A War of Daisies

by A. A. Chamberlynn

  “See what?”

  Dynah felt her heart sink. Maybe her sister hadn’t experienced the same things that she and Felicity had.

  “Listen, Dynah,” Penelope said, her voice low and tense. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but I don’t appreciate it. I came back here, all the way from the Navajo reservation, because Willow said you needed me. But you’ve barely spoken to me since then, and now you’re suddenly asking me cryptic questions.”

  “No, I’m serious,” Dynah said, not liking how whiny her voice sounded. “I’m—I’m seeing things. Ever since that day at the arena. The doctor—he had this strange cloud around him. It was black the other day, but now it’s gray—”

  “Is this a joke?” Penelope growled. “It wasn’t enough that you summoned me back here like the servant you all think I am. Now you have to taunt me?”

  “What? No!” Dynah cried. “We don’t think you’re a servant. Don’t be silly.”

  “I have never been treated like a member of this family,” Penelope spat. “Least of all by Roy.”

  “Oh, so you’re glad he got sick?”

  “That’s not what I said! I would never wish that.”

  “Well, he got sick right after your big fight the other day. Within hours. Don’t you think that’s bizarre?”

  Penelope’s eyes widened. “You think I caused Roy’s illness? How would I even do that?”

  Dynah clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides. This was not at all how she’d imagined the conversation going. “I don’t—I just—I told you, things have been strange lately—”

  “Why don’t you do us both a favor and go back to ignoring me like you usually do.” Penelope spat out the words, then turned and stormed off into the woods.

  Dynah let out a groan of frustration and walked back into the house. The whole place smelled of sage, which just reminded her of Penelope and her new family once again. How could she say they treated her like a servant? Not a member of the family? Maybe Penelope had never wanted to be a part of their family. She’d left the first chance she got, and she’d probably be out of here again as soon as Roy recovered.

  It was true she hadn’t spoken much to Penelope since she came back a couple days before. They’d never been close. They didn’t make idle chit-chat with each other, as many sisters did, it just wasn’t like that between them. Plus, Dynah didn’t know how to ask about Penelope’s Navajo family, and she’d been trying to muster the courage to talk about what had happened since the dust storm. Which had clearly been a complete failure when she finally did get the words out.

  The only upside to things was that her father seemed to have a fighting chance now. She wouldn’t have to cancel her entry in the rodeo anymore, as she’d been contemplating. Death had steered clear of their household.

  Things could finally get back to normal.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Willow

  Willow had agreed, against her better judgment, to meet Zane for a picnic. They still had to practice for the race, as he’d accurately pointed out, and that required eating along the way. Why not eat together?

  As she approached their rendezvous point, she felt as if she’d swallowed several large fuzzy caterpillars, which now gnawed on her insides. Was this what romance felt like? Because if so, she now knew why it hadn’t been an interest to her thus far. What she didn’t know was why she wanted so badly to see him even so.

  Damn it all.

  Zane sat waiting for her on the boulder. It was a couple miles south of her house, along the river. She’d told him he couldn’t miss it. A boulder so big, either a giant or God could have been the only ones to place it there, oddly out of place in the open plains south of the red rock canyons. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold.

  Willow let Bullet loose to graze with Zane’s horse, taking off her bridle so she could eat freely. She’d had the chestnut mare long enough to know she wouldn’t wander off. She tossed her bridle on a smaller rock next to the giant boulder and climbed up to meet Zane.

  “I thought for a bit you were going to stand me up,” he said by way of greeting.

  Willow blinked. “Am I that late?”

  He chuckled. “Just a bit. Thought maybe I spooked you off. Figuring out your secret and all.”

  “I’m not so easily spooked,” Willow said with a shrug.

  She sat down next to him. Not too close. The boulder was more or less flat on the top, so they had plenty of room. But then she started to wonder if she’d sat oddly far from him. She groaned inwardly. It had been much easier being a man.

  “I brought sandwiches,” Zane said, holding up a small package wrapped in brown paper. “Roast beef. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Willow lifted a small burlap sack. “Apples. Last of the Fall harvest. A bit wrinkly but still sweet.” She pulled one out and tossed it over.

  Zane smiled. “Thanks.” He took a bite of the red-gold fruit, and a bit of the juice ran down his chin. “So, how many miles did you go today?”

  “Thirty, give or take. You?”

  “About the same. With the race in two days, I want Jericho to be fresh. Just a light jog the next couple days.”

  Willow nodded. “That was my plan, too.”

  She sat back and took a bite of her sandwich. The bread was thick and fresh, the meat salty. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. Maybe this picnic wasn’t the worst idea in the world. They were talking about the race. It didn’t mean Zane liked her in any kind of way. And she didn’t have to feel anything particular in return. Just two riders sharing a meal and talking about their jobs.

  Zane pulled a silver flask out of his back pocket and took a swig, then tossed it over to her. Willow caught it with her free hand. As she raised it to her lips, she caught the sharp tang of whiskey, so strong it made her eyes water. What had Lyla said before she left? No boys, no guns, no booze, and don’t forget to feed the chickens? Willow tipped the flask into her mouth, making sure not to wince as the liquid burned down her throat. Well. She hadn’t forgotten to feed the chickens.

  She tossed the whiskey back to Zane and polished off her sandwich, then the apple. Zane scooted closer to her so he could hand her the flask this time, instead of tossing it from the other side of the boulder. She took another gulp, and this time the heat lingered in her chest. It was actually a pleasant sensation, a spreading warmth that swam through her veins.

  “So, about our alliance,” Zane said.

  “Yeah?” Willow handed the flask back to him.

  “I think it might be compromised.”

  She stiffened, then narrowed her eyes. “How so?”

  “Well, it was easy when I didn’t know you.” Zane took a pull from the flask. “Because then I wouldn’t have any problem beating you, in the end.”

  “Ha.” Willow snorted, took the flask back. “That’s awfully arrogant.” She held his eyes as she took another sip of whiskey.

  “True,” he said. “But my point is, now I think I would feel bad if I won.”

  “Really? Because if you somehow manage to beat me—which there’s just the tiniest, infinitesimal chance of—you should be very proud of yourself. It would be quite the feat.”

  “Now who’s arrogant?” Zane grinned and took the flask back.

  Willow felt very warm and happy now. No wonder men liked whiskey so much. “The problem here, Zane, is that you’re viewing me as a woman.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Well. You are that.”

  She raised a hand. “For the purposes of the race, I have chosen to be a man. You weren’t supposed to figure it out, but you did. So, there’s a simple solution.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Just treat me like any other cowboy. Forget entirely that I am, in fact, a woman.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  Willow abruptly realized that Zane was sitting quite close to her. When had that happened? It had to be all the passing back and forth of the flask. She sat cross-leg
ged, and his long legs stretched out next to hers, their thighs almost touching. Their shoulders were inches apart, too. She could smell him even, his leather-sage scent.

  “Forget you’re a woman?” he repeated. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

  He reached out one hand and brushed his pinky finger delicately along the top of her hand where it sat resting on her knee. Willow felt a heat flare up between them that had nothing to do with the whiskey. Zane’s river blue eyes burned into her jade ones.

  “Well then,” she said breathily. “Maybe you should just forfeit now.”

  He leaned in toward her, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. Then closer, until their breath mingled and she could hear his heart thumping. His lips hovered above hers. “I forfeit,” he whispered.

  A shrill whinny broke the air and they looked up to see a group of cowboys riding toward them. Cowboys who of course thought that Willow was a boy. And while she thought two cowboys could do and feel whatever they wanted for each other, she doubted very much that sentiment would be carried by the rough-riders coming up on them.

  Zane scooted back hastily before they got too close, then raised a hand in greeting. “Howdy.”

  The men raised hands in greeting as they passed by. Jericho and Bullet, excited by the new horses, went trotting off toward them.

  “Shit!” Willow said.

  They shimmied off the boulder and went after them. It didn’t take long to capture the two runaways, as they were both pretty worn out from their earlier rides. Willow was more than a bit relieved the group of riders passed on by without incident. She remembered the ambush in the canyon all too well.

  “That was close,” she said, watching them head north toward Hawk’s Hollow.

  “Yeah.”

  Zane looked over, and those blue eyes almost undid her. It had been close. Too close.

  “I’d better lay low the next couple of days,” Willow said. “I’d hate to have come this far only to blow my cover right before the race.”

  “You’re right.” Zane nodded. “I don’t want that, either.”

  “Listen,” she said. “It’s nearly the turn of the century. A man and a woman can compete against each other. No hard feelings, no matter who wins the race, eh?”

  “Deal,” he said. “No feelings of any kind until after the race.”

  “Agreed,” Willow said. “Good.”

  She reached out her hand, he grabbed it, and they shook.

  Willow swung up onto Bullet, feeling a little unsteady as she did. Part of it was the whiskey. But the other part…

  “Thanks for the sandwiches,” she said.

  Zane shrugged. “Of course. So, see you on race day?”

  Willow picked up her reins and straightened her hat on her head. “See you on race day.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Penelope

  Since Roy clearly wasn’t dying anymore, Penelope was of half a mind to head right back out to her clan again and leave Dynah and her mother to fend for themselves. After all, they’d always left her on her own. An outsider in her own family. But, as eager as she felt to get back to Nascha and Atsa and learn more about the other half of her, there was one thing she needed to do first.

  Enter the rodeo.

  Her last act of defiance. Well, one of her only acts of defiance, after a life of being quiet and staying out of the way. Of acting like she had to atone for the blood running through her veins. Roy had forbidden her to enter the rodeo. Well, her Navajo side had saved his life, so as far as she figured, he didn’t have a leg to stand on. And Dynah… well, her sister would just have to get over having a little competition.

  Penelope saddled Domino and headed for town. It was early morning, but the sun already baked the earth. She longed for the crisp mornings of autumn, when dew still clung to blades of grass, when the shadows made you shiver. When stepping out of the house didn’t suck the energy right out of you.

  When she reached Hawk’s Hollow, the whole place was abuzz with activity. With the fair starting tomorrow, nearly everyone from out of town had arrived by now, and it was packed. The hotel sold out, the saloon overflowing, the land between the train station and the arena, a good half-mile, completely lined with traveling merchants, and beyond that, tents for the folk who couldn’t afford a hotel room. Penelope figured an extra few hundred people descended on her little town for the annual fair.

  She rode down Main Street and watched the bustle, then cut over at the south end of town to the fairgrounds. It was even more packed than the street had been. Domino pranced, feeling the excitement in the air. They made their way to the line for the registration table. There had to be a couple dozen people ahead of her. She tried not to be discouraged—she had nowhere else she needed to be at the moment.

  The minutes passed, and the sun beat down on her. Penelope began to sweat, feeling it dampen her brown cotton blouse. It felt like everyone was staring at her. Maybe the out-of-towners were surprised to see a brown girl in line for the rodeo. She stared right back at anyone with lingering eyes. Her days of meekness were behind her.

  She finally reached the head of the line and got off Domino. “I’d like to register for the rodeo. Trick riding.”

  The two men before her were the same ones that had been there that fated day of the dust storm. “I’m sorry,” said the one, “But you’re going to need Roy’s permission to enter.”

  Penelope stiffened. “I’m eighteen. An adult.”

  They shrugged.

  Penelope could feel her skin getting hot, and tingles running along her collarbone. “But my sister didn’t need Roy’s permission to enter!”

  “Sorry,” said the second cowboy in the most unapologetic way possible.

  Lightning coursed through Penelope’s veins. Always, this same treatment. As if she weren’t a citizen of this town. As if she weren’t a human being. She felt her anger glow within her, and then it surged out of her eyes and into the first cowboy who had spoken, who stared at her balefully. He stiffened a moment, then began to cough. The other man clapped him on the back, which only seemed to intensify the hacking.

  Penelope turned her burning gaze to the second man…

  “I think perhaps I can resolve this situation,” said a voice behind her. A female voice.

  Penelope turned and the lightning faded. A woman stepped up next to her. Tall, pale as ice, with a pile of ebony curls atop her head, and an emerald green fascinator that matched her eyes. She wore a pink and bone-colored satin dress with a corset. A leather sheath hung around her waist, carrying a jeweled dagger. She leaned, ever so slightly, on a frilly, folded parasol.

  She was definitely not from Hawk’s Hollow.

  “I’ll pay the young lady’s entry fee,” said the woman. She dropped a handful of gold coins on the table and slid them across to the men. They weren’t dollar coins, but something older, from across the sea.

  The first one still coughed, but the second man stared at the woman with huge eyes, looked back down at the pile of coins, then hastily began to write Penelope’s information on the roster. After a moment, he ripped off a receipt and handed it to Penelope with shaking fingers. She took it and stepped out of line, leading Domino behind her.

  She turned to her savior. “Thank you so much. Why did you…?”

  The woman smiled, and her pink lips glistened in the sun like freshly cut watermelon. “Us women have to stick together, don’t you think?” She winked at Penelope as they continued to walk through the crowd.

  “That’s true,” Penelope said, glancing over at the dazzling woman. “But most people don’t want to help me.”

  “Why ever not?” The woman said, looking over at her in surprise.

  “Well, you know…” Penelope drifted off, looking down at her brown arms.

  “I can’t imagine what you mean.” The woman paused, the skirts of her ostentatious dress swirling around her booted ankles. “Remember this: there will always be people who want to hold you back. It’s u
p to you to take what you know is yours.”

  And with that, the woman opened her parasol to shield her from the sun, smiled a smile both sweet and sharp, and sauntered away into the crowd. Penelope stood there in awe and in shock, watching as the woman disappeared amongst the milling cowboys.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Felicity

  Felicity didn’t think she’d ever been more anxious in her entire life, and that was saying a lot. It was 2:58 PM. She stood by the arena, waiting for the prettiest girl in the world, waiting, of all things, to talk about strange forces that had affected them both since that fateful day two weeks ago in this very place.

  She had to be dreaming.

  A huge crowd surrounded the arena. She sat on Music, patting her sleek black shoulder from time to time to calm her from the commotion. How on earth would she and Dynah even find each other in all these people? Felicity cursed inwardly. She should have thought about that when they’d arranged a meeting place. Now it was too late.

  And then she felt something… a bit like the lightning flowing in her veins. The white light glimmered from her hands, and Felicity was glad she’d worn her riding gloves so it only peeked out around the edges. She felt a tug in her gut, in her blood, and she looked to the west. Across the crowd, beyond the arena toward Main Street, she saw Dynah emerge from the milling bodies on her pale horse.

  She urged Music forward and they made their way through the throng. West, toward Dynah, but also south just a bit to a less crowded area between the arena and the row of traveling merchants. Dynah seemed to beeline in her direction, and they met out in the open behind the tents of the peddlers.

  “Hi,” Dynah said, and for once she seemed shy, unsure of herself. Not the confident Rodeo Queen everyone knew and loved. She pulled her horse alongside Music so they faced each other.

  “Hello,” Felicity answered.

  “I didn’t know how I was going to find you,” Dynah said, then paused. “But then—I—I kind of—”