by Kim Redford
“Best you can do.”
“Yeah. That’s about the size of it.” She sighed. “Why don’t we discuss where we are and where we need to go from here?”
“Sure.” He pulled out the chair, but he stopped in mid-motion as the flutter of wings made him look upward.
She glanced up, too, knowing what she’d see but still a little surprised at the grayish streak of feathers that slowed with a flap of wings before Homer gently dropped to Rowdy’s shoulder and nestled there.
Rowdy grinned at her.
“Friend of yours?” She wondered when she’d stopped being shocked by anything that happened with this man. He was just full of surprises, much like the whole county.
He looked at the bird on his shoulder, and the pigeon looked back. Then they both looked at her. “Sure. I see you met Homer.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Get a message?”
She nodded, feeling a bit wary.
“Buick Brigade?”
“I think so.”
“Sounds about right,” he said.
“Do they keep pigeons?”
“Yes, they do.”
“Homing pigeons seem a bit antiquated, don’t they?”
“They work.” He smiled with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“True. Still, what about phones, texts, emails, or letters?”
“We’re talking the Buick Brigade. They do things their own way.”
She looked at Homer again, feeling even more puzzled about the bird. “Why didn’t he deliver the message and go home?”
“He is home now.”
“When I moved here, he wasn’t here, so I don’t see how this can be his home.”
“He’s a homing pigeon. Homer was in another location. When he was released, he flew straight home. That’s here.”
“Do you mean the Buick Brigade held him captive?” She didn’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea or feel sympathy for the pigeon.
“No.” Rowdy shook his head, still smiling.
“Please tell me those four women don’t go around the countryside stealing pigeons and holding them for ransom or something.”
“Well, I do admit folks love their pigeons, so they might be willing to pay ransom, but in this case it’s more like a pigeon rescue service.”
“Rescue?” She felt more curious all the time. “What do you say, Homer, did you break out of jail?”
Homer cooed in response and then snuggled closer to Rowdy’s neck.
That kind of did it for her. She’d always trusted the instincts of animals, and this bird surely did trust Rowdy. Maybe she should rely on her own instinct to trust him, too.
“Guess you ought to know a bit about Homer’s history seeing as how he’s moved in with you,” Rowdy said.
“If anything, he moved into the barn.”
“Right.”
She looked a little closer at the pretty, plump bird. “What does he eat?”
“Now you’re getting into the spirit.” Rowdy stroked the top of Homer’s head with a fingertip. “I’ll buy some feed and grit, take it to the small barn, and put it in a bin so you can scoop out of it.”
“That sounds pretty permanent. I wasn’t counting on birds, particularly not when I have so many other items on my agenda.”
“They’re easy—not a lot of time involved at all.”
She sighed as she looked in the direction of Steele Trap Ranch. “Do you suppose the Steele family would accept Homer in place of Daisy Sue, as in lose a cow but gain a bird?”
Rowdy laughed, shoulders shaking and causing Homer to ruffle his feathers before he resettled again. “I doubt they’re exchangeable.”
“I figured as much. Still—”
“Here’s the deal with Homer. The prior owners of this ranch raised pigeons. There’s a dovecote in the loft of the barn out back. It’s designed so the birds can come and go because they love to fly unless you decide to lock the outer window so they stay inside. I helped out with the pigeons when I was younger, so the birds know me. When they sold out to the Tarleton family, they decided to protect their birds by giving them to the Buick Brigade because their families have always kept homing pigeons.”
“I don’t understand how the process works with pigeons.”
Rowdy gently stroked the top of Homer’s head again. “A homing pigeon’s home is where he grew up. If he’s moved to another location, when he’s set free, he’ll return to his original home. For Homer and the other pigeons raised with him, this is home.”
“Can that instinct be changed?”
“Yes. They can be trained in other ways, but this is most natural to them.”
She cocked her head to one side in contemplation. “Maybe Homer living at Lulabelle & You Ranch isn’t such a bad idea. It has all kinds of marketing possibilities besides being an additional attraction and educational opportunity for those who come to the ranch.”
“Great idea. Lots of folks enjoy homing pigeons, so reaching a wider audience would work out well.”
“When I get time, I’ll give it more thought,” she said. “Homer is a very pretty bird.”
“He is that.”
“He looks clean, too.”
“Birds are very clean if they aren’t confined in dirty cages. You’ll see them cleaning often, as in stroking down their feathers with their beaks, because that’s critical for their safety in flight.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Will he be okay here?”
“Inside the barn, he’s fine. Outside can be dangerous. Hawks and merlins will take on a pigeon.”
“Oh no.”
“But a pigeon is fast and strong and can defeat a hawk…if he’s in the air. On the other hand, if he’s caught perching on a fence or pole or someplace where he doesn’t have time to lift off, then he’s vulnerable.”
“I’m getting more concerned for him. I’ve seen hawks flying around here.”
“That’s natural.”
“If I accept that Homer is my responsibility right now…”
Rowdy leaned forward and clasped her hand. “Homer will be okay in the barn. I’ll check to make sure the original coop is still viable and he’s safe there.”
“Okay.” She squeezed his fingers, letting him know she appreciated his support with Homer, as well as everything else, and reluctantly let go of his hand.
“Let’s get back to the note. What does it say?”
“I believe I’ve been caught up in Buick Brigade drama.”
“Weren’t you expecting it?”
“Not exactly…and certainly not by homing pigeon.”
He chuckled, nodding. “I figure most folks in the county have been caught up in their drama at one time or another. Take it as a compliment and a welcome to the community.”
“It’s just that this involves you, and—”
“You were trying to keep me out of the drama?”
“Pretty much.” She smiled at him with a slight shrug of her shoulders.
“There’s not much point. Once those ladies get something in their mind, you might as well go with it if you want to keep them happy.”
“I’ll read the note to you.”
“Okay.” He leaned toward her.
“Saturday night next requires your presence at Wildcat Hall with escort Rowdy. And Homer is home.”
Rowdy chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like they want me to take you dancing. Right?”
“I could just meet you there. We don’t have to dance.”
“You do dance, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Line dance? Two-step?” he asked.
“You bet.”
“We’ve been working hard. We could use a night on the town.”
“You’re making it so
und like a—”
“Date?”
“Right.” She still wasn’t sure if this was the right way to go or not. “We could just meet at the Hall, grab a drink, and that’d fulfill the requirement. Everybody ends up happy.”
“Not me.”
“No?”
“I want the date. Besides, the Buick Brigade will know exactly what we do down to the last detail.”
“They’ll have somebody watching us?”
“Nothing happens in this county that they don’t know about—gossip is alive and well here.”
“You know, we don’t have to make them happy.”
“I know. But folks around here have figured out that what makes the Brigade happy eventually makes us happy. They have a knack for happiness.”
She sat very still, looking at him as she contemplated his words. “I’m beginning to think they really are fairy godmothers.”
“I don’t know about that, but let’s give their message a chance and go to Wildcat Hall Saturday night.”
“I suppose—”
“Have you been there yet?”
“No time.”
“There will be a live band. You’ll like the music. And it’ll be a good chance to get out and let folks meet you.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready.”
“Sure you are.” He glanced at Homer again. “Did you return that cookie plate yet?”
“No. I should’ve, but for the past week I’ve been so busy making plans that it slipped my mind. Besides, I don’t know where Ada lives.”
“I do.” He glanced at the house and then back at Belle. “We could go right now.”
“Now?”
“The plate was an invitation to visit them.”
“Even so…what about Homer?”
“He’s home, so he knows his way around here. Besides, like I said, he’s okay in the barn.”
“But why go now or any time?”
“What do you think?”
She didn’t say it, but she realized he was making her think in new ways. If she was going to be part of the community, if she was going to make friends, if she was going to garner support for her ideas, she couldn’t isolate herself on the ranch. She didn’t really have the time to take off work, but she gave him a little nod of agreement.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 13
Belle sat in the front seat of Rowdy’s pickup, feeling every bump in the road from the worn-out shocks and listening to the engine hit and miss as it struggled to climb the cliff to Destiny.
She kicked crumpled Chuckwagon Café take-out sacks to one side, although they kept sliding back on top of her feet. Fortunately, she’d pulled on simple black cowgirl boots, so any mess on them wouldn’t be seen and could be cleaned later. She wore last season’s jeans because they were broken in just right, and she’d paired them with a rust-colored sweater. She’d tied a blue bandana around her neck to keep her mind in the “101 Uses…” groove.
She’d also made a point of fitting with Rowdy’s down-on-his-luck look so they didn’t appear too far out of sync. Maybe nobody else would’ve noticed it, but she had an eye for how a couple fit together. That thought stopped her in her tracks. They weren’t a couple. They were occupying a vehicle together. They were paying a visit…just as friends or some such.
“We should’ve taken my SUV like I told you.” She couldn’t keep the words to herself any longer, mainly said out loud to distract her from thoughts of that couple business. He was just too hot for her to be alone with in an enclosed space like the cab of a pickup, particularly when the testosterone level was rising rapidly and making her feel a little giddy. She hoped they reached Destiny soon, or she might finally flat-out tackle him.
“You don’t know the way.”
“You could’ve directed me.”
“It wouldn’t have been proper.”
“Proper? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The Buick Brigade knows the difference between proper and improper.”
“In this day and age, I didn’t think ‘proper’ existed any longer.” She sounded testy and knew it, but she blamed it on his pheromones agitating her. He sounded a little testy, too, so maybe the enclosed space was getting to them both.
“It does in Destiny.”
She clutched the pink-glass cookie plate in her lap. She shouldn’t have let him talk her into this road trip because that’s what it was beginning to feel like…although it probably hadn’t been more than thirty minutes since they’d left the ranch. Still, the drive felt like going from one world to another, so the length of time kept spiraling outward.
“A man drives a woman to an engagement.”
“What?” She turned to look at him in surprise. Was he some type of throwback romantic? And then she remembered his cowboy poetry, his sensitivity to animals, his regard for the Buick Brigade. Perhaps his concern for others came before matters like a new pickup or the season’s latest clothes. In her dog-eat-dog world, she could hardly fathom his viewpoint. And yet he was luring her there.
“I mean, that’s what is expected in Destiny.”
She continued to gaze at him, as if she could get inside his mind and understand him. How could he be the unluckiest cowboy in the county…unless he answered to his own set of values—honor and integrity—that sometimes set him at odds with the world around him? A romantic. He believed in the goodness of life. She felt a little thrill of excitement at this sudden flash of knowledge. She’d charted her own path in life, too. It wasn’t always easy, but she couldn’t live any other way, even if often it was a lonely life without a like-minded partner.
“Of course, it’s not really necessary.” He gave a little twitch of one shoulder as if to belie his statement or reveal that he didn’t expect her to understand his actions because nobody ever did.
“What is Destiny like?” She wanted to reassure him that she did understand, or at least she was beginning to understand, but she didn’t even know how to go there yet.
“Beautiful…and kind of haunting, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve got a lot of history around here. We’re proud of it. People come to see Old Town in Wildcat Bluff or go to Sure-Shot for a touch of the Old West.”
“Is Destiny like those towns?” She placed a hand on the dashboard to steady herself from the rough ride…and the rough realizations.
“No. It’s got its own beauty, and it holds its own against all comers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hard to explain. Let’s just say it doesn’t increase or decrease. It always stays the same.” He reached over and clasped her fingers. “I think you’ll like it. You have a thing for beauty.”
She had to admit he was right. She did have a thing for beauty—his face, his body, his spirit.
He gave her a little smile, winking his dimple, and then squeezed her hand and let go.
She felt hot and tingly all over. She hadn’t thought a simple ride in a pickup could affect her this much, but it was turning out to be not so simple. She lowered her window and took deep breaths of cool air until she felt more stable. He’d ignited a spark in her the moment she’d set eyes on him. And he was fanning that spark into a blaze that was growing bigger by the moment. Cool air wasn’t going to do the trick. She closed the window.
“Too cold for you?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Just wanted a quick breath of fresh air.”
“Nice time of the year.”
“Yeah.”
As the pickup crested a rise and chugged to a stop on top of the cliff, she looked down at the muddy Red River below where it made its way toward Louisiana and eventually arrived via the Mississippi River at the Gulf of Mexico. To the west, buildings rose above the flat-topped mesa.
“Made it.” He pa
tted the dashboard as if in appreciation of the truck’s service like he would a stalwart horse.
“Thanks.” She patted the dashboard, too.
“For background, there wasn’t a ferry at Destiny like there was at Wildcat Bluff.”
“Why not?”
“It’s too high above the river. You’ll notice there aren’t many trees…at least not since the first settlers arrived and created the town.”
“They didn’t like trees?”
“They built their homes out of the lumber. And I’d say they wanted a clear view from every direction.”
“For the pretty vista?” She looked across the river at the tree-lined, red-tinted earth of Oklahoma, once known as Indian Territory.
“Doubt it, although it is pretty. I suppose they didn’t want anybody to be able to sneak up on them, and so they created a clear field to return fire if necessary.”
“Defensive, then?”
“That’s the prevalent wisdom, but now I suppose it’s anybody’s guess.”
“And the Buick Brigade?”
“So far, mum’s the word.”
“Well, it is interesting.”
“You’ll notice the road up here doesn’t end in the town.” He turned his truck west and followed the two-lane road. “That’s probably defensive, too.”
“Guess they were protective of their privacy and—”
“Safety.”
“Did they have outlaw shootouts here like in Wildcat Bluff?”
“And Sure-Shot.” He pointed toward the town. “Far as we know, it’s always been quiet—genteel even—in Destiny.”
“But it’s like they were expecting trouble.”
“Yeah.”
“But it never came.”
“Far as we know.”
“That’s good.”
“Right.” He rolled into town and eased his truck to the side of the street so she could see it all. “Here’s Destiny.”
“Oh, wow. It is lovely…like out of an oil painting from the 1890s. Those houses are definitely Queen Victoria era.” She feasted her eyes on the beautiful sight.
Four three-story Victorian homes stood side by side on large lots situated on the south side of Main Street. A single-story carriage house and former stable had been built behind each home.