Angel does this seriously cute thing with his mouth before sighing. “Don’t apologize. I like that you say what’s on your mind. Whatever it is.”
“I’m still sorry.” I pout sweetly for good measure. “Even if I am right.”
Angel finally glances over at me. “Maybe, Ruby.” He shrugs. “But if it turns out you’re not, I get bragging rights.”
“If you promise not to arrest Ezra, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“Torture maybe?”
“I’m a pacifist.” I grin.
“If you’re so sure, why not just agree to my conditions and be done with it?”
“Principle.”
Angel slips his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Our hands lie together in a ball on my lap. I look down at them suspiciously. When he squeezes my fingers and smiles at me like a lost puppy, I can’t help but go with it. It’s not like he suffers in either the looks or the intelligence department.
“Do you want to go home, or do you want to grab a piece of pie?” he asks.
I nod. “At Margarita’s?”
“Where else?”
We pull onto Luna Street and park in Angel’s spot across from the diner. Humming, he comes around and opens the door for me, slipping an arm around my shoulder while we walk. Near Margarita’s, we run into Ezra on the sidewalk. He stops and tips his cowboy hat when he sees us.
“Evening, Ruby,” he says quietly.
“Figures,” Angel mutters.
I open my mouth to ask how Ezra’s evening is, but all I manage is a clumsy squeak. For some reason, seeing him makes me nervous.
Ezra and I stare at each other, both fixed to our spots on the sidewalk. He examines me like he’s never seen a real live girl before, until Angel tightens his arm around my shoulder and mumbles, “Cat got your tongue?”
Ezra glances from me to Angel, then down at Angel’s arm around my shoulder. Streetlight glints off his eyes and for the briefest moment his irises look golden, shifting along with pupils that contract so fast it has to be a trick of light.
“Well, I better be off,” he finally says, walking toward his truck before I can answer.
After he’s out of earshot, Angel mutters, “Jerk.”
I turn toward him. “Not really.”
He looks down at my face, cocking an eyebrow.
“At least, not to me. How’s that?”
“You want to be friends with the guy, that’s your deal.”
I wonder how long they’ve disliked each other. I’m not certain that Angel’s animosity is mutual, but judging by Ezra’s response whenever I mention Angel, it seems likely.
“Were you ever friends?” I ask.
“Not really.”
“Were you jealous?”
“You mean of the way he looked?”
I nod.
“Everyone was.”
“So, you hate him because he used to be hot?” I joke.
“No.” He shakes my shoulders playfully. “I hate him because he’s awful. He’s always been obnoxious. We played football together. Dude was a constant headache.”
“You played football?”
“Quarterback.”
“And Ezra?” I just can’t imagine it.
“Running back.”
“I wish I could have seen you in those pants.” I giggle.
“Remind me, I’ll show you my yearbook sometime.”
Imagining them high fiving and slapping each other on the ass makes me laugh, which quickly spirals into hysterics. Liddy likes to joke that my runaway fits have something to do with repressed feelings. I think I’m just better at appreciating the absurd.
Angel maneuvers my shaking body through Margarita’s front door. He slips me into a booth and sits down beside me with a startling thwump. “Cherry pie!” he yells to the waitress across the counter. “My date’s having a fit, so please, Mary, step on it.”
“A fit?” I giggle.
“A moment?” He slinks an arm around my shoulders.
“A moment,” I choke. “I like that. Too bad it’s fleeting.”
He grins. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it.” I hiccup. “But it always is.”
“It’s all about your outlook, Ruby.”
Angel is right. I was born a silver-lining type of girl. But my mother’s death left its own pall, and in the last year, that lining took on a little tarnish.
“Well, right now,” I swallow, working through the tail end of my laughing fit, “I’m all about looking out for my cherry pie.”
“Cherry pie forever.” He smiles. “That works.”
“Cherry pie forever,” I agree, knowing even as I say it, that cherries have pits and that in the grand scheme of things, like everything else in life, pits are mostly unavoidable.
Eight
If I Only Could
Sunrise sets the hillside on fire making embers of the yellowing leaves and rusty piñon needles blanketing the mountain. The sky glows, brilliant with first dawn, and alone in Apache Canyon with nothing but the scenery for company, my paintbrush comes alive. Each brushstroke highlights the pecked wood on an otherwise perfect juniper, smooth rocks jutting from a jagged outcropping, and a swath of red leaves in a sea of yellow birch droppings.
When the sun climbs above the mountains, I drop my palette and brush on the grass and lie down near a set of ruts etched into the hard ground—remnants of the original Santa Fe Trail. For hundreds of years settlers, Native Americans and explorers traveled over this very spot. Knowing it gives me goose bumps; Apache Canyon met them all.
Like a bird in flight, I stretch my arms and legs as far I can over the ground. Turning my face up toward the sky, I close my eyes. The morning air cools my bare legs, and occasionally a breeze flutters across my cheeks, tickling my lashes. Faint sounds surround me, the natural world in perfect disharmony. Lulled by sap and lavender smells I drift, daydreaming about history. Until a voice startles me back to reality.
“Odd place for a nap,” it says from above me.
Surprised, I open my eyes, shielding them from sunlight that suddenly isn’t there.
Leo stands over me, looking down into my face with the most amused expression. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.
I move my head against the scrubby grass and feel my hair catch in its blades. You’re awake, Ruby. He’s not a hallucination.
Leo drops to the ground, lying down beside me. He stretches out his long frame and turns his head sideways. Like the first time we met, his beautiful face leaves me utterly speechless.
“How are you?” he asks casually. “Other than happy to see me.”
I didn’t think we’d meet again. So I’m surprised. And happy. I’m just not thrilled he knows it. “Okay,” I answer.
Leo looks straight into the sun without shielding his eyes. “I missed you up at the ruin this week,” he tells the sky.
“I was up there.”
“Looking for me?” he asks bluntly.
I start to say no, but for some reason answer yes. “For the ruin too,” I add.
Leo turns on his side, planting his elbow in the dirt. “Well, here I am.”
“Yes, here you are.” I sit up and pull my legs to my chest, using my knees as a chin rest. “I wondered if I’d see you again.”
“Because you wanted to,” he says, not even pretending it’s a question.
“For real?” I sniff. “Yes, I wanted to.”
Leo smiles. “I’m not surprised.”
“To think I was worried you were insecure.”
He chuckles but doesn’t say anything, and his focused gaze makes me uncomfortable. “It’s quiet up on the plateau,” I say, eager to change the subject. “Don’t you think? I mean, I’ve never even seen a squirrel or a bird up there. It’s a little unsettling.”
Leo narrows his beautiful eyes, peeking at me through thick black lashes. “Don’t get too comfortable thinking you’re alone up
there, Ruby. There’s life on the mountain. It sees you regardless.”
“Right, like El Maldito,” I joke.
His eyes fall on my face, lingering on my mouth. “Mountain lions are good luck,” he says absently.
“Really?” I bite the inside of my cheek. “They also kill for the sake of killing. I looked it up.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he sniffs. “You’re not much of a meal.”
“I also read they usually only come out at night.” I sweep my arms out in front of me. “Though obviously, I’m not that worried.”
“How often do you hike up to the ruin?” he asks.
“I went a couple of times after school last week. It clears my head. Don’t laugh,” I titter nervously and look right at him, “but sometimes it’s like I hear the ruin in my sleep. That noise I told you about last time? It’s like it’s calling me.”
Leo stares, focusing on me like a laser beam, but otherwise he’s inscrutable.
“You think that’s strange?” I ask, feeling insecure.
“A little.”
“I’m really into sketching it. But maybe I just like the solitude.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
Leo’s eyes blaze in the sunlight as he slowly picks single blades of grass from the ground, rubbing each between his fingers before discarding one blade for another. For a few moments, he seems perfectly content to sit with me in silence.
“So, how do you like it here so far?” he finally asks.
“Here in Apache Canyon?”
“No. Just here. La Luna, Glorieta, Pecos.”
“I think it’s magical.”
“Magical,” he repeats, with a lilt that elevates the word. “That’s perfect.”
“Thanks.” I blush.
“Do you believe in magic?”
“I used to believe. But I gave it up. Quit cold turkey.”
Leo’s laugh comes out heavy and a little stiff. He leans back again, settling on both his elbows.
“Do you believe in magic?” I ask him.
“Definitely. Look around.”
On the drive out to New Mexico, I was sure living in La Luna would be like eating dirt—dry, bland, and hard to swallow. But that isn’t true; I feel a sense of permanence in the pass, as if I finally fit my surroundings.
“It feels right.” I nod. “The way home should.”
“That is magic.” He grins.
“I belong. You know? I’ve never really felt that before.”
Leo raises a polished eyebrow. “Fate?”
I try not to giggle. “I’m not a big believer in providence.”
“Will is a powerful thing, but it’s good to know your place, Ruby. Sometimes,” Leo plucks a blade of grass from the ground, “there is a grand design.”
Leo keeps talking, telling me about growing up in a culture that barely makes sense to the outside world but that his elders still take seriously. “Sometimes it feels like I’m two people stuck in one body,” he says. Leo smiles, like the thought amuses him. “Who I’m supposed to be and who I am. They don’t always coexist well.”
“I know the feeling.” I sigh.
“Do you?”
“My mom was really superficial. She was all about appearances and popularity. When I was with her, I usually felt like an imposter in my own skin. I had a hard time making friends because of it. Guess you could say I’m combative sometimes, even though I’m a lot like her—probably because I’m a lot like her.”
“How did you deal with it?”
“There’s a Yiddish proverb: ‘God created a world full of little worlds.’ So, I tell myself there’s room enough for all of us to do our own thing. Most of the time thinking that keeps me going. I’m trying to be okay with being me on my own terms and her daughter. Besides,” I shrug, “in the long run, we’re all just human, aren’t we?”
Leo laughs. “I hope so, Ruby.”
He stands up and holds out his hand, and I let him pull me upright.
“Will you walk me back?” I ask.
Leo lingers in front of me, erect and proud, like he’s never had a weak moment in his life. But he doesn’t answer.
“What?” I ask, brushing dust off my face while he stares. “Stop gawking at me.”
He takes a step closer, looking down at my face, tracing it with his eyes. The canyon is so quiet I can hear my heart pounding.
“Leo,” I exhale, too aware of how close he is.
With a single finger, Leo lifts my chin. “You are beautiful, Ruby.”
Before I can protest, he kisses me.
Leo’s lips are dizzying. I forget that I’m standing in the middle of a remote, supposedly haunted canyon. I forget that I’m Ruby Brooks, niece of Lydia Brooks, daughter of the formerly gorgeous, now very dead, Serephine Brooks. And I want to forget. And I want to kiss Leo so badly, I feel it in every inch of my body. The feeling grows through me, and out of me, and into the ground, taking root beneath the soil. Yet, I barely know him. And that’s a terrible thing.
“Leo,” I breathe, pushing against his chest, “Stop.”
“Why?” he whispers, tugging me back.
“I hardly know you.”
“You know enough.”
His body feels hard and strong, but his eyes are soft. When he looks down at my face, I feel like a wet noodle, ready to collapse into his arms. He kisses me again, and the contact is electrifying. I could lose myself. It would be so easy. But a quiet voice buried beneath all my want warns me to proceed cautiously.
“Leo!” I step back abruptly, losing my balance.
Leo catches me and quickly lets go, as calm and collected as ever. “We obviously crossed signals.”
“I think they crashed into each other.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t be mad,” I tell him.
His lovely face breaks into perfect fractions. “Why would I be? It’s not personal.”
Leo is beautiful—like a Caravaggio painting. But he’s also the cockiest boy I’ve ever met. “It’s completely personal! You almost devoured me.”
“Devoured you?” He laughs. “I don’t think so.”
“You kissed me.”
“And you kissed me back.”
The sun is so intense it’s nearly unbearable. It beats down on my nose and shoulders, smashing my skin flat against my bones. For a brief moment I feel mean and skeletal. I’m sure that like my mother, Leo isn’t used to people telling him no, and knowing it makes me angry.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I glare at him. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Kissed you? Don’t sweat it. Come on. I’ll walk you part of the way back.”
I speed walk over to my easel and start packing up. Don’t sweat it? Seriously?
From behind, Leo places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m impressed.”
“I am impressive,” I tell him, shrugging his hand off.
“How long have you been painting?”
“Since I was little. My mom bought me a set of paints in grade school. Whenever I had a tantrum, she made me go outside on the patio and ‘paint my feelings out.’”
“Ever think about selling your work?”
“Not a chance.” I have a closet full of paintings. Liddy wants to hang them on the walls in the new house, but I refuse. They’re more like therapy. For my eyes only.
“You could, you know.”
I turn and face him. “Right. Because you’re the expert.”
“You’re intuitive.” He grins.
I shake my head, exasperated. “And you’re frustrating.”
“Because I kissed you?”
“Because you’re cocky and blasé, like you couldn’t care less.”
“You’re wrong there,” he says.
I balance my canvas against my leg and put my hands on my hips, annoyed enough to say what’s on my mind. “Then why don’t you meet me in town and take me out?”
“I would if I could, Ruby. But I’m very short on time lately.”
My mouth dro
ps open a little. Not because he said no exactly. But because he just kissed me. Kissing is fine but going out on a date isn’t?
“Wow,” I exhale.
“Maybe in a couple weeks. I’m not saying I don’t want to. I do. I’m saying I can’t.”
I turn away from him, speaking over my shoulder as I start toward home. “I understand.”
Leo catches up and grabs my hand, stopping my steady clip back to La Luna. “You don’t.” His eyes sparkle. “Take my word for it.”
I close my eyes and start counting backward from ten. At six, I open them again. “Okay,” I say, knowing I’ll regret it. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Why don’t you meet me up at the ruin after school on Thursday?”
“You sure you can find the time?” I sniff.
“An hour or so. For you, Ruby, I can do that.” Ignoring my sarcasm, Leo focuses his golden eyes on my face so intently, I swear he can see my insides. His gaze makes me shiver. I both hate and love the attention.
“You’re staring again,” I tell him.
“Can’t help it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Try a little harder, maybe?”
“Okay, Ruby.” He cocks his head. “When’s your birthday?”
“My birthday?”
“Yes. The day you were born.”
“Halloween.”
His plush lips pull across his face, breaking into a wide smile. I sigh, waiting for him to ask the inevitable, like whether I’m really a goblin or a demon. I’ve heard it all; people are so predictable.
“Samhain,” he says.
“S … what?”
“Samhain. The Celtic New Year. When the veil between this world and the next is at its thinnest, and the dead return to mingle with the living.”
“Nice,” I grimace. “Your grandfather tell you that?”
“As a matter of fact, he did.”
“Why’d you ask?”
Leo’s sudden frown is more like a tick. “Just had a feeling.”
“Now you’re psychic too?” I snicker under my breath.
Leo doesn’t answer. Silently, he follows me back through the canyon to the frontage trail. But about a mile outside of La Luna, he stops. While he checks his watch, I admire his strong tanned arms, trying to make out what looks like a tattoo peeking out from beneath his black shirtsleeve. Without thinking, I reach out and lightly trace a longish rectangle.
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