by Sylvia Nobel
“I’d better get to this interview while I can still write,” I said, waving away his offer of more champagne.
He laughed. “I hope you’re enjoying this evening as much as I am.” His glance lingered on my face and dropped down to the scooped neckline of my dress.
“It’s been lovely.”
His eyes had a rather hypnotic glow in the candlelight. “It’s not over yet.”
As flattering as his attentions were, I felt a bit self-conscious. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble to impress me. To busy myself, I dug my notepad and pen from my purse. “Let’s talk about the Desert Harbor Shelter. What caused you to take such a personal interest in it?”
“My mother called one day to tell me about one of the girls she had befriended. She was fifteen, homeless, scared and pregnant. Up to that point, I’d been involved in mostly civil and personal injury cases, and I’d never handled an adoption before. When the word got out, I was astounded at the number of desperate couples who came forward vying for that one unborn child.”
“What’s the average cost for an adoption?”
He shrugged. “It depends on the situation. The adoptive couple usually agrees to pay the expenses of the birth mother up to the time of delivery and, in most cases, several months after that.”
“What are the expenses?”
“The usual. Maternity clothes, room and board, all medical bills including the attending physician, hospital charges and, of course, my fee.”
“And what does your fee involve?”
“Many things. Paperwork, interviews, court appearances if necessary, travel time and so forth and so on. As I said, it depends on how difficult the case is.”
Doug arrived again and after giving me a friendly wink, took away the plates and left a pot of espresso coffee beside a dish of delicate pastries. It was completely dark now and the sky shimmered with pinpoints of light. I thought about the tennis ranch, Eric’s luxurious car, the sumptuous dinner we’d just eaten, and recalled the words of the talkative attorney I’d spoken with last Saturday. Mike Scott’s observation that he was doing well appeared to be quite accurate.
While Eric poured coffee, I reviewed my notes in the wavering shadows cast by the candle’s flame. “I guess I’ve kind of taken a personal interest in the adoption process because of Ginger’s sister. I understand she’ll be getting her baby very soon. The whole family’s ecstatic about it.”
A benevolent expression lit his face. “I’m glad of that. Unfortunately, I haven’t the time to handle too many of these cases, but, when I do it’s very gratifying to tackle two difficult situations and take it to a satisfactory conclusion for everyone. If you need more information, I can give you the names of several other attorneys in Phoenix who do this on a regular basis.”
His ardent expression led me to believe that underneath his suave, polished manner, he appeared to have a genuine emotional commitment to his clients.
“What do you say we talk about something else now?” he asked.
“Just a few more questions. What can you tell me about Claudia Phillips?”
“Who?”
“Claudia Phillips. Oh, come now. The woman who runs the shelter.”
“Oh, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know much about her at all. I don’t actually have any direct involvement, you know. I see her at the fund-raiser once a year and from what I’ve heard from Mother she’s very efficient. Other than that, we’ve barely spoken.”
“I see.”
“Why?”
“When I asked her for a tour of the shelter and to very discreetly interview a few of the girls for my story, she was…shall we say, less than cooperative. I guess I was hoping you could use your powers of persuasion to perhaps get her to change her mind.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you. I’m afraid I have to get up very early tomorrow, so…”
“Of course.” He rose and came around to pull out my chair. The familiar strains of a waltz filtered in the open doorway as we crossed the patio. Without warning, he drew me into his arms. “Surely, you can give me one dance before I take you home,” he murmured into my ear.
I didn’t protest as he whirled me around the floor. When the music ended he didn’t let go. Even though I’d sensed this might happen, the shock of his warm lips on mine jolted me right down to my shoes. The pressure of his muscular body conveyed the message clearly that if I wanted it, there was much more to follow.
17
As expected, Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. I��d arrived downtown by six and was amazed to note the number of people already lining the sidewalks, staking out coveted front row spots, preferably in the shade.
“Hey, there!” I swung around to see Ginger across the street waving madly in my direction. I waved back and she made a beeline for me. Oh no. There was little doubt she was going to quiz me about my date with Eric. If I told her, the whole town would know by nightfall.
“Okay, out with it,” she demanded, panting. “What happened?”
“Oh, Ginger, I can’t talk now, I’m working.” She looked so stricken I had to laugh. Patting her shoulder I said, “Don’t have a stroke. I know it’s going to be torture for you, but right now I have to interview the grand marshal of the parade.” She started to protest, so I raised my hand. “I swear I’ll tell you later, okay?” Just how much, I didn’t know yet.
She made me promise to call her as soon as I got home, even if it was midnight. Amused by her antics, I watched her run back across the street and Nona waved to me from her wheelchair. Brian, holding a colorful umbrella to shade his grandmother, grinned and waved too.
Turning to go, I gasped in surprise as I ran full speed into Roy Hollingsworth. “Whoa there, little lady. You better slow down or I’ll have to give you a speeding ticket.” He gave me a wide grin, and touched the brim of his western hat. “You have a great day, Miss O’Dell.”
I’d been all ready to suspect that he’d played some part in the darkroom attack, but now, as he waded into the gathering crowd, I wondered again if Tugg and I might be wrong about him.
The parade was a hoot, beginning with the kids marching with their pets and continuing from there to the floats, rodeo riders and school bands. It was small townish and some of it terribly hokey, but everyone applauded enthusiastically as if it rivaled the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York. I took some great pictures for the following Wednesday’s edition and talked Jim into covering my assignment at the rodeo grounds so I would be free to visit the Starfire Ranch that afternoon.
On a whim, I stopped by Mac’s Western Store and bought a bright checkered shirt and a pair of crisp, new Levis. I was about to visit a real honest-to-god cattle ranch so I might as well look the part.
Back home, I dressed with care and then studied my appearance in the full length mirror. Not too bad, I decided, rolling the shirt sleeves to my elbows. My tennis shoes didn’t really go, but the traditional Stetson hat and leather boots would have to wait until I got a raise or won the lottery.
Before leaving, I double-checked for messages. Damn. The mystery lady still hadn’t called. Maybe I’d get lucky tonight.
I followed Bradley’s directions, and as the car bumped down the narrow, dusty road through the sun-drenched landscape of cactus and rock, my thoughts returned to Eric. He certainly had gone out of his way to create an interesting evening.
It had been on the tip of my tongue to confront him and voice my misgivings about Stephanie, but I’d said nothing. What if my suspicions were wrong? I’d have spoiled the magical mood of the most perfect dream date any woman could imagine. And anyway, hadn’t Bradley acknowledged that even though he’d suspected it, he’d never verified that the so-called affair between Eric and his late wife had ever existed?
After driving me home and extracting my promise to see him again soon, Eric had planted another one of those expert ‘guaranteed to leave you talking to yourself’ kisses on me. He left no doubt of his intention
to pursue me.
Later, in bed, I had a lot of trouble trying to settle myself down and analyze my feelings. I’d never dated two men at the same time before, and it led to a night of feverish tossing and turning.
A family of quail scooting across the road in front of my car jolted me back to the present. I braked and smiled to myself. The road Quail Crossing was aptly named. It seemed as if I’d been driving forever when I finally spotted a stone arch ahead. It read Starfire Ranch. Criminy! Talk about the middle of nowhere.
After parking in front of a rambling two-story ranch house surrounded by towering tamarisk trees, I took a minute to survey this new place. Off to the right were rows of stables, smaller buildings, and what looked like literally miles of gleaming-white pipe fencing. To the left, beyond several large vegetable gardens, stood three neat cottages. Beside them, groups of small children played while women hung out laundry.
The sound of a screen door banging made me turn back toward the house. Bradley’s sister Ronda, flanked by two barking dogs, stood on the wooden porch, her fists planted firmly on blue-jeaned hips. She shouted for the dogs to shut up. “I guess you’d be here to see Tally.”
“Yes.”
A tall, gaunt woman with salt and pepper hair appeared at the screen and without fanfare Ronda said, “Ma, this is Tally’s friend…Kendall is it?”
“Yes. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Talverson.”
Wide-eyed, she muttered something and threw a questioning look at her daughter who returned it with one of those “what’d I tell you?” looks.
It didn’t take a scholar to see I was being compared once again to the legendary Stephanie Talverson and I was beginning to resent it.
Ronda shooed the dogs into the house and then motioned with her head for me to follow her. Her scuffed boots crunched in the gravel driveway as we made our way toward the stables. She made a point of staying a few paces ahead of me so conversation was difficult. As we entered the largest building, I wrinkled my nose at the strong smell of hay and manure. She called out, “Tally, you got a visitor.”
In the room to my left I heard the murmur of voices and then seconds later Bradley walked out carrying a saddle. “Hi.” He looked pleased to see me.
The smile on my lips froze when Lucinda appeared close behind him. I could see the disdain in her eyes as she scrutinized me. Suddenly, I felt self-conscious in my new clothes, positive I must look the epitome of the Eastern dude.
As if echoing my thoughts Lucinda said, “Now, Tally, you be real careful with her so’s you don’t muss up those fine clothes.”
He slid her a sidelong glance. “Behave yourself, Lucy.” Giggling, she hooked her arm through Ronda’s and they left the stable together.
I tried to hide my annoyance and turned back to meet Bradley’s amused face. “I’m glad you came,” he said softly.
My pulse surged. “Thanks for inviting me, Bradley. I hope I didn’t take you away from anything…important.”
“Before you jump to conclusions, Lucy and I have known each other since grade school. She and Ronda are best friends and she boards her mare here, okay?”
I remembered Ginger saying that Lucinda had developed a sudden and passionate interest in appaloosa horses after Stephanie had died and used it as an excuse to be at the ranch whenever possible. I wondered how often she came.
“And speaking of friends,” he said moving closer, “all my other friends call me Tally. Why don’t you?”
“You haven’t asked me.”
“Actually, I believe I did ask you the night of the fund-raiser, but as I recall, you were slightly ticked-off over something.”
Over something? I could tell by his expression that we were both remembering his outrageous behavior towards Eric. Best not to revisit that now. “I’d be honored to call you Tally,” I said, keeping my tone light. “And now I’m ready to repay the debts I owe you. What exactly is it you expect of me?”
His smile was downright wicked, and I would have had to be blind to miss the intimate message in his eyes. He took another step closer, his gaze now serious with intent. Was he going to kiss me?
“Hold still,” he said, reaching toward me. It must have been the rush of adrenaline that made my ears buzz. A delicious shiver of desire raced through me when his hand touched my shoulder, then moved to my hair. I closed my eyes and waited…and waited…and waited. As the buzzing sound increased I blinked my lids open in confusion just in time to see him pulling something with numerous legs from my hair.
I flinched away screaming, “Jesus Christ! What was that?”
He calmly threw something down and ground it with his boot. “Don’t have a cow. It was a barn wasp. No harm done.”
My romantic fantasy evaporated in a chill of embarrassment and irritation. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I didn’t want you to panic.”
“Bees have been mistaking my hair for a flower since I was a kid. I can handle them. It’s spiders I can’t take.”
“I remember.” He was still standing very close to me and looked like he wanted to say something else, but then he stiffened and abruptly moved away. “Come outside. I’ll show you my horses.”
I followed him, feeling slightly deflated, wondering if I would ever be able to break down the protective barrier he’d erected around himself.
Pride lit Tally’s face as he showed me his line of appaloosa horses. I’d never seen anything quite like them, and felt awed by their unique beauty. Some sported white coats with black spots, some black with white spots, and with some, only the hind quarter region was colored. Tally explained this was called the ‘blanket’ and that the breed was famous for being highly intelligent, sure-footed, even-tempered, and gentle. They were used not only for racing and horse shows, but also as reliable saddle horses.
I stroked the mottled muzzle of one stallion he called Geronimo and marveled, “Each one is so different. Do you breed them with just any horse or does it have to be a like kind?”
“We practice selective breeding. When people bring their mares, they have to show proof that it’s a registered appaloosa or I don’t allow them to be bred with my stallions. It’s the only way to keep what’s left of the line pure.”
“Why do you say what’s left? Are they rare?”
“Very. During the war with the Nez Perce back in 1877, the U.S. Army slaughtered them by the hundreds.”
“That’s terrible.”
He nodded his solemn agreement, and then brightened as he showed me around the ranch. When we returned to the stable, he asked if I was hungry.
“I could eat.”
“Good. Well, we have a ways to go for dinner, so we’d best saddle up.”
“What?”
“Saddle up.” He cocked his head. “You do know how to ride, don’t you?”
I hadn’t ridden a horse for many years, only English style, and not very well at that. “I’ve done some riding.”
“Good.” He eyed my clothes and finally said, “You can’t ride in those tennis shoes. I don’t suppose, Annie Oakley, when you bought your new duds, that you included a pair of boots and a hat?”
“No. You didn’t tell me either was a prerequisite for having dinner. By the way, where are we going? Am I to believe that somewhere out there where the buffalo roam, there’s a five star restaurant?”
He grinned. “You’re here to pay your debt, remember? You’ll find out in due time.” He looked at my feet again. “Wait here.” He ducked into a doorway just inside the barn and returned moments later holding a pair of snakeskin boots. Having just priced them at the western store, I knew they were quite expensive. “Try these on,” he said, dropping them at my feet.
I imagined they must be Ronda’s as I tugged them on. They were a bit snug, but would do. He plunked a wide- brimmed hat on my head and when I looked up he had an odd expression on his face.
“Go ahead and say it. Lucinda was right. I look like I just stepped out of a Sears catalog.”
“O
n the contrary. You look just right to me.” I warned myself not to read more into his remark than I should, but nevertheless, it sent a delicious shiver down my spine.
I watched a ranch hand help him saddle two horses and prayed I wouldn’t make a fool of myself.
“Are we going on a picnic?” I asked brightly to cover my uneasiness as he helped me mount.
“Sort of,” he murmured, cinching my saddle tight and adjusting the stirrups. He looked up at me. “Comfy?”
“I think I’ll be fine as long as it doesn’t move.”
He laughed. “Just relax and hold onto the reins. By the way, it’s a she and her name is Sheba.”
“Aren’t you going to ride Geronimo?” I asked as he swung onto another horse with easy grace.
“No. I’ll ride Summer Rain. We don’t ride the stallions at breeding time. They’re rather unpredictable with the mares in heat.”
Perhaps sensing my nervousness, Tally assured me Sheba was gentle and responsive. He patiently instructed me on the art of western neck reining, and then urged me to drink plenty of water from the canteen attached to the saddle.
I’d expected to feel hot and miserable with the afternoon sun beating down, but the strong westerly wind made it bearable. Was my blood finally thinning?
I couldn’t help but think as we rode off through the open desert toward low cactus-covered foothills, that this was the stuff postcards are made of. I also couldn’t help thinking how different Tally’s world was from Eric’s.
After half an hour or so of light chatter about the hazards of ranch life, the dry weather, and the upcoming annual barbecue, which he invited me to attend, a companionable silence fell between us. Several times I glanced sideways at him sitting tall and straight in the saddle. He seemed as much a part of this land as the sapphire sky and distant purple mountains. A powerful urge to touch him swept over me and I felt a little lightheaded. Perhaps it was the heat.
As if sensing my feelings, he turned his head. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I looked away from him, unable to understand why I couldn’t ask him about his wife. It didn’t bother me to pester other people for information. But this was different. He hadn’t invited me to come to his ranch just to look at the scenery. His body language told me that he was interested in something more than mere friendship. But, how did he expect me to hope for any kind of a relationship with him when the ghost of Stephanie stood firmly between us?
