Colorado High

by Joyce C. Ware

  “Who in the hell do you think you are?”

  “That you, Tessa?” His voice sounded amused. “What have I done to rile you now?”

  “Sure! Act as if I’m some silly, unpredictable female! You know damn well what you’ve done! If my children have questions about their father, I’m the one to supply the answers, not their uncle by ... by ...” She broke off, exasperated. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what by!”

  “Proxy? Long acquaintance? Propinquity?”

  “Pro-what?”

  “Pinquity. It means— “

  “I don’t care what it means, Jed! I only care about what you said to my daughter.”

  “In the first place, your children aren’t children anymore; in the second place, I’ve never lied to them. Barry was never as hard on Garland as he was on Gavin, but she sensed the distance. Always had. She thought it was her fault.” Tessa heard him take a deep breath. “Garland asked me a direct question, Tessa. I’ve always been straight with the twins; I’m not about to start changing that.”

  “You’re saying I don’t play it straight?”

  “No, you’re saying it, Tessa. I think that’s what this call is really about. Your evasions are finally catching up to you.”

  “I never lied to my children, Jed.” Her words were clipped, her voice taut with anger.

  “Maybe not, but you sure are a champ at sliding around the truth, just like you were with barrels. Got to be a habit, I guess, with the twins, with me, with yourself . . . even Barry. You never loved him, Tessa.”

  “I keep my promises!” she cried.

  “We all might’ve been better off if you’d broken that one.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have been the Wild Westerns girl if I had— you’re forgetting it was Barry who kept after me to do those barrel-racing invitationals.”

  “So? A little less fun, maybe.”

  “Oh, it was fun, all right, more’n you ever had or dreamed of! And I got paid damn well for it. How do you think the Wagners kept from going under when they hit that real hard patch twenty years ago?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Finally, Jed cleared his throat. “I didn’t know about that, Tessa. ... I guess sometimes things aren’t quite as simple as they seem. Look, I— “

  Tessa clunked the receiver into the wall fixture, cutting him off. That’s right, Mr. Propink-whatever. Sometimes things aren’t so damn simple.

  She knuckled the tears from her eyes. Jed had followed that straight and narrow path of his for so many years he no longer noticed the byways beckoning along the way. Maybe he never had. Maybe, she admitted reluctantly, his path never offered any. God knows Pop Bradburn was a far cry from Scott Shelby.

  Special. That’s how Scott had made her feel.

  Barry had room in his world for only one special person: himself. He considered her barrel-racing ribbons as much due to his coaching as any talent of hers, and later, after they were married, his swaggering presentation to prospective buyers of the horses she had bred and trained made her seem hardly more than a glorified stable hand.

  After the initial shock of Barry’s senseless death wore off, Tessa had found herself reveling in the novelty of days spent blessedly alone, free from anxiety about his drinking and the occasional, stumblingly delivered, backhanded slap. But after a time that too wore thin, and the sense of something missing began to gnaw at her.

  Gavin and Garland were settled, happily so, in college; Skywalk Ranch was widely acknowledged as a prime producer of well-bred and trained quarter horses. Great kids, fine horses: most women would be thrilled to death. So why wasn’t it enough for her?

  The answer had come, stunningly, on the heels of the phone calls telling her Scott Shelby was back in town. Suddenly, like a delayed tidal wave in the wake of an earthquake, that long-ago, never-quite-forgotten feeling of specialness rushed in over her, leaving her breathless and, yes, yearning.

  She was probably too old now to inspire it, but her dear, beautiful Garland . . .

  Barry had rarely been unkind to Garland, as he often was, sometimes cruelly so, to her brother. But he’d never made the slightest effort to make her feel special.

  Tessa suddenly felt cold. Hugging her arms, she walked into the dim kitchen and turned the heat on under the kettle. The window over the sink framed a rectangle of darkening sky. As she watched, the evening star brightened above the shadowed, serrated edge of the mesa. Close by, a mule deer barked, followed by the flash of one, two, three white tails semaphoring through the fragrant tangle of sage and piñon. Her breath caught in her throat. How sweet and pure it was.

  Special.

  Just like Garland.

  Please, God. Let her at least have a taste of it.

  Chapter Six

  “I’m a rancher, Jeannie, not Dolly Parton,” Tessa said as she backed out of her friend’s salon.

  “I dunno,” Jeannie said, frowning as the sunlight illuminated Tessa’s just-completed color touch-up. “Seems a bit low-key.”

  “These days I’m a low-key kind of woman. Save the flash for your overflow trade from Telluride. Speaking of which— “

  She caught the smile of greeting Jeannie beamed over her shoulder a moment too late. A jolt shivered up her arm as her elbow connected with the ribs of a passerby she had failed to notice. “Oh gosh! I didn’t know anyone was— “

  Seeing it was Jed she had bumped into, Tessa cut her apology short. Their conversation of a few nights earlier still rankled.

  “Hiya, Jed!” Jeannie caroled. “Long time no see!”

  Jed rewarded her trite greeting with a teasing smile. “Practically a lifetime . . . two weeks at least.”

  “Oh you,” she returned. “When are you going to give me a chance at that unruly hair of yours?”

  “Unruly but thinning, Jeannie. Thanks for the offer, but I guess I’ll stick with Jake’s barbershop and plain old haircuts. Salon styling’s not quite my . . . well, style.”

  “I can do plain haircuts, Jed. Ask Tessa.”

  Tessa threw up her hands. “Hey! Leave me out of this. I have enough trouble with my own hair.”

  Jeannie looked hurt. “Trouble? I thought you just said you liked what I did.”

  “I did and I do, Jeannie. It’s not your fault I’m going gray.”

  “I could do something more about that, if you’d let me.”

  “I like the way your hair looks, Tessa,” Jed said. “Silver threads among the gold.”

  The two women stared at him.

  He looked from one to the other. “You know, from that old song about—“ Stricken, he pulled at his nose. “Oh, Jesus.”

  “Yeah,” Tessa said dryly. “That old song about growing old. Thanks a heap, Jed.”

  “Would it help if I substituted platinum for silver?”

  Jeannie giggled. “It might if she were Dolly Parton.”

  Tessa’s wry smile widened into a grin.

  Relieved, Jed asked, “I was heading to Nellie’s Delly for a cup of coffee, Tessa . . . join me?”

  Tessa’s eyes narrowed. “You buying?” He nodded. “Throw in a doughnut, and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Jeannie?” a distraught voice called from inside. “The bell rang two minutes ago!”

  Jeannie rolled her eyes and hurried inside. Jed and Tessa walked the few steps to the deli in silence.

  “Hey, Jed!” Nell called warmly. “Hi,” she added coolly, as Tessa emerged from behind him. “Take whatever booth suits you. What’ll it be this morning?”

  “Two coffees, two doughnuts, Nell.”

  “I know you like yours black, Jed . . . how ‘bout you, Tessa?”

  “Milk and sugar, please.”

  “On the table,” Nell replied briskly. “Be only a minute ...”

  “If it’s on the table, why’d she ask me?” Tessa wondered aloud. Jed shifted uncomfortably. Tessa’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I get it.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said. “Let’s just say hope springs eterna
l, even after the source has indicated itself as exhausted.”

  “Somehow I’ve never thought of you as a dry well,” Tessa said, grinning.

  Nell plunked a small tray on the table beside them. The coffee was rich, the doughnuts still warm.

  Tessa munched hers thoughtfully. “I’ve got to admit she makes a mean raised doughnut. Do you suppose her hormone level has anything to do with it?”

  He sighed. “You’ve had your fun, Tessa . . . happy now?”

  “Yep,” she mumbled through sugar-coated lips.

  “What’s this about Telluride?” he asked. She looked at him perplexed. “Just before you crashed into me— “

  “Bumped.”

  “Okay, bumped into me, Jeannie was saying something about Telluride.”

  “Were you eavesdropping, Jed?”

  “I was passing by, for God’s sake. I just happened to overhear something about Telluride.”

  “I was about to tell Jeannie about Garland’s job.”

  “So, how’s it going?”

  “Just fine. Busy as hell, but . . . well, there’s a lot going on. Lots of interesting events and people. It’s good for her. I’m going up myself this weekend for the Nothing Festival.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s one of those Telluride weekend events. I was really amazed when Garland showed me the schedule for this summer. There’s a hot air balloon rally, poetry readings, a winetasting, hang gliding, and all kinds of music—the blue-grass concert is the one I really want to go to. They even have a Mushroom Festival.”

  “Suppose someone picks a Death Cap by mistake?” Jed asked.

  Tessa laughed. “Well, that sure would make for lousy PR, but Garland says that since it’s being held late in the season, the impact of anything like that on the tourist trade would be minimal. Hey!” she added, seeing the look on Jed’s face, “that’s the Chamber of Commerce’s point of view, not hers. But to answer your question, the Nothing Festival offers a couple of days of doing whatever you want: hiking, shopping, hanging out— you know, unorganized.”

  “I thought you and Garland were taking calves up to summer pasture this weekend.”

  “Didn’t work out, Jed . . . don’t know why.”

  He looked at her in surprise. About things like that, Tessa always made it her business to know exactly why.

  “They’re being trucked in next week instead,” she continued. “Actually, I’m sort of pleased. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in Telluride.”

  “Didn’t you go up there this spring to explore summer job possibilities for Garland?”

  Tessa squirmed in her seat. “Well, yeah, but I didn’t stay long— besides, now that she’s working there, Garland can give me the grand tour. I thought I’d van our horses up, spend the day. It’ll be fun!”

  “Fun?” Jed muttered. He leaned back against the vinyl-covered seat back and crossed his arms. “I was just a little kid the first time Pop took me with him to Telluride. It was February. I don’t recall what took us there at that godawful time of year, but I know it wasn’t fun. And cold? Lord, it was bad enough down here, but up there, two thousand feet higher, with those gray, stone-faced mountains looming above the town like the walls of a prison . . .”

  “Parts of it were pretty even then,” Tessa protested.

  “Maybe so, but to me hell isn’t a blazing inferno, Tessa; it’s Telluride in midwinter, the way it was back then. Cold and dark and bleak. Empty stores with taped, cracked windows. Icy, rutted side streets lined with dilapidated houses ...”

  He sat forward and pointed a finger at her. “Back then, I bet half of the town could’ve been bought for back taxes. Today, painted up like Victorian floozies, each house goes for half a mil. It’s all hanging ferns and boutiques now, and upscale guys like Scott Shelby instead of grimy miners.”

  “Are you saying that’s bad?”

  “I dunno, Tessa . . .” Jed shoved his hand through his hair. “The thing is, to me the difference is mostly surface . . . designer wallpaper pasted over a cracked and crumbling wall.”

  “It’s given a lot of people pleasure, Jed, made a lot of other people money, and provided jobs in the bargain.”

  “It did back in its heyday, too. The mine owners lounged in offices overlooking the mountains while the miners slaved long shifts in dark tunnels to buy the bosses their fine cigars and imported whiskey. It didn’t last, Tessa, and maybe this so-called rebirth won’t either. Skiers are notoriously fickle.”

  “According to Garland, it’s a popular year-round resort now.”

  “Maybe so,” Jed conceded, “but to me it’ll always be a semi-ghost town with a shameful history.”

  “Well, sure, that’s all part of its romantic appeal.”

  Jed frowned. “Sorry, Tessa, I find it hard to think of misery and greed as romantic.”

  “You think on the past too much, Jed.”

  “And maybe,” he retorted, “you don’t think on it enough.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, out with it ... just what in hell are you getting at?”

  He took a last swallow of coffee and placed his brown hands flat on either side of the mug. “You really want to know?” Her impatient nod made her hair jounce on her shoulders. “I think you’re looking for Scott Shelby to come to the rescue again.”

  Tessa stared at him, open-mouthed. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this!”

  “That first time . . . maybe you’ve forgotten how unhappy you were.”

  “I was restless, is all.”

  “You were miserable.”

  “I’d never met anyone like Scott before . . . he thought I was, well, special.”

  “Other people did, too, Tessa.”

  “Yeah, sure. Special by proxy. ‘Great little rider you got there, Barry.’ But with Scott—”

  Jed leaned towards her; a muscle twitched in his cheek. “He needed you.” Urgency harshened his voice. “You made him famous, and then he dropped you.”

  “No!” She scrubbed her palms with her napkin, sending sugar granules flying. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Misery and greed, Tessa.”

  “My God. You sound like some Old Testament prophet.” She flung the crumpled napkin on the table and slid out of the booth. “Thanks for nothing, Jed. As for helping with the calves next weekend, you’d be better off spending the time chiseling out a few new commandments, starting with Thou Shalt Mind Thine Own Business!”

  Soon after Tessa strode out, Nell swayed up to the booth and slid the bill facedown towards Jed. “That Tessa. Still full of ginger. I remember her and Barry going at it hammer and tongs in here more’n once over the years.” She leaned against the end of the booth and daintily swept a few loose tendrils off her neck into her upswept do. “But to tell you the truth, I’m kinda surprised Jeannie hasn’t talked her into cutting her hair, them being such good friends and all. I mean, Tessa’s getting a bit long in the tooth to be still wearing shoulder-length— “

  “Put a cork in it, Nell,” Jed advised as he slapped down four dollar bills, not bothering to look at the bill.

  “Well really! I was only-”

  But he was gone: across the green—ignoring the greetings of friends— and into his truck, fed up with Nell’s obviousness, Tessa’s prideful obtuseness, and most of all, his own self-righteousness.

  He clanked the truck into gear, lurched away from the curb and steered around a startled dog that had paused to scratch an ear in the middle of the street. Tessa was right, he admitted to himself. Whatever she was up to wasn’t any of his business . . . Lord knows he had enough of his own to worry about.

  Jed was halfway home before he remembered he’d promised his father to bring him some of Nell’s brownies. It was why he’d gone there in the first place.

  Damn. He slowed to a stop, turned, and drove back towards town. Not to Nell’s, though. The hornet’s nest he set to buzzing there would hardly have settled down by now; no point stirring it up again. He, pulled i
nto the Cotton-wood market and emerged five minutes later, frowning, carrying a plastic sack containing a box of brownie mix, milk, eggs, and a bag of shelled walnuts.

  “Planning on going into competition with Nell?” the clerk had teased him. Married to the town clerk, she was a notorious disseminator of information never intended for public distribution.

  “Not hardly, Angie.”

  “Well, if they turn out good, I’ll be calling on you come the next church bake sale.”

  Her loud-voiced commentary had attracted sniggering attention Jed could have done without. His father’s opinion of the brownies he subsequently baked did nothing to improve his mood.

  “These ain’t Nell’s!” he exclaimed accusingly “Not with all these walnuts.”

  “You always said you liked walnuts.”

  “Some walnuts, Jed, not a whole tree full. Durn near busted my dentures on ‘em,” he grumbled, reaching for another.

  “Don’t start with me, Pop!”

  Walt Bradburn, startled by his son’s growled warning, dropped the brownie from his unsteady fingers. “Now see what you made me do!”

  “You said you didn’t like them.”

  “Better’n nothing!”

  Jed turned away, afraid of what he might say next. He knew he was being manipulated; he also knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He noticed a scrawled-on piece of paper on the table.

  “This anything I should know about. Pop?”

  “What you talking about?”

  Jed held out the paper. “This. Looks like a phone number.”

  “Oh, that. “Jed knew he wasn’t about to admit he’d forgotten about it. “Gavin called . . . wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Jed felt a twinge of alarm. “Gavin called from Denver?”

  “If that’s where he’s at, that’s where he called from. Said he’d be at that number around five o’clock. Hope you ain’t planning on talking long.”

  “I’ll get you your drink first,” Jed said dryly. “You want to go to your room now?”

  “Don’t fuss at me, Jed; I can manage on my own . . . uh, maybe I’ll take another one of those brownies, just in case I get to feeling peckish.”

  Jed placed a brownie on a sheet of paper toweling, paused, then folded in another. Silently, he handed it to his father, who accepted it with a satisfied grunt.