“Breaking and entering!” Hud’s voice was positively gleeful. “A felony. Oh, catin, you are such a bad, bad girl.”
“I know,” I said, feeling miserable. “I really need to talk to you.”
“I’ll meet you in ten minutes. I’ll be the excited-looking one holding a yellow rose between my teeth.”
The thing about Hud was, silly as he often acted, especially around me, he understood about the need to not always do things exactly by the book. The only other people I would have trusted with this information were Emory and Elvia, but they had enough on their plate right now. I’d tell Hud the whole story and, if necessary, beg for his help.
Because the fact was, Ford Hudson was a real Texas oil millionaire. He had resources that I couldn’t even begin to touch, and I wanted him to use every one of them to find out exactly what was Lin Snider’s story.
He made it to Liddie’s before I did and had somehow, despite being a busy Sunday evening, begged or bribed Nadine into letting us have the much-in-demand back booth. It was as private as you could get at Liddie’s.
“I’ve ordered you a grilled cheese sandwich, a green salad with ranch dressing and water. I’m getting the tri-tip Cobb salad.”
“I always get a cheeseburger,” I said, sliding across from him. “And French fries.”
“Change is good. If you’re giving up Cokes, you might as well start eating healthier.”
“Who died and made you my food coach?” I grumbled.
He took off his dark brown Stetson and placed it, crown down, on the red bench seat next to him. “Quit whining. If you’re good, I’ll buy you a piece of pie. Butterscotch tonight.”
That perked me up. Butterscotch was my favorite. “I don’t know where to begin.”
He sat back in the seat, one arm resting over the back. “You might start with who is this lady whose hotel room you broke into and why you felt the need to break into it. There’s a good start.”
I leaned forward. “Shhh! I don’t need this to get around town. Right now, no one except you knows about my, uh, foray outside the law.”
He grinned and grabbed one of my hands. “I feel so honored. And, strangely, a little excited.”
I jerked away and slapped the top of his hand. “You are always excited. You’re like a junkyard dog that’s never been fixed.”
“Now I’m really excited.”
“Shut up and listen.” I swallowed. “Please.”
The slight catch in my voice immediately sobered him. “Go ahead, ranch girl.”
It took me most of our meal to tell everything because Nadine kept interrupting us to refill our water glasses, bring Hud more biscuits, offer me a Coke on the house.
“She knows something is going on,” I whispered to Hud after her third offer of Coke. “She’s dying to know what it is.”
“We probably should have gone somewhere else,” he said.
“No, because we’d likely have been seen and Gabe would have been told and it would have looked like we were doing something illicit. You know this town. The only place we can eat together without people talking is Liddie’s. I can tell Gabe we just ran into each other.”
“Lie to your hubby?” He picked up a chunk of tri-tip with his fork and waved it at me, unable to abstain for long from teasing me. “Shame, shame. You are really racking up the bad-girl points this week.”
“Would you let me finish?”
After my story ended, he continued eating without commenting.
“Well?” I said after a minute. “What do you think?”
“Give me a minute,” he said, contemplating a strip of yellow bell pepper before sticking it in his mouth. “I’m trying to process everything.”
While he thought, I fretted about whether telling him everything had been a mistake. I concluded that I’d had no other choice. I needed help from someone with vast and generous resources, and I needed it fast.
By the time a very irritated and curious Nadine brought our dessert—butterscotch pie for both of us—Hud had decided to bestow his opinion on me.
“Here’s what I think. I need to do a deeper investigation on her than you can. You said that your cousin Emory had an investigator on board?”
I nodded, picking at my pie. “Someone named Betsy?”
“Betsy Twain. I know her. She’s good. I’ll tell her I’m working on it too and we can compare notes. But I have resources even she doesn’t . . .”
“That’s what I was counting on.”
“It’ll take a day or so. Are you okay until then?”
“I guess I’ll have to be. I just hope if what I think about why she’s here is true, she doesn’t show up at our front door with this girl’s birth certificate. I’m not sure Gabe could handle the shock right now.”
Hud watched my face closely, his own emotions unreadable. “Is there something else going on with you and the chief?”
I concentrated on my pie. “We’re fine. He’s just stressed about the sniper. Anyone in his position would be.” My tone was defensive, and I didn’t care.
“Okay, another question. This girl. If she is Gabe’s daughter, how do you feel about that?”
I looked him directly in his dark brown eyes. In the years I’d gotten to know Hud he’d become almost like a family member. Though I was absolutely in love with Gabe, till-death-do-us-part love, I knew and Hud knew that under different circumstances, I could have fallen in love with him. That made our relationship tricky, but somehow we managed. All I knew was I trusted him and he trusted me because we had been through some hard times together.
“I knew he had a past when I married him, Hud. If this girl is his daughter, then I’ll accept her and we’ll deal with it. She’s not my worry . . .”
“The woman.”
I nodded. Had Gabe loved her? Would that love be rekindled once he realized they had a child together? All of that was too much for me to contemplate right now.
“Thank you for your help,” I said, touching my fingertips to the top of his hand. “You’re a dear friend and I love you. If you ever need me, I’ll be there. I mean that.”
“I know you do,” he said, shoving the dinner bill across the table to me. “Now buy my dinner and skedaddle home. I’ve got work to do.”
That night Gabe had another nightmare. I managed to wake him up by yelling across the room, though it took me ten minutes. When I heard Gabe’s voice cry out, I’d locked Scout in our bedroom, not wanting to deal with him and Gabe. Scout’s clawing at the door was so frantic, I knew we’d have to sand and repaint it.
Every time I tried to move close to Gabe, he cursed, swung his arms out in defense and I backed up. If he hit me again, I knew he’d never forgive himself. So I stood in the doorway and yelled and cried until something broke through the mental hell he was in and he bolted up, sweating, his complexion as pale as parchment paper.
We didn’t discuss his nightmare the next morning. Even so, it lay between us like the invisible pulse of an electric fence. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week. I worried about his heart. His father, Rogelio, had died of a heart attack when he was younger than Gabe. Something needed to be done about these nightmares. And soon.
“Now that the festival is over,” he asked, setting his breakfast dishes in the sink, “what are your plans this week?”
“I’m meeting Isaac this morning. We’re going out on the ranch and taking each other’s photos for the book.”
“Sounds fun. Wish I was coming.”
“Lobster dinner tonight?” I asked.
“I promise, no matter what.”
We both knew that wasn’t true, that it did matter what happened. If the sniper struck again, all bets and dates were off. But I’d been a cop’s wife long enough now to accept that. So I played along.
“Can’t wait,” I said, hugging him around the waist.
I called Isaac, and we agreed I’d be at the ranch by nine a.m. so we could ride up to Big Hill. He wanted to photograph me with my horse. I thought a
photo of him with the hills of San Celina in the background might have the grandness that his portrait deserved.
“Dig out your old Hasselblad,” I said. “I think I want that in my photo of you.” I’d always loved that camera. It looked like a piece of modern art to me.
The ranch was quiet when I arrived. The day was cloudy with thick marine fog blowing in from the ocean. A perfect day for photos, I knew Isaac would say. He was alone in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee.
“Where are the girls and Uncle WW?” I asked, plopping down on a stool next to him.
“Went to town. WW’s got an early doctor’s appointment.”
“I’ll saddle up Misty. Are you taking the Jeep?”
Isaac nodded. “It’s all loaded. The girls packed us a lunch.” “Bless ’em.”
Misty was my favorite mare, a stout little buckskin that stood just over fourteen hands. She was smart, quick and good in an emergency. But she also knew how to relax, seemed to understand when we were taking care of cow business and when we were just out for a pleasure ride. Not all cow ponies were good leisure horses.
“Perfect day for photos,” Isaac said, while we walked out to the barn.
I gave a small laugh.
“What did I say?” he asked, his expression perplexed.
“Nothing. Where’s Daddy?”
“He lit out of here early, before the girls were even out of their housecoats. Said he had some cows to check on.”
“His truck is gone.”
Isaac pretended to study the green hills behind me.
“You know where he is. Spill the beans, Pops.”
He looked down at me, his weathered face miserable. “I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“To save you any agony, I’ve seen Daddy with his girlfriend or whoever she is, so the gig is up. They were laughing it up Friday morning at Kitty’s Café in Morro Bay.”
He wiped the back of his huge hand across his forehead in a gesture of feigned relief. “I’m glad I’m not the only one carrying the burden of Ben’s secret love life now.”
“Who is she?” I opened the barn door. The scent of sweet hay, earthy horse and the buttery odor of saddle soap greeted us. It was a smell as comforting and familiar to me as Dove’s macaroni and cheese. “Where did they meet?”
“Her name is Dot Haggerty. Short for Dorothy. They’ve been seeing each other on the sly for about six months. They met at the Snaffle Bit Futurity in Reno last October.”
“I went with Daddy to the Futurity! I never saw him with any woman.”
Isaac leaned against the stall while I slipped a halter around Misty and led her to the hitching post. “How much did you and he hang out?”
“Good point.” Daddy and I enjoyed our annual trip up to the Snaffle Bit in Reno. It was one of the few times during the year when we were alone for an extended period. On the long drive, we talked, ate salty snacks, drank RC Cola, laughed and complained about the new country music. We agreed that there would never, ever be another Patsy Cline or Merle Haggard and that MoonPies and original flavor Corn-Nuts were the perfect road trip food. If Dove went to the Futurity, she usually drove with a bunch of her girlfriends.
However, once Daddy and I actually arrived in Reno, we saw each other only to wave because we both had dozens of old friends that we wanted to visit—he from his years of ranching, me from my Cal Poly and 4-H days. We always stayed in the same hotel-casino in separate rooms, often on different floors. I knew so many people attending the Futurity, I never had trouble finding a ride to the arena. Daddy could have met someone, courted her and had a wedding with a three-piece jug band and I’d probably not hear a word about it until the ride home.
“Where’s this Dot lady from?” I asked.
“She owns a little ranch with her brother outside of Reno. They run about a hundred head of red Angus. Brother never married. She’s a widow, like Ben. Has one daughter who lives in Nashville who’s a studio musician. Dot grew up in Oklahoma. Did a little trick riding back in her thirties. She designs jewelry now.”
I tilted my head and gave him a wry smile. “You sure seem to know a lot about her.”
“Ben and I talk.”
I brushed the light dusting of soil and loose hay off Misty’s back and settled the red and brown Navajo-patterned saddle pad on her back. “So, are you going to ever tell Dove about Daddy’s paramour?”
“Not on your life,” Isaac said, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s Ben’s row to hoe.” He lifted my saddle off the wooden rack and set it easily on Misty’s back without even having to swing it up and over. For not the first time I thought about how much easier life would be if I were that tall.
“But don’t you think it would make everything easier if you told Dove and Aunt Garnet that Daddy is, apparently, doing fine in the love department? They would leave him alone and move on to improving some other lucky person’s life.”
“That’s just it, they wouldn’t leave him alone. They’d want to meet her, invite her for dinner, for Sunday brunch, for the weekend. They would quiz her within an inch of her life. They would want to know about her people all the way back to her great-great-greats. Then their friends would hear about her and then Dot and Ben would become the toast of San Celina ag society because no one ever expected Ben to date again so everyone would want to meet the woman who caught him. Ben and Dot are wisely trying to figure out if they actually have something together before they give the rest of the world time to dissect it.” It was the longest, most impassioned speech I had heard Isaac give since . . . well . . . ever.
I stared at him, hands on my hips, my mouth open. It didn’t take a genius to recognize a little of his and Dove’s courtship difficulties in that speech. Then again, my dad wasn’t a famous photographer. His and Dot’s relationship wouldn’t cause quite as big a stir, though it would surprise a good many people.
I had to admit, when I thought about Daddy actually being in a romantic relationship, my stomach felt a little queasy (seriously, what kid wants to think of their parents doing anything resembling what Gabe and I did on a regular basis?). However, I liked to think I learned something from my spoiled brat behavior when Isaac courted Dove. If it killed me, unless Dot Haggerty was some kind of black widow mankiller out to hurt him (in which case, all bets were off), I was going to be open-minded and accepting of this woman who may or may not end up being my stepmother.
I’d let Dove and Aunt Garnet be the interrogators. They would be much more competent and thorough at it than me anyway.
I pulled the cinch around Misty’s belly, checked it and stretched my legs, getting ready to mount. “What are you going to do?”
“Mind my own business. Let chips fall where they may. Take the high road. If all else fails, run for cover.”
I laughed, lifted my leg and mounted Misty. “A virtual Cobb salad of clichés, all of which fit the situation to a T.”
“Cliché number five,” he said, licking a finger and making a mark in the air.
“And I agree with all of them. Let’s go take some pictures and leave Daddy to the Honeycutt Sisters Matchmaking Service.” I touched Misty’s side with my heel. “I’m taking the long way there, so I’ll meet you at Big Hill in about an hour. I need some time to relax and think.” It would take him about twenty minutes to get there in the Jeep.
“Good, it’ll give me time to set up, check things out.”
It had been the first time I’d been out for a ride since seeing Lin Snider at the Harper Ranch last Monday, a week ago now. It felt good to be on horseback again, especially with Misty who could practically read my mind. I didn’t have to pay as close attention as I did riding Trixie. With all that had happened this week, I needed some time to decompress.
The cattle path to Big Hill was an easy one, traveled by generations of cattle to one of our higher pastures where the springtime sun caused the grass to grow deep green and thick. During roundup this was one of the first places we came hunting for cattle. The misty air deadened the sound a
round me, the cool weather keeping the usually buzzing insects asleep and waiting for the sun to come out. But there was plenty of other activity by squirrels and birds. I even caught a glimpse of a red fox, unusual for this time of year. A western bluebird followed Misty and me for a little ways, scolding us for riding too close to her nest.
Isaac was puttering with his equipment when I rode up. We discussed our photos and took them quicker than I thought possible. He used both his new digital and his old Nikon, using the digital as a sort of fancy Polaroid test shot. I had to admit it was fun seeing the pictures just as we took them, though the screen was small so details were hard to make out.
He took a bunch of me with Misty—both holding her reins and sitting on her back.
“I know one of these is it,” he said. “But I won’t know for sure until they are printed.”
Using his new digital camera, I took some of him sitting in the Jeep, standing with the hills in the background, his Nikon hung around his neck. Then I got a little artsy and told him to hide part of his face behind his Hasselblad. In the background there was just a hint of hills. The minute I snapped the shot, I had a feeling it was the one.
His mouth turned down at the corners, impressed, when he looked at my photo of him on the digital screen. “You have a good eye,” he said.
“I have a good teacher,” I retorted.
Once our shoot was over, we ate the lunch that Dove and Aunt Garnet had packed for us—egg salad sandwiches, pickles, carrot sticks, ranch dressing and two huge oatmeal cookies. The frozen bottles of water I’d stuck in the Jeep had melted enough for us to drink. I spread all our lunch out on an old wool army blanket next to a blue oak tree.
“How’re things going with Gabe and this sniper investigation?” Isaac asked, leaning his back against the oak tree.
I lay back on the blanket and looked up through the oak’s leafy branches.
“Oh, you know. It’s stressful. It’s . . .” I couldn’t go on. I didn’t want to lie to Isaac, but I also didn’t want to talk about Gabe’s nightmares or anything about him. What I wanted to do this afternoon was not think about Gabe and his past.
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