Summer Winds (2 page)

Old-timers knew farming didn’t support a family in dollars but paid off in breathtaking sunsets and black starry nights and newborn calves.

I pulled into the long gravel drive and put the truck in park and walked into the house just as the phone rang. The voice on the line took a familiar tone.

“How’s the prettiest brunette this side of the Rockies?”

“Tell me who this is or I’ll hang up,” I demanded, refusing to let strangers trivialize me.

“The eight-second wonder of Texas Tech.” Buck Tate tee-heed, then continued to shout as if the telephone wire were nothing more than a Dixie cup tied to a string and volume would ensure transmission. “You miss me, sugar?”

“I’m the
blonde,
Taterhead. Do you even know what woman you’re talking to?”

“It’s been so long you
are
kind of fadin’ from my memory.” He laughed at himself.

Just thinking about Buck’s Garth Brooks build and little-boy giggle renewed a warm spot in my heart for Tater. “You haven’t called me in five years, you crazy fool, and your phone number was disconnected.”

“I’m still in Denver but don’t advertise it. Second wife’s tryin’ to kill me. Can you imagine that? Me, of all people. I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Buck was susceptible to volatile women, and during our college days I’d helped him through a dozen broken hearts at the hands of blond cheerleaders and nearly as many broken bones on the backs of rank bulls. He’d gotten a girl pregnant when he was only fifteen, married her quickly, and was in the middle of divorcing her while in college. Despite the disgrace and whispers of that era surrounding unwed pregnancy, his dilemma wasn’t as bad as mine as I dealt with the aftermath of losing my parents in a senseless accident.

We sat once and talked about life’s irony: I had people leaving the world and didn’t want them to go, and he had a baby entering the world and didn’t want it to come. “Everybody just got on the wrong train,” Buck had said in his simple way. “Now we gotta go on from here.”

After that he made it his mission to make me laugh, leading a bull up to my dorm where it relieved itself on the floor. Once when I got called to the dean’s office, he wired the dean’s door shut and connected it to the fire alarm. Buck Tate was my friend and a shoulder to cry on, the guy who insisted I would take all my troubles, turn them into stories, and become a famous writer for the
New York Times.
Grateful, I encouraged his aspirations to be the world’s most famous bull rider. My end of it hadn’t exactly panned out, and somehow I didn’t think Buck’s had either. I asked about his job and his family. On the last topic he drew a deep breath.

“Got a favor to ask. Mary and I don’t fight over much but we do fight over the kids, that’s for sure. I won’t bore you with the domestic details, but basically my teenage boys are spoiled rotten. They’ve got more computers and software and game toys and bullshit, not to mention a bunch of big-titted, mindless girls chasing after them.”

I couldn’t contain a chuckle over his distressed tone, as if he’d personally spent his teenage years in an ashram.

“You think it’s funny, Mags, but I don’t want to wake up one morning and find out that I’ve raised a bunch of wussy techno-geeks who got up from the computer to go to the john, fell forward, and knocked up big-boob Betty Sue. You oughta see my oldest. He put a stud ring in his nose big as the ones in the bulls I used to ride. I grabbed hold of it and led him around the house and him shoutin’ for his mama. Brave enough to staple hardware into his head but yellin’ for his mama!”

“Now that’s real tragic, Buck.”

“Well, this’ll wipe the smile off your face. I want you to take one of ’em for the summer. Hell, I’d give you all of them but I don’t want to be sued. I could send Hank or Jennings…or hell, even Cash.”

Buck had named all of his kids after country-western singers and fortunately had stopped reproducing before he got to Slim Pickens.

“I was just in town asking around about a hand for the summer. But the work is hard, you know that, and the heat’s fierce out here.”

“I guarantee any one of my kids can hold his own.”

“You just said they’re useless as tits on a boar.”

“I was exaggerating to get you to feel sorry for me. Let me go back and pick the right one out of the chute. I promise you’ll have the best hand you ever had show up within a week.”

By the time I hung up I was elated to have solved my problem, and I nearly skipped out of the house to tell Perry how things had worked out. He was sitting on the bunkhouse cinderblock steps scraping riverbed mud out of his boot treads with a hunting knife.

As I finished my announcement he glanced up with one eye.

“He ever work a ranch?”

“Don’t know, might have. Buck was a bull rider in college.”

“How big’s the kid, the one he’s sending?” Perry’s brow furrowed unhappily.

“Big enough, I guess, or Buck wouldn’t send him.”

“How long’s he stayin’?”

“Don’t know that either, but you’d best get the booze-air out of your sleeping quarters.”

Perry rose and muttered into his boots, “Nice. Sharing a room with somebody neither me nor you knows nothing about. Could be a killer.”

“Or a rocker.” I clamped my thumb and middle finger around my nostril as if bolting something to it. “Has a stud stapled through his nose.”

Perry snorted. “Guess I’ll use a metal detector to find him after dark.”

❖

After noon, almost a week later, I stood on the front porch examining my small garden. A few squash, tomatoes, and pepper plants were taking hold now, their dark green shoots becoming stronger by the day. I examined the rich dirt around them to see if it was damp enough, then rose and brushed my hands off on my blue jeans, careful not to get any dirt on my khaki shirt. People often remarked about my crisp shirts, but they just made me feel better so it was a luxury I afforded myself, taking them into town to have them starched and pressed. On cool days I wore a green pullover that had a quilted shooter’s patch on the right shoulder with elbow patches to match, old gear from the early days when my husband tried to turn me into a hunter. The soft, worn sweaters always made me feel safe, proof that something could last forever.

A car rolled down the gravel road and I turned my gaze in that direction, shading my eyes with my hand as I rested against the sturdy porch post for support. I didn’t recognize the vehicle but thought perhaps Hiram had sent someone from town to inquire about work.

An older black Jeep with the spare tire on the back slowed, then crept onto the dirt-and-rock indention twenty yards from the house.

I cocked my head, trying to see the face behind the wheel, then stepped off the porch for a better look and waited.

The motor shut down and the door swung open. The sun’s glint obscured the details of the figure climbing out of the vehicle except that he was tall, with dark shiny hair, strong shoulders, and narrow hips. As he turned to face me, I realized even from a distance that he wasn’t a teenager, but more like late twenties. The boy wiped his palms on the back of his dark jeans and then sauntered over, squinting up at the sun, seeming to measure its intensity before he extended his hand and looked down into my eyes.

“Cash Tate, Ms. Tanner. Buck said you’d be expecting me.” The twinkling eyes were captivatingly pale against the rich, dark hair. “I know you’re looking for an experienced hand and I can’t say I am one. But I learn real quick.” The big, self-assured grin and sturdy handshake unnerved me, but not nearly as much as the fact that this tall, handsome young man was, on close inspection, a woman. And her hand wrapped completely around mine sent a chill through my entire body that felt like the wind blowing back the grass. It caught me by surprise and rendered me momentarily speechless.

She must have realized I was shocked because she grinned wider and said she’d be heading back to the Jeep to get her duffel.

I ran to the phone to call Buck Tate.
What is he doing sending
me a girl!

"First thing is you need to calm down and stop shouting.” Buck Tate reasoned with me over the phone as I envisioned he’d done with former wives.

“You told me you were sending me one of your boys,” I stage-whispered.

“I said Hank or Jennings or Cash. The boys pitched a fit about leaving home and, well, Cash, she’s by my first wife. She’s always up for anything.”

“This is hard work, Tater, and I don’t have time for someone who can’t carry her weight, you know that.”

“Maggie, you need a strong hand this summer and I’ll level with you, Cash does too. She’s kind of wild, but nothing a good hot summer can’t fix. Bake the hellfire out of her. You work her hard. That’s all she needs.”

I looked up to see Cash standing in the doorway, her expression asking if something was wrong. “Well, she’s safe and sound and right here in the kitchen,” I said brightly to Buck for Cash’s benefit, then spoke over my shoulder to her. “Want to talk to your, uh…?”

My words fell away as I took in her long lean frame. It was nearly impossible to envision this tall, handsome woman being related to Buck. She shrugged, letting me know that talking to him wasn’t necessary.

“You two go on and get to know each other. I’ll talk to her later,” Buck said loudly. “You’re gonna love her, Maggie, and wonder how you ever got along without her.”

I hung up and turned to face the still figure. My worries seemed to leap across the room in telepathic angst because she said quietly,

“I know you were expecting one of my brothers.”

“No, just someone strong and smart, and you look like you qualify on both fronts, so the only thing I’m worried about is where you’ll sleep.” It crossed my mind again that Cash Tate looked one moment like a tall slender woman and the next like a handsome boy.

I couldn’t remember ever seeing a person who was male and female all at once, but Cash Tate was both and right before my eyes. “I can’t put you out in the bunkhouse with Perry.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. Come on, I’ll clean out the guest room and you’ll bunk in there.”

She didn’t move as I crossed in front of her and led the way to a small bedroom I’d used for a dozen different things over the years: Sewing, when I was first married and hadn’t realized I’d rather be a nudist than try to master patterns or stitch quilts, then reading as I gazed out the window feeling sorry for myself, followed by easels for oil painting when I’d decided to trade anger for art, and finally workout mats for yoga as I meditated myself into complete boredom.

Now the room was a jumble of diversions that hadn’t worked. I hoped Cash wouldn’t be another one of them.

I apologized for the clutter as I hurriedly scooped up items and jammed them into the closet, then paused. The closet would need to be clear for her clothes.

“There’s plenty of room. I don’t have that much.” She blocked my path and took a blank canvas and jangling wind chimes from my hands, making me nervous for no reason other than her unexpected gender and the fact that she constantly stared at me. “It’ll give me something to do. I’ll put everything up really neat and I won’t break anything.”

“I can’t imagine what you could break.” Other than hearts, I thought. She looked like she could have boys wild for her if any of them ever had the courage to approach someone her height. She had to be at least five foot nine. I gave up trying to put things away, glad to have a reason to leave her alone until I could get used to having her around.

“You hungry?”

“Could or couldn’t.” She shrugged again.

“If you’re going to work here, be decisive.” I wanted to shake off the jitters and put myself back in charge. “Are you
hungry
?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stared at the black wavy hair framing her strong face and high cheekbones. Her mother must be very pretty, perhaps Native American or Irish, having passed on that rare contrast of pale eyes and ebony hair. Buck sure couldn’t be expected to have a daughter either this tall or this good-looking.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s Maggie, not ma’am.”

“Maggie,” she echoed cautiously, as if testing to see that I really meant for her to speak my name. The syllables slowly rolled off her tongue, making my name sound lovely.

Leaving Cash to unpack and straighten her room, I scurried around the kitchen looking for something that might constitute dinner, settling on eggs and sausage since nothing was thawed. As I lifted the old iron skillet I always cooked in, boots on the front porch drew my attention. Wiping my hands off on a tea towel, I went to the door to find Perry standing there, more scrubbed than usual.

“He here?” Perry asked. I stepped outside to keep Cash out of hearing distance. “Saw the Jeep and thought—”

“Buck sent his daughter.”

“His daughter! Aw, geez mareeez.” Perry yanked his hat off and slapped it on his knee like an old sidekick in a 1950s Western. He then shuffled up and down on the porch’s old wooden floor boards like a rabid raccoon. “She ever ranched?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that just beats all, don’t it?” He craned his neck to get a look through the screen door. “How big is she?”

His words were no sooner out than Cash appeared in the doorway, and Perry’s head snapped up and back as she stepped onto the porch.

“Cash, this is Perry Waits. He runs the ranch.”

“Howdyado,” Perry said somewhat shyly.

Cash shook his hand energetically. “I can’t wait to learn everything you can teach me.” She smiled in a way no one could have resisted. “Sorry to interrupt,” she added, and went back inside the house.

I thought I saw a glimmer of interest in Perry’s eyes, as if he’d taken to her right away.

“
Seems
pretty big,” I said wryly, knowing size was always Perry’s issue, him being a small man.

“Yeah, tall gal.” He shifted his weight uncomfortably side to side, wanting no doubt to find something else bad to say about our situation.

“Looks strong.” I pursed my lips as if mulling over whether to throw her out and waiting only for Perry’s say-so.

“Yup.” He adjusted the beaded hatband on his floppy cowboy hat.