“Poor Red,” Cam said as they walked away. “He’s been avoiding this confrontation with her for weeks.”
“Obviously, that strategy didn’t work,” Billie answered.
“Never does. It’s always better to face up to things, decide what you’re going to do and then do it.”
“No compromises?”
“None.”
Billie hoped he was kidding, but she thought he was probably serious. She didn’t have much time to think about it, though, because right then Brian brought Kyndra up to meet her. She was as tall as Brian, not a small girl at all, with intelligent blue eyes and bright red hair.
After everyone had been introduced, Kyndra thanked Billie for bringing Brian to church with her. The warm look Kyndra gave Brian told Billie that perhaps the boy didn’t have as much to worry about regarding Kyndra’s feelings for him as he thought he did. On the other hand, Kyndra still refused to go out with him again and Billie wondered what that was all about. The four of them joined the congregation as they moved from the foyer into the sanctuary and found seats together.
As the service began, Billie thought back to what Cam had said about facing up to things and no compromises. He had probably learned that lesson as a teenager when he’d had to help with the ranch rather than go off and follow the type of dreams most teenage boys had. But through it all, he had learned to be uncompromising. She didn’t know why that realization bothered her so much.
* * *
Billie expected Sunday afternoon to be quiet and peaceful on the Muleshoe. She should have known better.
Everyone was on their own for lunch so she and Brian bought theirs at the only hamburger place in town then headed back to the ranch. As he was getting out of the car, Brian said, “You might want to have your camera handy this afternoon.”
“Oh, why?”
“Cam has people over almost every Sunday afternoon to ride horses.” He headed for the house. “In fact, I’ve got to go change clothes and help him saddle them up.”
“Okay, I’ll be ready,” she said to his retreating back. She wasn’t sure there would be anything worth photographing, but she’d learned that on the Muleshoe she needed to be ready for anything. She went into her little cabin to change clothes and get her equipment.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she saw that an old pickup truck and a handicap-adapted minivan were parked near the corral. As she watched, a man who appeared to be in his early twenties stepped from the truck, adjusted his cowboy hat, and walked over to talk to Cam who was holding Chaser’s reins. He handed the reins to the young man, who mounted Chaser, and rode away.
“Interesting,” she murmured. She’d never seen anyone but Cam ride that horse. She lifted her camera and took a picture of the newcomer before he disappeared in the hills.
In the meantime, a man and woman had stepped from the minivan, opened the back, and lowered a ramp so that a young boy in a wheelchair could roll out onto the ground. The woman put a riding helmet on him, and he moved eagerly toward Brian, who had brought Ruby from the barn, saddled and ready. The gash in her leg was healing, but still bandaged.
Billie hurried over to record the scene. Cam glanced up and she thought he was going to object, but the boy said, “Are you going to take pictures of me riding Ruby?”
“If that’s okay. My name is Billie Abbott and taking pictures is my job.”
“Riding Ruby is my job,” he said. “My name’s Cory.”
Smiling, she shook his hand, and then Cam introduced her to Cory’s parents, Dave and Shelly Wills.
As the boy’s parents watched, and Billie took pictures, Cam lifted the child from his wheelchair and placed him on Ruby’s back. He took the horse into the corral while the boy held tightly to the pommel, then gave him the reins. Immediately, the boy straightened and lifted himself in the stirrups which had been shortened as far as they would go. Happiness and pride filled Cory’s face. Cam called out instructions as the boy circled the corral on his own and Billie hung over the corral fence to photograph the scene.
“How long has Cory been riding?” Billie asked.
“Two months. It was Cam’s suggestion, thought it might build up the muscles in his legs, and it has,” Shelly answered. “This is the highlight of Cory’s week. Sometimes his physical therapy is painful, but this is a joy for him.”
“I can see that.” Billie pointed toward the nearby foothills of the Mule Mountains. “Who was the man who rode off on Chaser?” she asked.
“Bret Nolan. Did three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan in the army, came home to a failed family business and a wife who wanted a divorce. It helps him to get off by himself for a few hours every week.”
Billie watched as Cam focused on Ruby and Cory, giving the boy gentle instructions and praising his efforts. If she hadn’t already been enamored of Cam, this afternoon would have done the trick.
After about twenty minutes, they took a break and went into the house for cold drinks. While Shelly admired the photographs of Cam’s new nephews, Dave asked about the workings on the ranch. He owned an insurance office, but told Billie he knew a little about livestock.
“Did you hear about George Rangel’s stroke?”
Cam nodded. “Is he recovering?”
“Slowly, and thank God he bought long-term care insurance from me last year. It’s covering almost all of his bills, but his ranch . . . .” Dave paused and shook his head.
“What’s wrong?”
“His cattle are starving. There’s no one to care for them. They’ve stripped the pasture they’re in.”
Cam frowned. “Do you think he’d sell them?”
Dave grinned. “I was hoping you’d ask that.”
“I’ll go see him later on today.”
Billie listened to this conversation and wanted to ask why he’d want to buy starving cattle. The thought of animals going hungry sickened her, and Cam probably felt the same way, but as a cattleman, he’d made it clear that he didn’t have money to waste. She wanted to ask him, but Cory decided break time was over and Ruby was missing him so they all returned to his riding lesson.
After the Wills family had left and Bret had returned Chaser, Billie wanted to talk to Cam, but he got in his truck and drove away. She assumed he’d gone to see the man he and Dave had been talking about. She went back to her little house thinking about the kind of man who would take on other people’s problems and try to solve them even if it cost him money. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever known before.
* * *
“Mr. Weiner, I’m sure little Snook-Ums is here somewhere. We’ll find him. Please calm down.”
Billie repeated this assurance for the fourth time, but Vincent Weiner wasn’t listening. Instead, he was frantically counting and recounting his miniature dachshunds, lining them up only to have two or three of them leap up and trot away as soon as he got them organized. There were six of them present, the seventh one having been smart enough to escape the instant his master had his back turned. It didn’t help that Mr. Weiner had dressed them in tiny lederhosen and little Tyrolean hats which were exact replicas of the outfit he wore. Billie thought that if she’d been dressed like that, she would have run for the hills, too. The seven unfortunates had all been given the most precious of names. In fact, one of them was named Precious.
The entire time, Mr. Weiner was moaning, “My poor little Snook-Ums, where are you? I think I should call the sheriff. He’ll send out his deputies to scour the whole town to find my sweet baby.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It’s true.” Mr. Weiner wiped tears of worry from his eyes. “They’ve done it before.”
Billie bit back the snippy answer she had for that statement, and asked calmly, “Why don’t you go look down the hallway? Maybe he slipped out when Mrs. Franklin opened the door to show me her wild-west cowgirl outfit,” Billie suggested.
Zoe Franklin was campaigning hard to get her husband and the city council to add one more calendar to the alr
eady overblown roster, one that featured her in a different costume for each month. Besides the cowgirl outfit she had already shown up in a 1920’s flapper dress and a Pilgrim outfit. When Billie had tried to explain that she hadn’t been contracted for an additional calendar, Mrs. Franklin had simply waved that idea away, assuring Billie that it would be all right. Billie wasn’t so sure and was beginning to feel like the lady was stalking her.
Now the distraught dog owner looked up at her as if he were a drowning man and she’d thrown him a life preserver. “Slipped out? Do you think that’s what happened?”
She manufactured a smile. “Absolutely. Why don’t you go look? I’ll keep an eye on the rest of the crew.” And bang my head against the wall for several minutes, she added silently.
With assurances to the other dogs that ‘Daddy would be right back’, he scurried out the door, shutting it carefully behind him.
As soon as he was gone, the dogs were quickly out of formation, exploring the room, and Billie sank down onto the tall stool that she’d conveniently found in this small room in city hall that the council had provided as a studio. She had been in Lucky Break for a week, and so far, she’d been able to complete the firefighter photos and a few of the photographs for one of the calendars – the one featuring people and their pets. The first ones she’d done had been a breeze. Mrs. Gregory with her colorful parakeets perched all over her gray head had made a lovely color contrast. She had easily shot photos of Georgie Benton and his hissing cockroach, thankfully kept inside its tiny cage. That one still made Billie shudder. There had been a few more successes, but this one had taken half a day and she’d managed only one good shot before Snook-Ums had disappeared. Photographing animals in the wild was simple and straightforward compared to snapping the pampered pets of overprotective owners.
This wasn’t going at all well and she was terrified that she’d bitten off more than she could chew given the timeframe and her upcoming trip across the world. She had started this with full confidence that she’d be able to do it. Her Aunt Portia was depending on her and Billie couldn’t let her down. She just couldn’t. Abbott Photography needed the money, and the success of these calendars – strange as their subjects might be – would add to the company’s reputation.
“Please, Lord, don’t let me ruin this,” Billie whispered. She glanced down just in time to see Baby, or was it Sugar Pie, lifting his leg by her foot. She jerked her feet up and twirled around, tumbling off the stool and nearly landing on one of the other dogs, who skipped away with a yip of pain, though she hadn’t even touched him. At that instant, Mr. Weiner came in with Snook-Ums.
“What did you do?” the man asked. “Did you hurt one of my darling babies?”
“Of course not!” Billie stood up and glared at him, deciding she had been way too nice and indulgent with this goofy man and his pets. “Please get your dogs into position and let’s finish this shoot,” she said forcefully.
Something in her tone finally got his attention, and that of his dogs, and he marshaled them into place long enough for her to take several shots, only one of which she thought would be any good. He finally left, seven leashed dogs pulling their owner – who preferred to be called their ‘parent-guardian’ – as he skidded along on the heels of his little half-boots. Billie carefully put away her equipment and locked the room. As she headed for her car, she decided that she needed some serious therapy. Given her limited funds, retail therapy was out of the question, so she’d have to settle for the next best thing, a big dose of chocolate.
An hour later, after a quick stop at the grocery store, she was in her tiny kitchen, examining the oven controls on the ancient stove. She was grateful that it was electric because that would be much simpler than an equally elderly gas stove which would probably have a pilot light to deal with and maybe tubing that had been chewed by pack rats. On the other hand, rats knew how to chew ancient electrical wire, too. However, she thought she could probably handle this, as long as she didn’t electrocute herself.
Music, she thought, and went to the bedroom for the clock radio that always traveled with her. Tuning it to a station broadcasting from Tucson, she cranked up the volume and got ready for some serious baking.
She began measuring the ingredients for her ultra-rich brownies. As she melted the chocolate and mixed the ingredients together, she realized she felt no more cheerful than she had when she’d left town. Slipping the brownies into the oven, she sat down at the rickety kitchen table, propped her elbows on it, placed her chin in one of her palms, and dipped her finger into the brownie batter that was left in the bowl.
“Chocolate,” she murmured. “The cure for everything.”
That’s how Cam found her a while later. Hearing the music, so loud it was almost lifting the little house off its foundation with each bang of the drum and thump of the bass guitar, he came to see what was going on. He knocked on the door, but the booming music prevented her from hearing him, so he opened the door and walked in.
“Billie,” he called, but she didn’t move from her despondent pose.
“Billie,” he repeated, stepping forward to tap her on the shoulder.
With a shriek, she exploded out of the chair, stumbling away from him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” she shouted. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking!” he yelled back, then located the radio, and turned the music down to a whisper. The relief was so great, he sagged against the doorjamb. “I came to tell you dinner is ready.”
“I don’t care for any tonight, thank you,” she said with suspiciously formal dignity. “I have nourishment.” She pointed to the well-licked bowl.
He stared at her. “That’s not nourishment.”
“Of course it is. It’s comfort food.”
“Why do you need comforting?” he asked as he crossed to the sink, dampened a paper towel and came back to her. When he reached to cup her chin, she tried to jerk away.
“Oh, stop it,” he said. “I’m just trying to clean the comfort off your face.”
He dabbed at her cheeks and ran the damp towel across her lips. She shivered and her gaze shot up to meet his. His motions slowed, then stopped. Slowly, he crumpled the paper towel into a ball and tossed it onto the table.
“What are you baking?” he asked, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Ultra-rich brownies. My own recipe. I developed it after I had to leave the culinary institute and get a job.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell me. You’ve also worked as a pastry chef,” he stated in an I-should-have-known tone of voice.
“Only for a few months,” she responded sadly. “I loved it. It was my favorite job until I discovered photography.”
“Your favorite? Why did you quit?”
“I gained thirty pounds. It took me a year to lose it. When it comes to chocolate, I have no self-control.”
He looked down at the pristine inside of the bowl. “I can see that.”
She sighed and her shoulders drooped forlornly.
“Now, answer me,” he said gruffly. “What’s the matter with you?”
Billie looked into his eyes and considered keeping it to herself, but he was standing with his hands resting on his hips, his head tilted to one side, his gray eyes patient. He looked as if he was fully prepared to wait for her answer no matter how long it took.
“I’m behind,” she finally blurted, and hiccupped again. She wished she could tell him the whole truth. She didn’t feel up to the task. She was in over her head and she knew it.
“Behind what?”
“Behind in my work,” she wailed. “I’ve got great shots of everything that’s happened here on the Muleshoe, and . . . and don’t think I don’t appreciate it. I’ve loved being involved with everything that you’ve let me see and do, and . . . .” she hiccupped again. “I want to be a part of everything that happens here, but for the calendars, I don’t have as many photographs as I need. I should be finished with the people a
nd their hobbies calendar, but I’ve only got about three good shots.” She threw her hands in the air. “And today it was Vincent Weiner . . . . “
“And those bone-headed dachshunds of his. They would be good dogs if he would act like the pack leader instead of like a wuss.”
That startled a laugh out of Billie. “One dog, Snook-Ums, kept escaping and Mr. Weiner got so hysterical I couldn’t calm him down. I was afraid he was going to have a stroke. And that took almost all day.”
“So, does that mean you’re going to quit? Leave the city council holding the bag for this unfinished project?”
“Of course not. I’d never even consider that. I’ll finish it. I’ve got a contract and my aunt is depending on me, but I’ve got a deadline looming. All the arrangements are made for my trip, and . . . .”
“So what do you need?” he asked.
Billie assumed he was remembering his promise to his mother that he would help her. She took a deep breath. “I need help, an assistant, but I could only pay a little.”
“Put an advertisement on the Lucky Break website. They’re free to legitimate businesses. I’m sure there’s some high school kid who would love the experience even if it didn’t pay much.”
“I could do that,” she said, hope blooming in her eyes. “It might take days, though to advertise, interview people, hire someone.”
“It’ll take even longer if you don’t start now. Come on, you can bring your laptop up to the house and check out the website.”
Twenty minutes later, she arrived for dinner carrying a pan of hot brownies that had everyone’s mouths watering. It was Cam’s night to cook. He had grilled steaks and vegetables which everyone greeted with sighs of delight. Even Brian who had been moping around for days brightened at sight of the stack of sizzling steaks.
Over dinner, she asked Cam about the cattle he’d gone to see about on Sunday.
“They’re in bad shape,” he said. “Poor old George didn’t realize he was having a stroke and never thought he’d be laid up so long. Never occurred to him to tell someone to go move his cattle.”
Here To Stay (Welcome to Lucky Break, Arizona!) Page 8
