Colorado High

by Joyce C. Ware

  He grinned as he pulled a faded red bandanna out of the back pocket of his grimy jeans and wiped the dust from his bike’s jet surface. “That wasn’t very considerate of you, Tessa.”

  Over the years, Tessa had perfected the trick of projecting bland innocence when dealing with Jack. He liked nothing better than a betraying flush of color or suddenly averted gaze. Give him the slightest hint of a hit, and he’d keep at it and at it.

  She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, Jack, what wasn’t?”

  “C’mon, the way you wheeled in just now.”

  Her brow knitted with puzzlement. “I can’t imagine . . . Oh my gosh, I didn’t scratch your beautiful bike, did I?” She moved towards it solicitously, scuffing up a new cloud of dust in the process.

  “Shit, Tessa!”

  “Looks okay to me,” she said, smiling sweetly up at him. He scowled back, blocking her path. “If you don’t mind, Jack—this is Lloyd’s house now, not yours.”

  Poor Jack, she thought as he sidled reluctantly to one side. A has-been at forty-six. A lifetime of unrealized hopes and brutish toil had soured and scoured the sensual features that had symbolized youthful rebelliousness and daring for a generation of Cottonwood teenagers. The James Dean of the western slope.

  Girls had thought his insanely defiant exploits romantic; the paler versions copycatted by other guys had cost several broken limbs and at least one life. It never occurred to them that Jack’s risk-taking had more to do with a lack of imagination than courage; it never occurred to him there might be more interesting or rewarding ways to pass the time. It still didn’t.

  Pauline appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. “Tessa! What a nice surprise! I just this minute took a pan of sticky buns out of the oven. Come on in and visit with us, have a cup of coffee.”

  Damn it, Tessa thought, how do you tell a person to lay the hell off your kids over a sticky bun? Forcing a smile, she accepted a cup of watery coffee and followed Pauline into the dining room. Although his smile lacked warmth, Lloyd made a stab at a friendly greeting. Jack’s wife, Patty, didn’t bother to try.

  “Don’t see much of you anymore, Tessa,” she twanged. “Forgotten the way?”

  “I’m not in the habit of visiting without an invitation, Patty.”

  “Coulda fooled me,” she heard Lloyd mutter.

  “Since when does family need an invitation?” Patty asked, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.

  “I’ve been busy. I’ve got a ranch to run.”

  “Are you saying we don’t?” Patty challenged.

  “Of course not, but I’m on my own. It’s easier with another pair of hands.”

  “You could have ‘em, too, Tessa,” Jack drawled from behind her. “All you got to do is ask.”

  He slid slowly by, his thighs brushing her bottom, confirming that a hand with her ranch work wasn’t what he had in mind.”

  “I’m sure Tessa’s already getting plenty of that,” Patty hissed at her husband. Her brassy blondness— once a natural pale silver, but blatantly fake now—drained her sallow skin of what little color it ever had. “And if you ask me, considering what Barry left those kids of hers, they all got a lot more’n they deserve to pay for any work that needs doing.”

  “Who’s asking you, Patty-cakes?”

  Jack’s remark seemed off-hand, but Tessa saw the threat in his eyes. The only questions allowed in Jack Wagner’s family originated with him. Her attention returned to Patty. It was amazing, she thought, how much her younger sister-in-law had managed to imply in that one sentence. One, that my sex life is not only active, but probably scandalous; two, that the twins are my kids, not Barry’s; and three, none of us are entitled to what he left us. Not bad for a woman never thought overly bright.

  “I hardly know how to respond to that, Patty,” Tessa said evenly, “but as it happens, you managed to hit on the reason I came here today.”

  “Sit down, Tessa!” Pauline said, all but forcng her into the chair she brought in with her from the kitchen. “Have a sticky bun,” she urged, trying the only way she knew to keep the situation from slipping further out of control.

  “Thanks, Pauline, I know they’re delicious— everything you cook is—but I think I’ll pass this time.”

  “What does she mean by that, Pauline?” Patty demanded shrilly. “Have you been entertaining her behind our backs?”

  “Hush up, Patty,” Lloyd said, a broad smile plumping his cheeks. “I swear, when you set those pearly whites of yours into something, it’s getting harder and harder to shake you loose . . . worse’n one of those yappy little terrier dogs. No, we ain’t been seeing her. Missus High-and-Mighty hasn’t got no more time for us than you. You was saying, Tessa?”

  Oh God. “What I was trying to say was that under the circumstances, I don’t think I should accept your hospitality.”

  “Seeing as how you’re sitting at my table and drinking my coffee, I’d say you’d already accepted it, but these circumstances you mentioned—just what are we talking about here?”

  “About you calling Gavin in Denver, trying to buy the land Barry left him after I told you it wasn’t for sale.”

  Lloyd spread his big hands and gazed in amazement at his brother. “How old do you reckon that boy is. Jack?”

  “Must be all of twenty,” Jack drawled, “and coming up fast on twenty-one.”

  “There you go! That’s what I figured, too. I sure didn’t think he still needed his mother speakin’ for him.” Lloyd’s face worked hard at expressing his bewilderment to his family, but the look he directed back at Tessa was shorn of pretense. “That son of yours— “

  “And Barry’s,” Tessa said.

  “That boy’s made it plain as plain he don’t want no Cottonwood dirt soiling his college-boy shoes. I was just providin’ him a fast and profitable way to shed it.”

  Tessa’s eyes darkened. “You presume too much, Lloyd Wagner.”

  Lloyd guffawed. “Pre-sume? I’m not sure I take your meaning, but I’ll take it as a compliment and thank you kindly for it.”

  Jack grinned; Patty giggled. Pauline, who was twisting her pretty embroidered apron into a mass of wrinkles, was the only one unmoved to mirth. Lloyd leaned forward. The shift of his bulk underscored the threat implicit in his grim expression.

  “Now you listen to me, missy. Jack and me, we’ve always had our doubts about those twins of yours. Never had none in our family before, and in all those years you and Barry was married up till then— ten, wasn’t it?— you never got the least bit pregnant with one, let alone two.” He slowly shook his big head. “It just don’t add up, Tessa.”

  “Seems to me it added up all right until a land sale depended on the bottom line.”

  “Now you wait just a damn minute!” Lloyd said, jabbing a beefy finger at her. “Maybe you and Barry never had much of a marriage, but I wasn’t about to unhorse his widow, grieving or not. Things have changed since then,” he .added settling back into his chair. “Now I got to think of my own family.”

  “Same with me,” Jack said.

  Tessa rolled her eyes. “And here I was thinking nothing you guys could say would surprise me.”

  “She might not be a widow if she’d called 911 sooner,” Patty offered.

  “Bite your tongue, Patty Wagner!” Pauline cried. “You know what the coroner said!”

  “He admitted he couldn’t be absolutely sure, hon,” Lloyd said. “Didn’t he say his conclusions were based on the evidence made available to him? We’ll never know what wasn’t,” he added solemnly. “No offense, Tessa.”

  Tessa scraped back her chair. “Well, it’s been real interesting talking with you, but I think I’ll leave now. I’ve had enough stimulation for one morning.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” Lloyd said. “And while you still are— stimulated, that is— why don’t you think on that land a little more? We’d sure hate to haul you into court, stir up all that old gossip, maybe add some more. ” He snapped his fin
gers. “Hey, that reminds me! You been seein’ much of that Shelby feller? I saw him in town a week or so ago. Passed right by— “ he spread his hands about eighteen inches apart, like a fisherman bragging on a trout he’d caught— “about this close. You know, I never set much store on what Barry used to say, him being so jealous and all, but I swear when I saw his eyes—what do they call that color again, Tessa?”

  “Hazel,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, hazel.” He smiled. “I was pretty sure you’d know, the twins’ eyes being such dead ringers. Can’t help but put questions in a person’s mind . . . maybe even Judge Colby’s.”

  Knowing that Ben Colby’s court had to do with the settlement of estates, Barry’s among them, Tessa froze in her tracks. Her hands fisted. Then, recalling what Jed had told her about the portrait of the Wagner brothers’ great-grandmother, her fingers uncurled.

  “You think so, Lloyd?” she said. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to take me to court to find out. Gosh, think of the lawyer’s fees! Maybe even the court costs when I win.”

  Pauline scrambled up after her. “Tessa?” She thrust a packet of sticky buns into her hands. “For Garland,” she said. The paper napkins she had hastily wrapped them in were gummy, and shreds of them would probably be found adhering to the contents, but the bravely expressed sentiment touched Tessa’s heart.

  She leaned to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, Pauline. Next time I’ll call first.”

  Tessa had just plopped Pauline’s offering on the kitchen counter together with the bag of groceries she picked up in Cottonwood on the way home, when Miguel burst into the kitchen after her.

  “Madre de Dios! I been calling everywhere,

  Miz Wagner. The man from Montrose, he’s coming this afternoon. No one seen you ... no one know where you could be.”

  “I was up at the Wagner ranch, having coffee with my in-laws.” Miguel’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah, I know. That’s the last place anyone would have figured. So when’s he coming?”

  “Hour,” Miguel rocked his hand. ”Half-hour . . . maybe less by now. He called just after I saw you leave.”

  “Jesus!” Tessa jammed a quart of milk, eggs, and a package of chicken thighs into the refrigerator. The rest could wait. She wiped her dusty boots with a paper towel, poked her loosened shirt back down into her waistband, and peered into the mirror next to the sink. “He wasn’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow,” she muttered as she smoothed her windblown hair back into a ponytail. After securing it with a rubber band, she rummaged in her purse for a lipstick, swiped it across her lips, and blotted them with the dust-grayed toweling she still held in her hand. Eeccch.

  Grimacing, she balled the paper and lobbed it into the trash bin. “What d’ye think, Miguel?” she asked, turning to face him. “Will I pass muster?” Never having been asked for a judgment of that kind before, his mouth worked uncertainly before he settled for a wordless nod. “I imagine he’ll want a final demonstration before he antes up,” Tessa continued. “You got Rain saddled up?” Miguel looked hurt. “Dumb question. Sorry, Miguel.”

  A glint of light drew Tessa’s attention to the window. “He’s here,” she muttered. She took a deep breath, fixed a smile on her face, and strode out to greet him as Miguel scuttled around behind her to the corral. Showtime.

  He turned out to be the kind of customer she liked best. Apologized nicely, but not too much, about arriving a day ahead of schedule--business reasons; didn’t specify; no need to—and watched attentively, making intelligent comments as she put the buckskin colt through his paces. Rain’s responses to neck-reining were split second, and the pivots and short stops on his haunches impeccable. He even passed the backing test with flying colors, despite the short-circuiting of Tessa’s plan to run him through it once more that very afternoon. By the time Tessa finished demonstrating Rain’s cutting prowess, she knew he’d be leaving in the silver horse trailer hitched to the big Mercedes of the same color drawn up to the corral gate.

  “He looked as if he were playing a game with those Herefords,” Rain’s buyer said in her kitchen as he made out his check. “Didn’t seem like work at all— in fact, I’d swear he was getting a kick out of it.”

  “Not literally, I hope,” Tessa said. She held her breath as he scrawled his signature. “But you’re right about his enjoying it. All good cutting horses do, and Rain comes from a long line of the best.”

  He gave her the check. No flourishing gesture, no regretful sigh, just casually handed it over as if he were paying for a couple of tickets to the 4H barbecue.

  Twenty thousand dollars.

  “You’re sure, now.” He’d better be, she thought. he’d sure have a hard time prying it out of my fingers.

  “Oh, yes,” he said without hesitation. “My doctor told me I had to find something to take my mind off work. My wife figured he had something like stamp collecting or model building in mind, but we agreed I’m not a sitting-around kind of guy.” He got up from the table; they shook hands. “You might say that for me, Rain is ... well, right as rain.”

  Tessa laughed. “Call me if you have any problems. I don’t think you will, though. For all his coltish energy, Rain has the temperament of a seasoned campaigner.” She accompanied him back to the corral. Miguel had already loaded the colt into the van. She tugged his black tail; he turned his head and whickered. “Be a good boy,” she said.

  Rain’s new owner touched his hat brim to her, then shook hands with Miguel, who swallowed hard as his senses registered the amount of the greenbacks left in his palm.

  As he tucked them into his pocket, Tessa glimpsed the numerals. Three hundred dollars. Added to the bonus she had already decided to give him, he’d finally have enough for that big screen TV he’d been saving for.

  Miguel straightened, his natural dignity restored. “Gracias, señor,” he murmured.

  Standing side by side, they watched the van leave, dutifully waving as the Mercedes turned out onto the county road, silently tracking its diminishing silvery gleam until only a plume of dust could be seen.

  “I’m gonna miss that colt,” Tessa said.

  “There’s the bay,” Miguel reminded her. “He could be as good.”

  “He could be even better,” Tessa said. “Raw as fresh-caught fish, though, and he sure has a mind of his own.”

  “But a brave heart,” Miguel reminded her.

  “Like his sire,” Tessa agreed, brightening. “And then there’s the palomino mare, but she doesn’t have the fire for cutting work.”

  “Real steady though, and very pretty. She will make a good pleasure horse for a child or lady.”

  “Trail horses suitable for children and ladies don’t bring in the bucks, Miguel. You’re right about her looks, though. She’s pretty enough to have her picture on a calendar . . . but not as pretty as the girls on yours, I bet.”

  Miguel’s lips tightened. As she well knew, he favored pious representations of brunette Madonnas and plump dark-eyed infants, both equipped with extravagantly gold-rayed halos.

  “I was teasing, Miguel.” She placed her hand on his bony shoulder. “I only tease people I like.”

  She felt his muscles tense; then, after mulling over what she said, he nodded. His mouth bent in a shy smile. “I like you pretty good too ... we make a nice team, si?”

  “The best.”

  * * * *

  The sun had begun inching down towards the western horizon by the time Tessa turned up the road into the Bradburn spread. The foil-wrapped pound cake, still warm from the oven, jounced on the seat beside her; the check for Rain crackled in her pocket. She pressed her hand against it. Even the cake had turned out right, she silently exulted. Well, maybe not right, but a whole lot better than usual.

  She peered through the screen door into the gloom. “Jed?” she called. “Jed, you in there?”

  “Hold your damn horses!’ Coming fast as I can.”

  Walt Bradburn’s high cranky voice was accompanied by the hiss of his wheelchair’s tire
s as he rolled in from the living room to peer out at her. “Tessa? Garland? Maybe if Jed’d clean this fool screen I could see better.”

  The screen was cleaner than most—cleaner than hers anyway—but Tessa knew he’d rather blame Jed than his failing faculties.

  “Got it right the first time, Pop!”

  “Well come on in!” he said, rolling back enough to allow her to enter. “No need to stand on ceremony.” She crossed in front of him into the kitchen, the old man following so close behind her she dared not slow her pace for fear of being bowled over. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the way, young lady.”

  Oh boy. Here we go. “I was getting a colt ready for sale. Pop. Can’t train a good cutting horse overnight, you know.”

  “Never thought the day’d come when I’d take second place to a horse.” He sniffed the air and wheeled closer. “I smell something sweet . . . what you got in there?”

  Hoping to distract him from his complaints, Tessa had unwrapped the loaf pan. “I remembered how much you liked my mom’s pound cake, so I thought I’d bring you one,” she said, flourishing a scalloped-edged knife above it. “I put chocolate chips and extra raisins in this batch, especially for you.”

  He all but snatched from her hand the slice she Offered him. “Wouldn’t mind a glass of milk to wash it down,” he mumbled as she hastily spread a dishtowel across his lap to catch the crumbs.

  “Another piece?” she asked a few minutes later.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He thrust his glass out for a refill. “I sure do like cake that’s got a little body to it. Most of the stuff Jed brings me just falls apart the minute you look at it, but this,” he said, grabbing it up in his fingers, “this is real springy.”

  Springy?

  Tessa, who had begun to think she’d finally made it in the baked goods department, had to laugh. What was it her father used to say when she got a little too big for her britches? Remember, honey, pride goeth before a fall.

  Hearing Tessa’s chuckle, the old man beamed a crumb-rimmed smile up at her. She leaned back against the table, crossed her arms, and sighed. As a child, uncertain if “fall” referred to a physical tumble or the season of the year, its connection with pride escaped her. Over the years, however, her many falls from grace had provided ample clarification. She sure didn’t need any more courtesy of Walter Bradburn.