by Erica Abbott
In the center of the room people were dancing, cowboy boots shuffling on the floor. Jean scanned the room as she looked for people she might know.
Board chairman Jaime Fontana was in one corner talking to a couple of men Jean didn’t recognize. Del Franklin was with a woman Jean assumed was his wife, chatting to Carolyn Forsythe and a man who must be her husband. Jean wondered how awkward that conversation might be. She didn’t spot Hayward Lyons, but she did see the county clerk, the treasurer, even the public trustee, all working the room, shaking hands, greeting friends and probably foes as well. County employees crowded the barn too, the head of the purchasing department, information technology manager, the public affairs officer all present and accounted for.
Jean took a couple of tamales, avoided the chile, and slid to the corner to watch the room while she ate. She peeled the husks from the tamales and enjoyed the savory pork filling surrounded by sweet corn masa. Jaime Fontana stayed in one place, still talking to the same two men. Major campaign contributors? County political party officials? She knew Fontana was term-limited, so she wondered if he was planning for his next job. Maybe a state representative slot?
By contrast, Carolyn Forsythe was walking around to every group of people in the room with Del Franklin at her side. Forsythe’s husband and Franklin’s wife trailed behind them like remoras clinging to a pair of sharks. The analogy amused Jean and she laughed quietly to herself.
She finally spotted Hayward Lyons standing near the bandstand. He was drinking a beer and was near a small group of people, but his eyes were on someone across the room. As Jean followed his gaze, she saw that he was watching Carolyn and Del. Even across the room Jean could see that his eyes were alight with animosity.
Was his dislike for Carolyn? Or Del? Was he jealous, or was there something else?
Jean finished her tamales and listened to the music for a while. At length she saw Lea on the dance floor, dancing with a tall man whose hair was a wavy iron gray. They were talking easily and Jean could guess the man was Lou Hawkins.
He was a good dancer, easy and smooth, and Jean could see where Lea got her grace of movement. The man said something that made Lea laugh and Jean felt a pinprick of envy. She suppressed it ruthlessly and went in search of other people to talk to somewhere else.
She greeted Del, who seemed too distracted to say more than a brief hello. Carolyn was in a more chatty mood, introducing Jean to her husband and inquiring brightly if Jean was there by herself.
“Yes,” Jean acknowledged. “I’m alone.”
After making it a point to welcome every county official she could track down, she finally located Linda Hawkins. “It’s a wonderful party,” Jean greeted her.
Linda was resplendent in a full-skirted dress, tastefully studded with rhinestones. She looked like a rodeo queen and Jean told her so.
Linda laughed. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jean. I just love giving parties. I was going to try to talk the board into letting us host this one every year but Lea pitched a fit. She really hates all of this political hoo-haw.”
“Do you enjoy it? The political hoo-haw, that is,” Jean asked.
“Not really. Lou loves it, but I just like food and music and people and parties. What can I say?”
“Well, you’ve done a fine job with this one,” Jean said again. “The tamales were great, by the way.”
“My mother’s recipe,” Linda said, clearly pleased.
“Would that be Rosalea?”
Linda gave her an appraising look. “Ah. Lea told you about her?”
“She did. I think she’s very proud of the Hispanic part of her heritage, though I’m not sure she loves the name.”
Linda’s laugh echoed through the barn. “I’m pretty sure you’re right. It was my compromise with Lou. I got to name my daughter Rosalea and he got to call her Lea. It suits her better anyway.”
“It does,” Jean agreed. “Thanks again for the invitation. It’s good to see you.”
She began to move off, but Linda said, “Don’t be a stranger, Jean. You’re welcome at our ranch any time.”
Jean smiled her thanks. It still felt odd to her to be welcomed in another family’s home.
There was no one else she needed to see and Jean began to wonder if it was too early in the evening to think about leaving.
The song the band had been playing ended. Couples separated and clapped as the musicians announced a brief break. Most of the dancers peeled off toward either the food or drink tables.
Someone took her elbow gently and she turned to see Lea.
“Hello,” Lea said quietly. “I’m glad you decided to come.”
The touch of Lea’s fingers on her arm got all of Jean’s attention. Jean carefully detached herself. She said, “It looked like you were having a good time on the dance floor.”
Lea was wearing the dressiest cowgirl shirt Jean had ever seen, black with huge red flowers that matched her red boots. She was wearing tiny gold hoops in her ears. Around her throat she had tied a thin red silk kerchief. It looked for a moment like a slender line of blood across her throat and Jean had to shake the image from her head.
“I always have a good time dancing with my father,” Lea said.
“I thought it might be him,” Jean acknowledged. “You have his eyes.”
At that moment, Lou Hawkins joined them, carrying a plate in one hand and a beer in the other. Lea stole one of his carrot sticks. “Dad, this is Jean McAllister.”
“I’m happy to meet you,” he said in a deep bass voice. “Lea tells us you’re her new lawyer. I understand Linda almost killed you with her chili last time.”
“I survived pretty well. This is quite a party you’re putting on.”
Lou smiled, the lines around his eyes and mouth deep and sharply cut. His face looked as if he had faced into the wind for a long time. He was wearing a cream-colored western shirt under a leather vest and a bolo tie with a turquoise slide adding a splash of color. On his wrist was a handsome woven horsehair bracelet. He said, “Well, it’s just for my wife. She likes to throw a party every now and then.”
Lea grinned at him. “Oh, please. You just met Jean, so you don’t know her well enough to lie to her. You love doing this stuff.”
He pointed the beer bottle at his daughter. “I’m just doing it for you, so be nice.”
Lea shook her head at Jean. “He’s lying again. He eats up all this glad-handing and schmoozing.”
“Oh, hush now. I just like to keep my hand in, you know that.”
“You know all these people?” Jean interjected.
“Most of ’em,” Lou acknowledged. “I’ve known Hayward Lyons for quite a few years and Carolyn Forsythe longer than that. And I knew Jaime when he was a chubby little kid with skinned knees.”
Lea said, “All right, go on and work the room. You know you want to. Thanks for the dance, Dad.”
He lifted a thick, wiry eyebrow at her. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Jean watched Lea flush a little, but she answered calmly, “Yes. You’re practically twitching. Go on.”
He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. McAllister. See you again soon, I hope.” Coming from him the sentiment sounded less like a request and more like a royal command.
He moved off with purpose toward a group near the bandstand. Jean said, “He’s quite the dynamic personality.”
Lea said wryly, “You have no idea.”
“Is Loren here?”
Lea glanced around. “Yes, somewhere. He may be hanging out with the musicians. He’s quite the guitar player and he likes to pick up tips.”
A little hesitantly, Jean asked, “Do you think he might be interested in meeting someone?”
“Meeting someone? You mean a someone of the female persuasion?”
“Yes. My paralegal mentioned that she remembered him from high school and I thought she seemed, well, interested.”
Lea looked thoughtful. “That might just be a good idea. Le
t me think about how we might arrange it so it doesn’t seem too much like a setup. I don’t want Loren thinking I’m afraid he can’t get a date on his own but he could certainly use a little friendly assistance.”
“Okay. Let me know what I can do to help. Rita seems very nice and I’d love to be able to give them a chance.”
“That’s nice of you,” Lea said quietly. “Look, do you want some water or something?”
“I could use a beverage,” Jean said, realizing she was no longer in a hurry to leave.
“I’m a little thirsty too,” Lea said. “Why don’t you go outside to get away from the noise a minute and let me bring us something to drink?”
Lea seemed back to her usual friendly and relaxed self, so Jean said, “Sure.”
She wandered out of the barn, crossing to the back porch. Sitting down on the steps, she watched the huge yellow moon hang like a giant paper lantern in the sky above the barn. Then she watched Lea cross the sandy yard between them, two brown bottles dangling from one hand. They looked like beer bottles and Jean realized she must be frowning when Lea reached her. Lea reassured her saying, “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”
Lea handed her an icy bottle and Jean asked, “What is it?”
“Root beer, believe it or not,” Lea answered. “It’s made by a local microbrewery. They only sell it in Colorado. Try it, I really do think you’ll enjoy it.”
Jean took a long drink and nodded. “It’s good. Not too sweet. I can really taste the anise.”
“Glad you like it.”
They sat in the evening, the voices from the barn muted and far away. Jean thought again how comfortable it was just to be quiet with Lea, a feeling she’d never had before with anyone else. That’s how friends are together, she congratulated herself.
The band began again, the singer insisting that even if he’d known how the love affair would end, he would have loved her anyway. Jean didn’t believe it. If she’d known how it would end with Charlotte, she would have chosen a different path. The good times in the beginning weren’t worth all the pain that had come later, the pain she was suffering still.
After tipping her bottle to drain the last swallow, Lea set it on the bottom step of the porch. She stood up and offered her hand to Jean. Then she said softly, “Dance with me.”
Jean looked up at Lea, pale moonlight silvering her hair, thinking she should refuse, knowing she would not. She stood and lifted her arms, ready to lay them casually on Lea’s shoulders. But Lea stepped in and circled Jean’s waist with her right arm, taking Jean’s other hand as if they were about to waltz.
Lea led gracefully and Jean was able to follow her easily. Across the sandy soil they moved together. As the song ended, the band immediately began another, an old Anne Murray tune. Jean remembered the lyrics about two old lovers reuniting after many years apart. The singer began the chorus.
I need one more dance
With my arms around you
As they should have been
All along.
Give me one more chance
To be your love
Give me one last chance
One more dance.
Jean put her head against Lea’s shoulder, feeling the slight play of muscle beneath the skin as they moved together. Lea’s hand, holding her lightly in the small of her back, was warm. Jean could feel the strength of the fingers through the fabric of her shirt.
As the song continued, Jean’s hand slid up slightly to touch the soft waves of hair that fell just over Lea’s collar in the back. Jean shut her eyes to try to let the music and the dancer take her far away from the loneliness and pain of her past. She made an effort to be here, in this moment only, but Charlotte’s memory wouldn’t let her go.
There would be no more chances for them, no last dance. Whatever was in her past was written and no word could be changed. She had only this moment, this dance.
She had to let Charlotte go. She had to forgive herself, to forgive Charlotte too. She’d gone over all the time they were together, trying to think what she could have done differently, but it didn’t matter now.
It was time to say goodbye. She said the word to herself, silently.
Jean let Lea guide her to the end of the song, then realized how closely she was clinging. Embarrassed, she stepped away as Lea dropped her arms.
“It’s all right,” Lea said, very quietly.
“What’s all right?” Jean asked.
“Whatever it is that’s making you sad,” Lea answered. “Whatever it is, it will be all right.”
Jean didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead she reached over and touched Lea lightly on the arm. “Thank you for the dance.”
“No, thank you,” Lea responded. “It’s been a very long time since I got to dance with a beautiful woman.”
Warmth flooded Jean’s face in the cool evening air. “I’m hardly beautiful, unless you’re into a kind of geeky girl look. I imagine it was a little cute when I was twenty, but it’s not exactly endearing at forty.”
Lea answered, “You’re wrong about that. Twenty has its charm, but I prefer the company of grown-up women myself.”
“Grown-up women are a lot more complicated than twenty-year-old girls,” Jean said unhappily.
“Complicated isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” Lea said softly. “I just want you to know something.”
“What?”
“You can trust me,” Lea finished, her tone still gentle. “That’s all. If you want to talk to someone, you’re safe with me.”
Was she? Jean wondered.
Chapter Seven
When Jean looked up from her desk, she saw Todd Moorman hovering in her office door. Why couldn’t he just knock on the doorframe like a normal human being instead of waiting for her to notice him? She suppressed the sigh of annoyance she seemed to always feel when she saw him. “Todd. What’s up?”
“Can I disturb you a minute?” he asked.
You already have, she thought. “What’s going on?”
He slid into the room and braced himself with his hands on the back of her visitor’s chair. She wondered how he had managed to hang up his suit coat so that the lapel was creased at an odd angle. Was he married? She couldn’t remember. Glancing down she saw a thin silver band on the third finger of his left hand, so it seemed he was. Apparently his wife hadn’t been able to help him figure out how to hang up his jacket properly.
“I was wondering…” His voice trailed off.
“Yes?” She heard the sharpness in her tone.
“I, uh, wondered if you have any more work for me,” he managed, fiddling with the end of his tie. “The planning commission cases have really slowed down lately, I don’t know if it’s the economy or just the end of summer, and public works doesn’t need a lot of legal advice generally and I’m kind of—”
She interrupted him, fearful that the sentence would never end. “I understand, Todd. I have a couple of things I could give you. And I do appreciate your willingness to ask.”
He looked gratified. Jean picked up a file from the corner of her desk. She said, “This is a pretty straightforward legal issue from the public trustee about agricultural redemption periods. It shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours, but she needs it by the end of the week. Can you do that?”
“Oh, sure thing,” he said eagerly, taking the folder.
Glancing at the pile of file folders in the corner, Jean had a sudden inspiration. “I have a bigger project for you too. The file over there is the Lambert case.”
“The public works guy? He was suing us, right?”
“Yes. He died last week, killed by the burglar who’s been stealing from homes in Joya. I need you to review the case and research the survivability of the lawsuit.”
Jean saw the look of confusion that Todd was trying to hide and she wondered what had possessed Del Franklin to hire him. Todd seemed nice enough, but nothing about his intellect impressed her. Jean explained, “Some tort suits survive the d
eath of the plaintiff, some don’t. You need to research whether this type of suit can be continued by Lambert’s estate or whether we can get it dismissed because of his death. Start with the Colorado statutes and then do whatever case law research on Westlaw you need to do about interpretation.”
“Okay, got it,” he said and at least he seemed eager to tackle the problem.
“You should have a couple of weeks to do it,” she told him as he gathered up the folders from her chair. “If Lambert’s attorney files a Motion for Substitution of Parties I’ll let you know, but I’m hoping we can get a definitive answer before that happens. Get back to me if you have a question, all right?”
“Absolutely, you bet,” Todd said, and gathered up the files and quickly left. Jean could not remember the last time she’d given an assignment to anyone who reacted with such enthusiasm.
Thinking about Lambert made her think of Lea and that triggered her memory of Saturday night. The party had felt mostly like a work obligation, but the dance in the moonlight with Lea had been something different, very personal.
And perhaps even more than just something private. Why had Lea asked her to dance? Perhaps it really had been just a whim, Lea’s desire to dance with another woman. Or was Lea being less than honest about her motive that she wanted to be friends and nothing more?
Jean wanted to laugh at herself. She was the one being dishonest, pretending that her attraction to Lea didn’t exist. And she was lying to Lea as well, which was worse. It was time, well past time, for the two of them to have a serious conversation. Lea needed to know that Jean wasn’t available for any kind of relationship.
She looked longingly at her office phone with its two lines, hold and speaker buttons. It would be so much easier to have the conversation with Lea on the telephone, without having to look into her eyes or see her hands or remember how soft her hair was.