Luke's Ride

by Helen DePrima

  “Maybe someone died or the engagement was broken off. My grandmother’s aunt died of diphtheria on her honeymoon,” Marge said. “She was just nineteen. We might find out more farther down.”

  They uncovered fancy aprons, good for nothing but serving afternoon tea, pillowcases with the same scrolled monogram, blouses and long skirts, and at the bottom, careful layers with more tissue paper...

  Tears pricked Katie’s eyes. “It’s her wedding dress, for a summer wedding.”

  “It can’t be, it’s not white.”

  “White wedding dresses are a twentieth-century trend,” Katie said. “Mom and I went to a wedding expo...” The pain she had thought safely sleeping awoke and clawed in her heart. She took a deep breath. “A local museum loaned them a collection of gowns from the 1860s through the 1970s. Victorian and early Edwardian wedding dresses could be any color, even stripes or floral. Much prettier than the white ones, I thought.”

  She touched the garment lying at the bottom of the trunk. Silk organza, she thought, with pale pink rosebuds embroidered on cream-colored stripes.

  She lifted the bodice with great care, but nothing more lay beneath the dress, no name or other identifying information.

  “Poor girl,” Marge said. “She probably never got to wear her finery.”

  “Maybe she was lucky,” Katie said in a muffled voice.

  “You’re dead serious about the divorce? Luke’s halfway in love with you—I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m blind. I won’t stand for him to be hurt.”

  Katie tried to smile. “Isn’t that a bit premature?”

  “Not for Luke. I’ve know that boy since he was a wild teenager. He’d sit here in the kitchen and tell what he’d done this time—working up his courage, I guess. Then he’d go home and face the consequences.”

  “I guess he’s really learning about consequences now.” Katie reddened. “That sounded awful. I didn’t mean—”

  “Some people grow up later than others. If that bull hadn’t stomped Luke, he might still be a boy despite his age. And now he’s had to grow up.”

  A hiss from the stove made Katie jump to her feet—her chicken threatening to boil over. She lowered the flame, trying to compose herself.

  “To answer your question,” she said, “yes, I’m dead serious about the divorce. Whatever might happen between me and Luke, I’m not going back.”

  Marge smiled with satisfaction. “Lots worse places than Durango to start a new life. Let’s get all this packed away again and start on another trunk. Maybe we’ll find out who the bride was.”

  Katie moved the first trunk into a spare bedroom furnished with a painted bed, dresser and washstand before retrieving the next one from the attic. This one was larger, with a flat top and leather straps as well as latches.

  “This is a piece of luggage, a steamer trunk,” Marge said. “See the stickers?”

  No name on the outside, but the top and sides were plastered with labels from hotels in New York City, Rome and London. And one from the White Star Line.

  “I guess the owner of this one was lucky,” Katie said. “He or she didn’t sail on the Titanic.”

  Inside they found more women’s clothing but with signs of use—day dresses, petticoats, two elaborate evening gowns, a gorgeous ruby-colored paisley shawl, a dark military-style wool coat.

  “For the crossing,” Katie said.

  “The lady traveled in fancy circles,” Marge said. “You’re right. We need an expert to look at all this. Maybe from Fort Lewis College. Tom would probably know someone—he’s working on his master’s.”

  “While he teaches high school history and works on the ranch?”

  Marge laughed. “Ranch folks knew about multitasking long before everyone else.”

  They broke for a quick lunch of the vegetable-beef soup left from the day before. Marge pushed her chair back when they had finished. “I think we’ve done enough for one day—I can’t take this much excitement.” She fluttered her hand and rolled her eyes. “I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “You are taking it easy,” Katie said. “I’m doing all the work. Who owned this house before you?”

  “The bank,” Marge said. “That is, I bought it from the bank. The owner was an old woman with no heirs. Her will directed that the house be sold as is, with all the contents and the money donated to a couple of local charities. I got it for a song, although as is was pretty bad.” She wrinkled her nose. “The lady had cats. I had to trash all the rugs and upholstered furniture. We’ll work on the rest another day.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “GRAB THE PHONE, will you?” Jake told Tom. “You’re closer.”

  Tom, at the home ranch to borrow the walker Luke had mentioned, picked up the phone, “Cameron’s Pride.”

  Luke looked up from his dish of apple crisp when Tom said, “Hi, Marge.”

  Tom listened and then said, “Dang, that is interesting. I know a couple people at the college who would be all over something like that. I’ll send you their names and phone numbers.”

  He returned to the table and his own dessert. “Marge and Katie found some old trunks in the attic—clothes from maybe 1900 or earlier. Marge wondered if someone from the college would be interested. There might be some great early Durango artifacts in those trunks.”

  “I guess Katie’s getting along all right with Marge, spending time at her house,” Lucy said. “You know how fussy Marge is about her privacy.”

  Luke felt like shaking his sister out of her sulk. She’d be leaving for New York before long, but meanwhile she was acting like the same moody teenager she’d been after their mother’s death.

  “Marge never got over the shame of her husband losing people’s savings in that mining scheme,” Jake said. “I doubt many even remember that now. Not her fault, but she can’t forget.”

  “I guess you’re pretty grateful for Katie showing up, Red,” Luke said, mostly to rile her. “Now you’re free to go.”

  “I guess,” Lucy said.

  Whoa. She didn’t even tell him not to call her Red.

  “Anything I can do for you, Luce? Before you leave?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Nothing anyone can do for me.”

  Jake opened his mouth then jumped. Shelby must have kicked him under the table.

  “If you think of anything, just holler.”

  “Thanks, big bro.” She gave him a watery smile and put her dish with her dessert half-eaten next to the sink before going up to her room.

  “Hard to watch her like this,” Jake said, “but I can’t think what we can do to help.”

  “Nothing you can do,” Luke said. “Take my word.”

  “He’s right,” Tom said. “Love’s like herding cats—it goes where it dang well pleases.” He stood, leaning on the walker. “I’m glad you kept this around—it does help. Of course, my students are going to rag on me like the devil—bull rider to geezer in a few short years.”

  He left with the walker and a covered dish of dessert for Jo and the kids.

  “That was me till I quit the circuit,” Jake said. “I’m glad he had enough sense to hang it up when he did.”

  “Thank Jo,” Shelby said. “She was willing for him to keep riding, but he saw what it cost her.”

  “Yeah,” Luke said. “You never know if the next bull is going to be your last one.”

  * * *

  SHELBY DROPPED LUKE off for his PT appointment the next afternoon and left to pick up an order at the Ranchers Exchange. Doug had taken over Luke’s training with the braces from Anita Alvarez, with every session leaving Luke more confident with their use. He still felt like a robot with the stiff gait, but he was walking, actually walking, pretty much wherever he wanted in the hospital
. They did stairs, although going down still scared him. Curbs in the parking lot posed no obstacle.

  One of these days he was going to walk into the Queen like he’d said he would. But not just yet—he wanted to get a little better at it. He’d make a fine fool of himself if he stepped in the door and fell on his face.

  Meanwhile, he could look forward to Katie’s visit on Sunday. Spring had returned with a rush, as if ashamed of last weekend’s tantrum. All the cow-calf pairs they’d found were doing okay, but Jezebel remained missing.

  Jake had scattered grass seed and straw for mulch over Sadie’s grave in the home pasture, and life went on.

  Late Thursday afternoon, Luke’s cell phone rang, with Tom’s number appearing on the ID.

  “Luke,” Tom said. “You want to ride out with me? I gotta talk to you.”

  Luke frowned. Tom never called him by name—always bro or buddy. Foreboding perched on Luke’s shoulder like a vulture. What did Tom need to say that required the privacy of open country?

  He saddled Dude and rode to meet Tom where the ranch road branched off to his and Jo’s cabin. They fell in side by side, jogging until the buildings were out of sight.

  “Should you be riding?” Luke said. “Monday you could barely walk.”

  “Riding’s fine—it feels good. What did me in was all those hours in the damp and cold. And the walker really has helped. But that’s what caused the trouble.”

  He looked down at his hands. “Man, I really don’t know if I should say anything, but I still feel bad about Cherie. The way you got married, I mean. If I’d been paying more attention instead of chasing after Jo...”

  What the hell was Tom talking about? Cherie was ancient history, no real harm done. Maybe they would have made it if he hadn’t taken a bad hit two weeks after their spur-of-the-moment wedding in Vegas, or maybe not, but none of it was Tom’s fault.

  “I have no clue what you’re getting at,” Luke said. “I’m the big brother, remember? You don’t need to ride herd on me—not then, not now.”

  “I guess you’re right.” From Tom’s expression, he felt lower than a snake’s belly. “But I have to tell you, now that I’ve started.”

  Luke kept silent with an effort.

  “Okay.” Tom heaved a giant sigh. “You heard the call I got from Marge? About the stuff in her attic?”

  Luke made yeah-yeah-I’m-listening motions.

  “So I got some names at the college and thought I’d drop the list off at the Queen after school let out yesterday. I haven’t seen Marge in a while, and I’ve never met Katie.”

  “That’s right, you haven’t. You were laid up when she was first here. So you finally got to meet her?”

  “I guess you could say that. I parked out front and went in using the walker.”

  Now Luke was getting worried and angry. “For God’s sake, man—spit it out! What happened?”

  “She thought I was you, walking. She came flying all the way from the kitchen, practically flattened Roger and almost knocked me over. She was calling me Luke and hugging me and kissing me all over my face.” He grinned. “Say, she’s pretty. You didn’t tell me how good-looking she is.”

  Luke groaned. “So then what happened?”

  “I told her she had the wrong brother and she about fainted, I think. Turned red as the tablecloths and ran back to the kitchen. I tried to follow her and tell her it was okay, but Marge said she’d take care of it.”

  Luke was speechless for the moment and moved by Tom’s tale. Katie cared that much?

  “I wouldn’t have told you except the Queen was still half-full, mostly locals. Word was bound to get back to you.”

  “I guess I better talk to Marge,” he said. “Thanks for the heads-up, bro.”

  Luke didn’t have a chance to call Marge in private until after supper when he checked on the horses. Dude stayed beside him after his evening treat, as if he sensed his master’s agitation.

  “I figured I’d be hearing from you,” Marge said. “Tom told you.”

  “In glowing detail.” He grinned in spite of himself. “Has Katie come out of the kitchen yet?”

  “Not until all the customers left. I told her you and Tom look like twins, but when she saw him with the walker, she just reacted.”

  “Wish it had been me—it would have saved a lot of confusion. She’s supposed to come out to the ranch on Sunday. Should I mention it then?”

  Marge was silent for a moment. “I’d say not. Katie has faced up to a lot lately. Let her bring it up. Or not.”

  “Sounds like you two have gotten pretty close.”

  “She’s a good girl, Luke. Just let her pick her own pace, okay?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MARGE STOOD IN the kitchen door without speaking while Roger busied himself loading the dishwasher. Katie turned from scrubbing the grill and faced Marge, her chin lifted in defiance.

  “Well?”

  Marge shrugged. “Well, what? You’re not the first person to mistake Tom for Luke and vice versa. I’m sure you won’t be the last. Big deal.”

  “Except I made a spectacle of myself in public, climbing all over Tom like some hot-pants teenager. I’m sure he’ll run and tell Luke the first chance he gets.”

  “Again, so what? You were thrilled to see Luke walking, or so you thought. We’d all be thrilled. You just nailed the wrong Cameron. Nothing shameful in that.”

  “I’m supposed to go out to the ranch this weekend. What would I say?”

  “Say nothing. Or tell Luke you were so tickled thinking you saw him on his own two legs you lost your head. Your choice.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Am I talking to the same woman who planned her getaway like the Dalton gang and rubbed her husband’s nose in his mess before she left?” Marge shook her head. “I guess not. Grow up, Katie—stop acting like a silly teenager.”

  Marge’s words, the sharpest she’d ever spoken to Katie, were like a dash of icy water in her face. Since her marriage at nineteen, she’d had few chances to behave like a grown-up woman, always following Brad’s wishes—no, dictates. Her mother’s final illness had forced Katie to function for the first time as an independent adult without looking to Brad for guidance or comfort.

  Okay, she had acted with childish abandon today, but no real harm done.

  “You’re right,” she said. “If anyone wants to laugh, let them.”

  * * *

  SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED crystal clear, with the mountain snows etched sharp as a Japanese print against the impossibly blue sky. Katie had defrosted last week’s pie to cement her resolve, but butterflies the size of Luna moths fluttered in her stomach, growing livelier the closer she came to Cameron’s Pride.

  Shelby, dressed in a maroon skirt and white silk shirt from attending church, answered the door and took the pie to set it on the stove’s warming shelf.

  “I thought you might bring dessert, so I didn’t plan anything,” she said. “Luke said you like Cajun—I made gumbo and corn bread.”

  “I like anything that doesn’t flinch when I squirt lemon juice on it,” Katie said. “Like raw clams or oysters.”

  Shelby laughed. “I don’t enjoy those myself, and my dad was a fisherman on the Gulf. The guys are out at the barn. We got a new horse this week from the same rescue where I found Dude. You should take a look—she’s a pretty thing.”

  “I’m sorry about the horse you lost in the storm. Luke said she was special to you.”

  “Sadie was my first mount when I got here—a big, bossy old girl who didn’t take any nonsense from a young stud like Ghost. She was my buddy when I lived by myself at the cabin. She was eighteen then.” She turned away for a moment. “She had a long life. I’m glad she went down easy.”

  Katie had already decide
d to brazen out her mistake in identity, and Shelby was the safest place to start.

  “I guess you’ve heard about the scene I staged with Tom at the Queen.”

  Shelby frowned. “No, I can’t say I have. Did I miss something?”

  “Just that I mistook Tom for Luke with the walker and hurled myself at him like he was my sailor husband home from a six-month cruise. I almost died of mortification.”

  “That’s right, you’d never seen Tom. They’re easy to tell apart if you know what to look for. Tom has a scar on his cheek from barbed wire, but at a distance...” She laughed. “Common mistake.”

  “Not so common now,” Katie said.

  “No, not now,” Shelby said with a sigh.

  “I’d like to visit your new horse, unless I can help with dinner.”

  “Maybe in an hour—you can do the salad. Go on. This is my quiet time without the men folks.”

  Katie went. If Shelby didn’t know about her error, maybe Tom hadn’t spoken of it. She found Jake, Luke and Lucy gathered in front of a box stall.

  “We need a name for this lady,” Jake said.

  “I’m voting for Cinderella,” Lucy said. “A future princess in rags.”

  Katie looked over the stall door. The horse’s coat was the color of honey, with a snowy mane and tail and a white stripe down her face. Only the pattern of her ribs clearly visible under her skin marred her beauty.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Katie asked. “Is she sick?”

  “No,” Luke said, “but her owner is. He got taken to the hospital with a stroke. He lost his speech and couldn’t tell anyone he had a horse in the barn. She had a self-waterer but no food. She about starved to death before someone came to pick up some things for the old man and heard her calling for help.”

  “She looks pretty decent now,” Jake said. “We saw her intake photo—every bone showing. They generally don’t adopt horses out until they’re in better condition, but they let us take her because they know Shelby can finish her rehab.”

  “Making room for them to take in another horse,” Lucy said.