Lone Tree

by O'Keefe, Bobbie

  “It was black and lacy, I heard, very pretty and downright sexy. Is that right?”

  Lainie got napkins and utensils and placed them around the plates.

  “And skimpy, real skimpy. Didn’t cover up a whole lot, I heard.”

  Lainie leaned back against the sink, folded her arms and attempted to stare Jackie down. Jackie leaned against the refrigerator, folded her arms and won the staring contest hands down.

  “So far as I can tell, the reason these menfolk have been asking, is that they want to know where you bought it so they can get the same thing for their significant others. You made quite a hit, girl.”

  “Jackie, that cow—steer, whatever it was, it—”

  “I know what it did. But what’s going down in everybody’s memory is what you did.”

  Lainie leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling.

  “Heavens to Betsy,” Jackie went on without mercy. “Wish I’d been there. A show like that and I had to miss it.”

  “Is that pot of beans almost ready?”

  “What else were you wearin’? Haven’t heard much about the rest of your attire. Seems everybody’s attention was riveted on that black, lacy, see-through thing you had on up top.”

  “I’m going to mix the salad. You’d better check that cornbread. I don’t want to eat it burnt on the bottom.”

  “Reckon it’s a good thing that steer didn’t get anything on your jeans, too.”

  “Oh, Jackie. Enough. Please?”

  Jackie’s tickled-pink expression didn’t abate, but she grabbed potholders and opened the oven door. “Sit down then, and let’s eat.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Lainie fed Glory a slice of apple and glanced at the two empty stalls at the end of the stable. Coco and Misty Morning had moved on with Andy and Mack to a ranch outside of San Antonio. Mack was head cowboy for a group of wranglers, some of whom were available only on weekends, while others could take longer assignments. Andy was older than he appeared, she’d learned; he held a bachelor’s degree in finance and was working the summer to help pay off college loans. Miles paid top wages to contract labor cowboys, one hundred seventy-five per day. They supplied their own dogs, horses and tack.

  Thinking about the hefty noon meal served to all the ranch hands, she got another thought and looked over at Nelly. “I seldom see you in the dining room.”

  “Got me a hitch in my git along,” he said as he hung a grooming brush on its peg.

  Her eyes narrowed as she translated that. “Arthritis?”

  “Yep.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Move around okay most days, but it don’t like me to walk much.”

  She learned from Rosalie that he also suffered with ill-fitting false teeth, but instead of putting himself into a dentist’s hands he’d put himself on a soft-food diet. The cook prepared special meals for him, and Lainie fell into the habit of taking her lunch and his out to him.

  “Um,” he said as she approached with a tray one warm day at noon. “That sure do smell good, little missy.”

  A circular bench had been built around an aged elm. Nelly sat there, waiting for his dinner. She took the cover off a soup bowl containing mashed potatoes smothered in chicken gravy. Nelly’s eyes grew big and he started right in. Lainie was happy with a drumstick and a hot biscuit with a slab of butter melting in the middle.

  She’d not asked, but assumed Lone Tree Ranch had been named after the elm they sat under. A few mulberry trees were scattered here and there, but nothing quite as beautiful or imposing as the solitary elm.

  Nelly finished his potatoes and started on the applesauce. Rosalie made it especially for him, and every day he ate a big bowl of the mushy fruit, smacking his lips like a happy child.

  “Glory be askin’ about you,” he said, and Lainie smiled.

  “I’m gonna say hi, maybe walk her around a bit.”

  “You not be out in a while.”

  “Everyone’s been busy.” She rubbed her greasy fingers on a napkin. “But I’ve got a date with Reed for the oasis tomorrow.”

  She’d given herself a good talking to, and had decided she wasn’t going to run scared of that cowboy. If she couldn’t control her libido—and resist his—she needed to turn tail and skedaddle home.

  “Too bad you not out on your own yet.” Nelly’s spoon dinged the side of the bowl. “Come and go as you please.”

  “Yeah. I’m looking forward to that, but Reed—”

  “Has to be sure.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lainie gave him a half-smile. “Is he right?”

  Nelly grinned. “He’s right, but you’re almost ready.”

  Nelly could’ve been a well of information regarding Lone Tree history, especially Miles and Elizabeth, but Lainie kept their conversations casual. She suspected Nelly had guessed she was more than just a misplaced Californian. That had been her gut impression when she’d first met him and that feeling remained, though nothing had happened to strengthen it.

  She was on guard with him, yet curiously she was also relaxed. Lainie liked and very much enjoyed this wizened old man who never had a complaint about anyone or anything. The most she’d dared was to ask at one point, keeping her voice light, “How come you call me little missy? For goodness sake, I’m bigger than you are.”

  But he’d chosen to answer literally. “No, little missy. We might be close to the same size, but you’re not bigger.”

  Once they finished their meal, he ambled back to the stable, and Lainie headed for the house with the depleted food tray. She met Miles on the porch.

  “You’re your own boss today,” Miles said, then paused and gave her an amused look. “But then again, I’ve got a feeling you’re always your own boss. I’ll be back for supper.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

  The kitchen was empty. While Lainie arranged her and Nelly’s dishes in the dishwasher, Rosalie walked in.

  “There you are.” The housekeeper held car keys up. “Shopping day. Angie’s youngest has the sniffles and she’s gone on home. You’re on your own, Lainie. Bye.”

  Lainie looked at the doorway and the empty kitchen, then entered the silent hall. The house was huge and she felt strange in it by herself. At the office door, she paused and looked down the corridor toward the personal wing.

  Not thinking about it twice, she passed up the study. She’d never get a better opportunity to explore her mother’s room. Her footsteps sounded loud, following her, telling on her. When she pushed the bedroom door open and entered, her feet sank into a pale lavender carpet. The muted colors created a soft, restful aura. Elizabeth had possessed a knack for color, and it was obvious in this room.

  A vase on the nightstand held lilacs. They looked so real she crossed to them and gently touched one, needing to ascertain that it was artificial. She was grateful it was. Fresh flowers would be too eerie in this room that seemed to be waiting for its occupant, who’d fled from it twenty-five years ago and now was no longer alive.

  Lainie’s sense of awe grew as she looked around the room. Timidly she pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and discovered a historical romance paperback that made her eyes moisten. Her mom had always loved those.

  Beneath the book was a Texas Youth magazine and a Young Bride. She sat on the bed and stared at the second periodical. She and Elizabeth had thumbed through countless magazines like this when she’d been engaged to Jason. But her mother had pored over this one, dreaming her own dreams, before Lainie existed.

  Pushing the drawer closed, she mused about Miles saving the room exactly as Elizabeth had left it. Her departure must have hit him hard. But he might also have been suffering from guilt.

  Why, Mama? she thought. Why, Miles? What happened?

  Her gaze rose to the dresser and the two picture frames. She stood, remembered to straighten the bedspread, and was struck by the thought her mother had slept in this bed for almost half her life. She felt close to Elizabeth in this room, yet was aware of distance. This was a part of her mother she’d not known or s
hared.

  She shook off the sadness and crossed to the dresser. One picture was black and white—Miles, Alice Ann and baby. Lainie’s eyes grew moist. This had meant enough to her mother that it was on her dresser, yet she hadn’t packed it. What had she taken with her?

  The second photograph, in color, was of a grown Elizabeth in a blue, full-length formal gown. Lainie picked it up and smiled. Prom night? Grad night? Then she sobered. Who was your date, Mom? Garth?

  She replaced the picture and pulled open drawers. Beneath protective tissue lay underwear, nightgowns, sweaters, stationery. In the act of closing the last drawer, Lainie pulled it open again. Her eye had caught a bulky envelope.

  Yes, snapshots; several of them. She sat in the white satin slipper chair and went through the pictures. She recognized her mother’s handwriting on the backs of some. At one, she caught her breath: Elizabeth and Jackie Lyn, both sitting bareback astride a majestic palomino.

  But—

  Then she laughed at herself and how slow she was. She’d not met Jackie’s mother, but she now knew what she looked like.

  The next one was of the same women and two young men, all four in formal attire. Lainie glanced at the larger photo atop the dresser. Yes, her mother was wearing the same dress. The man next to her in the snapshot was husky and dark-haired and of medium height. She turned it over, a slight tremble in her hand. But it read: Raymond and Margene, Elizabeth and Harlan.

  Lainie was almost at the end of the pictures when she grew still. It was Elizabeth with a different man, and something about her mother’s expression told Lainie what the man’s name was. She turned the picture over. Nothing.

  The next one was of the same man, by himself. He was smiling at the camera and his hands were extended, caught in a come-here gesture. Both the smile and gesture appeared smooth, practiced, posed. But it was an effective pose. His name was written in the lower right corner of the photograph. It wasn’t her mother’s handwriting.

  To my favorite girl, and under that, Garth.

  Lainie stared at the picture. Her mind was a blank. She felt no recognition, no kinship, but this man was her father.

  In the next picture, the last in the group, the couple stood side by side, each with an arm around the other. He wasn’t a tall man; his head was barely higher than hers. The black and white photographs didn’t reveal the color of his eyes, but they appeared to be light, and his hair was darker than Elizabeth’s. Lainie raised her gaze to stare into space.

  Walter was her father. She might be a product of this man’s seed, but Walter had loved her, nourished her, raised her.

  She looked again at the snapshots of Garth Mallory and Elizabeth Ann Auburn. But that man had captured her mother’s heart first. The three photographs were mute testimony to the fact.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lainie felt proud of herself as she followed Irish and Reed out of the stable; she’d saddled Glory without help. Reed had checked her finished work without comment then allowed her to mount. Nelly had watched her working with exacting eyes, beaming all the while.

  Her gaze fell upon a bedroll packed atop Irish, along with the saddlebags containing lunch. The blanket would allow them a more conventional picnic today, she thought as she guided Glory alongside the other horse. Then one of her mother’s pet phrases occurred to her: You couldn’t catch on to a bread wagon if you were starving to death.

  Duh.

  “What’s the blanket for, Reed?”

  He glanced sideways at her, a very long glance, but he said nothing.

  Lainie looked straight ahead. “So that’s what it’s for.” She shook her head. “Uh-uh, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “That was too easy.”

  He shrugged, added a chuckle. “You and I both know it’s going to happen eventually. I just have to outwait you.”

  “Yeah? You sound so sure of yourself. Just what makes you think anything is going to happen between us?”

  He took his time, turning slowly and allowing his smile to build and stretch. She withstood his gaze for a long moment, but couldn’t maintain the straight and forthright expression she wanted to convey. She looked away, disconcerted with the situation, annoyed with herself, and disturbed by him.

  “Are you sure you want to argue along these lines?” he asked, voice bland.

  Boy howdy. That man was way too big for his boots.

  “No.” Her tone should’ve put an end to the discussion. To add emphasis, she urged Glory into a faster gait and moved ahead. Reed took his time catching up to her, and once he did, he gave her a sideways glance that clearly said, running away? Refusing to give him any kind of satisfaction, she slowed the horse.

  “Appears we’re both aware of the situation we’ve got here,” Reed went on, as if there’d been no break in conversation. “And what the inevitable outcome is going to be.”

  No response.

  “Then only one, or I should say two, issues remain to be decided.”

  In the long silence that followed, Lainie cursed herself for being a fool, but she couldn’t leave that statement alone. And of course he’d known that. “What...issues?” she asked, clipping off each word.

  “When and where.”

  She pulled Glory to an abrupt stop. It was way past time to explain to this cowboy exactly where the lines were.

  But Reed beat her to the punch. “Look yonder. That’s the oasis, just a mile or two more.” He glanced at her. “Are you a gambler?”

  Lainie gave a very unladylike snort. “Dealing with you, everything’s a gamble.”

  “You’re getting good on Glory. I’ll race you to the edge of the oasis, and the winner chooses the time and place.”

  Sun sneaked in under her hat brim as she looked at him, so she tilted the hat. “You really think I might not notice how stacked those odds are?”

  “I’ve got the experience, but you’ve got the faster horse and you’re lighter. That evens us out.” His mouth curved, and his eyes held smug speculation he wasn’t even trying to disguise. He thought he’d hooked her with the bet, and he also figured he’d win the race.

  He was right on the first point. But on the second point, even if he won, would that mean she’d lose? Putting aside reservations, giving in to nature and Reed and herself, appealed to her more in that instant than anything had in a long time. If he won, she’d win as well, and her heart and body tingled with the thought. On the other hand, if she won she’d prove her prowess as a horsewoman, and in doing so would give this guy the comeuppance he so sorely needed. And she just might win.

  Digging her heels into Glory, she barely caught Reed’s startled exclamation and then fast left it behind her. She lowered her head close to the mare’s, whispering encouragement. Wind whipped Lainie’s face, making her eyes sting. Terrain roared by in a blur. Doubt formed of her ability to control the power of the animal, then her fear flew in the face of the wind and exhilaration and pure joy.

  Not trusting her horsemanship enough to change position, she didn’t dare look back to see how close the race was. It took everything she had to hang on. Her boots pushed at the stirrups, her knees gripped the horse’s withers, tension built in her shoulders.

  She felt as much as heard the thud of the gelding’s hooves as Irish loomed on her left. But still behind. Lainie slapped the reins on Glory’s neck, hunched her body even more until she almost lay upon the horse. Then Glory was inside the oasis. Another couple of yards and Irish would’ve had the lead, but Glory had clearly won.

  Lainie pulled on the reins. “Whoa, girl. Whoa now.” She felt as breathless as if she’d been the one running. She pulled in air, whooshed it out, patted the mare’s neck. “Good girl, Glory. Good run.”

  She shot a smile of triumph at Reed. His face glowed with the effect of wind, sun, and his own exertion, and she also saw in his expression pride in her accomplishment.

  “Didn’t think you could do it,” he admitted. “Even when you stole
that head start, I didn’t think so. You’re good, Lainie, and getting better every day.”

  He dismounted and tethered Irish, rubbing the gelding’s neck and praising his effort. He untied the blanket, tossed it near the water’s edge, and reached for the saddlebags. He looked curiously at Lainie, who was still mounted. “What’s the matter? Do you need help?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said, but remained in the saddle. At the back of her mind, Lainie wished Irish had been just a little faster and allowed Reed to win. She added, no inflection in her voice, “I won.”

  “That you did,” he said, then gave her a quick look when he caught on. He made an exaggerated turn, looking slowly around. “What better place? What better time?”

  She looked, with longing, at the beautiful setting and the sexy cowboy. They had the whole day and she was sorely tempted. But she said, “Uh-uh.”

  A romantic entanglement with Miles’s foreman wasn’t in her best interests, or Reed’s. Her time here was temporary and if they got in too deep, they’d both be hurt. It was best to continue putting this off, and maybe they’d both eventually tire of the whole thing.

  Inwardly she snorted at that thought. Who was she trying to kid? But she still wasn’t going to get down off this horse.

  “Okay,” Reed said agreeably. Again he shrugged easily, too easily, as he pulled the saddlebags free. “Come help me set this up, and we can eat and then talk about it.”

  She laughed. “Now you want to talk?”

  “That’s what I said.” He dropped the saddlebags next to the blanket. “Are you going to get down off that horse?”

  “No.”

  He gave her a long, almost weary look. “So you need help after all,” he said under his breath, and took a step toward her.

  Glory pranced backward, and Reed stopped. “Is that horse skittish, or is it you?”

  “Glory’s fine.”

  He took another step, and Glory backed up some more. Reed paused. “Wish you’d stop doin’ that. You could give a man a complex, backin’ away from him like that.”

  He remained still, but Glory backed up some more. Lainie had noticed Reed’s drawl had grown more pronounced, and that he looked and sounded especially lazy. She didn’t trust him an inch.