her lifetime, deserted two children and two husbands. Shortly after Buddy’s birth and the discovery that the oxygen deprivation he’d suffered during the difficult delivery had left him permanently impaired, Lady Pamela returned to England. She’d naively believed her marriage to a cattle baron would be an endless adventure. She discovered quite the contrary to be true and in short order came to loathe the dull reality and solitariness of ranch life. Her parting note to her husband had been brief and painfully blunt:

Dearest Roe,

I have tried but failed miserably at adapting to this rugged life. Unthinkable and as unnatural as it may be, I know I cannot face the daily reminder of our son’s imperfection. He is better off left in your care. You may communicate with Elise through my mother. I am so sorry to end it this way, but eventually you will come to terms with what I already know. Try not to hate me.

Pamela

Elise had memorized the empty words written to her father when, years later, she’d accidentally found the note secreted away among his personal papers. Her memories of her mother and the time she’d spent at her grandmother’s estate outside Devonshire were vague. All she recalled was that her mother had seldom been around. Lady Pamela quickly escaped the rigidity and boredom of the manor house and rejoined the social set she’d once run with in London. She was too engrossed in the whirlwind of lavish parties and polo matches to be bothered with the child she’d uprooted and placed in the care of stuffy strangers. Her “stint in the wild and woolly West of the American colonies”, as she referred to it, became a source of great entertainment for the wealthy bluebloods she partied with. Lady Pamela was more popular than ever. Since her presence was in demand in London, she was rarely present at the manor house or available to her daughter.

Nightly Elise prayed for her daddy to come to England and whisk her back to the warmth of Texas. Daily she wondered why he hadn’t done so. Only years later did her father admit that he’d been too numb with the pain of his wife’s desertion to act decisively. Then he became consumed with looking after a baby with special needs while at the same time trying to survive a drought that threatened to destroy his ranching operation. He said it didn’t excuse his delay in fetching her back, but explained the why of it. Finally her little-girl prayers were answered. Upon being notified by his former mother-in-law that Pamela had gone off to South Africa to live out yet another romantic escapade with a dashing mining magnate, this time forsaking her firstborn, Roe Winston immediately flew to England to reclaim his daughter. It was the happiest day of her young life.

The ache left in the three Winstons at having been rejected by the beautiful Englishwoman had healed and sealed them as a family unit. Buddy sometimes asked about his mother, but Roe didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. So father and daughter invented a lie to spare him from harsh facts that his gentle nature could not abide. They told him that she had died unexpectedly during a trip to her homeland when he was a year old. Truth was, Lady Pamela Walford-Winston died some twelve years later from ovarian cancer. She’d left husband number two and was supposedly ecstatically happy with number three when time ran out for her. Roe cabled flowers in the children’s names. Elise tried not to think too harshly of her. Buddy turned thirteen the day his mother was buried in the family plot in the east gardens of the Walford estate. Seven years later, Roe Winston suffered a brain aneurysm and was laid to rest under a shady old oak on a part of the ranch known as Blossom Bluff.

One parent Elise hardly remembered. The other she near idolized. Her father’s passing grieved her still. Life went on, but it was harder without Roe Winston’s sage advice and good humor to rely on. She never gazed on the portrait of her mother without remembering his reply the one and only time she’d questioned him about why he’d kept it prominently displayed throughout the years.

“I don’t exactly know why I never took it down. A lot of reasons, I guess. Lookin’ at her brings me pleasure and pain all at once. I suppose it sorta serves as a reminder to me that life don’t always go the way we’d like it to. The only thing we can count on for certain is that it’s bound to go on. No matter what occurred the day before, there’s always going to be a day after. Her leavin’ me like she did didn’t sour me on women. A pretty female still turns my head, as you well know. But after her exit I wasn’t willin’ to risk being made a fool of for a second time. I guess I gaze at that likeness of her the same way a reformed drunk pulls out a sealed bottle of good liquor from time to time, just so he can stare down his weakness. Right or wrong, it’s always had a sobering effect.”

So the portrait of Lady Pamela stayed up even after Roe Winston’s weakness for her had long since been put to rest in one of several graves on Blossom Bluff. It served as a constant reminder to Elise of how fickle and shallow her mother had been. She never wanted to be like her.

Buddy and she had grown even closer after their father’s death. She was the only one left now to look out for her brother’s needs, both material and emotional. Ever since he was a little boy, she’d promised they would always be together. They had the ranch; they had each other. Nothing could ever change that.

“You’re not listenin’ to me, E.Z.” Buddy’s peeved tone recaptured her attention.

“Sure I am,” she fibbed.

She noticed his attire-pajama top, jeans and sneakers-and was about to comment when he spoke up again.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be fun, huh?” He referred to the upcoming barbecue at Palos Altos Ranch.

Her heart sank, but for his sake she pretended to be as thrilled as he was. “Yup, should be quite a party.”

“Did ya get a new dress like ya wanted?”

“Sure did.” The thought of the lavender sundress prompted memories of the shopping trip into San Antonio, which reminded her of the storm and the man she’d rescued.

“Good thing it quit rainin’, huh? Else it woulda spoiled the party.”

Her smile melted away. It was as though Buddy had read her thoughts. Little did he know that the rainstorm of yesterday had already spoiled the party for her.

Buddy became absorbed in studying his right palm. He rubbed his fingers across it repeatedly. Sometimes he became fixed on an action or an object, and it was impossible to tell if he did so because he was intent on it or because he’d lost his train of thought.

Instantly Elise grew alert to his altered focus. Getting out of the swing, she came and sat down beside him, grabbing his hand and taking a look for herself.

“I got a blister,” he complained.

“You got a rope burn,” she fussed. “And a bad one. How many times do I have to tell you about wearing gloves when you work the stock?”

“I forgot,” he said.

“Yeah, well, it’s dangerous not to do as I say, Buddy. Remember what happened to Lefty that time he roped without gloves?”

“I forget.” He stared at her, his eyes blank. He truly had no recollection.

“The rope cut clean through two of his fingers,” she reminded him.

A spark of comprehension flared in his eyes. “He had to go to the hospital and get ‘em sewed back on,” Buddy said.

“And it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been wearing gloves.” She hammered home the point, hoping the mental picture of Lefty’s misfortune would make an impression on Buddy.

He grinned at her. As always, that childlike smile tugged at her heart. “You gonna put a Ninja Turtle band-Aid on it? It’s my favorite.”

She squeezed his fingertips and laughed out of frustration, half amused, half worried that he hadn’t really understood the reason for her lecture. “Sure,” she said.

“But first we’re going to put some salve on that burn.”

Ruffling his flaxen hair, she stood up. Buddy scrambled to his feet, anxious to receive the bandage.

“You need to finish dressing for bed, too.”

“I know. I remembered,” he responded a bit too defensively. “I was gonna take off my jeans. I just wasn’t ready, is all.” He tilted his head, the moonlight illuminating his aristocratic good looks. The royal European bloodlines were plainly evident in him, while she strongly resembled their father, even to the trace of Cheyenne blood mingled in the Winston ancestry.

“Howdy, miss,” A voice greeted from the darkness beyond the porch.

She squinted to make out the man in the moonlight.

“Heya, Willie.” Buddy instantly recognized the Voice.

The stocky figure of Will Butler stepped out of the shadows onto the moonlit walkway. Will had come to Cheyenne Moon straight out of prison-an ex-con looking for work. Though he had a tough demeanor, Elise appreciated his being straightforward about his time behind bars and the reason for it. Willie had a fondness for hard liquor, and when he drank, he became meaner than a polecat. Twice he’d been convicted on assault charges. The first time he’d been put on probation. The second offense involved a baseball bat, which got him a deadly-weapon charge and five years in the state pen. Everyone knew Will had a temper, but he mostly kept it in check. He’d promised to abstain from hard liquor while at Cheyenne Moon, and so far he’d been true to his word.

He’d been with Elise for nearly a year now. Not a hand on the ranch worked harder than Will. Not a man on the place was more appreciative of the lady boss. After all, she’d given him a job and a new lease on life when nobody else would. During the past twelve months, the cowhands had begun to recognize the signs that Will’s gratitude to Miz Winston had developed into a full-fledged crush. All the boys knew it, but not a one of them teased him about it. No one wanted to test Will’s rehabilitation to that extent. So they pretended not to notice his mooning looks and the way he invented excuses just to be around her. Elise only noticed his loyalty and the fact that he was especially good with Buddy. The entire Cheyenne Moon crew kept tabs on her brother, but Willie made an extra effort. So, no matter his shady past, she found herself liking the man.

“I didn’t mean to disturb ya, miss.” He doffed his hat and stood fingering the brim. “I was a bit restless tonight. Thought a walk might settle me down. I, uh, heard y’all talkin’ and just wanted to check on the two of ya,” he said haltingly.

“We’re fine, Will. I was about to turn in. You enjoy the fresh air.” She favored him with a smile before nudging Buddy to follow her inside.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll sure do that, all right.”

“See ya in the mornin’, Will,” Buddy said. “Gotta go get a Band-Aid. Got a rope burn.” He held up his hand to show him.

“Better let your sister take care of that there burn afore gangrene sets in,” Will teased, moving on toward the bunkhouse.

Buddy sobered. “People die from gangrene, don’t they, E.Z.?” he half whispered, not wanting Will to know such a possibility bothered him.

“He’s joshin’ with you, Buddy,” she reassured him, opening the back door.

Buddy lingered at the threshold, drinking in the starfilled sky. “Wow!” was her only warning before he bolted for the railing, almost knocking her off her feet in the process. “Look, E.Z. A shootin’ star.” He pointed excitedly and instantly began reciting the childhood rhyme she’d taught him.

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.”

She came to join him at the railing as the distant star burned itself out against a backdrop of black velvet.

“Wish I may, wish I might.” Buddy chanted.

She concentrated on the brilliant streak and spoke without realizing it. “Feel again what I felt last night.”

“You weren’t supposed to wish aloud,” Buddy scolded. “Now it won’t come true. You jinxed it, E.Z. Besides, your buttin’ in made me mess up my wish.”

She felt foolish. “Sorry. I meant to keep it to myself.”

Buddy wasn’t one to hold a grudge. “It’s okay. There’ll be another.”

“Come on. Let’s doctor that burn.” Elise had more on her mind than bungled wishes.

Not so with Buddy. He stayed behind, his face full of uncertainty, his eyes following her across the porch. “Jinxin’ a wish ain’t good. Maybe we oughtta sit out awhile longer. There might be another shootin’ star. You could wish again and make it all right.”

“You worry too much. It’s no big deal,” she said, scoffing at his concern. “How’d you like a dish of ice cream before bed?” She knew bribery was the best way to budge him.