Chloe dreamed her recurring dream of steep hills, the one where she worked hard to ascend the rocky earth only to slip at the apex to the rubbled bottom, shins bloody, and her breath knocked out of her rib cage. She had to try again, or whatever was in pursuit would find her. Then she cleared a hill and surfaced in a small, dark forest with the clear lapping of a spring-fed creek covering her dark hooves. Her dappled hide blended into the aspens quaking in the sunlight. There were no words, just the sense of drinking deeply with a rough tongue at the shimmering water. Smooth mossy stones lined the bottom. Darting silver fish wove the current like fine thread. Skating insects dented the water’s surface, chasing each other from sunlight to shadow. Her belly was heavy with the fawn she carried. No alarming scents nearby, not a one. If she needed to, she could rest awhile here, even sleep. It was good earth. There was shelter. It was safe.
The rain stopped just after sunrise, as if it couldn’t compete with the sun. The highway asphalt steamed as Chloe drove Hank down the narrow streets to the library in Silverado where he’d parked his Honda.
“You college types always park near a library?”
He got out of the truck and came around to her side. “It does lend a sense of the familiar.”
She chuckled. “If you lose your nerve, you run in and commune with the Dewey decimal system?”
“Library of Congress now. They switched.”
“Whatever. You walked all the way from here? That’s a couple of miles, Professor.”
“I was an Eagle Scout. I wanted to see you.”
“Well, you saw me.” She folded her arms on the window edge and watched him search his pockets for keys. “I find this interesting. Here I know what kind of sounds you make when you come, all your little sexual secrets, but I don’t know how old you are, where you live, whether you have any brothers or sisters. Don’t you think that’s strange?” Hannah’s face was pressed against the rear window, making big slobbery smears on the glass. “Hannah, for Christ’s sake quit.”
He took her hand through the open window. “I’m forty-two. I live in the beautiful city of Irvine, in a condominium that is virtually indistinguishable from its neighbors. No brothers. I had a sister who died when she was seven, and I was five. Her name was Annie. I don’t remember her, though I do have a picture of us together. I loved my grandmother, my mother’s mother, who lived in Northern Arizona, and taught me to shoot a rifle, and also how to make jam. My elderly parents live in a retirement community a little south of here. My mother does needlepoint. My father is a dreadful golfer. My favorite color is blue. May I see you again tonight?”
“No.”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and sighed. “How about next Friday—we could have dinner out. Lots of people do that on Fridays, you know. It doesn’t mean anything except the hungry enjoy a little company as they get fed.” He reeled her in by the shoulders. “Please?”
“Fridays I work late at the stables. I have six horses in training to exercise. Lessons to give. I’m there early all day Saturday and Sunday, and so tired when I get home I flop into what’s left of my bed. Weekends are workdays for me. Always.”
“I could come watch you. I enjoy horses.”
“I get nervous when I know someone’s watching me.”
“You didn’t seem nervous last night.”
“Shows what you know. Let’s take a little break until say, next Monday? Maybe you could get a few things done at home.”
“I’m caught up, really.”
“For starters you could try changing your oil and filter. That poor car smokes. How long has it been?”
“I have no idea. I let the garage take care of it.”
“And they probably charge you upwards of forty bucks. Jesus. It’s not that hard to do, honestly. Don’t you worry about your engine?”
“You can do it if you like. Or you can teach me how. Will you let me kiss you good-bye?”
She ran her hands through her hair. “Against my better judgment.”
They kissed. Thief—he had her heart right there in his pocket. She ought to charge him. Ought to take the money and stuff it into a coffee can to ease her woes when the day came that he treated her heart the same as he did his car’s engine—shabbily, taking for granted it would always turn over when he put his hand to it.
That kiss escorted her through the morning. When a small grease fire broke out in the kitchen, she whistled the refrain to “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” and let Rich rage all by his lonesome. She took Lita out back for a cigarette and found out she was divorced twice, with three boys nearly grown up, one in the navy and two at various colleges. They made a pact to stand united against Rich’s mood swings. Wasn’t anybody’s fault but his own he forgot to clean the pit. She collected twenty-eight dollars in tips, nearly twice the usual. Now she could afford to gas up the truck, lay fifteen aside toward the cream silk shirt. She felt all right, maybe even a smidgen proud, if that wouldn’t jinx anything, rap wood. Last night Hank had planted a smile on her face. The smile elevated her from plain, tough girl to self-assured woman. Customers didn’t know exactly what they found so alluring about that smile, but they were laying down dollar bills and plenty of quarters.
One storm and a week later, the bridle trails were dry enough for travel. They were no longer lazy circling miles behind the metal barn dotted with prickly pear and scrub oak, eucalyptus and buckthorn, shattered granite and an abundance of leave-her-right-there rock. In some cases the old trails were firmly blocked by barbed wire and rail fencing, in others sheared off to a bright red wound of earth leveled for impending development. Chloe paid little mind to these fences. She dismantled them like an archaeologist, careful to disturb as little as possible, and put them back up on her way out. Developers’ markers she considered fair game. She swung her body down in an agile arc to uproot fluorescent flags from trees so often that Absalom would squeeze up close to them without her leg cue, like an old milk horse with a twenty-year route fixed in his mind.
“You could get in trouble for doing that,” Kit said. “That’s like stealing.”
“More like justice.” Chloe undid a lipstick-pink belt from an old half-dead oak. She tied the streamer alongside three others on Absalom’s throatlatch. “Parade pony,” she said. “Now we have to gallop to get the full effect.”
“I don’t think we exactly need to gallop,” Kit said warily.
“No, but the horses do. You see, Kit?” Chloe kept Absalom in check, Elmer pinned alongside, so that the old gelding wouldn’t get any ideas about turning tail for home. “Horses have to get out and blast once in awhile. Just like people. Helps them to remember they’re capable. Rejuvenates the spirit.”
“Like shopping for earrings?” Kit offered.
“Somewhat. Maybe more like singing.” She remembered Hank’s cries in her ear the last time they were together, as if something were loose inside him, something difficult to own.
“We could sing,” Kit insisted. “I know a shitload of show tunes. Wilhelmina wanted to be a singer once. You want to do side one of South Pacific?”
“I can’t speak for you, but my singing would spook these horses.”
They crested the small canyon. Ahead of them five miles of flat graded fire road led to Old Camp, Chloe’s personal favorite of the canyon trails, blocked off to keep the range cattle from straying. The story went that the trail had been a favorite of outlaws in the days of the settlers, before Stroud Ranch weaseled it out from under the Mexicans. Along the way there was a small lake, usually dry, but this time of year it would be deep enough to attract all manner of bird and animal life. Chloe stilled Absalom for a moment, turned to look back over the cliff. From the top of the hill the valley spread out with grace, like God’s upturned palm. The bulldozers hadn’t made it down that far yet and she hoped they never would. Along the streambed two families of deer were visible. She nudged Kit. Kit liked that—baby animals with their mothers. She’d like running the horses, too, once she rel
axed. Only her fourth lesson, but for this trail ride Chloe had put her in a big Western saddle. She’d only let her run on the flat. Old Elmer was capable of a short blast at best. Worst-case scenario: If she fell, it would be into soft dirt. Kit wasn’t happy about it, but she was wearing her regulation helmet and the long-sleeved jacket Chloe insisted on. It wasn’t more than four feet to the ground off Elmer anyway, but she took no chances.
Beneath her Absalom’s trot fairly danced with anticipation, sensing what was ahead. “You’ll see, Kit. This is about the most fun you can have without boys, I swear on all your mother’s Indian gods. The only thing I can compare it to is a real good kiss. Now shorten up your reins and take hold of his mane with your free hand. Heads up—you don’t want him staring at the ground, do you? Ready?”
“No!” Her voice sang out, dwindling away beneath the sound of hooves. Beneath them, the deer startled and disappeared into the brush.
She cued Absalom for a right lead. Buted up, he moved like a circus horse, a slow, deep rocking-horse canter that Chloe held in check until she was certain Kit was under control, then allowed him to extend into a decent gallop along the fire road. He pressed his dark neck forward and snorted through those huge, comma-shaped nostrils to sieve the air. The plastic ties whipped through the air. Chloe rose up in her stirrups so that she hovered above her old Crump saddle, feeling the whistle of wind between the leather and her many-times-mended chaps. Elmer looked a little choppy at the canter, but his heart was in the chase. Hannah ran alongside, pinning her ears back, to some dim memory of long-ago escape. We’ll run long and hard, and with luck, the horses will appreciate their suppers, Hannah will sleep through the night, and Kit will be too exhausted to lift more than a forkful of dinner. She’d show Kit how to measure and mix grain for Elmer tonight. He deserved a fat scoop of sweet feed as a reward for playing by the rules. The blue dusk was coming up, filtering through the forest, daubing away the skeletal framework of expensive homes being built on the ridge above them. They didn’t matter. The sound of hooves thudding into earth was as grounding as a drumbeat. She wondered what Hank was up to at this moment—did he play racquetball after he finished teaching those college kids which god threw what terrible curse on this or that mortal? Did he watch specials on public television, sitting on a clean white couch and drinking more of that corkscrew wine? Maybe he read the Wall Street Journal, or Shakespeare. He’d kept his word-stayed away for a week—was he at this very moment—please God, no—back at her place again, waiting for an encore? Absalom stumbled, and she clung to his neck, caught herself, and slowed him down to a trot. Elmer, eager to please, slowed too.
“Oh, my God,” Kit said, her breath wheezing. “Oh, my God. When can we do it again? When?”
“Look,” Chloe whispered, smiling. At the edge of the lake an enormous pale bird stood and lifted wings that spanned a good four feet. “I’m no bird expert, but I’d swear that’s a crane. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“So?” Kit said. “Big deal. Some extra large bird gets lost.”
“Someone told me this Indian legend about cranes. Supposedly, they’re messengers to the spirit world, and when you see one, it means they’re considering taking you along.”
“Who told you that?” Kit said. “Your boyfriend? My dad told me some guy’s been nosing around you at the restaurant.”
Chloe didn’t answer.
Kit threw her head back and screamed, and the bird startled, then shook its huge wings into a gangly flight.
Absalom shied, and Chloe had to reach up to grab his neck to quiet him. “Jesus, Kit. Why’d you do that?” she asked. “Why?”
“Big fucking deal,” Kit answered. “It’s just some damn bird.”
“Who has just as much right as you do to be on this trail.”
“Sorry.”
She patted her horse’s neck. Kit had been doing so well.
They walked the horses single file up the skinny trail that led to the back entrance to the stables. It would be dark when they returned, and both horses needed cooling down and serious grooming before they got their dinner. Abruptly, Absalom leapt sideways and crow-hopped up the hillside. “Easy,” Chloe said.
“What the hell got into him?”
“Maybe your yelling.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“He probably picked up a stone. Hang on, I’m going to dismount and take a look.” She gathered her reins and led him back to the trail. Her boot stepped into something squishy. She knelt and wrinkled her nose at the meaty scent. It was the recent remains of a cow, backbone protruding from the tough red hide. The head was missing, severed neatly at the neck where white bone jutted up and tendons curled into a purplish knot. Surrounding the corpse was a mess of congealed stinking blood that Hannah immediately rolled in, the ultimate dog perfume.
“Aw, Hannah, don’t.” Too late.
“What is it?” Kit demanded. “Should I get down, too?”
“Stay on Elmer.” Chloe tried to push the carcass to the side of the trail, but it was too heavy and not yet completely stiff. Her boot unearthed a roiling mass of organs and insects. She thought she might lose it then, but she held it in, turned Absalom’s head away, and coughed until the gag reflex left her.
“Somebody killed that cow on purpose,” Kit said. “Why the fuck would somebody do that?”
Chloe mounted her horse and they rode up the trail in silence. “We don’t know for sure, Kit. Maybe it died all by itself.” She wanted to believe that, Tried it out a couple ways in her mind.
“So where’s its head? Huh? Can you tell me that? Is this what those weenies who worship Satan do? Kill a defenseless cow?”
All night the dead cow haunted her. It was windy following what the radio insisted was the “last rain of the season, folks. Spring is just around the bend.” Forty degrees outside and before morning the temperature would drop low enough to frost the bare trees. Branches scratched the cabin and kept waking her up. She’d had a late-night feast on take-out food—sharing the last of the chicken with Hannah—tucking the bones into a napkin on the countertop to throw away in the morning. She finished off the meal with a slab of cheese and one of those coffee candies Hank had left, brushed her teeth at the sink, rinsed her toothbrush, and put it into its case. She fell asleep, almost dulled into dreamlessness by her full stomach.
A short pass of light across her face woke her. She had less than a minute to separate it from dreams into a reasonable explanation before the door flew open, ripping the cheap lock from the wood frame. She pulled the sleeping bag to her nakedness and tried to focus into the waving flashlight beam. Hannah dived, snarling, for the light. Chloe cried out for her to stop, but over her own voice she heard the yelp of animal pain as the flashlight came down hard on Hannah’s muzzle and silenced her.
“You—on your feet!” the voice insisted, and she stumbled from the bed without question, clutching the bedding to her body.
She couldn’t see him. The urge to run overtook reason and she lunged forward into the darkness toward the voice. Hannah whined in pain. “What the fuck did you do to my dog? Who are you? What do you want?”
She felt his hand grab her upper arm and roughly twist her away from him. Then she heard the crackle of police radio and struggled against his weight to keep her balance. “Hannah!” she cried, and heard the scrabble of toenails against the wooden floor.
“Stand still,” he said. “Jesus H. Christ, stop pushing me or I’ll have to deck you.”
The hell she would. She dropped the sleeping bag and shoved with all her weight against the stranger’s hands. She wound up her right arm and sent a fist toward his cheek. It didn’t catch him square, though, dammit. He reeled backward but managed to hang onto her.
“Hannah! Where are you?”
The man pushed back, one well-trained shove that sent Chloe pivoting on her right leg, slamming into the trunk, losing her balance entirely, and going toward the floor. She heard the snick of bone in her ankle and knew dully be
fore the pain registered that it was broken, that she wouldn’t be able to get back up.
“Hannah,” she said from the floor, but even without benefit of light, she knew her dog was gone.
Now he said, “Police. Just stay where you are.”
She did. Others came, with larger flashlights. One of them held a battery-powered lantern that lit the room in a dirty yellow glare that stung her eyes. They were deputies from the sheriff’s department. Dark jackets and holstered guns were this evening’s costume. Most of them looked to be right around Hank’s age, save for the one who had pushed her; he had to have been nineteen or twenty years old, no more than a boy. He stood there pointing his flashlight at her, tracking her eyes, making certain the light kept her blinded. He was breathing as excitedly as if he had just finished a satisfying bout of energetic sex. She didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way he looked at her. The asshole had smacked her dog with no provocation. Her full bladder wanted to burst, but that discomfort was a distant cousin to the fire in her ankle.
“Nice ass,” one of the older cops said as he entered the cabin. “You want to tell us what happened here, Elliot?”
The boy’s face turned cool. “What could I do? She sicced her attack dog on me. I think it was a pit bull. Fucker ran away. Then she tried to deck me.” He rubbed his side. “I think the bitch might have cracked my rib.”
“We’ll get you an X ray.”
Chloe studied their faces and made no move to cover herself. Her twisted ankle was in another county. Bare ass on the wood floor and she wasn’t even cold. Trouble on the horizon. It was weeks ago that Hugh had tried to warn her. What if Hank had been here? What was this all about? Hannah. Oh, Hannah. Run fast. Don’t come back, girl. A man who’d use a flashlight on your skull would have no hesitation about a shotgun.
A woman officer entered the cabin. She had a kind face, mouth set hard as if she found this job less than pleasant. She took a look at Chloe and made a sound of disgust deep in her throat. “You’re a bunch of sadistic jackals,” she said, and they laughed. She bent to Chloe. “Let’s get you up and some clothes on.”
Hank & Chloe Page 14