Golden Orange (16 page)

“I still know how to unsaddle and brush a horse. You go home, Jaime,” she said firmly.

“Yes, Miss Tess,” the old man said. “I see you in the morning.”

“Sleep in,” Tess said. “You don't have to come to work till ten o'clock.”

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Tess,” the old man said.

Winnie got to thinking how it is with
them
, with rich people. The old Mexican cowboy didn't work for her. She didn't own the property, but she gave orders and he obeyed them. Rich people.

Tess walked Dollar behind Sally and said to Winnie, “Just squeeze her with your thighs when you want her to go. She's western-trained, so just lay the reins against her neck when you want her to turn. And out of respect for flattened disks we are
not
going to trot, canter or gallop. We're just going for a walk.”

“Oh, thank you!” Winnie said. “You're my hero for sure!”

After they got going he almost enjoyed it. He
would
have enjoyed it except every time Sally stumbled, or stepped over a ditch, or climbed a rise, his back hurt. But the scenery was magnificent. The Santa Rosas were sometimes chocolate, sometimes pink, depending on the setting sunlight. The golden light looked silver when it streamed through the canyons, and the sky at dusk was streaked with color: pastels, lavenders, even scarlet. It might be even more beautiful than the ocean sky, he thought.

When they got deep into the mountain shadows, the smell of sage mixed with the aroma of leather and horse sweat. Now he
did
enjoy himself, sore back or not. It was dramatic.

The mountain loomed over them. Tess was right. The stark volcanic landscape, swept by desert wind and pitiless sun, gave a sense of foreboding. Winnie had the feeling of being watched by the forces of nature in this place where nature could strike with ferocity.

“Where do you want to have dinner?” Tess asked, dropping back to ride beside him.

“How would I know? I'm a stranger in these here parts, ma'am.”

“I mean, in or out?”

“Let's see, how about out?”

“Fancy restaurant or desert homey?”

“Homey,” he said. “One a those down-home places where the desert rats hang out. You know, where the owner's some good-old-boy that when he tries to fix his place up, he puts in little cutesy stuff like dwarf statues and windmills. Kinda place you don't know whether you're supposed to eat or play miniature golf. I always been lucky in those kind a places. Never got a dishonest meal from people like that.”

“I know
just
the place,” Tess laughed, and suddenly Dollar tried to break into a run, but for Winnie's sake, Tess reined him in immediately.

“Easy, Sally!” Winnie said. “Easy, girl! You and me, we don't have to try and compete with those athletes! Easy, girl!”

They rode along for another five minutes and Winnie was starting to hurt enough that he began worrying about the ride back. He wondered if he would look too much like an invalid if he got off and walked partway.

Tess pointed up to the sheer side of the cliff, to a pale discoloration on the rosy rock.

“That's a waterline,” she said. “An ancient lake once filled this basin. That's forty-two feet above sea level, that line.”

“Yeah?” Winnie reached back and grabbed on to the saddle to relieve some pressure. The unbroken line was clearly visible along the rock face.

Tess noticed Winnie's discomfort and said, “This might be a good place to rest before we start back.” She halted Dollar and jumped off in a way that would have had Winnie on his knees writhing in pain.

“Whoa, Sally! Whoa, girl!” he said to the skittish Arabian, and Tess grabbed Sally's bridle while Winnie climbed down with utmost care.

“You've survived so far,” she said.

“Yeah, the last guy this lucky with an animal was that guy Androcles. He didn't get eaten either.”

“That's the latest level of Lake Cahuilla,” she said, gesturing up to the waterline. “During the last couple thousand years the lake was born and died several times, depending on what the Colorado River was up to.”

Winnie looked up and could actually see shells protruding from the rock. “I never knew about this!” he said. “A freshwater lake?”

“An inland sea in prehistoric times. The last lake went from horizon to horizon.”

“Look!” Winnie said, kneeling down in the sand. “Shells! Hundreds a them!”

“Thousands,” she said. “From freshwater clams and other creatures. Several million years ago something happened. A fantastic upheaval. Mountains bursting up from the water.”

“Up from the sea,” Winnie said, genuinely fascinated. “Maybe that's how we all came about. Up from the sea!” He examined the shell fragments in his hand and said, “Looks like oyster, some of 'em.”

“Originally it
was
seawater,” she said. “There're beds of oyster shells a thousand feet up the mountainsides in this valley, but it's been fresh water for thousands of years. Those're freshwater shells you've got.” Tess then got down on one knee and started sifting sand, picking out larger unbroken shell specimens.

“Like tiny seashells,” he said. “But smaller than the ones from the ocean.”

“They're pearly and cute,” Tess said. She put several into Winnie's shirt pocket.

“Thousands and thousands a years!” Winnie said, sitting back on his heels, looking up at the mountain. “Makes being broke and hungry in Orange County kinda unimportant, don't it?”

Tess moved toward him and, still kneeling on one knee, her boot buried in white sand, took his face in her hands and said, “My poor, poor boy. Are you hungry as well as poor? Don't worry, Auntie Tess'll see to it that you're never hungry again.” Then she took off her glasses and kissed him. It was the longest, most tender kiss yet. When she broke away, he reached for her.

“Hammocks're one thing,” she said, jumping to her feet, “but not on a sand dune. Besides, the desert scares me.”

Then she took his hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Damn, you're strong,” Winnie said. “I wouldn't wanna arm wrestle. And I bet
nothing
really scares you.”

“You'd lose that bet, old son,” she said. “You surely would.”

If she hadn't tied both horses to a stunted tamarisk tree, they might have bolted. A gunshot ricocheted off the face of the rock ten feet from Tess. The pop echoed through the canyon.

“Down!” Winnie screamed, and his shout frightened the horses. Dollar reared, breaking the limb off the dying tamarisk. The splitting wood sounded like the crack of a rifle. Then the horse panicked.

“Whoa, Dollar! Whoa!” Tess yelled. And
another
ricochet preceded an echoing pop from a gun fired hundreds of yards downwind.

“FORGET THE HORSE! GET DOWN, GODDAMNIT!” Winnie screamed.

Tess lost her glasses, scrambling behind the rocks, but Winnie picked them up before diving after her on his belly.

Dollar galloped in the general direction of the house. Sally was uncertain. First she started after Dollar, then she turned and looked toward the cowering humans. She whinnied in confusion, then galloped toward home, her reins trailing in the sand.

“What is it, Win? What is it?” Tess cried.

“Some maniac! Some asshole! Some stupid son of a bitch!”

Tess started to peek over the top of the rock, but Winnie jerked her back down. His heart was pounding so hard his own voice sounded ten feet away and he could almost hear his heartbeat thudding off the canyon walls. It sounded like the drumming of a sailboat in rough sea: Baloom! Baloom! Baloom!

Winnie crawled out on the trail, ready to leap back behind the rocks if the shooter fired again. He squatted, then he duck walked. Then he advanced ten feet and stood up.

“Gone!” he said to Tess. “The asshole's gone! I
think.
”

“Where were the shots coming from?”

“I don't know, but let's get the hell outta here! We'll be lucky to make it back before dark. Is that when the rattlesnakes come out? After dark?”

Winnie was limping by the time they got close to the ranch. He'd stumbled a dozen times, walking behind Tess on the horse trail while the twilight shadows faded into desert night. Even when the Milky Way spilled across the vast open void, like the heavens he often saw miles out at sea, he couldn't really pause to admire that desert sky. He was
hurting
, and fearing all the sounds from crawling flying hopping slithering desert creatures who hunt and prowl only when the blazing sun vanishes.

Winnie was trying
not
to fear a two-legged desert prowler, having by now all but convinced himself that the shots had been fired by a careless hunter or some cretin who liked to scare the shit out of dudes on the riding trails.

When he saw the white walls of the hacienda a hundred yards ahead, he said, “I think we're gonna live.”

Before going to the house, Tess walked straight to the stables, where she found both horses in their proper stalls nibbling alfalfa, their bits still in their mouths. She switched on the stable lights and unsaddled the animals, who hadn't suffered any injuries and seemed to be content.

When the horses were secure she put her arm around Winnie's waist as they crossed the motor court toward the house.

“How's your back?”

“It'll be okay tomorrow,” he said. “But I don't think I'm up to going out tonight.”

“Neither am I,” she said. “You have a drink and a bath and rest. I'll fix dinner.”

The moment they got inside the house Winnie picked up a phone in the living room.

“What're you doing?”

“Calling the cops, of course. Who patrols this area? Sheriffs?”

“Should we do that?”

“Whaddaya mean, should we
do
that? Some asshole took a couple shots at us!”

“You said it was probably some kid.”

“Exactly why we gotta report it. Some nutcase kid out here shooting at people on horses? Who patrols this area?”

“Riverside County sheriffs,” she said. “Indio office.”

Winnie was lying on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace when the uniformed deputies arrived. He pulled himself painfully to his feet while Tess admitted a buxom young woman and a middle-aged Latino who walked like his feet were hurting even more than Winnie's back.

“I'm Win Farlowe. Retired, Newport Beach PD.” Winnie shook hands and motioned them to the side-by-side chairs. The female deputy was carrying the reports and did the writing.

“This your place, sir?” the Latino asked.

“Not hardly,” Winnie said. “I'm jist a guest.”

“It's my … it
was
my father's home,” Tess said. “Now it's owned by Warner Stillwell. He's away for a few days and we're guests. My name's Tess Binder.”

While the young woman wrote, the male deputy said, “So somebody took a shot at you?”

“Two,” Winnie said. “Off on the trail about, oh, two miles back in the canyon.”

“More like a mile,” Tess said. “It just
seemed
that far to a tenderfoot.”

“You sure it was a shot?”

“Two shots. Yeah, they ricocheted. If they hadn't a ricocheted I wouldn't a been sure. Gunfire sounds funny out there in all that space.”

“Rifle or handgun?”

“Don't know,” Winnie said. “Popped like a handgun. I'd guess handgun, but I can't say.”

“From what direction were they fired?” the young woman asked.

“Northwest, I'd say,” Tess volunteered. “There's a big stand of tamarisk trees by the cliffs, about, oh, a hundred yards from the trail. In the past I've seen guys in off-road vehicles shooting at cans. My father used to call you about them. In fact, your people once sent a helicopter but didn't catch them.”

The Latino said, “So it coulda been just somebody shooting at beer cans?”

“Coulda been,” said Winnie. “But the first round was pretty close to her.”

“Did you see where it hit?”

“No, but I heard it. I heard it hit and zing. I don't think I could point out the exact spot. All those rocks and cliffs look alike.”

“Well, we'll sure get this down on paper,” the Latino said. “If you hear any more shooting out there don't hesitate to call us.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Tess asked. “Or iced tea? I've made some tea.”

He said, “Iced tea would be great.” Then to Winnie, “Bet you're glad to be off the job, huh? Living in Newport Beach? Man, you got the life!”

Tess prepared another light Mexican meal for him: chicken tacos, frijoles, some tossed salad, and Alicia's homemade salsa. She served it to Winnie in the living room, where he sat in front of the big fireplace in one of the leather chairs. His body exactly fit the contour of the one closest to the hearth.

When he mentioned that to Tess she said, “Daddy's chair. Warner has always been slender. Daddy was more your size.”

After his fourth beer Winnie got up the nerve to pry. “
Two
well-worn chairs?” he said. “They sat here for hours. For years. Each in his own chair.”

“They did everything together,” she said. “For thirty-five years. Until Daddy died seven months ago.”

“What happened to your mom?”

“Died of stomach cancer when I was twelve. Daddy raised me, and Warner helped. He used to work for Daddy.”

“Yeah? What'd he do?”

“Anything Daddy wanted done. Warner was a failed tennis pro with no other skills of any kind. At first he was our houseman, back in the early days. Back when Mother was sick. Daddy actually hired him to clean and cook and help look after me. My father was in mortgage banking and did lots of business back east and even in foreign countries.”

She got up and put the dishes on a tray.

“Can I help with the dishes?”