Here To Stay (Welcome to Lucky Break, Arizona!)

by Forsythe, Patricia

  “I see,” he said. He looked from her, back to his mother, who by now had made a quick left turn through a swinging door that Billie hadn’t noticed before. It opened into the kitchen where Doreen deposited the container of spaghetti sauce, knocked over a plastic glass and bumped against the corner of a microwave cart, which rolled several inches.

  Coming right along behind her, Cam set the glass upright, pulled the cart back into position, and said, “Mom, I don’t know what plans you have made with Miss . . . .”

  “Abbott,” Billie provided walking along behind him as he followed Doreen who had swung through the other door and was now scurrying across the dining room, heading for the stairs.

  “Abbott,” he added grimly. “But it isn’t going to happen. I’m not going to be photographed for any cheesy calendar.”

  “Well, that’s fine dear, I’m sure there are many other good-looking young men who would be willing to be photographed for a calendar.” Ready to head up the stairs, Doreen grabbed the pineapple-shaped newel cap, which came off in her hand. Without missing a step, she handed it to Cam, who made a sound of frustration and set it back into place. He followed Doreen upstairs.

  Billie hesitated for a moment before accompanying them. After all, she hadn’t even been invited inside the house, much less upstairs. On the other hand, they were talking about her. She ran lightly along behind Cam, who turned to glower at her. He looked as if he was about to say something, but the bang of a door upstairs had him whipping around and dashing after his mother.

  Billie found them in a bedroom decorated in rich shades of blues and purples. Intrigued, Billie looked around. It wasn’t the kind of room she would have associated with Doreen, who, both in their conversation of a few days ago, and so far today appeared to be someone who was too, -- fluffy, to have a room decorated in these shades that seemed to invite restful contemplation.

  Doreen dumped the clothing beside a compact duffle bag lying open on the bed and began folding them into neat little squares which she stowed with quick efficiency.

  “So we both understand this, Miss Abbott isn’t photographing me for any calendar, right?” Cam asked with grim determination.

  “If that’s what you want, darling.” She tilted her head and gave him a considering look. “Now that I think it over, I think it wouldn’t be the best use of her time, or yours, anyway. After all, if you’re going to get your message out, you’ll need to have her here photographing you and the workings here on the Muleshoe. One picture on one calendar that may or may not even sell outside of Lucky Break might not even be worth the trouble.” She smiled brightly at Billie. “No offense, dear.”

  “Um, uh, none taken,” Billie answered.

  “Wait, wait, whoa.” Cam threw his hands out as if to stop a charging stallion. “I missed a step somewhere,” he said, then added, under his breath, “Not that there’s anything unusual in that.” He looked from one to the other of them. “Now you’re saying that she’s here to photograph me and the workings of the ranch. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Doreen beamed at him. “And don’t you think that’s an excellent plan?”

  “No.” The word was flat, succinct, and unequivocal.

  Billie shifted her feet uncomfortably. She got the message right away. Doreen ignored it and went right on with her packing, moving back and forth between the bedroom and bathroom.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Cameron, because I made a promise.”

  “Without even talking to me about it?”

  His mother blinked at him innocently. “You were gone when Miss Abbott called because she’d seen the article about you saving your fellow firefighters. She thought it would be a wonderful addition to the calendar, and I agreed of course, and then one thing lead to another . . . .”

  “I’ll just bet it did,” he muttered, casting Billie a dark glance.

  She attempted to appear guileless, silently blessing Doreen for not saying the ‘Miss Abbott’ she was referring to was Aunt Portia. But Doreen seemed a little scattered so maybe she didn’t realize there were two Miss Abbotts.

  “And I suggested she come do a full photographic essay about you and the environmentally-friendly ranching methods you’ve devised. What better way to advertise them?”

  “American Horseman?” he suggested. “Cattlemen magazine?”

  “But they didn’t offer,” Billie jumped in. She had decided she’d let Doreen carry the brunt of the argument long enough. The lady obviously had other things on her mind.

  “Aaaand,” Doreen continued, finishing the last of her packing triumphantly and zipping the duffle bag shut. “What better way for Miss Abbott to do the best possible job of making a photographic record than to have her right here on the ranch so she can document your every move?”

  “What?” Cameron stared at her. Billie thought if he’d been wearing a hat he would have thrown it to the floor and stomped on it. “Where?”

  “In Burt’s old cabin, of course. It’s small, but it’s perfectly sound and the bathroom can be completely closed off and made into a darkroom. Do photographers still use dark rooms? Everything seems to be digital these days.”

  Billie blinked at Doreen. They hadn’t even discussed that. It pleased her that the other lady had thought of it. Given Doreen’s flighty approach to everything Billie had witnessed in the past twenty minutes, she was also surprised. “I use both kinds,” she said with a smile.

  “Mom, no, this isn’t going to happen. She can’t stay here. She can’t photograph me or the ranch, or anything else. End of discussion.”

  Billie could see this perfect opportunity slipping away from her. She couldn’t let that happen. Not only had Doreen assured her access to this wonderful story, but she was also going to give her a place to stay rent-free. This was a break that cash-strapped Abbott Photography couldn’t afford to lose. She stepped up in front of him and said, “Why don’t you and I discuss this?”

  “Fine,” he said, giving her a ferocious frown. “You can’t stay here, you can’t photograph me, or the ranch, or anything else.”

  “But I won’t be doing any harm. In fact, it would help you.”

  “I promised, Cam,” Doreen said, pulling some clothes and a pair of boots from the closet. She went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  “This is an opportunity not to be missed,” Billie blurted, her brain working frantically to come up with a good argument for her to be able to stay. “Think of the wider audience you can reach.”

  “Think of the privacy I’m giving up.” He thrust his chin out and his deep voice rumbled in a way that made her think of thunder on the horizon. “Or would be giving up if I was going to do this, which I’m not.”

  “But don’t you want other people to know about what you’re doing? I’ve never met anyone with environmentally-friendly ideas who wanted to keep them to himself.”

  “Well, that’s a first for you. Join the club. I’ve had any number of firsts today.” He gave her a direct look. “Some more pleasant than others.” A hint of warmth touched his eyes, but Billie knew it wasn’t for her.

  Billie, distracted by the sudden change in his expression, took a steadying breath. If she could catch that look on film, it would make a wonderful photograph. An odd, softening warmth sifted through her as she watched him. Looking at him made her feel happy and she didn’t know if it was because she was envisioning a photograph or because he was so compelling and attractive. Hard on the heels of that thought came a sharp and painful memory, so new and recent that it caused dismay and regret to swamp her. Her mind shied away from it and it took her a moment to focus once again on Cam.

  She was so caught up in looking at him that it took her a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. “Oh, yes the new twins in the family. Are they the first in the family, or do you have children?” For some reason, it hadn’t yet occurred to her to find out if he was married, had children. She’d assumed he was single since his mother had made all the arrangements for Bill
ie’s stay – which might never happen if she didn’t change his mind.

  And it was desperately important to change his mind.

  “They’re the first.” He didn’t answer her unspoken question about whether or not he was married.

  The bathroom door opened and Doreen strode out. Billie glanced at her and her mouth dropped open. She was clad in black leather – pants, jacket, boots. She reached into her closet and pulled out a motorcycle helmet.

  Cameron looked at her and groaned. “No, Mom. You’re not riding that motorcycle all the way to Phoenix. It’s three hours.”

  “Of course I’m riding Daisy Belle. She’s the most efficient mode of transportation and I love riding her.”

  “But you’ll need a car once you get to Katie’s,” he floundered.

  She grabbed her duffel bag and her purse. “Don’t be silly. If I need to drive a car, I’ll borrow her minivan, though I’ll have to pray that I’m not seen by anyone who knows me. I realize it’s a safe vehicle for carrying babies around, but how any child of mine could have bought such an eyesore on wheels, I don’t know. Well,” she said, reaching up to tug Cameron down so she could give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m off. I should think I’ll be gone at least two weeks.” She turned her attention to Billie who was still dazzled by Doreen’s hot biker babe outfit. “It was lovely meeting you. Enjoy your stay here and feel free to ask any questions and take any photographs you want, but please be sure that Cameron is shown in the best possible light.” Conspiratorially, she whispered. “He really hates being the center of attention.”

  The man who hated being the center of attention, growled, took his mother’s duffle out of her hand, and with the air of a martyr, waved the two women out of the room. They all trooped downstairs and outside. They passed Billie’s ancient Ford Mustang, loaded to the gills with her photographic equipment and personal items.

  Doreen gave it an admiring look. “Now that’s a car,” she said. When they reached the garage, Doreen placed her things in the saddlebags of not just any motorcycle, but a Harley Davidson Road King, built for long road trips. The name, ‘Daisy Belle’ was painted in small, flowing pink script on the fuel tank.

  Billie, who had been unable to say a word since she’d first caught sight of Doreen in her leather outfit, finally unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and said, “Be careful. That’s an awfully big bike.” She gave Cameron a sidelong glance, but he didn’t appear worried, which surprised her even more. This was a woman who couldn’t walk through her own house without knocking things over. How was she going to be able to ride this thing all the way to Phoenix?

  “I can handle it,” Doreen said. Expertly, she rolled the motorcycle out of the garage and then straddled it and started the engine with a sure touch. “Goodbye. I’ll call you from Phoenix, Cam,” she called out. “And I’ll email lots of pictures. Now, you cooperate with Miss Abbott, there, and you’ll see that something wonderful will come of it.” With a jaunty wave, she turned in a big arc and roared off down the driveway. Billie decided that Doreen was better on wheels than she was on foot.

  Watching her go, Cam offered what sounded like a fervent prayer. “Please, God, don’t let her put one of the babies down and forget where she left him.”

  With the air of a man facing a firing squad, he then turned to Billie. “Miss Abbott . . . .”

  “Billie,” she said, holding up her hands and giving him her most winning smile. She didn’t think it would do much good, but it was worth a try. “And I know what you’re going to say. That I can’t stay, but please reconsider. It’s the perfect opportunity to get your message out, to let people know that it’s possible to raise beef and protect the environment at the same time. It’s true that cattle are the only domesticated animals that foul their own drinking water, but it’s possible to counteract that. People need to know that. If you’ll let me stay and do this project, I won’t even get in your way. I’ll be a phantom, a ghost. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I already know you’re here,” he said. Cam eyed her warily. How could anyone miss her? She was nearly six feet tall with legs that went on for about twelve miles. In heels, she would meet him eye to eye. And what eyes she had – deep blue, wide open, honest. Well, maybe he was fantasizing there. He didn’t know how honest she was. And he wondered if his mother had suggested this idea of the photo shoot at the Muleshoe, or if Billie had coerced her into suggesting it.

  It didn’t matter. He was stuck, and he knew it. One thing that his parents had drilled into him was that of keeping promises. He had learned to his chagrin that he needed to be careful with the promises he made, especially if it involved a woman. They’d never had a single woman on the ranch before that he could recall and there hadn’t been a woman in his life for a long time. Whenever his mom, or his friends tried to fix him up, he said he was too busy, and that was true as far as it went. But his mom still believed in keeping promises and so did he. He had never told her the full truth behind his reluctance and it was too late to start now.

  He didn’t know if it had something to do with his father’s family background, or the code of the west which said you always helped people in need or in trouble.

  Although, he thought with a mental sigh, as he looked at her once again – black hair drifting around her face in an ebony cloud, eyes softly beseeching him, full lips slightly parted as if prepared to beg – he didn’t think this girl was in trouble.

  She was trouble.

  “A phantom?” he ventured. “A ghost?”

  Hope sprang into her face. “You won’t even know I’m here,” she repeated.

  Cam glanced over her shoulder and saw that a couple of men had walked out of the barn. One of them worked for him, a wrangler named Jess Carter. The other was the local veterinarian, Don Parkey. He had dropped by to check on one of his horses who’d cut her leg badly a few days ago. Both men stopped dead in their tracks and their eyes focused on Billie as if they’d emerged from a week in the desert and she was the first drink of water they’d seen. For a moment, they looked as if they’d been poleaxed, then they nearly knocked each other down getting across the yard to be introduced to her.

  As he watched them approach, Cam wondered what ever happened to that old myth about cowboys being shy around women? As far as he was concerned, it had been a perfectly good system. It had kept the men’s minds on work.

  He made the introductions and watched their faces. They were enthralled. Ridiculous, he thought. Don Parkey was married and had four kids younger than ten. Jess Carter loved the ladies and had scattered a string of broken hearts from Phoenix to the Mexican border and he looked as though he was sizing this newcomer up with a view to turning her into his next casualty.

  Cam didn’t need this kind of distraction at the Muleshoe. Even his best men would find it hard to concentrate with her around.

  On the other hand, what she said was true. He was having great success removing buffelgrass and reintroducing grama grass to his rangeland. He would like other people to know about it, learn his methods and try them. He’d written articles for magazines, spoken at every meeting of ranchers, environmentalists, garden clubs, you name it. He’d been to them all. This photographic essay might be an additional way to do it, if it was done right. If she was here on the ranch, he could make sure it was done right.

  He cleared his throat. “Come on, Miss Abbott,” he said. “I’ll show you the house.”

  “House?” asked Jess.

  “She’s going to be around for a while,” Cam said. “Staying in Burt’s old cabin.”

  Jess grinned, shoved his hat back with his thumb, and said, “Well, now that’s about the best news I’ve heard all day.”

  Billie smiled warmly.

  Since Cam knew that Jess was only about ten college credits away from a degree in architecture, he was tempted to tell him to lose the country boy ‘Aw shucks’ attitude, but in spite of her friendly smile, Billie didn’t seem to be overly impressed by it. He took her a
rm, said goodbye to Don Parkey, told Jess to exercise the injured horse gently, and steered Billie toward the small house on the far side of the barn.

  As they walked, Billie asked, “How long have you owned the Muleshoe Ranch?”

  “It’s been in the family for three generations.”

  “So ranching is in your blood?”

  “Yes.” His lips twitched in a hint of a smile. “It gets in your blood. It beats the stuffing out of you, but it gets in your blood.”

  She looked around, taking in the house that looked as if it had been freshly painted that spring, the barn that needed paint, the sturdy corral, and the pastures beyond.

  “So, where can we start the shoot? I could begin by taking one of you on horseback.”

  Not likely. He gave her a sidelong glance. “Eager to get to work already?”

  “No reason to waste time. What time do you start work in the morning? I have to go into town to meet with the city council this evening, but I’ll be available tomorrow morning.”

  Cam paused. “The city council?”

  She nodded and gave him the confident smile she was working so hard to perfect. “Yes, they’ve asked to see me this evening to make sure we’re all on the same page on this project.” Actually, they’d asked to meet with her aunt, but Billie hoped to finesse her way through the meeting. She was sure she could convince them that she could do this job as well as Portia could. To her aunt’s credit, Portia believed it, too.

  Cam’s eyes had narrowed slightly as he looked at her. “I see,” he said softly.

  Billie gave him a puzzled look as she tried to decipher the speculation in his eyes. She thought he was going to say something more about it, but then he straightened, focused on her and returned to what they’d been discussing before.

  “We’re up at five,” he answered.

  She faltered. “AM?”

  “Sure, didn’t you know things start early on a ranch?” Actually, he usually started work by seven, depending on the job. When training a new horse, he could start before dawn and work all day, giving little thought to rest, or even food until sunset. Paperwork, which he hated because it meant he was trapped indoors, could be put off indefinitely.