“My friends call me Rick.” Another flash of white teeth.
“I’m sorry, Rick. Garland’s in Telluride on business.” Monkey business? “She’s been putting in a lot of overtime lately.”
His dark slash of eyebrows elevated slightly as if wondering at the dry tone of her concluding words, but all he said was, “Yeah, Gav did say she was working up there this summer.”
“I don’t expect her back until suppertime . . . uh, you can wait if you like.”
Sensing her reluctance, he shook his head. “Thank you, but I’d better be heading back home. My dad’ll be waiting on me. Nice to have met you, Mrs. Wagner. Now I know where Garland gets her looks.” This time the smile was an unsettling, sensuous curl of lip.
He slipped his hat back on, adjusted it to a rakish angle, then touched the brim and hop-skipped off the porch into the sunlight.
Tessa’s breath caught in her throat. His russet-skinned face tapered anvil-like, from a wide brow and high cheekbones to a strong, clean-shaven jaw. He ambled towards his car, his angled nose preceding him like the prow of a pirate ship. Halfway there, he plucked his hat from his head and, with an almost imperceptible twist of the wrist, sent it gliding into the passenger seat.
Watching him, Tessa got a sudden mental picture of Garland nestled beside him in the sleek gray convertible, her gold hair a bright banner in the clear mountain air.
Dear God.
Jeannie used to say guys like that were bad news. She meant just the opposite, of course, but for mothers of beautiful daughters it was the literal, unnerving truth.
He turned back towards her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a number where I can reach Garland, would you?”
She considered saying no, then decided there was no point to it. He’d know she was lying, and besides, he didn’t seem the type to be discouraged by delay or inconvenience. “I do, but I think it would be better if you called her here.”
“I guess . . . especially if she’s on overtime. Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, as if trying to convince himself. “Writing her sure hasn’t gotten me anywhere.”
While Tessa pondered the significance of that, he vaulted over the car’s closed door into the driver’s seat— like a goddamn deer, she thought—and zoomed off, one hand upthrust in a gesture of farewell.
Tessa stared after him, her hand shading her eyes, until the plume of dust dispersed. Her first impression couldn’t have been more wrong. Not only was he not an itinerant ranch worker, he projected the same strong sense of self as Gavin did, although in this case it seemed slicked with arrogance. And that car of his: late-model, probably loaded, obviously expensive. It looked foreign. So did he.
Drugs.
Unwelcome musings, the product of nightly news accounts of crack houses and Columbian drug rings, slid unbidden into her mind. Ric--Rick sounded too boy-scouty— Chavez: university student by day, street-corner dealer by night? Uh-uh. He didn’t look sleazy enough for that. Maybe a middleman . . . what did they call them ? A connection ?
She pictured fast boats, dark nights, and poky little backwater docks on the Gulf. Or a small plane, flying low, again at night, landing on runways carved out of the brush. A dangerous business . . . but from the looks of him, so was he.
And from the looks of him, who could resist him ?
This time, the twisting ache Tessa felt had nothing to do with caviar; in truth, it probably never had. In both cases—Scott’s and this dark young stranger’s—their vibrant presence conjured up the remembrance of past desire and the sexual longing that transforms everything associated with the beloved object into a precious symbol.
Those first heady months of her marriage, when she went upstairs after breakfast to make the bed, the lingering odor of their lovemaking would overwhelm her. Tessa remembered sitting and staring at Barry’s discarded work clothes tossed over the bedstead and hanging from doorknobs, their pajamas—it was winter--jumbled together beside the bed, the sheets spilling over onto the floor. A mess, yes, but one that invoked a particular moment, a heady kiss, an intimate caress. For her, that sweet disorder was a still life more filled with meaning than the greatest painting in the finest museum.
It had all been so long ago. So very long ago.
But the memory persisted, and the little green-eyed monster that had moved in to tend it—dusting it off and polishing it up with a vigor Tessa could have done without— was growing stronger.
By the time Garland arrived home— Scott didn’t bother to come in, just dropped her off and waved— Tessa’s headache had returned. That’s what I get for thinking so much, she thought.
“Did everything go well?” she asked with forced brightness. “Did the flowers smile nicely and show their best profile?”
“Scott seemed pleased enough.”
“Does that mean you weren’t?”
“Oh, the photographer was okay— I mean, he obviously knows his business—but you know how those guys are. Click, click, click,” she said, pantomiming his actions. “Even if he were a total dork, he used enough film to guarantee good pictures just by the law of averages.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Tessa demanded. The ache was worse now; she could hear the strain of it in her voice.
Garland threw her mother a dark look. “Kayla Farrell showed up while we were off rattling around the countryside. By the time we returned—two hours after she arrived— she was way overdue for someone to unload on. She chose me.”
“Why you?”
“Because it amuses Scott to play us off against each other. Apparently she called him last night, very late, and in the course of what I gathered was a rather heated exchange, he let drop—deliberately, no doubt—that I might be replacing her. She didn’t care for that. Little bitch,” she added in a mutter.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”
Garland raked her hands through her tousled hair. God, Tessa thought, even her gestures are like mine. “I just wish Scott would back off . . . give me some breathing room.”
“That goes with the territory, darling.”
“Homesteading it was your idea, not mine,” Garland shot back.
Tessa winced. “I thought you were the one that said it wasn’t as easy to fool little girls as it used to be.”
“Fool them, no, but that doesn’t mean they can’t sometimes be confused as hell.”
“No more than I,” Tessa said. “You had a caller today.”
“Really?” Garland’s first reaction to the abrupt change of subject was a blink, followed by a wry smile. “A gentleman caller, I presume?”
“You tell me. Frederico Chavez,” she said, rolling each syllable out with elaborately accented overemphasis.
Garland’s hazel eyes widened with shock, then narrowed. “Rick,” she said flatly.
“The same. Handsome brute.”
Garland looked pained. “Handsome, I grant you, but he’s no brute.”
“Glad to hear it. Especially since I got the feeling he was surprised I didn’t know about him. I thought maybe he was related to Miguel—another nephew maybe.”
“Oh great, Mom. But then why not? One look at me, and a person could think I was related to Princess Di. I mean, we’re both blond and fair-skinned.”
“I can think of a lot worse things than having Miguel for an uncle,” Tessa pointed out.
Garland had the grace to look shamefaced.
“True,” she admitted. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“He asked for you; he asked where he could reach you; I assumed he wanted to see you.”
Garland dropped her eyes. “He’s more Gav’s friend than mine.”
“Really? Why did he come here then? He must know your brother’s in Denver, seeing as how they’re such good friends.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mom.” She hesitated. “You didn’t give him the Chamber’s address or phone number, did you?”
“No,” Tessa said, “I didn’t think I should without your say-so. ...
Is there any other reason I should know about?”
“No,” Garland said, but her eyes slid away.
Tessa wasn’t sure if that meant, no, there isn’t any other reason, or no, it’s nothing I should know about. One thing was sure, she’d had it with tiptoeing around. “Garland, what’s with this guy?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means who is he? How come he can afford to drive such a flashy car— “
“It’s not flashy, Mom.”
“Expensive then,” Tessa said. “His hat, too. Looked like a genuine Panama . . . not exactly the kind of thing you pick up for a few bucks at Wal-Mart. I can’t help thinking— “
“I know exactly what you’re thinking. Good-looking Latino, obviously not hurting for money. Drugs, of course. What else could it be? Cocaine, marijuana . . . hell, why stop there? Why not heroin, too? Wha’ better way to lead the leetle Anglo muchacha astray, no?”
“Garland, please,” Tessa murmured, wishing the pounding in her temples would stop.
“For your information,” her daughter said, staring her down, “Rick’s family has been in this country a lot longer than ours. They were in New Mexico before it was a state . . . maybe even before it was a territory. Soon after statehood, they moved north with their sheep— “
“Sheep!” Tessa declared, automatically reflecting the prejudice of the cattlemen she grew up among.
“—to the Chama Valley,” Garland continued, ignoring her mother’s outburst. “Up there, west of the Rio Grande, good grazing land was still cheaply available. So, since the Chavez family has always been both hard-working and forward-looking, they bought up all they could afford. The majority of it is in the Permian basin.” She paused to give her mother a significant look. It failed to register.
“So?” Tessa said.
“So the Permian basin contains oil. Quite a lot of it.”
“Oh.”
“Rick’s particular interest is the family-operated greenhouses. They were his mother’s idea. It took them a while to get them on a paying basis, but nowadays a lot of the fancy organic produce served in upscale restaurants comes with a Chavez label. Very fresh and very pricey.”
“Salad greens you mean? Like that bitter stuff I always fish out?”
“Arugula. That, and more exotic veggies . . . Rick reeled the list off to me once but,” she shrugged, “it didn’t stick.”
“For someone who grew up on iceberg lettuce, arugula seems exotic enough to me,” Tessa muttered. She rubbed her temples. Maybe tea would help. She filled the pot and carried it back to the stove. “So. Sheep, oil, and salad greens.” She put a tea bag in a mug and stared at the pot. Then without warning, she wheeled on her daughter. “Where do you fit in?” she demanded.
“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
But it was plain from the way her voice rose and cracked that she did.
“C’mon, Garland, I wasn’t born yesterday. Unless you bugged your brother’s room, there’s no way you could know what you just told me short of a lot of conversations. Private conversations. Either that, or your Rick— “
“He’s not my Rick, damn it!”
“—is the most boring, self-absorbed person on God’s earth. In my experience, a person learns things like that about another person in bits and pieces. Here and there. Now and then.”
“I get the picture, Mom.” Her tone was surly.
“Then why don’t you fill it in for me?” Tessa poured the boiling water into the mug. She carried it to the table, sat down, and blew on it. “It’s easy,” she said looking up at her daughter. “Just connect the numbers like you did when you were a kid. One, two, three— “
“Okay, so we slept together.” Garland leaned over the table, hands gripping the edges. “More than once . . . quite a lot in fact. Satisfied?”
“Were you living together, too?” Tessa asked quietly. “It’s obvious you think that’s none of my business, but I feel I don’t know you anymore. You may think I’m judging you, but I’m not. I know what it’s like to be physically . . . obsessed.”
Garland straightened and stared at her. “You mean you . . . and . . . and . . .”
“Your father,” Tessa supplied. Why was it so hard for children to accept the obvious9 “In the beginning, anyway.”
“But I always thought ... I mean, towards the end you didn’t even share the same room.”
“Things changed, Garland.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, they often do. Your father was really something in his day, and from the look of him, Frederico Chavez is even more so. Scott Shelby may try to seduce you, but a virile young guy like that ...” Tessa shook her head. “It’s hard to describe, but it’s like being under a spell. Hypnotized. Afterwards, you can’t believe you allowed yourself to be so ... so crazy. Like a cow that’s gotten into locoweed.” She paused and stared into space. “Actually,” she murmured, “choice has nothing to do with it. It just . . . happens.”
Tessa sighed again. “In your case, looks to me as if the ‘go-slow’ signs are flashing, especially if Rick’s not willing to make a commitment.”
“But that’s just it, Mom. He is. I’m the one who’s not.” Her chin came up. “Not to any man. The only commitment I’m willing to make right now is to my education. Just before I came home we had this terrible fight. We both said things . . .” Garland tossed her head back; Tessa saw tears glinting in her eyes. “It’s over. I don’t want to talk to him or see him again.”
“If he’s a buddy of Gav’s, how can you avoid him? And if it’s over, why should it matter? He wanted you to live with him, you said no, end of story.”
“It’s not that simple. He didn’t . . .” Garland hesitated; she avoided her mother’s eyes. “He can’t understand why, if I love him, I turned him down.”
“Why did you?” Tessa asked. “Not that I’m questioning your decision, far from it, it’s just that I’m, well, curious.”
Garland avoided her mother’s eyes. “You made a commitment, and it turned into a suit of armor. Gav and I used to say you exchanged it for a heavier one every couple of years.”
Tessa cradled her aching head in her hands. “Oh Garland, I’m so sorry! I tried my best to protect you and Gav from the worst—“
“I know you did, Mom, but seeing you clunking around brandishing your shield between us and our father’s indifference and alcohol consumption . . . well, let’s just say it fell kind of short of a model for long-term relationships.”
“Relationship,” Tessa murmured. “In my day we called it togetherness.”
“Anyway, as I said before,” Garland continued, “the only commitment I’m willing to make right now is to finishing college and applying to veterinary school. Cornell, maybe.”
Tessa looked dismayed. “But isn’t that way back East someplace?”
“Way, way back, Mom,” Garland teased. “Upper New York State to be exact.”
“Upper, lower, or in between, there must be something closer.”
“God, you sound like Rick!”
“Heaven forbid. So how does Scott fit into all this?”
Her expression hardened. “There’s a new veterinary practice up in Telluride that might be wanting a partner in a few years. I’m sure it would help my chances if I could bring some well-heeled clients with me, so since Scott knows everybody worth knowing up there . . .” Her words trailed off; she gave Tessa a funny look, as if wishing she could take them back. “I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what role, if any, he might be willing to play.”
Tessa wondered if she was being deliberately evasive. Garland’s admission of her relationship with the Chavez boy had cast everything about her in a different light. In Scott’s case, the light was increasingly lurid. She hadn’t anticipated that the widening of her daughter’s horizons might include a detour through Scott Shelby’s bedroom.
How could I have been so stupid? Tessa wondered. The scared kid who left for Boulder with tear-stained cheeks had sp
ent three years in an urban university setting, exposed to experiences and temptations Cottonwood had little knowledge of. Just because Garland didn’t dye her hair blue or wear rings in her nose didn’t mean she hadn’t changed.
My daughter is twenty, she reminded herself. A year older than I was when I ran off with Barry; a grown woman with priorities all her own.
Now I know where she gets her looks, Rick Chavez had said.
At the time, Tessa admitted to herself, she had wondered if he was coming on to her. Knowing what she did now, she realized he was probably just pushing dear old mom’s buttons. Maybe if I get the mother on my side . . .
Garland’s life was just beginning. She had two attractive men at her beck and call, and plans she wasn’t entirely willing to share.
What was it Jed had said after observing one of their mother-daughter clashes? “Damned if she isn’t as steely as you are, Tessa, except in her case it’s sheathed in velvet.” He thought it was funny; Tessa didn’t.
Steel in velvet.
Unsettled by her mother’s long silent scrutiny, Garland said, “What’s on your mind, Mom?”
For some crazy reason, the line from an old song popped out of nowhere into Tessa’s head. Hang your clothes on a hickory limb, but don’t go in the water.“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said harshly.
Garland sighed resignedly. “Okay, let’s have it.”
“You’re using Scott, aren’t you?”
Garland gave a shout of laughter. “These days they call it equal opportunity, Mom. We’re using each other, except he’s had more practice at it than I have. Sometimes, like today, he comes out on top—no double meaning intended—but in the long run—” her eyes darkened with determination— “I will.” She laughed again. “Of course I’m using him! Turnabout is fair play, right? Besides, it was your idea.”
“I never said— “
“You said he could open doors for me, provide opportunities, useful contacts.”
“Yes, but- “
“But you thought I’d just soak it up like a passive little sponge, say thank you to the nice man, then trot back home to mother. Enriched by the experience and no harm done.”
Tessa’s eyes fell. It was too close to the truth for comfort. “Well, I- “
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