by Diana Downey
“What part of Alaska?” I ask, grinning at him. I need to flirt like Fay. She has men dropping at her feet like blowflies.
“I’ve lived all over the state, but the last place is Tonakwa. It’s a small Eskimo camp, so I doubt you’ve heard of it.”
I haven’t. I dip my chin while tonging a morsel of prime rib and watching Shane’s reaction. “Sounds quaint.”
Eyeing me with lustful intensity, he chuckles. “It’s in the middle of nowhere, and in the winter, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
I can’t help it. I snort out a laugh. “Sounds charming.”
Mrs. Duncan sitting on the other side of Shane chokes on her asparagus. After she recovers, she asks, “How did it go today with you and Trevor?”
She’s bringing him up on purpose. Bitch. I put on my game face before wiping off the disdain from my lips and turning toward her. I lean across Shane, so only he and Trevor’s mom can hear, letting my breast sheathed only in silk rest on his bare arm. He literally stops breathing, and I smile at my small victory.
“Trevor and I broke up. He stole my virginity, and the sex sucked and maybe a real man, like Shane, could make up for it.”
“Cynthia,” she scolds. It takes her a full minute to recover while Shane laughs heartily.
“Trevor really likes you,” she says, but I know Fay has the suitable pedigree.
I smile. “No, he doesn’t. Otherwise, he would’ve satisfied me.”
Shane’s not sorry at all. He’s grinning and slips his hand onto the back of my chair, which sends a flurry of evil eyes my way from Fay and Mrs. Duncan and the other women in the room. Shane isn’t even Fay’s type, let alone mine.
He leans down and whispers, “You’re certainly a spitfire. If your mom weren’t here, I’d take you home and guarantee your satisfaction.”
My body lights up at the promise of sexual gratification. Shane definitely thinks I’m older. I gaze up and down this man’s stealth-like body and know he can deliver. I wiggle in my seat to open up a bit more breast flesh for Shane’s enjoyment, and he does take a few unrepentant peeks.
“Shane is also a tracker,” Mom adds.
“Like what?” I ask, actually interested. I should give him the chance to give me what I deserved earlier today.
“Mostly bears, but when I lived in Fairbanks, I worked for Wilderness Search and Rescue.” He takes on a more serious tone, and the hint of some intriguing past flashes in his green eyes but then darts away.
“Cynthia loves to fish,” Mom says, bringing me into the limelight. I love her.
I quit fishing because it’s too boyish, though Willa and I love to go with Dad. Other than gardening, it’s his favorite pastime.
“You do?” Shane’s gaze wanders all over me like a hot poker, and when his fingers graze the nape of my neck, I almost fall into his lap. So what if there’s a strong physical attraction. That doesn’t mean he’s marriage material, but sex and the big O, that’s a possibility.
“Yes,” I say in my most seductive voice while dragging my tongue over my lower lip.
As he studies me, his gaze flicking along my mouth then dropping to my breasts, he draws in deep breaths while that cocky grin upturns his mouth. His fingers twirl in the gold chain on my neck, tingling the sensitive skin and prickling the hairs.
“What year are you in college?” Shane asks, his fingers leaving a trail of burning coals on my skin while he uses his other hand to swig his beer.
Fay laughs while I glance at Mom to see if I can get away with a white lie. She gives a small shake of the head.
I sigh. “I’m sixteen, but I turn seventeen in another two months.”
“Sixteen?” he spits out a mouthful of beer. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He’s so flustered he tips over a water glass, yet saves it before hardly any spills.
When he looks at me, like I just contracted herpes, I want to crawl under the table, but instead, I sit up straighter. He started this or maybe I did, but he joined right in.
Mrs. Duncan eyes grow wide at his obscenity and maybe for Shane hitting on me. She obviously has never listened to Trevor’s filthy mouth.
My chest is damp from Shane’s beer, and he stares at my breasts with a dazed expression. He reaches for the napkin that never made it to his lap and dabs at the beer coating my chest. When he realizes what he’s doing, he mumbles, “Shit.”
I’ve completely discombobulated a fully-grown man, so I’m enjoying this, except for the fact he wants to ignore me now.
I smile at him, and he almost loses the beer he’s clutching. Mom purses her lips to stifle her giggling.
“Why did you lead me on?” he whispers into my ear. “I could go to jail for grabbing your ass.”
“Not to mention touching my boobs, and you groped my butt on purpose?”
He snarls. “I’m not that much of a klutz, and I’m fast.”
“Maybe you should slow down because that’s not a suitable quality in a man,” I shoot back. I know from experience now. My chin juts out because I’m no longer a virgin. I’m a woman.
“Not at that, you little tease. I should take you over my knee, like I used to do with my younger sister.” Anger laces his words at being duped.
I glare at him, though a twisted grin works its way into my lips. I enjoy messing with him. “You’re not man enough.”
“Trust me, Princess, I most certainly am.”
I swallow hard, not just at the palpable carnal tension between us but the contempt setting deep ridges into his brow. He’s really mad.
It was just harmless flirting. “Get over it,” I say, pouting because now he won’t even look at me.
Mom cuts off our dispute by standing and introducing the board members and Shane as the entrepreneur of the year. He has some sort of foreign communication service, which I barely listen to because he’s ignoring me. That brings a triumphant smile to Fay’s pink lips.
Chapter Two
Cyn
Early the next morning, Mom and I drive to Albuquerque because Mom wants to illegally collect wild flowers and cacti for her garden along the way. With the radio cranked to my favorite country station, we drive for hours listening to the music. I inhale the sagebrush and desert flowers, and the hot, dry air flows over my arm hanging out the window.
Given the Mercedes’s top is down, the sun beats on us and also bathes the desert in its lemony glow. On the distant horizon, lightning arcs in the clouds in jagged spears, splashing light against the dark grey. Storm clouds stack onto each other, like black beetles dog piling.
Mom points at the sky. “It’s magnificent, isn’t it? Let’s stop to eat in New Mexico, so we can watch the storm roll in.”
I sigh, breathing in the scent of rain, even though it’s far off in the distance. “Sounds good.”
“Oh, see those?” she asks excitedly, pointing at the blossoming desert daisies.
Under her direction, I drive off onto a dirt road into the desert toward a patch of white wildflowers. Before getting out of the car and opening the trunk, she glances around, probably for rangers or cops. I don’t know why it’s illegal to pick weeds.
I slide out and help her grab a flowerpot and hand trowel. I kneel down beside her to carefully dig the desert chicory from the earth. After donning her gardening gloves, Mom scoops out the daisy and places it into the pot.
“Isn’t it lovely?” she coos.
The simplest things give her such great joy. This trip is as much for her as it is for me. I needed the break from all the drama involving Trevor. Teasing Shane was enjoyable, especially the memory of his touch searing my skin.
Before we get into the car, she stops, wiping perspiration from her brow. “Do you know why I married your father?”
“Because you love him?” Her question catches me off guard but only for a moment. I assumed this trip was to also give me motherly advice concerning my tumultuous breakup. Though I will always love my dad and be his little princess, an hombre like him is not who I wish
to marry. Trevor comes from money and a good family, but I left him in the taillight’s red glow of my Porsche.
“That’s part of it.” She studies me for a moment. “What happened between you and Trevor?” she asks tentatively. “His father was very upset that you left him out in the middle of a field.” She puckers her lips to hold in a laugh.
My face burns. It’s too embarrassing to tell her.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Now my whole body catches fire. How does she know everything?
“You did,” she says softly. “I was your age when I let some boy talk me into sex.” She crinkles her nose. “It wasn’t very good.”
“I didn’t get anything out of it, and it was over in the blink of an eye,” I blurt out, snapping my fingers to show her how short. “He blamed me and told me I was too hard to please. He told me he was sleeping with Cassie all this time and that she was much better.”
“I’ll have a word with his father.”
“Please don’t,” I say in horror. That would make it far worse.
“It takes a long time for boys like Trevor to master the art of taking care of a woman, but he’s not for you. Find a nice boy who will treat you like a princess, like Shane O’Flannery.”
“Him?” I asked shocked. “He knows I’m sixteen, and he handles his silverware like their tools to dig in the dirt with, and isn’t he too old for me?” I don’t think he’s too old, but maybe Mom will let me date an older man.
Mom smiles. “He won’t be too old in a couple years, and he just turned twenty-one. Women mature physically, emotionally, and mentally faster than men.”
“Twenty-one and he owns a company?” If he’s that good, what’s he like in bed?
“Shane’s smart and works very hard. I know he’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good man. He’s ambitious, and he’s going places.”
I don’t see myself permanently with someone like Shane, no matter how hot the blowtorch he carries.
Yet Mom settled for Dad, but she started with money. “You could’ve had anyone, Mom.”
She resembles a classic movie star, blonde, wavy chin-length hair, pale blue eyes, and creamy skin.
“When I met Fay’s father Benton, I was expected to marry him. Our properties butted up to one another, and together, we’d own some of the best oil lands in Texas. So I did.” Regret shines in her eyes. “He wasn’t a good husband, he drank too much and cheated on me, and our families expected us to stay together, but then he died.” Her face tightens. “I hired Jorge to help me with my garden. He has such a green thumb.” She smiles like someone my age romanticizing over a boy, like I did for asshole Trevor.
Before I pull back onto the highway, a faded red truck slows as it passes us, probably to gawk at Mom. It doesn’t surprise me though. Men always whistle at her, and she just smiles and waves them off.
Dust soots the truck’s windows, and it doesn’t have tags, though one could be taped on the inside of its dirty windows.
She lets out a wistful sigh. “Your father and I spent many days in the gardens, a little brush against his sun-drenched skin here and there, yet he never flirted with me, and then one afternoon, he was planting rose bushes and he said, ‘Mi madre le encantan las rosas,’ and he started to cry. He was only twenty and missed his family terribly. He sent most of his money home to Mexico. We made love that night under the stars…at my insistence.” She laughs.
She’s six years older than Dad and had Fay when she was twenty-four. Her much older Benton died a couple years after Fay’s birth, and I was born a few months after her wedding to my dad. “Mamá, TMI.”
She laughs again, and it sounds like the tinkling of bells. “I love how you and Willa speak Spanglish. It sounds so romantic, much like your father.”
I love her laugh and kisses to my forehead. I always will.
“It’s just that…” Her tone turns suddenly serious. “I think you’re set on finding some perfect man, and I don’t want you to be disappointed. I want you to marry a good man, like your father, like Shane, and that man may not come in some pretty little package, like the novels you read or the movies you watch. Money and a tailored suit won’t buy you happiness.”
She must be referring to Shane’s homeless street corner attire. “Most divorces are over money.” I completely disagree with her, but there’s no sense spoiling our time together. I know a charismatic, sophisticated, gorgeous Prince Charming waits for me. Though I love Dad, I don’t want a man with dirt underneath his nails, and I will know Mr. Right the minute I meet him. In two more years, I’ll start Stews and date college men, no more childish, unfulfilling high school boys, but I’d let Shane deliver on his offer last night.
Once we cross over into New Mexico, Mom finds a diner to stop at that brags of the best tamales in the Southwest. A beat-up red pickup similar to the one I saw earlier is parked in the lot, but Texas and New Mexico are full of old pickups.
In my short, colorful skirt that Mom recently bought for me, I glide into the diner, inhaling the fragrant aromas. The diner is packed with locals, so the food must be good. After we take a corner booth, I finger through the menu and stare at the storm that has moved farther west of us.
Mom and I order tamales and sopapillas. A few of the Mexicans stare at us because we’re so different. I don’t look like I belong to this beautiful woman.
When two deputies wander into the diner, most of the locals lower their hats and scoot down in their chairs and a few leave. One man, his corn-colored hair stuffed under a trucker’s cap, slides so far down he almost slips under the table. Another man, his face hidden by his cap, smacks the blond to sit up straighter. One of the officers gives them the once over.
After we eat and Mom pays our bill, we go to the car, and I notice the red pickup is gone.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asks.
“Soy bueno.”
“Honey, put up the top in case it rains.”
The storm is miles away now, but I press the button to secure the top anyway.
Mom studies Google Maps on her phone, and after another hour of driving, she points to an upcoming road. “Turn there. I’ve heard the claret cup and asters bloom near the mountains here.”
I pull off the highway and drive onto the dirt road toward the mountains. When the desert field filled with wildflowers comes into view, the sight steals my breath away. “It’s beautiful.”
“We’ve hit the mother lode of flowers.” She’s so excited she claps her hands. “Hurry, park, and get your shovel and gloves.”
I pull off to the side, pocket the keys, and leave my phone in the center console next to Mom’s. From where we’ve parked, I can’t see the highway, so it’ll be hard for any park ranger to catch us taking wild flowers.
With a few pots and my trowel in hand, I kneel beside her and dig carefully around several flowers. We’ve gathered a few when the distinct sound of a truck rumbles toward us.
“We should go,” I say, staring nervously at the dust being kicked up by the truck in the distance.
Mom helps fill the backseat and floor with the plants. She shades her eyes using one hand. “I don’t think it’s a park ranger. Let’s get in the car just in case.”
We’ve got everything loaded up by the time the red pickup truck with no tags pulls up next to us. My heart leaps into my throat while Mom hops into the car, signaling me to hurry.
I jump into the car, lock the doors, and fumble with the keys, dropping them between the seats.
As I dig for them, the driver-side window shatters into my hair and lap, and then the door opens. I’m yanked out of the car by my hair, kicking and yelling and scratching. Ice-cold terror flows through my veins. I claw at his masked face that reeks of marijuana. From the way he’s screaming, my fingernails tore through the knit mask and dug into his flesh.
Mom reaches for me. “Let go of my daughter.”
Another man with startling blue eyes wearing coveralls like the man holding me breaks her window
and hauls her out of the car.
The man clutching me drops me on my butt then hits me so hard I see stars. Mom is screaming at them to leave me alone. She fights so desperately that her captor wallops her in the head, and she goes still.
“Mom,” I say through a veil of tears. “Mary madre de jesús,” I pray. “No dejes quese muera.” I scream, even though the fight has drained from my heart at the sight of her limp body.
The two men tie us up with rope and throw us into the back of the truck. They drive about a quarter mile down the road, spewing dirt and gravel that cloud around us. I cough on the dust while scooting close to mi madre to listen for a heartbeat. It’s faint, but she’s alive.
I work on my bindings to loosen them. They’re partially undone on my hands, but I leave my feet bound. The masked men pull in front of a small shack and unload us, kicking Mom off the truck. Her head smashes into a rock with a sickening thud. The man with eyes the color of mud drags her toward the shack, a trail of blood lingering in the sand.
I can’t hold myself together. Wracking sobs steal my breath away.
They deposit us onto the dirt floor inside the shack where two small windows let light into the dingy interior.
“Take off their shoes so they can’t get far,” one of them says.
Mom is wearing her sneakers with daisies stamped on them while I have on my purple Vans. The man with blue eyes pulls off my shoes and stuffs them in his coverall pockets. A few strands of lemon-yellow hair peek out from his mask.
After they go outside, closing the door behind them, Mom shakes her head, lifting it off the ground. Blood trails onto her neck from her ear. She leans over and spittle flows from her mouth.
Fighting off heaving sobs, I finish unbinding my hands and then my feet.
“Are you all right?” I ask, choking on my tears.
Her head wobbles, and her eyelids droop. The painful sight of her settles into my heart like cold stones.
“I’m fine,” she rasps.
I tighten my lips, holding back more tears as I work on her bindings. They’re much tighter than mine. My hands tremble as I fiddle with the knots.
