Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado

by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

  Nell’s eyebrows furrowed. “Natural is not always everything it’s cracked up to be—ask those calves. And ask me about natural childbirth!” She set down her fork.

  “I know, Nell, and you and Gene can do it any way you want to. I’ll help you band them if you want to go back to that. But in the end I think this way is better for the animal and for the people who will end up eating the meat.”

  Stephen took a bite of his sandwich.

  Nell didn’t look entirely convinced, but Gene said, “He’s right, hon.”

  A few minutes later she served the apple pie she’d made that morning. “I guess we better be getting on up to Stephen’s while we’ve got plenty of daylight,” she said, scooping vanilla ice cream into their bowls.

  Stephen, who had been quiet for a few moments, made a decision.

  “Guys, I think I’m going to give you the day off.” He pushed back from his plate. “I didn’t get my cows up last night, and that’s going to take some time to do. Could you come over tomorrow afternoon, if I get them up tonight?”

  “Well, sure,” Gene answered. “What time?”

  “I know you have church and then usually take naps.” Stephen grinned at them.

  “We can miss our naps tomorrow,” Nell offered.

  “That’s not necessary, Nell.” Stephen rose and carried his dishes over to the sink. When he got back to the table, he looked into her eyes and smiled. “Thanks for feeding me. That pie was truly amazing.”

  Nell beamed. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then, kiddo.”

  He bent down and kissed her on the cheek.

  Gene stood up to walk out with him, and when they were out on the porch, Stephen reached into his pocket for his wallet.

  “Will you do me a favor, Gene?”

  “Depends what it is.” Gene cut his eyes toward the fifty-dollar bill Stephen held out to him. “I’m not taking any of your money.”

  “This is a gift. Heaven knows I cost you and Nell enough in food today,” he laughed.

  But Gene didn’t laugh. “You more than made up for that with all the work you done. We couldn’t do it—I mean not near as smooth—without you.” He hooked his fingers through his belt loops and gave Stephen a long, hard look.

  “I can’t explain it, Gene, not now—but I need you to take this. Take it, and you and your bride go out on a real date. Wherever she wants to go. Who knows? Give her that option and this may not be enough.” He smiled into Gene’s weathered eyes. “But at least it will be a start.”

  Stephen held the money out, but Gene just stared at it.

  “I’m begging you to take it.”

  Gene shook his head, but the pleading look in Stephen’s eyes finally overcame his pride.

  “The kid really was begging. I could hardly turn him down,” he would later tell Nell over filet mignons at Rumors, that snazzy little place in Salida they’d seen advertised on TV.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Claire asked Graeme as they drove over to Martina’s house on Saturday afternoon. Martina’s daughter, Gabbie, was having a birthday party, and she had invited Graeme to sleep over.

  “Sure, Mom. I mean, I can’t let Gabbie down. Out of all of the people who are going to the party, she chose me to spend the night.”

  Claire thought he suddenly looked so big in his starched jeans and Rugby shirt, strapped down in the seat behind her.

  He went on. “Aunt Martina let Gabbie pick out snacks just for us, and we’re going to watch a movie and sleep in sleeping bags!” His green eyes sparkled with wonder.

  “Graeme, you don’t ever want to sleep in your own bed at home. I won’t be there. Are you sure you can make it at Aunt Martina’s in a sleeping bag?”

  “Mom, this is different. I’ll be with Gabbie. She’s my best friend.”

  Claire smiled at him through the rear-view mirror. “Okay. Well, I think you’re very brave, and this is going to be lots of fun. Just remember if you need me, I’ll keep my cell phone on. You can call at any time.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  They turned in by a mailbox that was decorated with pink balloons and pulled up to a red brick house with dated white shutters and a sagging single-garage door. More balloons were tied to the handrail of the front steps, and all along the weathered privacy fence that jutted out from the house on both sides, white lights were draped and gathered with clusters of more pink balloons.

  They could hear squeals from the backyard, so Graeme headed straight for the gate beside the garage. Claire followed him with his bag and helped pull up the rusty iron latch.

  “Graeme!” A satin-and-chiffon-clad Gabbie ran toward them in plastic high heels. Rhinestone clip-on earrings dangled from her ears, and her black hair was tucked up in a bun encircled by a plastic crown.

  “Happy birthday, Gabbie,” he said with a big grin as he held out her present.

  She took it and twirled around in her dress, a Disney princess costume. When she batted her brown eyes at him, her smile was full of innocent mischief.

  Claire noted the innate charm in Graeme’s voice when he told her she looked pretty and beamed at her in admiration. He was a natural prince. He reminded her so much of his father.

  “Smile, niños!” Martina came up with her camera, clicking pictures of Graeme and Gabbie from every angle until they ran off and were out of her range. Then she turned her lens on Claire, who put her hand over it.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Why not?” Martina peeled Claire’s fingers off the camera.

  “Look at me! I’d break your camera.”

  Martina rolled her eyes and said, “Hardly.” Then she kissed Claire on both cheeks. “Hola, amiga. Are you staying?”

  “I’d like to, but I think Graeme is needing a little space. You know how I tend to hover.”

  Martina suppressed a laugh. “You? Oh, no.”

  Claire made a face and stuck out her tongue at Martina. “I’d be hovering now if this party was anywhere else—and I certainly wouldn’t think of letting him spend the night!”

  “Well, thank you for your vote of confidence. After all, you have only known me about thirty years.” Martina laughed and gave her a little hug. “But, of course, you are welcome to stay.”

  “I’ve got a date to do some grocery shopping—Abuelita’s orders. But I will have my cell phone with me at all times, and I want you to call me—”

  “We’ll call you if Graeme needs anything at all. Try not to worry.”

  “’Bye, Graeme,” Claire called as she waved to her son. His head was down as he bobbed for apples in a tin tub that was manned by Jesús. He was surrounded by little girls.

  Graeme raised his head, took an apple out of his mouth, and smiled and waved excitedly. “See ya, Mom!” he yelled.

  Taking Graeme’s bag from Claire, Martina put her arm around her friend. “Enjoy a little time to yourself tonight. We’re gonna have a blast.” She walked Claire through the gate and waited to shut it behind her.

  “I’ll try.” Claire forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you then.”

  Gripping the steering wheel of her car before she pulled away, Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As she exhaled she whispered, “I can do this.”

  There was no grocery store in Romeo—only a convenience store that sold a few staples—so Claire drove on into Manassa. The same family who had owned the store when she was a child still owned it, and it was surprisingly good for such a small town. Most of the meats were purchased locally, and the dairy section even offered organic milk and créma from one of the farms nearby.

  After turning off the car, Claire pulled down her sun visor and took inventory of her appearance in the lighted mirror. She frowned at what she saw. She was wearing a rust-colored sweater with loose brown cords and a brown scarf around her neck. She hadn’t felt like fixing her hair just to go to the store, so she’d brushed it out straight and pulled on a plain toboggan the color of oatmeal.
She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. I hope I don’t see anybody I know.

  Claire grabbed her purse, depositing her keys inside, and shut the car door. Once inside the Market, as the grocery store was called, she fished out Abuelita’s list. It was a jumble of Spanish and English, jotted down quickly in the sweeping hand of an old aristocrat. Leche, créma, huevos, bread. Pollo. Steaks. Chocolate for Graeme.

  After hitting the meat and dairy aisles, Claire picked out some wheat berry bread and Mexican chocolate for Graeme then headed for the produce. She liked this section best and planned to purchase lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, which she was trying desperately to incorporate into Abuelita’s diet.

  Working methodically from bin to bin, Claire filled her cart. She chose apples, Gala for snacking and Granny Smith for pie, plus bananas, black grapes, Bing cherries, and several Ruby Red grapefruits from Texas. Graeme loved those. She was picking out the best navel oranges when she accidentally caused a small avalanche. About fifteen oranges came tumbling out of their bin and onto the floor, where they rolled like billiard balls in every direction.

  Claire groaned as she stooped down, grabbing as many as she could at a time from off of the concrete floor.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  Claire looked up and saw Stephen Reyes bent over, gathering several of her delinquent oranges into his arms like a mother hen.

  She closed her eyes, ducking, and felt her cheeks grow hot and prickly. Surely he hasn’t recognized me. She wanted to pull her hat down over her face.

  “Uh, thank you,” she said in a muffled voice, turning her back to him as she eased up to the bin in a sideways manner to deposit the oranges. Unfortunately, he stood up to transport his load before she could get away.

  “Claire?” He craned his neck to look into her eyes as she replaced her oranges. “Is that you?”

  “Hi,” she said miserably.

  He watched as she put each orange back into the bin and then he piled on the rest.

  Claire noticed again how the veins in his hands were pronounced. Like travertine marble. Stephen was meticulous about the placement of the oranges, and Claire knew they wouldn’t easily fall back down. When he was finished, he brushed off the sleeves of his leather jacket.

  “Thanks for helping me,” she muttered. She was looking at a drain on the floor, wishing it could suck her down like water and transport her far, far away.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Claire stood like a statue, wondering what he was thinking. Finally, she spoke. “Stephen?” She forced herself to look him in the eyes and found no encouragement in them. But at least he didn’t look away. “I can explain,” she said.

  “There’s no need for an explanation,” he told her in a voice that was a little hard. He diverted his eyes, and the muscles in his jaw looked taut like a bowstring.

  “I thought—” She tried to make eye contact before she told him of her mistake, but when she met his gaze, he interrupted her.

  “Look, Claire, it’s okay.” His voice was a little softer this time. He even smiled a tiny bit. “I understand you had plans to get groceries. I can respect that.”

  The muscles in Claire’s face relaxed into a grin, and she laughed just a little.

  Stephen bowed slightly and moved to go.

  He’s letting me off the hook, she thought. On an impulse she grabbed his arm.

  Stephen looked down at her hand on his arm, puzzled, and she removed it quickly.

  “Could we talk?” Claire ventured.

  Stephen tilted his head to the side, studying her. It seemed to Claire that he was trying to see behind her eyes.

  “Well, I did have plans to get groceries, but—”

  Claire laughed again, this time more heartily. She was impressed by this man’s sense of humor.

  Stephen responded with a grin of his own. “Where do you want to talk?”

  “I don’t know. I—well, I just need to talk to you about some things.”

  “We could go to the infamous Abe’s,” Stephen suggested. “That’s about the only place in town.”

  Claire’s hand went to her head, and then across her face and over her mouth, as a realization dawned on her. “I look awful,” she said. “Maybe I could go home and change while you’re getting your groceries.”

  “No!” Stephen said, impetuously. He looked straight into her eyes.

  Both Stephen and Claire colored a little, and then he added, “I don’t need many groceries.”

  Claire loosened her scarf, throwing caution to the wind.

  “Well, then,” she offered, “why don’t you meet me in the front of the store when you’ve got what you need? I’ll check out and wait for you.”

  Stephen followed Claire from the grocery store in Mansassa all the way to Abuelita’s on the outskirts of Romeo. When she pulled into the garage, he parked behind her and got out of his truck. Claire was opening her trunk when he walked up beside her.

  “Can I help you with your groceries?” he asked politely.

  “You don’t have to,” she said, “but that would be nice.”

  He grabbed the heaviest bags in both arms, and Claire took up a couple of lighter ones. She held the door open for him and he followed her through the back entry and into the kitchen. The house was dark except for the evening light that came in from the windows all along the back. Claire switched on the chandelier that hung above the breakfast table, and a fluorescent light that illuminated the kitchen.

  She put the cold items in the refrigerator, stooping down to deposit the fruit into a drawer, while Stephen stacked the other items on the marble counter. He made one more trip to the garage for the rest of the groceries.

  “This is quite a place,” he said as he set the remaining bags down on the counter and looked around. His eyes were drawn to the great room adjacent to the kitchen, with its dark wood floors, tall windows, and the majestic staircase that spilled into it.

  “I could give you a tour if you’d like,” Claire offered, surprising herself. It was amazing how comfortable she felt all of a sudden. She’d really only seen Stephen a few times, and now he was standing in Abuelita’s kitchen with her, unloading her groceries.

  I’m glad Abuelita is gone for the evening, Claire thought, even though she sensed that her grandmother would approve of Stephen.

  He looked away from the great room and into her eyes. “I’d love to see the place, but maybe some other time.” His words sounded like more of a question than a statement. Claire thought she heard something in his voice, but she was not exactly sure what. Caution? Fear? Restraint?

  “Okay,” she said, closing the cabinet door where she’d just put Graeme’s chocolate. “I guess that’s it for the groceries.”

  She scribbled a quick note to Abuelita, leaving it out on the counter, and they went back outside through the garage. Claire grabbed her purse from the front seat of her car and put down the garage door with the remote. When she turned around, Stephen was holding the door open to the passenger side of his truck.

  Claire smiled her thanks and climbed in. The cab smelled like wood smoke, and she admired the color and feel of the soft brown leather seats. Stephen shut the door behind her and walked around to his side to get in.

  “Do you still want to go to Abe’s?” He turned on the engine.

  “I’d prefer some place a little quieter, I think.” And less conspicuous.

  Stephen turned around and pulled slowly down the long, brick driveway. He stopped at the gate and looked at her with a question in his eyes.

  “Why don’t we drive up to the park? I haven’t been there in years,” she offered.

  “Okay—the park it is.” Stephen turned left out of Abuelita’s property and continued up Highway 142 for just a few miles until they reached Romeo, where they turned onto 285. As they drove through town, the only sign of life was at Abe’s, where the lights were already on and the music was loud. People milled about the sidewalk in front of the bar.

  Clair
e laughed to herself at the memory of Abuelita—“meeting her friends there for corridos and country.”

  “What is it?” Stephen asked her.

  “Oh, nothing, just a little joke.” Then, sensing that he really wanted to hear, she told him, “You’d have to know my grandmother. She’d never be caught dead in a bar—she’s sort of a teetotaler when it comes to alcohol—but the other day she told me she was going to Abe’s with some friends. Eighty-year-old friends, no less. She said they were going for corridos and country.”

  Stephen laughed. “That’s hilarious. She must be quite a character.”

  “She is,” Claire said. “She loves to get a rise out of me.”

  “Did she really go? To Abe’s, I mean.”

  “Heavens, no! If they were having a ballroom dance there, she might. No—she went to her friends’ house to play chicken feet. It’s a Mexican domino game. That’s where she is tonight, too.” Claire took off her scarf and placed it in her lap.

  When they came to the edge of town, Stephen continued on Highway 285, past the grain silo. Claire admired the mural depicting two sandhill cranes, which a local artist had painted on it. The field of alfalfa—which used to be grain back in the day—used to be a pit stop for migrating cranes. Claire could vaguely remember them.

  Ahead of them, she thought again that the fence posts, sticking up out of the ground and stretching for miles on both sides of the highway, looked like a form of earth acupuncture. She shivered a bit as she looked at the sky—so high and vast above them and such a cold blue.

  The sun was beginning its descent over the mountains to the west, and Stephen turned toward the sunset, down a neat dirt road. At the end of this road was what locals called “the park.” Claire shot to the edge of her seat, searching, but not seeing what she remembered.

  The park of her childhood had consisted of a few swings, a merrygo-round, and, in the middle, a huge pine tree. The tree had been framed with smooth rocks from the river, and there was a bench underneath it. The legend—and the reason for the park—was that Georgia O’Keefe had lain under that pine tree next to her friend D. H. Lawrence and looked up into its branches, becoming inspired to paint them from the bottom up.