by Anna Jeffrey
“No, really, it’s okay, Lanny. I know what you mean.”
He nodded without looking at her. “I’m fifty-five, but I’m pretty sure I can still—well, never mind. We’ll work it out.”
****
If life gets any more bizarre, I can’t handle it, Marisa thought.
She plunged into making crusts for pecan pies, her mind darting all over the place as she measured equal portions of lard and butter. Though lard made the best crust, few cooks used it these days. Too unhealthy. But to her way of thinking, pie was already unhealthy, so what difference did a little lard make?
The emotions churning inside her felt like a kaleidoscope, like none of what was happening around her was real, the same disconnect she had experienced the day a neurologist in Midland sat down with her and told her the cold, hard truth about Mama.
Until that moment, Mama had been Wonder Woman.
As she draped the crust into four pie tins and began to crimp the edges, her mind finally stopped on this morning’s event.
Now she had kissed two millionaires in her life.
And one of them wanted a wife and companionship more than he wanted sex. And the other? Well, who could guess what he wanted?
More importantly, what did she want?
A marriage of convenience? Was that phrase even used these days?
After being a part of the singles scene for so long, when it came to men, she no longer expected fireworks and bells ringing. She had long ago given up on ever seeing that knight ride up on his white horse.
Men had used her badly over the years. Mike in Midland, who had lied to her about who he was; Eric in Arlington, who had taken her money; Woody, who had cheated on her. Of course, all of it was her own fault. Much of the time she felt sorry for men and their weaknesses, which opened the door for losers to take advantage of her.
What of Terry Ledger and the energy that passed between them? His bad-boy good looks and take-no-prisoners attitude touched a slutty chord within her, to be sure. Him, she didn’t feel sorry for. What he aroused was a little earthier than sympathy.
Forget it, her practical side told her. Sex with him might be fun and maybe wild, but there would be no such thing as a relationship. He would end up hurting her worse than Woody had.
Lanny, however, was a different kind of man. Solid as granite. She had never heard a bad word about him. He was gentle and kind. If anything, he was too kind. Gossip had it that the distance between him and his children was a result of his having given them everything and expected nothing in return.
He had to be intelligent—he had graduated from Texas Tech. Yet, a college education hadn’t changed him. He was still the old-fashioned cowboy he had always been. To talk to him or see him dressed in his Wranglers and the snap-button shirts he made no secret of buying at Walmart, one would never guess the immensity of his wealth.
He did wear expensive boots and hats, Marisa had always noticed. It was an odd thing about real cowboys. Most of them spent more on their boots and hats than on the rest of their clothing combined, including wristwatches. Lanny could afford a Rolex for each wrist, but he wore a Timex. “What difference does it make?” he said when she teased him about it once. “All it’s for is to tell the time of day.”
And now that he had sold the XO, he was a whole lot richer.
I’m fifty-five, but I’m pretty sure I can still—
His deep blush and stumbling words came back to her. Sex. Did everything in the whole damn world, sooner or later, come down to sex?
Fifty-five. Twenty-one years older than her, only eleven years younger than Mama. Marisa had never had sex with a fifty-five-year-old man. Though his not having been with a woman since before his wife’s death would be incredible to some, she had no trouble believing it. He was that loyal.
I’d take care of you and Raylene, get her some professional help. Or whatever she needs
Oh, yeah. He could pay for the best of care for Mama and never notice so much as a dent in his checkbook. She had been managing Mama’s care on a day-to-day basis, but hadn’t a clue how long that would last. She had always known in the back of her mind that the time would come when Mama would need full-time attention, 24/7. There, Marisa’s thought process stalled. How could she quit work and stay home with Mama? How could she pay for institutionalizing her? She doubted that even working two jobs would cover the cost.
As Mama used to say, a bird in the hand, et cetera, et cetera...
She thought about the coming weeks, the uncertain future and the triple-digit temperatures. Could she take Mama and live as Lanny Winegardner’s wife, in a house in the mountains of Colorado?
Sure she could.
Chapter 16
Two days later Marisa was still weighing the pros and cons of Lanny’s proposal when Tanya strode into the cafe, her striped hair pinned up in a bed-head do that could seriously tarnish her professional reputation. She plopped onto a stool at the lunch counter and slapped down a crushed pack of Virginia Slims, a BIC plastic lighter and handful of change. Marisa picked up the coffee carafe and poured the obviously upset hairdresser a mug of Cowboy Breakfast Blend.
On closer inspection, Marisa noticed Tanya’s mascara smudged in dark half-moons under her eyes, her nose and eyes red. Had she been crying? In the year Marisa had known her, she had never seen her cry.
“Did you know Lanny sold his ranch?” The voice came across quivery.
As far as Marisa was concerned, if Lanny wanted someone to know he had sold his ranch, he should be the one to announce it. Even if she hadn’t had that feeling, these days, Tanya was the last person in whom Marisa would confide. The woman had chosen to not tell she’d had sex with Woody, even if it had occurred years before Tanya knew Jake or Marisa either. Marisa shrugged as she returned the coffee carafe to its element. “I heard.”
“That dude, Ledger.”
When Marisa turned back, Tanya had lit a cigarette. She blew out a plume of smoke. Like steam, Marisa thought. The two be-ringed fingers that held the cigarette were trembling. Marisa leaned a hip against the back counter, crossing her arms under her breasts, prepared to listen to her neighbor rant.
Tanya reached down the counter and dragged over the bowl filled with packets of artificial sweeteners. In the low-necked knit shirt she wore, the slope of her breasts shifted with each arm movement and allowed the lizard tattoo to sneak its head in and out of the neckline. Marisa had always been curious to know just how Tanya had managed to have that tattoo applied so strategically.
The hairdresser’s lips pulled into a sneer. “He’s not gonna have a ranch. He’s gonna have a fucking town for old people.” Her teeth clenched as she tore open a pink packet of artificial sweetener and dumped it into her coffee, followed by a package of dry creamer. She stirred with vigor, splashing coffee over the rim, then slammed the spoon onto the counter. “I don’t know what the hell he expects me and Jake to do. Jake doesn’t know how to do anything but cowboy.” She lifted the mug to her lips.
The dilemma the sale of the XO presented for Jake Shepherd and Lanny’s ranch hands hadn’t yet crossed Marisa’s radar, but now it blipped like a jumbo jet on final approach. Lanny’s cowboys kept to themselves, rarely came into Pecos Belle’s. If they needed a trip somewhere, they went to Odessa, where they could combine the acquisition of necessities with a visit to the honky-tonks. Jake was the only one of them with whom Marisa was acquainted and she knew him only because he lived in the RV park and was married to Tanya.
Neither the XO cowboys nor Jake and Tanya had ever asked Marisa to fight one of their battles for them. But then, Jake wouldn’t. He was too proud. “If I know Jake, he’ll come up with something,” Marisa said. “Maybe he has a talent you don’t know about.”
“If he does, he’s kept it hidden. He’s a forty-five-year-old loser, Marisa. A high school dropout. Hell, he probably dropped out before that.” She drew another deep drag from her cigarette. “Shit. Whatever. I’m not looking for him to start a whole new career.”
Jake might not be Einstein, but as far as Marisa was concerned, he was a good person. From his point of view, even rattlesnakes had something good to contribute. She didn’t like hearing his wife bad-mouth him. “There’s other ranches besides the XO. He could—”
“We’ve already been through that. He’s called everybody he knows. He’s been talking to a foreman at some hellhole in Arizona about working as a cowhand. Shit, he wouldn’t even be foreman. Fucking Arizona, for god’s sake. Who the hell wants to live in fucking Arizona?”
Someone had to come to Jake’s defense. “Some people like Arizona,” Marisa said. “Tanya, look. If it’s all he can find—”
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. One thing I’m not doing is moving to some damn desert—”
“But you live in a desert now,” Marisa couldn’t keep from pointing out. Granted, West Texas wasn’t the same type of desert as Arizona, but it was arid and hot all the same.
“I’m thinking about Dallas,” Tanya said as if Marisa hadn’t spoken. She squinted toward the sandwich poster on the wall above the back counter. “If I could get a chair in a good salon in Dallas, I might make some real money. And I could work at getting my paintings into a gallery.”
“What would Jake do in Dallas? I wonder if he’s ever even been to Dallas.”
Tanya’s cocked head bobbed, her eyes blinking rapidly. “Well, you know what? That’s his problem. I just know I’m not moving to fucking Arizona.”
Marisa sighed. From what she could tell, Tanya had always been number one on Tanya’s list of whom to please. “So, what’re you saying? You’re gonna leave him?”
“I don’t know. All I know is I’m not moving to Arizona.” The confused zebra picked up her mug and took a swallow. She seemed calmer now.
“If you’re of a mind to leave him, Tanya, you’d better give it a second thought. People who really care about you are few and far between. He does everything he can for you. It’d hurt him something awful if you just up and pulled out.”
“He should’ve thought about that before he became a fucking cowboy.”
Little shards of anger burst within Marisa. The woman seemed to have loyalty, if it could be called that, only as long as a person could do something for her. Like Jake had probably done when he married her. “He was a cowboy when you met him. You’re the one who should have thought about who he is.”
“All I know is I’m not moving to fucking Arizona.” Her green eyes, glistening with unshed tears, zeroed in on Marisa. “What are you gonna do, Marisa? I mean, you’ve got Raylene and all. You might as well be chained to a bowling ball.”
Marisa cringed. “Mama would be hurt if she knew you said that. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I haven’t made any decisions.”
And she wouldn’t tell them to Tanya if she had.
“Well, at least you’re not moving to fucking Arizona.”
Tanya stood up without another word, stamped through the flea market and yanked open the front door.
Marisa stared after her a few beats, stunned, but not very surprised at her hissy fit. Tanya’s personality puzzled her more every day. Marisa shook her head to clear it. She had too much to think about to dwell on Tanya. She veered back to Lanny and his planto move to Colorado.
****
The late-day sun was casting long golden fingers and deep purple shadows across the desert when Terry arrived in Agua Dulce. He had been away for three weeks.
At the Sweet Water RV & Mobile Home Village, the first person he saw was Ben Seagrave, sitting on the top step of the three-step stair that led onto his porch. He was dressed as usual—faded T-shirt, khaki shorts and sandals. His hair stood on end, his face glistened with perspiration. He was strumming a guitar. For some reason, Terry was glad to see the cranky old fart.
Terry braked and stuck his head out the crew cab’s window. After riding all day in the comfort of air-conditioning, he felt the burst of desert heat that hit him like a flamethrower and sweat broke out on his body at once. “How’s it going?”
“Heeeeyyy, long time no see. Where ya been?”
The songwriter sounded half drunk. Beside him sat a partial six-pack. Terry had never seen him without something alcoholic at hand or in his hand. Terry propped an elbow on the window sill. “Had some things to take care of in Fort Worth.”
“Get out. Sit a spell. Have a beer.” Seagrave continued to strum the guitar strings.
As he ran through some complicated fret work, Terry could tell the guy knew his way around a guitar. But then he should. He had been a professional musician for years and had awards, trophies and a substantial amount of money that spoke for his talent.
After the five-hundred-mile drive from Fort Worth, Terry was tired. A cold beer sounded good. Besides that, he wanted to avoid thinking about the three weeks he had just spent. Three weeks of constant negotiating, troubleshooting and nonstop effort to pull the Larson’s deal out of the fire. He had saved it, but only by a hair and only by doing something he hadn’t planned quite yet. For all his effort, the project still hung by a thread.
He slid out of his truck, shut the door with a soft clack and ambled over to Ben’s steps, at the same time throwing a casual look toward Pecos Belle’s. He glanced at his watch. Marisa would be cleaning up.
Though his days in Fort Worth had been long and busy, his nights had been stressful. Too many nights, Marisa and her future, her tight jeans and the kiss they had shared in his mobile home had traipsed through his dreams. She had been such a presence in his thoughts, he had been unable to generate an interest in spending his off-hours with Michelle. Several quarrels had resulted and finally, Michelle told him to take a hike. On that score, he had no real regrets.
Instead of spending what little free time he’d had in Fort Worth with a female, he had spent it skydiving. Even taking part in one of his favorite activities, he found himself wondering if Marisa would take to floating through the air beneath a parachute. He had helped his friend Chick exercise his horses a few times, then gone with him and his eight-year-old son, Clay, on a two-day trail ride. As they camped out on the Brazos River and fished for catfish with a trotline, he wondered if Marisa liked fishing.
The woman had occupied a place in his head so often she may as well have been with him physically.
Last weekend he and Chick took Clay to a rodeo in Mesquite, where they’d had great fun and a lot of laughs. Seeing the relationship between Chick and his boy, Terry envied him and wondered if he himself could be as good a father as his best friend was. Or if he would ever get the chance. The questions left him uncharacteristically down in the dumps.
Ten years ago he would have never given fatherhood a second thought. Then a few years back, he awakened one morning and realized most of his peers had wives and children and were talking about family vacations and Little League baseball and how little Joey was doing in 4-H. Some even had second wives and a second set of kids to talk about. Suddenly, he was the guy on the outside looking in.
All through the long drive from Fort Worth, dissatisfaction with his present lifestyle pecked at him. The only explanation was the fact that he would soon celebrate his thirty-seventh birthday, yet another reminder of time passing and him with nothing but money and real estate to show for it.
Nearing the steps, he could see great wear and tear on the face of Ben’s guitar and a strip of duct tape that had been wrapped around the wide end. As the musician plucked at the strings, Terry sank wearily to the bottom step and cracked a beer, letting the sound of the guitar drive out all else. There was something soothing in music from strings, especially if it was the only sound in the quiet end of a day in the desert. Limb by limb, cell by cell, in spite of the heat, Terry felt himself relaxing. Fort Worth, big-city bankers, cantankerous bureaucrats, demanding customers—all seemed to live on another planet.
“Heard tell you bought out the XO,” Ben said as he picked a one-two rhythm in a tune reminiscent of Johnny Cash.
Shit. Winegardner mu
st have told. “Hm,” Terry replied, and took a swig of beer.
“Won’t be the same without Lanny ‘round here,” Ben said, studying his fingers moving over the guitar frets.
Winegardner had mentioned leaving Agua Dulce, but Terry hadn’t heard with certainty that he planned on doing it. Terry had hoped he would change his mind and take him up on the offer of becoming a resident of Ledger Ranches retirement community.
“He’s leaving?”
“Colorado, I think he’s going.”
Ben did a run on the guitar strings. “Here’s a new one I’m fiddling with.” He struck a low chord and began to sing in a nasal, but sonorous voice.
“I walk up to your door
And draw a deep breath in.
I’ve reached my journey’s end
But where did I begin?
“Been miles and miles from home
To get where I’ve been
No matter where I’ve gone
I’m back to you again.”
Terry liked music, though he had no technical knowledge to brag about. He knew how to dance to country and sometimes went out in Fort Worth to Billy Bob’s or the Stagecoach Inn to see and hear the big-name country performers. Ben’s voice, deep and gravelly and on key, floated to his ear and he closed his eyes and listened to the words of the poet.
“I’ve seen mountains and valleys,
Been through sunshine and storms,
When all I ever needed
Was to have you in my arms.”
The singer paused, picked a melancholy melody, then took up the words again.
“I’ve swum oceans of tears,
Walked deserts full of sand,
Trying to convince myself
You’re not what I had planned.
“Now, standing at your door,
There’s no place I’d rather land.