The Devil in the Saddle

by Julia London

Two people were missing from the family tableau. Angie’s husband, David, worked the oil fields, two weeks on, two weeks off. And, of course, Rico. But in fairness, Rico currently was in a last-ditch rehabilitation program to persuade him to adopt what they all hoped would be lifelong sobriety. Nevertheless, he was so often in their thoughts that it almost felt as if he were present. Particularly because Angie had arrived today with news about him. “He’s getting out in three weeks. He’ll be home for Christmas, Mom!”

  “That is an answer to my prayers,” Rafe’s mother said, beaming with delight.

  Rico had struggled with addiction most of his adult life. As every family with an alcoholic knew, addiction could bankrupt a family spiritually and financially. Rafe didn’t know exactly what Rico had done that had prompted his father, who was notoriously tightfisted, to send him to a ninety-day program, but he knew that it was probably Rico’s last shot on the family dime. He’d skated on the edge of real legal trouble for years—if he kept drinking, he’d end up dead or in jail.

  “He’s coming out clean and sober, and he swears he’s going to make it work this time,” Angie said as she opened a Tupperware container and spread some Cheerios onto the dining table for her children to nibble. “Come on, kids, before you destroy Uncle Rafe.”

  “He better make it work,” Rafe’s father muttered. “He’s been given enough chances.”

  Martin Fontana loved his children, but he was not a man who suffered failings in them. Or back talk. Or silliness. Rico’s program was just outside of Austin. Twice a month, no matter what, Rafe’s parents went to visit him. No more, no less. Angie managed to get by at least once a month, but with three young children and a husband gone half the time, it was difficult for her. It was the same for Rafe. Between school and flying back and forth to Chicago on weekends, he had very little time to drive up to see Rico.

  Rafe loved his brother, and he wanted more than anything in this world for his brother to remain sober. But he wasn’t as optimistic as the rest of his family that this time would be different. He’d known soldiers who’d turned to drugs and drinking, who never could shake the need to numb. Rico seemed to have the same obsessive need, as if he was numbing himself from the expectations his parents and life had put on him. Rafe felt compassion for his brother, but he’d never understood what it was his brother couldn’t seem to face. They’d grown up in the same environment, under the same roof, with the same parents, had had the same education. They’d been taught the value of hard work.

  And yet, Rafe could look back and see that even as a little kid, Rico had always wanted something more. Something different.

  “What’s he planning to do?” Rafe asked Angie as he got up and returned to his seat at the table.

  “He’s going to work for me,” his father answered. “For free at first, but if he stays clean and works hard, I’ll talk to Nick about the possibility of a part-time job. He can live at home and save some money. Who knows, maybe by then, Nick will have worked things out with the cash flow and Rico can stay on at Three Rivers. And if he hasn’t worked it out, well, we’ll all be looking for a new place to go.”

  “What?” Rafe asked, surprised by his dad’s declaration.

  “I’m just saying that the money situation is bad up there at the main house, and Mrs. Prince, well, she’s got ideas of things to cut we just can’t do without. I keep butting heads with her. Maybe she thinks her majordomo could be cut, who knows? Nick could run that place wearing a blindfold.”

  “Stop butting heads,” Rafe’s mother scolded him. “What are we going to do if you get laid off? We live here rent free, and where are you going to get a job at sixty-two?”

  Rafe’s father sighed and rubbed his face. “I’m just saying, we need the help around this place, and Rico owes us that much. His family needs his help.”

  Rafe was fairly certain Rico would not be interested in a long-term position at Three Rivers. Rico needed to be in the middle of things, and Three Rivers Ranch was so vast and so removed from the middle of things as to be a whole other universe.

  And was his dad really worried about being laid off?

  “What do you think Rico ought to do, Rafe?” his mother asked.

  Rafe never had to answer that question because they were interrupted by a knock at the door. The kids shrieked with excitement, and Angie went after them before they could answer the door and send anyone running.

  At first, there was so much chatter that Rafe didn’t hear who was at the door. But then he heard Angie say Hallie, and he’d been so startled that he’d gone blank for a moment, lurching to his feet and upsetting the salt and pepper shakers in his haste, as well as the stack of books and papers he was studying that afternoon. His clumsiness drew a look from his mother before she went off to greet Hallie.

  And then Hallie was inside his house. Hallie Prince was standing by a paneled wall beneath the shrine his mother had created to her children, a collage of framed photos capturing the three of them in every conceivable activity from grade school all the way through high school.

  Hallie couldn’t get past that shrine because his nieces and nephew were blocking her path, staring up at her as if she were an exotic peacock.

  She was carrying a book and something else in her hand. She looked much better than she had earlier today, but that wasn’t saying much. She still seemed a little wan.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling at them all. “Remember me?”

  Of course they remembered her—presumably not with the crystal clarity with which he remembered every little thing about her, but of course his family remembered the daughter of the famed Prince family.

  It was so odd to see her in his parents’ living room, with its Saltillo-tile floor and the big-box furniture-store set of two chairs and a complementing couch. It had been years since she’d been in this house. These days, it was odd to see her anywhere outside the rarefied air of the mansion at Three Rivers, which was swathed in marble and silk and hand-scraped hickory floors. Instead of a shrine to the Prince kids, valuable pieces of artwork hung on the walls.

  “Hallie,” his dad said, coming to his feet. “Well, this is a surprise.” He did not sound like it was a happy surprise.

  “Right?” she said cheerfully, because Hallie generally lived life undaunted. “I debated if I should knock on the door, but I was out getting some air, and I found these gloves, and I’m pretty sure they belong to Rafe.” She held them up.

  Angie stared curiously at the gloves. “Where’d you find them?”

  “Umm . . . by the stables.”

  “Why do you think they are his?”

  “Why?” Her cheeks turned slightly pinker. “I saw him there last night, and there they were this morning.”

  “The book, too?” Angie asked curiously, her brows dipping as if she were trying to work out a puzzle.

  Rafe felt compelled to say something because his sister was too nosy by half, but before he could think of something innocuous, Hallie said, “Nope. This is just a book.” She nervously tucked a bit of hair behind her ear.

  “Can I see?” little Izzy asked.

  Hallie handed the book to Izzy.

  Rafe knew the book. He’d read half of it last night while Hallie slept beside him.

  “Does it have pictures?” Izzy asked, opening it.

  “Just words. So here’s a fun fact—when your uncle and I were a little bit older than you, we used to trade books to read. I thought he’d like this one.”

  “Which uncle?” Izzy asked, her brows dipping into a V. “I have two. I have Uncle Rico and Uncle Rafe.”

  “Uncle Rafe.”

  Izzy eyed Rafe with suspicion, looked at the book, and wrinkled her nose, probably because there were no pictures. She pushed it back toward Hallie.

  “I think the concept of sharing books is a little foreign to them,” Rafe said.

  “Sharing anyt
hing,” Angie agreed. “Well, Rafe? Are those your gloves?” She fixed her dark-eyed gaze on him, as if she expected to catch him in some sort of coded, nefarious exchange with Hallie.

  Or maybe he was reading too much into this. He wasn’t the type of guy to wear his feelings on his sleeve, but he felt like his were displayed in flashing neon lights right now. “They look like mine. I didn’t realize I’d lost them.” He walked around the end of the table and held out his hand for them. “Thanks,” he said to Hallie.

  She smiled and dropped them into his hand.

  He turned around, ostensibly to put the gloves on the table, but really so that he could give Angie a warning look before she started grilling Hallie.

  “Something smells so good,” Hallie said brightly.

  “Mexican beef stew,” his mother replied. “An old family recipe.”

  “Well it smells delicious,” Hallie said. She looked around, her gaze landing on Rafe’s dad. “Cowboys game, huh?”

  “Ah . . . yeah,” he said, and exchanged a glance of uncertainty with Rafe’s mom.

  His parents didn’t know what to do with Hallie Prince. None of them did. That was always the way with the Prince family. They were neighbors, they were playmates. But the Fontanas never forgot that they were first and foremost the employees.

  Rafe was stumped by her appearance here, too. Why would she walk down here when she could leave those things in his dad’s office at the mansion? In all the years Rafe had known Hallie, he’d never known her to take long walks by herself—she was deathly afraid of snakes.

  “Can I offer you something to drink, Hallie?” his mother asked.

  Rafe’s pulse ticked up. Surely his mother wasn’t going to ask Hallie to hang out. Surely he wouldn’t have to sit here and make small talk, all the while pretending his stomach wasn’t doing little loop-de-loops. Surely he wouldn’t have to face the very real fact that he could be both an Army Ranger and a lovesick cowboy with a raging case of nerves. That was not exactly the image of himself he wanted living in his head.

  “Oh no,” she said. “I just meant to drop those things off and then, you know . . . carry on.” She gave that a jaunty little fist pump.

  Thank God.

  But in the next breath, Hallie said, “But if you have some tea already made, I’d really appreciate it. I’m kind of parched.”

  No, no, no. You just said . . .

  “I’ve always got tea,” his mother said cheerfully, already moving toward the refrigerator. She limped now—she’d had a benign tumor removed from her liver, and inexplicably, the limp had developed.

  “When my kids were at home, we probably went through a gallon of it every day. Sit down, Hallie, make yourself at home.”

  Don’t sit. Don’t sit. Don’t—

  “Thank you,” she said, and glanced uncertainly at the dining room table.

  “Here,” Angie said, and pulled out a chair. “Ignore Rafe’s mess.”

  Ignore Rafe. Please.

  He slowly resumed his seat and began to stack his papers.

  “Do you know my mom?” Izzy asked. She was a chip off the old block, just as suspicious as her mother of Hallie’s unexpected call.

  “I do. I haven’t seen her in a long time, but we all grew up together on this ranch.”

  “You lived here?” Izzy asked, jamming her finger against the table.

  “Another house,” Hallie said. “But very close by.”

  “She lived in the mansion, Izzy,” Angie said. “You know, the one behind the gates where Papá works.”

  Izzy stared at Hallie. “Are you a princess?”

  “No,” Angie said, perhaps a little too forcefully.

  “Did you play with my mom?”

  “Izzy,” Angie said. “I didn’t know Miss Hallie that well. She was a big kid when I was a little kid.”

  Hallie smiled at Angie. “You weren’t quite old enough to explore the ranch with us. Remember, Rafe?”

  “Ah . . . yes,” he said. He remembered everything. Like the first time he’d felt pangs of love for her, although at the time he hadn’t known that’s what it was. He’d been what, twelve? Hallie had been ten or so. He and Nick and Luca and Rico had been playing on the saddle stands in the stables, pretending to ride. Hallie wanted on one of the saddle stands, too, but four rambunctious boys outnumbered her. He remembered her strawberry blond hair, long and braided, her cutoff jeans, and the white T-shirt she wore with a glittery picture of a cat. She’d tried to muscle her way onto one of the saddle stands, but they kept pushing her off, telling her to get lost. And then, suddenly—he still didn’t know how she’d done it—she was on his saddle stand, and he was on the ground. She’d knocked him off with a strength that had surprised him, and jumped into the saddle. He’d fallen hard enough that the breath was knocked out of him, and as he’d tried to drag the air into his lungs, Hallie had leaned over the saddle stand, the tip of her braid swinging over his face.

  “I told you to let me ride,” she’d said, and then had laughed gaily, clearly quite pleased with her victory.

  To this day, Rafe could recall how strange and fluttery he’d felt when he looked up at her pretty face looming over him, with the big hazel eyes and the freckled cheeks.

  His mother returned with a glass of iced tea.

  “Thank you so much,” Hallie said, and sipped. “I’m going to drink this and get out of your way. Just going to take a walk, you know.” She waved her hand in the direction of the road and the Creedy property.

  His mother nodded.

  “Need some air in my lungs,” Hallie added, and took another drink. “You know, clear my head, that sort of thing.”

  She sounded a little nutty. Since when did Hallie feel compelled to convince others of the benefits of walking?

  She realized that no one else was talking, and looked at all of them, staring curiously at her. Okay, all right, someone needed to move her along, because this was getting too weird for Rafe. He shifted forward, prepared to ask her if she needed a ride, because he didn’t buy the walking thing for a minute.

  “I didn’t know you were, like, a walker,” Angie said, not unkindly, but as if she was curious about this sudden and apparently new side of Hallie. “I don’t remember you doing anything but dancing. Weren’t you a ballerina?”

  Hallie blinked. “Well. I was a ballerina, but I’m not anymore. Except in my head.” She laughed self-consciously. Then quickly sobered.

  Izzy and Abigail looked at Angie. Angie stared at Hallie.

  “And you’re right,” Hallie hastened to add, “I’m not really a walker. But I’m going to be. Actually, I’m thinking of becoming a runner.” She paused, swallowed another gulp of tea. “I guess you could say I’m all new leaves these days.”

  “What?” Angie asked.

  “If you’re going to walk, you’d better take a jacket,” Rafe’s father said. “There’s a norther supposed to come in tonight.”

  Rafe glanced at Hallie, and they both tried to hide a smile. They used to joke about how obsessed their fathers were with the weather. Every day, the two of them began with a full accounting of all possible weather situations and then discussed it for what seemed like hours. Might get a little rain. Maybe thirty percent chance. It’s coming up from the Gulf, so you can count on some moisture.

  “Oh, hey!” Angie said as Hallie picked up a very curious Silas to sit in her lap. “I hear congratulations are in order! You must be so excited about your wedding, Hallie.”

  Hallie started. She put down the glass of tea with a dull thud onto the table.

  “The big day is, what, New Year’s Eve? Isn’t that right?”

  Jesus, Angie didn’t know the wedding wasn’t happening. Rafe inwardly groaned—he tried to think of something to say as both of his parents turned toward Hallie, clearly uncomfortable. He stood up, prepared to rescue her from this q
uagmire.

  “Actually, no,” Hallie said before he could find words, and began to rock side to side with Silas. “We’ve postponed the wedding.” This she said to Silas.

  Postponed. Interesting choice of words. Last night she’d wanted to drive to Houston and strangle her fiancé. Today her wedding was postponed?

  “Oh. Sometime next year?” Angie asked.

  “Angie, could you please help me in the kitchen?” his mother asked tightly.

  Angie looked at her mother. Whatever she saw in her mother’s expression was enough to move her, and she said, “Sure.” She stood up and turned slightly, shooting a dark look at her father—presumably because he’d failed to enlighten her about what was going on at the ranch.

  Silas wiggled out of Hallie’s lap, and she watched him toddle after his mother.

  “So Dad says Luca has quite the setup going on over by that old spring,” Rafe blurted, trying desperately to change the subject. “Lots of bulldozing.”

  “Oh!” Hallie said, and sat up a little straighter. “Guess what? Luca has chickens.”

  “He’s got what?” Rafe’s dad asked.

  “Chickens.”

  “Chickens? I don’t understand,” Rafe’s mother said as she came back into the dining room with a bowl of chips. Angie was right behind her with salsa.

  “I don’t either,” Hallie admitted. “All I know is that they are supposedly feral, and there used to be millions of them around here, but now they’re almost extinct. So Luca has stepped in to save the day.” She laughed. Then thought better of it. “I mean that sincerely. Sometimes what he does sounds a little crazy, but he’s really making a difference.”

  Rafe’s mother didn’t seem to buy it, and looked at him quizzically, as if she hoped he would translate.

  “It’s part of his effort to return the land to its natural state,” Rafe explained. “He wants to restore the wildlife that flourished here before land development.”

  “Hey, you know what, Rafe? We could ride out and see the chickens,” Hallie suggested with enough enthusiasm to startle him. “I haven’t been riding in a long time.”