Tragic Beauty

by Iris Ann Hunter

  Shayne leads me to the chapel and stops when he reaches Father Watkins. “Marry us.”

  I hear nothing but silence while I stare off into darkness.

  It’s gone.

  It’s all gone.

  The little house. The tiny creek. The mustard fields. The orange poppies. The giant oaks. The hills. The horses to rescue. The dream.

  Everything.

  And I know I won’t get to see my friends anymore. I won’t get to be there for Ben. I won’t get to visit Helen and Paul. I’ll never get to see Gavin again.

  They’re gone.

  They’re all gone.

  Everything.

  “Ava?”

  I turn at the sound of the gentle voice, and see wise, blue eyes through a thick veil of anguish, my heart bleeding out where I stand. But strangely, there are no tears. I absently wonder if I’ve used them all up.

  “Are you alright?” he asks.

  I nod in a daze.

  “She’s fine,” Shayne says.

  Father Watkins glances to Shayne then back to me. “Is this what you want?”

  I look away, and nod again.

  I hear the old man sigh, then he turns and walks towards the chapel. He knows how it works here.

  Inside, the place is dark, lit up only by candlelight. It smells damp, of old wood and earth. We make our way between sets of wooden pews until we come to the altar, Shayne still holding my wrist in his grip.

  Father Watkins begins to talk, but I tune the words out. I don’t want to hear about honor, and love, and cherish. Instead, I find myself turning to the beast, to Shayne, watching him, studying him as he listens to Father Watkins. He stands there, his black hair falling over his forehead, his lips bruised from the fight earlier, his breathing hard but steady. I wonder if he feels anything…anything at all, here in this sacred place. Especially given how much it meant to his mom. I always use to see her in here, kneeling in one of the pews, when I started coming here for some distance away from my father, once I could drive. I wonder what she would think of him now. I wonder if he cares. I wonder if he has any guilt or remorse, or any inkling of shame for the act he’s committing. But there’s something intent on Shayne’s face, something resolute in the way his jaw is set, the way he looks almost sincere, standing here before the altar. Eventually, I hear Shayne’s deep rumble of a voice. “I do.” Something about his tone makes me blink. He sounded so earnest, so determined. His dark eyes turn to meet mine and for a fleeting moment they seem almost…sad.

  I look away as more words are spoken. “And do you, Ava Rose Bennett, take this man…” I tune the words out again, when eventually silence settles in, and Shayne’s grip tightens around my wrist. Slowly, I look up into the somber eyes of Father Watkins, and in a quiet, broken voice, whisper, “I do.”

  PART II

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Gavin

  The old man, Ben, sits across from me at the kitchen table, his words still echoing in my ears and too fucked up to make sense of. I shove the chair back and pace the tiny room. “So let me get this straight. This McAllister guy took care of her financially while her dad was dying, and he’s collecting from her now that he’s dead?”

  Ben yanks off his truckers hat and tosses it on the table with a hard flick of his wrist, looking about as torn up as I feel. “Something like that.”

  I collapse in the chair again and Ben looks over at me. “Mind if I ask you something?”

  By the way his eyes narrow on me, I know he’s trying to size me up. I shake my head.

  “What’s she to you?” he asks.

  I have no clue how to answer that. “She’s…a friend,” I finally answer. “A good friend.”

  The old man studies me, and I know he’s no fool, but he doesn’t press.

  But she’s more than a friend. Much more. My eyes drift to the kitchen, where a dish towel with little pink flowers hangs from a hook, reminding me of our moment at the sink together, taking the pot from her hand and our fingers grazing. I still remember hearing her breath catch, feeling her body tremble. Fuck, I remember every damn detail. Her scent, her voice, the feel of her skin, the sounds she made when…

  A virgin?

  It’s a question my mind keeps circling back to. It doesn’t make sense. There was no blood. Yet, if I think back through every little detail, I can almost see it clearly now. And then there were her eyes, today, earlier, when that fucker confronted her on it. It was there, plain as day. She was a virgin.

  Fuck. The things I did to her.

  Ben runs his wiry fingers over a groove in the table. “That poor girl’s been dealt one shitty deal after another. Nice to see someone else on her side for once.”

  “But how could something like this happen? What about her dad?”

  “Her dad?” he snorts. “She’s in this mess cuz of him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The chair creaks when he leans back and stretches his long legs out with a sigh. “Her daddy was an ass! Straight up tit-turd. Guess it all got going when the fucker got drunk and fell and split his head open when Ava was ‘bout sixteen. That’s when the doctors found a tumor. Son of a bitch coulda done something about it too, but he was so bent over his wife leaving that he plum gave up and just waited the thing out. They gave him a year. ‘Bout the same time, they was having money trouble. Friend of mine worked at the bank and said they was getting ready to be foreclosed on. Wasn’t too long after I heard that Shayne was footing their bills, and that’s when I knew she’d made some kind of a deal with him. Didn’t know the particulars, but it wasn’t too hard to figure out. He’d been after her for years.”

  I stand up and move to the kitchen window and stare out. Behind me, his voice keeps going.

  “When I got wind of what she’d done, I knew her daddy wouldn’t accept my help, so the day he passed, I went to Shayne and tried to pay off her debt myself. I’d a mortgaged my ranch, given him everything I had—she’s the only one left on this earth I give a damn about—but the bastard just laughed and told me to get lost. I’ve come across some sorry fuckers in my day, Ava’s daddy for one, but that Shayne McAllister beats ‘em all. There ain’t a single decent bone in his body. He’s one of them bad seeds you just want to crush with the bottom of your boot.”

  I’m still staring out the window, because it’s all I can do. There’s a strange feeling building inside me. That demon is stirring, but in a way I’ve never felt before. “What does he do?” I ask quietly.

  “Oh, he’s got a big spread northeast of here. Runs cattle. Runs his mouth. His parents died in a car crash some time back, and he had a brother who died young, so now it’s all his. Word is he had something to do with the crash, but nothin’ was ever done about it. His parents were good folks, too. Took care of the town, of the people. They owned a good chunk of Main Street, and most of the businesses they leased to, they did for a plenty fair price. But when it all fell to Shayne, he nearly doubled everyone’s rates. Sent more than a few closing their doors. Town’s been struggling ever since. What his parents did to ever deserve a boy like that, well… And poor Ava—she’s always done her best to keep away from him, but he’s been like a cock roach around her. She never could get rid of him.”

  I sit back down at the table and see Ben staring off into space, a hard kind of hurt set deep into his eyes.

  He cares for her.

  He loves her.

  “How long you known her?” I ask.

  His eyes brighten a bit, but the hurt doesn’t leave. “Well, let’s see. We bought that house over there from her daddy back when she must’ve been ‘bout seven or so.”

  “The house next door?”

  “Yeah. All this used to be part of the same spread, see, but he sold most of it off because he was too damn lazy to do a lick of work. That’s when we came around. My wife, Helen, had grown up here as a kid and always knew she wanted to retire here. So that’s what we did.” Ben looks into the tiny kitchen, at the fridge that’s rattling, at the s
tove that’s falling apart. “Was hard at first, watching that li’l girl see us living in what used to be hers, knowing she was over here now. But, once we saw how she was livin’, we was glad we was here to keep an eye on her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ben sighs and rocks back, teetering on the legs of his chair. “Didn’t take long to see her momma was about as worthless as her daddy. She was quite a bit younger than him, and was always dolling herself up and running round town, sleepin’ with any sucker that would buy her things. Mighta actually felt sorry for the guy, if he wasn’t such a giant cow pie, but you marry a woman like that… Anyway, we saw real quick Ava was pretty much on her own.”

  He shakes his head and chuckles. “Boy, she was a wild lil’ thing back then. Like one of them feral cats. She’d sneak around and watch you from a distance with the biggest, bluest eyes you’ve ever seen and a mess of hair as white as the sun. But if you looked at her, or smiled at her, or said so much as one word to her, those eyes would get so wide and she’d just run off and you wouldn’t see her for a while. Oh, it took a little time, but she came around. If she wasn’t hangin’ nearby, reading one of her books, she’d be watching Helen play with the horses, or lingering ‘round the workshop while I worked on the tractor, always wearin’ a dress that looked two sizes too big and these little cowboy boots that were never the right size. Sometimes she’d ask a question or have something to say in this voice so soft you wondered if it was just the breeze picking up. And she was really starting to come around, but…” He pauses, and a heaviness sets deep into his eyes. “But after her momma left, she didn’t talk for the longest time. Broke our hearts watching her go through that.”

  “Ava said she left when she was nine.”

  Ben nods and brings the chair back down with a thud. “And her daddy became the sorriest son of a bitch around. He was angry, all the damn time. He’d drink and get into his rants and break shit, and Helen and I would look over and see Ava huddled under the porch, hiding from him. Or if she wasn’t there, you’d see her running off to the hills, giving her daddy space when he got goin’. She was smart like that, you know. She knew when to keep away from him. Oh, he never hit or nothin’ like that. If we’d a thought that, we’d a stepped in. I even went over one day and made sure he knew that. Didn’t help his attitude towards me none, but I didn’t give a shit. But, for all his ragin’ and drinkin’ and being about as useless as a dull knife, he loved her in his own way.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah, I guess I’d have my doubts too, but when Ava was ‘bout thirteen, I saw a side to him…” He pauses, and by the way his lips press together I know I’m not going to like what’s coming. “She was attacked, walkin’ home from the bus stop on a Friday, by some lowlife driftin’ through town. He had her down in the ditch, fightin’ like crazy when I drove by and scared the fucker off. I tried runnin’ after him, but these damn ol’ legs failed me. When I brought her home, and told her daddy what had happened… I’ll never forget that crazed look in his eyes. He grabbed his gun and was out the door so fast. He spent the entire weekend, day and night, driving ‘round looking for the guy. Was about the only decent thing I ever saw him do for her. No, he loved her alright. If I had to guess though, I’d say she reminded him of what he lost. She looks just like her momma. Beauty like that’s a damn curse if you ask me.”

  “Did they ever catch him?” The odd tone of my voice catches the old man’s eye.

  “No. They never did.”

  He rubs at the scruff on his jaw and lets out a long breath. “Anyway…after her momma left, Helen sort of took her in after that, showed her how to do things, adopted her in a way, as much as her daddy would let us. She got her cleaned up and brushin’ her hair, and taught her a bit in the kitchen, things like that. Taught her how to ride too, which she took to like a fish to water. Loves those damn horses out there. Loves ‘em more than anything. Only time I ever saw her smilin’ was when she was either buried in one of those books, or out ridin’ that little bay mare, Sadie. They was like two peas in a pod. They’d go galloping through the hills, her long hair wavin’ all about. Sweetest thing you ever saw.”

  Ben smiles, like he’s remembering, but the smile quickly fades. “Tore Helen to pieces when Ava came over with a note she’d written, asking if she could take Sadie to town for groceries. Here she was, barely ten years old, and she was having to figure out how to feed herself and her lousy-ass daddy. Christ, she was so damn strong, that kid. And it took a while, but over time, she started talkin’ again. Just a few words mind you. Still doesn’t say much.

  “Then after Helen passed, and her daddy took ill, and he started needing lots of care, things sort of changed. Oh, she’d come around, to check on the horses, check on me, bring over some food, but…well, it musta been hard on her. What she’s been through in her little lifetime woulda broken most twice her age. And, how she turned out…so good…so kind… My wife hadn’t smiled much since we lost our son, but…she made my Helen’s last years…” The old man’s voice trails off and I see his lips tighten and his eyes turn glassy. I look away, giving him space and needing my own. I know there are no more words coming.

  I stand and walk to the living room and see the mess from the fight earlier. Fuck. Just what she needs. Another asshole in her life, breaking shit. I bend over and pick up what’s left of the lamp and set it on the side table, then try to prop the coffee table back on its legs, but it’s a goner. I drag the bouquet of roses out from underneath it, along with a book that fell, splayed open. It looks worn, and old. I look at the spine. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontё. I rub my fingers along the page, then close it carefully, and lay it on the end table with the roses alongside. There’s not much I can do about the wall now, but I’ll make sure it gets fixed, along with everything else. In the middle of the room, I see the red rose lying on the carpet. I pick up the broken stem with both hands and run my fingertips over the petals…the petals that once touched her lips.

  “Ava,” I whisper.

  I look around the room and see a quilt on the couch that I picture her straightening with her little hands. There’s an old black and white photo on the wall of what looks like their property, back when it was all one spread, and I can’t help but wonder if she chose that spot to hang it. Everywhere I look, I see her, feel her.

  The sound of tires crunching on gravel has me yanking my head to the front window. “What the hell is a sheriff doing here?”

  “Ah, shit. Well, if I had to guess, I’d say you’re about to become a resident of the Los Ramos jail.”

  I spin and face the old man.

  “What?”

  He sits up in his chair and puts on his hat and stands. “Piggy Carson might as well be on the McAllister payroll. Come to think of it, he probably is.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter, then reach for my phone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ava

  The truck rolls under the arching McAllister Ranch sign and over the cattle guard with a loud thrum. I stare out the window at the small brown and white dots that cover the hills in the distance, hundreds of grazing Herefords that will be next year’s cash crop. My husband’s cash crop.

  Husband.

  I wrap my arms around my waist, struggling to settle my stomach as we head up the winding drive.

  I flinch when I hear Shayne’s voice again, talking on his cell. “Get it ready,” he snaps. “We’re almost there.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him glare at me. “I’ll need some help, so keep the guys around. Did you get that other thing? Good. Put it in the garage.” He hangs up.

  The knot in my stomach tightens. He’s up to something.

  A few minutes later, a house comes into view. It’s large and sprawling, made of stone and windows, and set back into a hill with desert landscaping all around. I’d heard he tore down his parents old house and built a new one. It might of looked nice, offering a view of the land around it, but all I see is a prison.

  I exp
ect us to be going left at the fork in the road, up the driveway towards the house, but instead he turns right. We pass by a small pasture with a handful of horses that catch my eye, but they disappear from view when he turns by a maze of empty pens and chutes, and parks in front of a large barn.

  “Get out,” he says.

  By the time I open the door, Shayne’s already at my side. He drags me from the truck and towards the barn, where three dark figures stand by the other end of the open breezeway. The smell of a fire lingers in the air.

  “Is it ready?” Shayne asks.

  A man I recognize steps forward. Well, a man in age, but he’s so lanky, and his face so childlike, he appears boyish. Red, Marni’s son. He’s not called Red because of his crimson hair though, but because his real name is Redmund. He was a couple years ahead of me, in the same grade as Shayne. The two of them were always causing trouble together, but he was never as bad as Shayne.

  His wary brown eyes shift to me, then quickly back to Shayne. “Yeah, it’s ready,” he answers. “But we don’t got no cattle in. You want us to—”

  “No. Let’s go.” He moves past Red and the other two. One of them is a big, burly man with dead eyes and a hard face full of scruff. The man beside him is shorter, and stocky, his skin ruddy and riddled with pot marks. Both I’ve never seen before. Both I never want to see again.

  Red watches me as we move by, and something in the way his face goes tight sets off an alarm.

  Once we’re out back, the smell of the fire grows, until I see it off to the side in a stone pit. Shayne stops hard, and I stumble into him. He yanks me back and glares down. “Ready for your wedding present, wife?”

  I blink.

  He jerks his head toward the fire where I see Burly grab a long, black, iron rod and lift it up, eyeing the red hot MR of the McAllister Ranch brand. My throat closes in and I begin shaking my head, over and over. Shayne tightens his grip and I become frantic, pulling and yanking and trying to pry myself free. I manage to land a kick near his crotch and hear him curse.