“You never see them again?”
Abby seemed to read some concern into Angel’s question where there was none. Angel was just curious, that was all. “I still get Christmas cards from some of my old clients. I bump into others from time to time and we catch up a little, but it’s hard to keep track of all the people I’ve worked with over the years. It’s just the nature of the job.”
We’re just a job to her, Angel reminded herself as she picked up the sheet of paper with measurements scribbled on it.
Two nights ago, she and Heather and their dad went to Janey and Ed’s to measure a set of twin beds. The maple headboards looked boyish, but Dad said he would paint them any color she and Heather wanted.
“I want purple,” Heather said.
Angel pretended to gag. “You have absolutely no taste. Nada. Zero. Zip.”
The little twit started to cry as if her heart was broken. “I can too taste,” she said through her sobs.
Their dad kinda laughed, but he told Angel sternly, “She’s only five, Angel-babe. You probably didn’t have the greatest taste in the world either when you were five.”
“Maybe not, but the only person we can ask about that is dead, isn’t she?” Angel had no idea what made her say that.
Her dad looked stunned, but she didn’t hang around for him to say anything. She threw down the measuring tape and ran back to the house. Later, when he carried Heather to bed, Angel pretended to be asleep, even though she wanted to crawl into his arms and cry. She stayed rigid, knowing even one movement would be her undoing.
CHAPTER FIVE
“IT’S A FINE LITTLE MACHINE, Tom,” Maria said, closing the door of his new microwave oven—that morning’s Wal-Mart purchase. She pushed the appropriate buttons and the unit began to hum. A gleaming white mini-iceberg in a sea of rummage-sale castoffs, it was the result of her very gentle nagging. “I’m so glad you bought it. Now the girls can heat up my tamales without so much fuss and bother.”
Tom and Miguel were seated at Tom’s kitchen table, waiting to sample nachos. The table, with its fake gray-marble top and molded aluminum sides and tubular legs was a long-ago hand-me-down from his parents. Janey told Tom she’d seen one just like it wearing a two-hundred-dollar price tag at an antique store.
“Your tamales are the only reason I bought the machine,” Tom said. Maria had promised to keep his freezer stocked if he’d move into the twentieth century.
Tom took a deep satisfying breath. The aroma of chilies, cilantro and tomatillos stewing together with chunks of pork made his mouth water. Chili verde bubbled on the hot plate—the next archaic monster to go, if Maria had her way. When she called Tom that morning, she’d promised him a little “fiesta.” Tom was still waiting to hear the reason for the celebration. Although he’d tried several times throughout the day to pry it out of Miguel, the young Hispanic man was the most close-mouthed person he knew.
“Well,” Tom said, leaning across the table, “when are you going to tell me?”
Miguel, his dark eyes twinkling, said something to his wife in Spanish—too fast for Tom to catch.
Maria left her preparations and joined them. A petite five foot two inches, she carried what looked like far too much baby. Tom pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down with a sigh.
A moment later, after some silent signal from her husband, she said, “Miguel has a job offer in Modesto. In the city parks department, where his brother, Gonzalvo, works. It’s union, Tom. Full benefits and holidays.” She delivered the news solemnly, for she knew, as Tom did, this good news for the Fuentes family was sad news for him.
He reached deep to find the enthusiasm they deserved. “That’s fantastic, amigo. You won’t have to run out in the middle of the night to wade through irrigation ditches and hassle with foolish cows and ornery horses. Is there a place for me, too?”
The young couple laughed, all tension gone. Tom wanted the best for them and this sounded like a terrific opportunity.
“This way I’ll be able to go back to junior college sooner and finish my degree,” Maria said, wiping her hands on her calico-print apron. “We have tons of family around there to help with the baby.
“Miguel’s uncle has a place for us to rent. The tenants are moving to Idaho. It’s not as nice as your house, and I’ll miss my garden, but you can’t have everything.”
Tom toasted with his can of Tecate. “To good fortune in Modesto. May you only know success and happiness.”
Maria jabbed the hem of her apron to her eyes as she rose and hurried back to the cauldron. Tom discovered his appetite gone.
He rose and walked to the sink where Maria stood staring out the small square window. A hint of twilight filtered through the walnut trees. He touched her shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Maria. Really. We’ll miss you, but…”
“Just my cooking.”
He turned her around to face him, moved by the traces of tears on her smooth cheeks. “Your wisdom and patience and girl talk and womanly touches.” He pointed to the cheerful rose-print curtains she’d made for the window. “You’ve helped so much. We’ll miss much more than your cooking.”
“It’s not that far,” she said in a rush. “And Miguel will be back to help with the horses.”
The horses. Tom and Miguel’s breeding program was still in an embryonic stage. Miguel handled the halter breaking and early-stage training—some of which required almost daily attention. “It’ll work out. Don’t worry. We’ll come see you all the time. How else will the girls be able to spoil that little bambino?” He gently patted her very rounded belly.
She shooed him away to finish the preparations. “Angel. Heather,” she called. “Are you ready to learn how to make tortillas?”
The two let out whoops of affirmation as they dashed from their spots on the sagging sofa. Tom wandered over to the television where the video, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang—another “loaner” from Abby—was playing. He pushed the off button and eyed the room critically. Tiny flip-flops poked out from between the faded burgundy cushions of the sofa. On the end table a mound of books—a combination of schoolbooks, paperbacks and prereaders—clustered around the base of the lamp like a carelessly laid bonfire. Pretty-pink doll paraphernalia, the origin and purpose of which he had not a clue, lay strung out from one end of the coffee table to the other. The room had never looked more lived in, or alive.
Maybe everything in life is a trade-off, he thought. His well-structured life was history, but he had board games and Barbie dolls to replace it. His friends were moving on, but that was life.
“Daddy,” a sweet voice chirped, making his heart catch in his chest. “Come try my tortilla. I made it just for you.”
A tear started to form but he blinked it away. This was a celebration.
Later, as Tom leaned back in his chair, stuffed to the gills, Maria said, “You know, Tom, this new job won’t start until August, but we could move in with my cousin if you and the girls want to move into your house.”
Before Tom could reply, Angel said, “We’re building a new bedroom and bathroom and we get to decorate it ourselves, don’t we, Dad?”
She didn’t wait for his answer, but told Maria, “In our old house, my mom had some lady come in and do the decorating. She picked out everything. Bedspreads, curtains, paint. It was okay and all, but this will be more like our own.”
Tom noticed the enthusiasm in her voice. He hadn’t realized how important this was to her, and he vowed to make sure the new rooms turned out right. “Go get the sketches, honey, and show them to Maria while Miguel and I clean up.”
After washing the few pots and pans and bowls, Tom and Miguel slipped outside. They wandered toward the horse corral that would soon have to be moved. For five years Tom had slept with the sounds of young mares snuffling about outside his window. It had meant more dust and flies than he liked, but the gentle night noises were a comfort, too.
The lack of a moon made the night inky black. The barn’s bluish-green vapor light a
nd the yellowish glow of the bug zapper near Ed’s patio shone like ancient beacons. After the warmth of the dishwater, the air temperature seemed a shade too cool. Tom rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. It wouldn’t be long before summer set in for good. Another change.
“Lots of changes,” Miguel said as if reading Tom’s mind.
“Too many for an old coot like me.”
Miguel made a motion toward Tom’s haircut. “You started from the top down, I see.”
Tom had fielded his share of razzing the past two days. Johnny Dee nearly swallowed his chaw when he bumped into Tom at the feed store. Maria faked a swoon when she first saw it. Miguel, as usual, had kept his opinions to himself.
“Gotta start someplace, I guess.”
With small, economical motions, Miguel rolled a cigarette and lit it. He inhaled deeply, savoring his vice, which he’d promised to give up by the time the baby arrived. “Sometimes I think I’m going to miss this more than…the other. How did you do it?”
Tom didn’t answer. His thoughts were elsewhere. I wonder what Abby is doing. Maria said she’d invited her to join them tonight, but she was busy. Busy with work? Or busy socially? A woman as attractive as Abby would surely have a long list of suitors.
Miguel punched him on the arm. “How did you do it?” he repeated.
“I…I never smoked.”
Miguel’s eyebrows rose together. “Not the smoking, the sex. How did you manage when your wife said you had to wait until after the baby is born?”
Tom bit back a smile. Lesley had wanted a massage every night, and Tom was happy to be of service because he loved the feel of her soft, supple skin stretched taut over the new life she carried. He found it extremely erotic, but she didn’t. “Thanks,” she’d say then roll over and go to sleep, leaving Tom to deal with his problem any way he chose. “Leather helped.”
Choking, Miguel nearly swallowed his cigarette.
Tom patted his back with gusto. “Tooling leather. Saddles, bridles, belts. It kept my mind off other things. I made three saddlebags, sixteen belts and a purse for my mother. I’ve got the tools in the barn if you want them.”
Exchanging ribald jests about who was the better leather tooler, the men returned to the porch where Maria was waiting. She scolded Miguel gently in Spanish then leaned over to give Tom a peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry Abby couldn’t make it. You need some female companionship.”
“I have two female companions who keep me very busy, thank you.”
She made a face. “You know what I mean. Abby is the best person I know, next to you, maybe.”
Miguel made a huffing sound and she cupped her husband’s face lovingly. “Other people, mio. No one compares to you. You know that.”
Tom’s heart felt heavy as he watched them drive away. It was difficult not to envy them their closeness, their love. He missed that part the most, he thought, even more than sex. He missed having another person with whom to share his innermost thoughts.
Maybe someday. Blending a family wasn’t easy under any circumstances, but given his daughters’ traumatic experience, it would take a truly special woman to handle this challenge.
ABBY HAD NEVER REGARDED herself as a clock-watcher, but this had to be the slowest Thursday on record. Granted, this was the first day of the Butler girls’ foray into the Rainbows program, but since that didn’t directly involve Abby, she saw no reason why it should keep popping up in her mind.
“Melina,” she called out as familiar footsteps trotted past her doorway, “where’s the Yang file?”
“In your Out basket, of course. Where is your head today?”
The exasperation in her friend’s tone made Abby groan. “In my Out basket, obscuring the Yang file.”
As she reached for the file, the phone rang.
“Abby Davis.”
“Abby. I’m in trouble.”
The breathless voice was Tom’s. Her heart punched toward her throat. “Are you okay? Are the girls—”
He cut her off. “Nothing like that. I just ran in from the barn. One of my mares is foaling and there’s a problem. The vet’s on the way, but I can’t leave and the girls are supposed to be in Fresno in an hour, and I kinda hoped you…”
With her heartbeat back to normal, Abby could respond. “I’ll drive them.”
“Are you sure? I know you’re busy, but Maria’s in Modesto and—”
“Tom, get off the phone so I can leave.” She started to hang up, but his silence made her hesitate.
“I really do appreciate this,” he said.
Abby’s heart started jumping around again. That voice. That honest, heartfelt, tender appreciation did things to her she couldn’t explain.
“Good luck with your mare. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
She slipped the receiver back in place while shoveling two hours’ worth of paperwork into her briefcase. She was halfway out the door when another body tried squeezing past her. “Daniel,” Abby exclaimed, drawing her briefcase between them defensively. “Is it important? I have to run. The Butler children need…”
His cologne, probably more expensive than her mother’s perfume, filled her nostrils, making her lose her train of thought.
“You mean that cowboy’s kids?”
Something about his tone made Abby’s hackles rise, but she nodded, not wanting to get into it.
“Abby, I’ve come to the decision you’re too busy for your own good. Every time I call over here you’re in family court or at a deposition or in the law library or with clients or meeting with contractors and draftsmen. You need a little downtime.”
His concern seemed genuine, but since he was mostly to blame for her frenetic schedule she didn’t answer.
“Have dinner with me Friday.”
“Tomorrow?” Abby asked, her voice was a squeak.
“Yes. We’ll drive up to Bass Lake. Have you ever eaten at Ducie’s? It overlooks the lake. Very peaceful.”
She’d been there with Landon. The setting was peaceful…and romantic.
“I’ll pick you up early so we can take our time driving up. Say, five-thirty? Will that give you enough time to get home and change?”
As he well knew—since he approved her schedule—Abby ate lunch at her desk all week to be able to leave early on Fridays. “I always leave at four on Fridays.”
“Great. See you then.” He left with a casual touch on her shoulder.
Her equilibrium reeled—whether from the cologne or the railroading, she wasn’t sure.
“Not a good idea, kiddo,” Melina said, poking her head out of the adjoining office.
“It sure as hell wasn’t mine.”
Abby didn’t wait to hear more. She had something to do. Something important. She and Donna had researched the Tomorrow’s Rainbows program when it started up. They both recognized the validity of peer counseling—the kind of empathy adults couldn’t give.
She got in her car. As she turned the key, an errant thought crossed her mind. Does Tom wear cologne? The only scents she could associate with him were fresh air, old leather and something utterly masculine she was sure couldn’t be found in a bottle. She liked it a great deal more than Daniel’s expensive cologne.
“THAT’S BOGUS and you know it,” Angel ranted, anger making her voice crack.
Her father hung up the phone and looked at her, obviously trying to be patient. Angel didn’t care. She had no intention of putting herself on the line with a bunch of strangers. It was bad enough having to be all perfect and chipper for Dr. Donna, who had an uncanny way of seeing through her mask to make Angel own up to feelings she’d have preferred to ignore.
“You like Abby,” her father said. “She gave you that TV and VCR.”
“Big whoop,” Angel said, kicking off her scruffy mules and drawing her knees to her chest. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her sweat pants and nightshirt because she saw how preoccupied her dad was with his horse and she was sure he’d forget about that stupid Rainbows thing.
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br /> “I don’t want to go without you, either, Daddy,” Heather said, showing surprising fortitude in the midst of the shouting match. Usually, the little dork would hide out in the bedroom whenever Angel and their dad got into it.
Angel reached for her soda can, but the couch cushions sank in the middle, throwing off her balance. The can wobbled, spilling soda on her wrist and fingers. “Damn ugly couch,” she cursed. “Cheap piece of crap. Everything sucks in this house.”
She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Heather’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy.
Her dad heaved a sigh, making Angel feel even more guilty—and mad. It wasn’t her fault this stupid house was too small and had old furniture and crappy television reception. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to be in the big house in Riverside with Val, either, but that wasn’t the issue at the moment.
“C’mere, punkin,” her father said, scooping up Heather in his arms as he headed for the door. “Angel, put down that book and follow me.”
Oh, fuck. What now? she thought, laying her vampire novel on the floor so it wouldn’t soak up any soda, and sticking her feet back into her slippers.
“I don’t have a choice in this matter,” he said, hurrying toward the barn. “But you do. Abby is on her way. She’ll drive you to the meeting, wait for you and drive you home. I want to take you, but I can’t. I have to help Blaze through this birth. I can’t make you go, but I want you to.”
“Mom wouldn’t have made us go to another city with a stranger,” Angel said, knowing her words were blatant manipulation, but if it worked…
“Dr. Jessup told you this peer-counseling thing is something that might help you years from now and can really help when you go to school and people ask you questions about what happened to your mom. I know how important this is and I know I should be the one to take you…”
He’s gonna cave. Angel couldn’t keep a triumphant smirk from her lips.
Her dad chose that minute to look back at her. She immediately wiped the smile off her face but it was too late. She could tell by the narrowing of his eyes. He speeded up, making her have to trot to keep up—not an easy thing to do in bedroom slippers. Little pebbles kept getting caught under her arches, making her cry out. Her dad ignored her plight.
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