Dove in the Window (6 page)

“Then you can appreciate what farriers do for a living,” I said. “Your dad said he’d be here right after he got off work, providing there’s no horrendous crime wave between now and then.” I glanced at the black-and-white school-house clock on the paneled wall. “Actually, he should be getting here any time. Tell Emory I’ll see him later. And Sam...”

“Yeah?”

“You”—I turned and shook my finger at the other two young men—“and the terrible twins here better be nice to my cousin, or I’ll make sure you’re all dead last in the chow line.”

“Yes, ma‘am,” Sam drawled in a feeble attempt at a southern accent. “Why, I’m right upset you’d even thank we’d all show anything except our deepest respect and best southern hospitality to your bee-loved cousin Emory.”

I rolled my eyes and picked up the discarded towel, tossing it on Sam’s bed. “And you know what a neatnick your dad is so you all better put the slob routine on hold for a few days.”

“Mi casa no es su casa
,” he said.

“Darlin‘,” I countered, “this here will always be
my
house, so you’d best toe that line or expect to send out for pizza.”

Their throaty male laughter followed me out the door, but I wasn’t irritated. Sam was actually a good kid at heart and only got a bit annoying when he was around Bobby and Kip for too long. I was used to that type of rooster strutting, having been surrounded by it my whole life. There’s something about men, especially western men, that turned them into a bunch of adolescents whenever they congregated. Strength in numbers, I suppose. But that was one thing western women learned early ... how to keep western men in line. Sometimes all that was required was a look. Sometimes it took a bullwhip. Dove trained me early in both.

I was walking back toward the truck to take the Yankee Cake and Moonpies into the house when a voice behind me called out my name. For a moment, it was as if I’d stepped back in time, and my heart jumped in my chest like a hooked fish.

“Hey, blondie,” the deep, raspy voice called again. I turned around with deliberate slowness, not certain I wanted to ride down the trail this voice would no doubt open up.

“Wade,” I said, feeling my right knee quiver.
“Wade.”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” His lips twisted into that cocky Harper smirk he’d shared with my late husband, Jack.

He strode across the few feet that separated us and enveloped me in his tanned, corded arms. The familiar smell of Clove gum reopened an almost healed tear in my heart. Jack and Wade had both chewed that brand of gum incessantly. Only sold in San Celina County by a small liquor store in Atascadero, they would buy it by the box when possible since it was so hard to find. A bright red unopened package was in Jack’s pocket when they found his body in his wrecked Jeep almost two years ago. Wade held me out from him, his hands gently gripping my shoulders.

“You look great, blondie. Surprised to see me? As Ma would say, I just took a notion to drop by and see you. I flew in and hitched a ride out here. Showed up on Dove’s doorstep ten minutes ago hoping she wouldn’t turn me away.”

I nodded, staring at him, still trying to regain my composure. He’d lost weight since he’d left San Celina a year ago when the ranch he and Jack owned had gone bankrupt. He’d moved to Texas to manage his uncle’s cow-calf operation, and the last I’d heard from Sandra, his wife, things were going okay. Living together on the ranch like we did, she and I had once been almost as close as sisters, but our correspondence had dwindled to nothing in the last six months, probably because we’d all moved on to other lives. They weren’t technically my relatives anymore, a situation I had difficulty accepting for a long time. But I’d finally let them go. I’d thought. Now Wade was back, and, knowing Wade, it wasn’t just a pleasure visit.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded. Then, ashamed at my tone, I qualified my abrupt question. “Are Sandra and the kids okay? Your mom?”

“They’re fine,” he said, adjusting his sand-colored Stetson downward. It shaded his brown eyes from my scrutiny. “Everything’s fine and everyone’s fine.”

I studied him silently. Wade and I had tangled constantly when we all lived and worked together on the Harper ranch. Being the older of the two Harper men, he’d used that position often to influence his mom to vote for decisions that weren’t always best for the ranch. Though their love for each other ran deep, he and Jack had fought at least once a week over the running of the ranch. Jack always gave in and usually convinced me to do likewise, often when I didn’t think we should. Wade losing the ranch was proof I’d been right, but for me the issue became irrelevant after Jack’s death.

“Why are you here, then?” I asked. “I know you, Wade. This isn’t just a pleasure visit.”

For a split second, his face hardened, then he grinned. “Never could bullshit you, could I, blondie?”

I touched my temple with my fingertips and inhaled deeply, wishing he’d stop using Jack’s nickname for me. “Wade, is it you and Sandra again?” He and my former sister-in-law had never enjoyed a marriage that ran smoothly. During the investigation surrounding Jack’s death last year when I’d first met Gabe, Sandra and Wade had almost broken up over his affair with one of the artists at the co-op.

He squinted his eyes against the setting November sun. “I think it’s really over this time, Benni. She and her mama took the kids and moved to Dallas. She got a job at an insurance company there and she’s filed for a divorce.”

I reached out and touched his forearm, sorry for my initial rudeness. “Wade, I’m so sorry. Is there any chance you two can work it out?”

He pushed his hat back, and I could see his eyes clearly for the first time. “Doesn’t appear so. Uncle Bob’s ranch was so far from town, and she got so lonely. And ...” He let his sentence drift away. I suspected there was more to their breakup than just the ranch’s isolation—Wade had been known to like booze and the ladies a little too much.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I told Uncle Bob and Mom I needed to get away for a while. Thought I’d fly out and see some old friends. And you.”

“It’s good to see you,” I said, though I wasn’t exactly sure of those sentiments. But it was obvious he was in real pain and, as is not uncommon to human beings, he’d come back to the place where he’d once been happy and whole. My irritation at him cooled because I understood his desire for the idealized past.

“I won’t hang around long,” he said. “Be on my way in a few days.”

“I’m sure there’s lots of people who’ll be glad to see you again. And you’re in luck—I baked a Yankee Cake for tomorrow. Your favorite.”

“Guess your second sense told you I was coming,” he said, laughing. My heart cracked again at the familiar sound. He and Jack were so much alike. But it had been almost two years since Jack died, and I’d since fallen in love with another man and started a new life. How could these feelings of loss suddenly feel so fresh?

“Let’s go back to the house and see what’s for supper. Guess who came out for Thanksgiving, too? My cousin Emory.”

“That right? That nerdy little kid from Arkansas?”

“Not so nerdy anymore. Or little. I do believe he’s an inch taller than you.”

When we entered the house through the kitchen door, the first sound I heard was Gabe’s rich baritone voice begging Dove for a piece of sweet potato pie. All my aunts and girl cousins were staring at him with the cow-eyed adoring looks I was learning to accept when it came to my husband. When Gabe put his mind to it, he could out charm Mel Gibson.

He stopped when I entered the room and looked down at me, his eyes crinkling with pleasure. Then his eyes snapped up to Wade standing behind me. Their smoky blueness faded to a dark gray, and his face became still.

“Wade Harper.” In those two words he managed to convey all his feelings of contempt and distrust.

Wade dipped his head in an almost imperceptible nod. “Ortiz.”

I said to Gabe, keeping my voice light, “Wade’s visiting for a few days, seeing old friends and such. Isn’t that nice?”

Gabe’s face didn’t budge an inch. “Nice,” he repeated.

Wade glanced around the room at the now silent women, his tanned face coloring at the cheekbones. “Guess supper’s not ready yet. Think I’ll go out and say hey to Ben. Reckon he’s in the barn.”

“We’ll be setting the food on the picnic tables out back in about a half hour,” Dove said. “Fried chicken, fried okra, corn-on-the-cob, and potato salad. Tell the men while you’re out there.”

“Yes, ma‘am,” he said, swinging around and heading out the back door.

When the women resumed their kitchen chores and conversation, Gabe walked across the kitchen to me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the back door.

“Mrs. Ortiz,” he said firmly, though I’d never actually become an official Ortiz, a point that still occasionally rankled his overabundant supply of testosterone. “We need to talk.”

2

“I DIDN’T KNOW he was going to be here,” I said before he spoke. We stood facing each other underneath a seventy-five-year-old oak tree that had witnessed a good many of the important events of my life. The sun, a half orange on the horizon, filtered through the bare branches and etched black line shadows across Gabe’s cheekbones.

“How long is he going to stay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, leaning against the broad trunk. “We didn’t talk long. He showed up unannounced about fifteen minutes ago on Dove’s doorstep, and she said he could stay awhile. He and Sandra broke up.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“I have no idea, but I imagine it has something to do with the fact that he lived here for so long, was happy here, had friends here.” I picked at the rough tree bark, avoiding his eyes. “I would think you would be a bit more understanding. You know how hard it is when people split up.” Gabe had himself gone through a divorce years before we’d met. I glanced up at his cynical face. It held no sympathy for my former brother-in-law.

“He’s a flake,” he said. He folded his arms across his chest and spread his legs in that stubborn, macho way that always tempted me to whack him upside the head. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s obvious, but there’s not much you can do about the situation, so I suggest you calm your raised hackles and live with it.”

He glared at me. I smiled back in an attempt to soften my words. Gabe’s assessment of Wade was right. He did have problems with hanging out with the wrong people and getting into trouble. After Jack’s death, before we’d lost the Harper ranch, Wade had foolishly made a short career of delivering drugs in an effort to make some extra cash. He quit before he was caught, though his actions proved good judgment was not his strong suit. Gabe and I had never discussed the incident since it took place before we were actually together, though I’m sure he knew about it. But Wade and I had a history. He’d known me since I was a girl and I had loved his brother with the powerful, all-encompassing love that people experience as teenagers. Though I loved Gabe and respected his feelings, I couldn’t turn away Jack’s brother any more than I could one of my own relatives.

I cupped my palms around the elbows of his crossed arms. “C‘mon, Friday, it’ll just be for a week or so. And I won’t even see him that much. He’ll be visiting old friends, and I’ve got a million things to do with the Heritage Days celebration and the art show. I’ll probably only visit with him for a few hours at the most, and then he’ll head back to Texas.” I tugged at his elbows. “Quit being such a hard ass.”

Just for effect, he scowled a moment longer before relenting and pulling me into a hug. “I’m going to tell Dove that you’re talking like a truck driver again,” he said, rubbing his lips across the top of my head. I could feel my hair catch on his prickly beard sprouts. “She’ll take you out to the back of the barn with a switch.”

I laughed, knowing that, at least for the moment, I’d talked him out of his irritation. Tilting my head back, I kissed the bottom of his chin. The whiskers felt like little needles on my lips. “If you don’t tell her, I promise I’ll make it worth your while when we get home Sunday night.”

He bent down and whispered something in my ear. I leaned back in his arms and poked him in the chest. “Chief, it’ll take more than you not ratting on my bad language to get
that.”

He laughed and rubbed his stubble up and down my neck.

“Stop it,” I said, pushing him away. “Geez Louise, I’ll have to buy calamine lotion by the gallon if this keeps up.”

“I promise I’ll keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. All I have to say is, ex-relative or not, he’d better keep himself squeaky clean while he’s in my city.”

At ten o‘clock curfew that first night, the men gathered at the front porch and sang “Good Night, Ladies” as they had at every Thanksgiving gathering as far back as I could remember. It was hokey, but it brought a lump to my throat to see my new husband and his son in the back row, struggling with the words.

After the men retired to their respective bunkhouses, trailers, and tents, I proceeded to give my aunts and girl cousins the details about the meeting between Gabe and my former brother-in-law. I knew better than to try to hold back with this nosy crowd. They’d beat it out of me with their spatulas and knitting needles.