by Tia Louise
“I wish I’d have been there.”
“No.” She shakes her head, and I step back, meeting her eyes. “He wouldn’t call off Mateo. He wouldn’t back down from any of it. I’m so mad at him.”
It’s a sad, soft lament, and I lift her hand, kissing her fingers before stopping cold. “You’re not wearing your ring?”
“I am.” She reaches around her neck, tugging on a silver chain and pulling the diamond out of her shirt. “I thought it was better if I kept it hidden until we’re ready.”
She slips it on her finger, and I give it a kiss before going to where the water is boiling. I drop the noodles in and start the cheese sauce.
“Tomorrow I’m going to this warehouse where they store a bunch of old records.”
Her eyes are round as she watches me. “You think you’ve found something?”
“I think it’s going to be like the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark.” Stirring the cheese mixture, I take the boiling pasta off the stove and transfer it to a pan, pouring the creamy sauce on it and covering it all with shredded mozzarella and parmesan.
“I wish I could help you.” She sits on the stool watching, her pretty face on her hand, her diamond gleaming in the lights.
“You keep doing what you’re doing with Winnie. I’m working on this.”
Once dinner is in the oven, I set a timer and circle the bar to where she’s sitting. Her hands are on my waist, and she looks up at me. “I was thinking today how Winnie is my family now, too.”
“I like hearing you say that.” Using my thumb, I slide a curl away from her eyes. “I know we’ve got a little ways to go, but we’re going to win this.”
“Is it a race? Or a war.”
Thinking about the question, I don’t like either of those options. “It’s a test.”
24
Angel
Deacon’s bland signature dish is actually the perfect comfort food for my sensitive stomach. We curl up on the couch, bowls in hand and while he has a glass of dry white wine, I stick to carbonated water.
He’s holding a linen envelope from the stack of mail he sorted before we sat down. “The Cattleman’s Masque is this weekend.”
“What’s that?” Taking another bite, I snuggle deeper into his overstuffed leather couch.
While he finished cooking, I changed into one of his sweatshirts and a pair of boxer shorts and thick socks. I’m surrounded by fresh linen, citrus, and yummy Deacon scent.
“It’s this big, annual fundraiser every year at the Palace Casino.” He takes out an elegantly engraved invitation with script writing, tissue, and double envelopes.
“The Palace?” I scoot up higher on the couch, taking it from him and reading the formal invitation. “I don’t know how to gamble.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s just a bunch of people with too much money standing around gossiping.” He takes a bite of dinner. “They’ll gamble and raise all the money.”
“What for?”
He shrugs, setting his bowl aside and takes a sip of wine. “One year it was Keeping Texas Wild… I think they stole that from Austin’s stay weird campaign. Another year it was to protect the Mustangs or their habitat—”
“Oh! I love that one!” Sitting higher, I think about Spirit. “What’s this year’s?”
“Does it say on the invitation?”
Turning the paper in my hand, “I don’t see anything.”
“Winnie would know.” He reaches for me, pulling me onto his lap. “I told her I was bringing a date this year.”
He smiles up at me, and I put my hands on his neck, leaning down to kiss his soft lips. “Who were you planning to ask?”
“I had this one girl in mind.” He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes, loving the feel of him strong in my arms. Loving the heat he stirs in me with his mouth. “She’s really pretty. She’s actually my wife… In a way.”
Leaning back, my stomach squeezes when I catch his mischievous blue eyes. “I thought you were a single guy.”
“No way.” He kisses me again. “I’m married to the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t say.”
Scooping his hands under my butt, he stands in one fluid movement, carrying me to his bedroom. “I do say.” He tosses me on the bed, and I laugh as I barely bounce on the firm mattress. “What’s the word, beautiful? Go with me as my date to this snooty function where all of my aunt’s friends will be there showing off?”
“Wait… All of Winnie’s friends will be there?” My stomach twists, and I feel scared and a little anxious. “Are you sure—”
“I’m positive.” He leans across the bed, resting his fists on the mattress on either side of me. “I’m going to show you off—and who knows, I might have solved your family’s problem by then, too.”
“What will I wear?”
With a quick kiss, he straightens. “I’ll give you my card and you can get whatever you want from Nieman’s. Ask one of the clerks to help you. It’s formal, so go all out.”
“I… don’t know…” My voice trails off as he pulls off his tee, revealing his bare, lined torso. I fall back against the pillows, admiring the sight of my gorgeous future husband… current husband?
“Don’t know what? Don’t know if you’ll go? You’re going.”
Clearing my throat, I collect my thoughts. “I’ve never had a clerk help me. It sounds expensive. I don’t know about spending your money—”
“You’re my wife.” His dark brow lowers, and he leans down to pull of his jeans. “I want you to have a beautiful dress and go with me to this damn party. It’ll be the first year I enjoy it.”
He straightens, facing me in nothing but boxer briefs, and my breath disappears. “Okay…”
“You know, when you look at me that way, I can only think of one thing I want to do to you.”
Little wings flutter inside my stomach, and I slide lower in the bed. “What’s that?”
“Here.” He climbs over me, strong arms on either side of my head as he lowers his body over mine. “Let me show you.”
Standing in front of Winnie’s portrait, so many thoughts swirl in my head. I had planned to tell Deacon about the baby after dinner last night. It’s why I went to his apartment building… Also, because I was worried about Mateo.
Then he started talking about the masquerade this weekend and dresses and formalwear. It’s a celebration, and I imagined getting home after, everything quiet as I tell him the happy news, and us celebrating. Maybe with sparkling grape juice and a card, something memorable.
Then he started undressing, and I kind of forgot everything else. My lips curl with a smile as I think about his sexy body. I did some more work on his portrait while we were in El Paso, surrounding his torso in bright blue and shading it with orange… It’s different from my usual work, but it’s an appropriate evolution. My life is changing.
I remember his proposal, my tears. I’m going to make you so happy…
“Looks like you’ll be done this week.” Winnie’s voice pulls me out of my daydreams.
“I think I will.” Stepping back, I inspect her likeness, surrounded by all these rich things she loves, with the indifferent cat in her lap.
“I brought you this as a partial payment.” She holds out a thick brown envelope, and I realize it’s more cash.
“You don’t owe me any payment—”
“I am well aware of that. However, you’re clearly on track to finish, and I obviously like what you’ve done.” Her tone is clipped, and she glances briefly at my waist. “I thought you might need the money now.”
“I don’t know why I would need an early payment… But if you’re offering, I’ll accept it.” Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Her lips press and she nods sharply. “Not that it’s any of my business, but if you need a doctor… I know one who can help you.”
For a split second, I’m confused. Does she mean for my brother? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand—”
> “Enrique found vomit in the flower bed this morning. You ran out so suddenly last night… I simply put two and two together.” She lifts her chin in a self-righteous manner, and my jaw clenches. Of all the stereotypical…
“You assumed I was pregnant.”
Her eyebrow arches. “Are you not?”
My cheeks burn hot, and while I’m excited and happy about the baby, I’m pissed I can’t rub it in her face—that it’s Deacon’s, that we’re engaged, or that we’re kind of even married… in a way.
“That’s what I thought. You might think me unkind, but I’ve seen many promising careers cut short by unexpected… arrivals. I’d hate for that to happen to someone as talented as you.”
“Nothing is being cut short.” Snatching the envelope out of her hand, I stuff it in my purse. “You can keep your doctor’s referral.”
“I wasn’t trying to offend you. I simply wanted to help.”
“I don’t need your help. With all due respect, mind your own business.”
Turning to the canvas, I pick up my brush and hold it a minute while I calm my breathing. I imagine telling her the father is her dear, precious nephew… Who I happen to be madly in love with. Instead, I swallow my annoyance and focus on finishing this job.
“Well, I’m sorry if I offended you.”
I don’t answer, and she quietly leaves the room.
25
Deacon
Standing in the center of the county warehouse building, I’m surrounded by boxes stretching to the back wall and stacked to the ceiling. It’s not as big as Hangar 51, but it’s just as daunting.
The guard left me at the door to figure out the order, if there is any.
Stopping at the closest box, I open the lid and look inside. Manila folders are mixed with brown envelopes in stacks that look like someone emptied file drawers into boxes and taped them shut.
If that’s the case, these boxes have to hold years. Scanning the documents, I find the year 1968 on this one. Too early.
Shoving it back in the pile, I dig a little deeper and pull out another folder, opening it. Yes… The date is also 1968. I pull out a black marker I shoved in my jeans just in case and mark this box 68.
Going down a few rows, I pull up at what I hope gets me back ten years. Lifting the box off the stack, I open it and repeat the process. My stomach is tight, and I realize I’m holding my breath when I read the date 1975.
“Shit.” I swear out loud.
“Ready to give up?” The female voice calls to me from the front of the room.
Using the marker, I write 75 on this one and go back to where I started. “Not yet.” Once I’m back at the original box, I walk forward what I hope is ten years.
“There’s supposed to be an order to this madness, but I think everyone stopped caring in the 80s.” Mary lifts the lid on the box closest to her and waves a hand in front of her face, coughing. “So much dust. Think you need a mask?”
“I’m not allergic.” And I’m in a hurry. The longer this needle hides in the haystack, the longer it takes to mend our bridges.
“This one’s 1971. What year are you after?” She drops the lid and looks around the large room.
“I’m guessing the second half of the 1940s.”
Mary’s brown eyes widen. “You don’t know the year?”
Exhaling deeply, I look down. “My grandfather would’ve been buying property up to 1950. If he went in with someone it could be as early as 1945.”
She passes me, heading toward the back of the room. “Those are going to be some of the first records put here. Older stuff is usually claimed by the historical society.”
My stomach tightens, and I feel a little encouraged as I follow her to the back of the room. “You think you can find it?”
“No, but maybe we can isolate the location.” She pulls the lid off a box and lifts out an envelope.
It’s paper-thin and yellowed. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Let me see.”
She turns it to me and smiles. “Fifty-two.”
“Here.” I take the marker and put a 52 on the outside of the box.
“These numbers are supposed to do what you just did.” She runs her finger along a barcode printed on a sticker on the side of the box.
It has a mixture of letters and numbers I can’t decipher. “Do you know what they mean?”
Her lips press into a frown, and she shakes her head. “I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for a scanner for it.”
“At least I’m getting warmer.” I go to the next box and lift the lid, digging deep into the contents.
I make a note 50 and go five rows down. Mary continues searching row by row, closing boxes and helping me note them.
“I’ve got it!” Holding the folder up, I open it to show the year is 1945. “Now let’s see what this is.”
She hustles up to me, and we try to read the narrow, ancient script. “It’s almost like a straight line,” she whispers.
At the top is a triangular drawing with measurements marked out.
“Find the name.” We scan the page reading closer until we hit it.
“Hathaway.” Mary shakes her head and returns the documents to the folder. “You’re going to have to go through every one of these.”
We both assess the size of the box, and I look at my watch. “I’ve got six hours.”
“You’ve got serious determination.”
“I’ve got reasons.” Putting the box on the floor, I take a seat, ready to spend as much time as I have searching.
“What’s the name we’re after?” She opens the next box and pulls out a folder.
“Treviño. Dring is good, but I’m really looking for either a combination of Dring and Treviño or just Treviño.”
Her brow furrows. “Mexican?”
“American.”
Her chin lifts and she opens the top folder, running her finger down the page. “Partnerships complicate things. They didn’t always keep the most complete records for such situations. Any chance you know the DBA?”
“As far as I know, they were ‘doing business as’ themselves.”
We search in silence, moving boxes aside as we finish going through them. We move on to 1946, page after page, until I’m better at recognizing birth records from death records from marriage licenses from land ownership.
My eyes are starting to cross. It’s way past lunch, and my stomach is growling. I’m up to 1948 when Mary freezes, scrambling to her feet with a yellowed document in her hand.
“What was that name again? Treviño?”
I’m on my feet just as fast, meeting her where she left the box. “Manuel Treviño.”
She stops, and I lean down to look closer. A map is drawn at the top of the page, and I feel my heart beating faster as I recognize what I know is my family’s land leading up to Oklahoma.
“This is it.” I take the fragile sheet of paper from her, holding it carefully, reading the dates, the agreement to purchase, the smaller section drawn out as his—although in reality, it’s not that small.
“I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but this only shows they owned it at one time a long time ago.” Our eyes meet, and she’s frowning slightly. “Anything could have happened after this. He could have sold it, lost it in some financial downturn…”
“He didn’t.” I feel more certain of it than anything.
“Still, you can’t prove he didn’t.”
I’m less worried about that aspect of the story. What I needed most is right here, proof the family’s claim is real. I have a good idea where I can find the rest of the story, and it’s in that ancient old house where Winnie lives.
“Can I have this?”
Mary winces and slowly shakes her head no. “I’m sorry, Deacon. As far as we know, that’s the only copy left.”
“Moldering here with the rats in an old warehouse where no one even knows it’s located?”
“Pretty much.” She’s apologetic, and I consider
what might happen if I bolt. “Is there a copy machine here?”
Two hours later, I’m back at Winnie’s with the original land deed and a copy in my breast pocket, hoping to catch Angel before she leaves.
No luck.
“Deacon! What a pleasant surprise.” My aunt meets me in the foyer with her arms wide, pulling me in for a hug. “The masque is this weekend, so we can’t do our usual dinner date. Would you like to have dinner tonight?”
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s after six. “Wow, no.”
She huffs a laugh. “Don’t give it a second thought.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it is. I was just hoping I could poke around in the attic a minute.”
“The attic?” She pulls her head back frowning. “It’s so hot… and really, what on Earth—”
“I’ll just be a minute.” Sprinting up the massive wooden staircase, I climb one more and go to the back hall away from the bedrooms where the rectangular door is overhead.
Stepping back, I open it and lower the wooden ladder before charging into the stifling heat. A naked bulb is perched on a beam in the open space. It’s a framework of two by fours and insulation, and it’s hot as hell. It smells like old paper and dried goods.
Carefully, I step on a thin plank covering the wood frame of the ceiling.
“Deacon?” My aunt calls from below. “What are you looking for?”
Straightening, I look across the massive space with boxes arranged in every nook and cranny. Wasn’t I just here? Fatigue hits me like a hammer. I don’t need a permit to search this house. I can come back tomorrow, after I’ve rested.
Returning to the ladder, I slowly climb down, wiping the sweat off my brow with my sleeve and folding the wooden ladder into the door before lifting it shut.
“My goodness what a mess.” Winnie waves a hand in front of her face. “What’s come over you?”
“I was thinking about Grandma Kim… your mom.”
“I know who Grandma Kim was. Why are you so fixated on her all of a sudden?”
“You said her things were in the attic—”
“Perhaps not all of them, thankfully. Do you have any idea how hot it gets up there in the summertime?”