Rain Shadow (7 page)

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Chapter 8

T

aylor heard the rumble of the F350 well before it turned onto the gravel driveway. She watched Liz maneuver the big rig around the small parking area between the two houses. Liz needed no extra time to correct over-steering. She smoothly pulled up and backed a three-horse trailer around behind Rowan’s house. From her porch, Taylor saw her park next to the small lean-to and turn off the engine. The sun had so far been unable to penetrate a grey, opaque sky and a fine mist made every exposed surface moist. Taylor eased into a light jacket and pulled on a new pair of rubber boots. She jogged to meet Liz.

“How do you like my fence?” She pointed proudly at the length of hotwire that encircled a one-acre pasture. “I called in sick to the office and Rowan helped me. She already had posts up from when she had a herd of goats.”

Liz shrugged, “Looks good enough. Long as it’s hot.” She limped toward the back of the trailer to unlock the door. Taylor noticed she looked stiffer than usual but decided against saying so. Instead, she peeked through the narrow open vents along the trailer sides.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

Rain shifted inside and gave a low rumbling nicker.

“Go ahead and reach through and unhook her. I’ll get her out.”

Taylor did as she was told and watched Liz back the mare slowly from the trailer. She handed her the lead rope. “Your horse.”

Taylor stroked Rain’s neck as the horse flagged her tail and snorted with excitement. “I hope you’ll like it here, Rain.”

Rowan had opened the door and Taylor watched her approach. They’d be a trio of single country ladies: a tree woman, a one-eyed horse, and a basket case. Perfect.

“Oh, she is a beauty.” Rowan laced her leathery fingers together and her face crinkled into a smile. “A lovely lady she is, Taylor, just like you.”

“Her face is kinda messed up, but that’s not her fault.”

Rowan studied the mare. “We are all wounded spirits. That doesn’t eliminate our beauty. Rain has a most beautiful spirit.”

“Yes,” Taylor sighed happily, “yes, she does.”

“Quit yapping and come help me with this hay.” Liz’s sharp voice broke the spell Rowan always seemed to cast over a conversation.

“Thanks, Rowan; thank you so much for letting me keep Rain here.”

Rowan simply smiled, lost to her inner Zen, so Taylor hurried the mare into the pasture and took off her halter. Then she jumped into the bed of Liz’s truck and began removing ten bales of grass hay. She stacked them in the lean-to next to a meager collection of horse supplies: a lead rope and halter, two brushes, a hoof pick, and one bucket. Liz had offered to feed Rain for three months, claiming a generous donation to the shelter provided for some extra hay. When Taylor had tried to thank her, Liz brushed it off.

“Mare deserves to have care this time around. You just be sure you don’t let her down.”

“I won’t.”

As Taylor moved hay she thought about the responsibility she was taking on. She hadn’t screwed up the courage yet to tell her parents. Not only was she living on a shoe string, she was an emotional mess that didn’t know a thing about horse care. Anxiety ate away at the euphoria of actually owning Rain. After stacking the bales of hay she approached Liz who was busy checking the trailer for the ride home.

“Liz?” She stuffed her hands into the jacket pockets.

“What’s up?”

“I’m a little worried about caring for Rain … and I don’t know much about riding or working with horses … I … ”

“That’s why I’m coming back in a few days,” Liz interrupted. She thrust a page of notebook paper at Taylor. Feeding instructions for Rain were outlined in her neat block handwriting. “Just follow the directions for now; I’ll show you horse handling basics soon. And I’ll bring you an old saddle I scrounged off a friend.”

“I appreciate you doing all this … you don’t really even know me.”

Liz cocked her head, a mysterious look on her face. “I know things about people. Anyway, I want to do a good turn for that mare. A wrong needs to be righted. You’ll be home on Wednesday evening, maybe four o’clock?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure I’m here.”

“Good. You’ll get your first lessons on becoming a horsewoman. I think it’ll suit you.”

At that Liz pulled herself into the truck. Before rolling up the window she handed Taylor a manila envelope. “From the vet who saved her life. You can see the x-rays and be amazed she’s alive and grazing in your back pasture.”

Taylor took the envelope and absentmindedly waved to Liz as she pulled out of the driveway. Opening the brad fastener she withdrew a couple sheets of paper and x-rays of Rain’s injury. Even with no medical
knowledge it was easy to identify the damage to the horse’s skull within the smoky outlines of the x-ray. A brief description was included
:
Permanent damage to left occipital bone includes loss of eye; nerve damage; severe blood loss and dehydration.

Under the x-rays and medical documentation of the injury Taylor found a photograph. It was a close-up of a man’s hand, the fingers upturned and cradling a bullet that rested in the center of his palm. Such a small piece of destruction, Taylor thought. Considered on its own, with no knowledge of what it was intended to do, a bullet didn’t appear capable of inflicting catastrophic damage. She focused on the masculine lines of the veterinarian’s hand and wondered about the man behind it. His hands looked capable, strong, and kind. Saving hands.

~   ~~

Taylor pulled into the parking lot behind Holy Grounds five minutes before her shift began at ten. Melissa opened the stand at six and worked nearly all the early mornings. She needed afternoons free for the business classes she took at the community college. Taylor would fly solo after the morning rush and Melissa would leave at one. She’d close at three and make it home just in time to meet Liz and have her first basic horsemanship lesson. It was all she could think about.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

Melissa set two twenty-ounce coffees in the window and made change for the customer waiting outside.

“Forgot?” Oh, God—the coffee beans! Do we have enough for today?”

“Not of the good stuff. I won’t use those discount beans the owner brought in. They’re crap. My customers will know the difference.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Melissa had her hands on her hips, fingering the ragged belt loops of ripped camouflage jeans. Silver rings glinted on every finger. “I’m doing okay for the moment so rush your ass to the Co-op and get the good stuff. Jamaican Joe’s espresso roast. Th
e
whol
e
beans, not ground.”

“Duh.” Taylor shook her head. “What am I, an idiot?”

Melissa raised her eyebrows.
“
Idio
t
might be a tad harsh, but you are still my humble apprentice. Now, get outta here.” She waved her finger tips as if Taylor were an annoying fly and moved to take another order at the window.

After purchasing twenty pounds of bulk beans at the Co-op—“Organically grown using methods kind to the environment”—Taylor returned to Holy Grounds and stored the coffee. Her “desperate” job, though admittedly common and status-less, had turned out to be kind of fun. More fun than learning about property taxes, state law and ordinances. And the job definitely beat out driving the county with Steve and being forced to listen to endless stories arranged to showcase his prowess as an agent. The guy gave Taylor the willies. He probably found all his dates on the internet under “casual encounters.”

Despite Melissa’s outward appearance and brusque attitude, she was hard working, accountable, and quick with numbers. Regular customers consistently frowned when Taylor came to the window and she’d see them crane their necks for a glimpse of Melissa inside. The brassy ones simply said, “I want Melissa to make my coffee.” After several such orders Taylor finally broke down and asked for help.

“Okay, Obi-Wan Kenobi, what’s the secret? The Force seems to be with you.”

Melissa giggled and Taylor glimpsed a momentary softness under the girl’s bristly exterior.

“Normall
y
no on
e
hears my secrets. But I like you. You’re growing on me, Taylor, like a bad rash.”

“I feel the love.”

“The secret, young Padawan, is in the tamping of the grounds. A simple thing but it makes a big difference.” Melissa moved to the espresso machine and removed the stainless steel grounds container. She tapped a used disk of coffee into the trash and refilled it with freshly ground coffee.

“I do all tha
t
an
d
I always make sure the grind is fresh.”

“Wait, wait,” Melissa gestured toward the coffee. “You have to use the tamper more then once to stuff the grains together as tightly as they’ll go.”

Taylor watched her take the small wooden tamper and push it into the coffee.

“See? More grounds can fit inside. Then you tamp again. When the coffee is expressed it should make its own froth on top. That’s how you know the grounds are tight enough; that’s how you know it’s good.”

Melissa flicked the switch on the machine. Twin jets of chocolaty liquid drained into a waiting shot glass. When it was finished she lifted the glass to her lips and drank it straight up. “Mmmm. The coffee is king; don’t forget that, Sugar Baby.”

“Yuck. I can’t believe you drink that straight.” Taylor wrinkled her nose.

“That’s how my hair stays dark and my personality charming.”

A moment later a black truck pulled up. When Taylor slid the window open an older man with a salt and pepper buzz cut greeted her. “Is Melissa here?”

Taylor stepped aside and gestured toward the back with a flourish. Melissa stuck her head out. “Tim, my man! Let Taylor make your triple white chocolate mocha today, kay? I’ve taught her all my secrets. You’ll love it or the drink is on me.”

“I suppose I could live dangerously for one day.” Tim looked unconvinced.

Taylor took extra time to tamp the heck out of the coffee grounds and froth milk with precision. When she handed Tim the drink both girls waited as he sipped.

“I don’t know,” a teasing smile played at the edges of Tim’s mouth, “I may detect a slight difference. I think I need a free one to decide for sure.”

“The difference is I usually spit in yours, you rascal. Now cough up the dough!”

Tim grinned broadly and gave Melissa a five. “Keep the change, ladies.”

As he drove away Taylor felt a surge of irrational pride in her achievement. She was finally an artist.

“It’s all in the details, Padawan.” Melissa smiled and high-fived her. “Now, you mind if I leave early?”

Taylor glanced at the clock. “It’s only 11:30.”

“You’ll be okay, the morning rush is over.”

Melissa donned a worn black leather jacket. “Peter had an important test. He couldn’t give me a lift to class so I gotta walk.” She crouched down and rummaged for her backpack. Taylor examined the design on the back of the jacket as it fanned over the slim hump of Melissa’s shoulders
.
Love Kills Slowl
y
was embroidered on a rose-covered banner that encircled a large pale skull stitched into the leather. Thorny rose branches hooked into the empty eye sockets of the skull. Red rhinestones winked at Taylor, scattered within the stitched petals of several crimson flowers.

“You believe that?”

Melissa straightened and smoothed her thick black mane. “Believe what?”

“That love kills slowly.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She looked serious behind the thin smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Peter and I have only been together six months. Some days it feels like dying,’ though.” 

Taylor had yet to meet Peter but had pieced together a few details
from the little Melissa had shared and bits of conversation she overheard from the girl’s cell phone conversations: student at Western Washington University, last year environmental science major, tree-hugger. Melissa joked about the last trait—“He’d hold a candlelight vigil for discarded Christmas trees.” Joking aside, Taylor detected an all too familiar admiration-bordering-on-reverence for the guy.

“He’s super intelligent; not like me,” she’d shared one day. “He’s an agent of change. He’ll, like, reverse global warming, or something. Wait and see.”

Taylor snorted. “That’s a load of crap you know. Plenty of scientists don’t buy in to Drama King Al Gore.”

Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “Th
e
trut
h
inconvenient for you?”

“Whatever,” Taylor shook her head. “Don’t let Wonder Boy spoon feed you, that’s all I’m saying. Do some investigation for yourself. My Dad told me Greenland is one place that defies the global warming scare
-fest Hollywood loves so much. Greenland got its name because it
was
a
green lan
d
at one time. Long before man was driving cars and using
hair spray to ruin the ozone. Naturally occurring warming follows naturally occurring cooling cycles. The earth has coolin
g
an
d
warming cycles.”