Summer Winds (8 page)

“I always wondered how gymnasts kept their balance on the beam. It’s…not…that…easy,” she said, trying not to topple off. Suddenly steadying herself, she threw her head back, struck a pose, and the late-afternoon light caught the sheen in her dark curls. The wind blew them erratically, revealing her exquisitely high cheekbones, and her shirt flapped in the breeze, like a great mainsail.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the dismount!” She jumped high into the air and I gasped as she landed on both feet in front of me, grinning broadly. I clapped despite myself and she bowed.

“I’m applauding your not breaking an ankle or my fence,” I said, to recover.

“You were applauding my dismount,” she said, looking down at me, breathing heavily. “I promised myself I wouldn’t fall.” She froze, gazing into my eyes.

The wind suddenly shifted, and I could smell her cologne blended with her body heat and I was sensually aroused. The prairie wind bent blades of spring grass to the ground around us and swirled beneath my cotton shirt like the hot breath of an impatient lover.

She reached for my hand and I let her slowly open my fingers, my muscles weakening at the intensity of her gaze and the tenderness of her touch.

“What’s this?” She took the slips of paper from me.

“Tickets to the River Festival. I was—”

“Could we?”

Could we what?
My mind raced. At this moment, my answer might be yes to almost anything. “Yes.” I let all the air out of my body as if confirming that thought to myself, then hurried back to the truck muttering something about needing to get dinner ready.

An hour later, I’d left her a hamburger on the countertop with a note saying I was going to bed early. I needed time to regroup. I wasn’t that naïve. I knew I was in the danger zone. Something about her left me on edge and excited, a condition I’d occasionally wished for, but not now, and not from a younger woman.
Not from a woman
of any age.

Fleeting forbidden thoughts blew through my brain and I replaced them with more appropriate ones.
Maybe I should partition
off the bunkhouse and move her out there. Not have her underfoot
all the time.

A light tap on my bedroom door and I froze, pretending to be asleep. The tap grew louder. “Maggie, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I tried to sound slightly annoyed.

“You sure you’re not sick or something?”

“Just trying to get some sleep.”

“Sorry. Thanks for the burger.” Her voice trailed off and I felt bad about the brusqueness of my tone. But in truth, I
was
trying to get some sleep. I hadn’t slept well since she’d been here. The idea that someone was prowling around my house at night, not that she prowled, but
potentially
prowling, opening the refrigerator, flushing toilets, opening screen doors, apparently, at a subconscious level, made me feel unsafe or violated or whatever.

Three hours later I looked at the clock, wondering why I wasn’t getting any sleep.
I will take her to the River Festival, demonstrate
that I’m her friend as well as her employer so she’s not afraid of
me, as Donnetta suggested, and then have Perry partition off the
bunkhouse and move her out there. If she doesn’t want to share his
bathroom, she can come in the house in the morning to shower.

Resolving all that, I was finally able to get a few hours’ sleep.

I awoke long before sunrise, threw on some jeans, and headed out to bang on Perry’s sleeping quarters, hoping he was up early. He opened the battered wooden door looking askew and listened to my plaintive harangue.

“Why does she have to move out
here
?” Perry said, standing on the bunkhouse porch in the predawn light in what could only be described as gray long johns.

“It’ll be better for her and give me some room, better for everybody, actually.” I tried to sound casual, as if I were suggesting a spontaneous campout.

“Except me…the person who has to cut his personal space in half.”

I hadn’t really considered that with a male worker the bunkhouse was fairly large, both men sharing the main room, but to accommodate Cash, I would be putting up a wall and removing half of Perry’s living area. “You’re right, you’re right.” I turned and went back to the house as Perry asked questions of my back.

“She cause you any trouble?”

“Of course not.”

“You feeling okay?”

“Of course.”

“I guess I’m the only one who’s confused, not that that’s unusual,” he muttered.

❖

Mid-morning, Cash went into town with a laundry list of items Perry asked her to pick up from the lumberyard, along with filling up two empty diesel drums at the gas station. She was gone for several hours and I was restless. A million chores beckoned, but instead, I took a halter and went down to the grove and pulled Mariah out of the herd and into an alley between pastures. She had long ago decided I was the one person she would tolerate, and it was a rare occasion when she was uncooperative, despite what Cash had experienced with her.

Too lazy to go get a saddle, I found a tree stump and stood on it to climb on her broad white back. Then I rode her slowly down the long grass alley between pastures. She was in a tolerant mood, listening to my commands, seeming happy to have been chosen from the herd.

I edged her up to the end gate, bent over, and lifted the latch before urging her forward. She pushed the gate open with her body and I turned her quickly, after she’d gone through, in order to push it shut again. Certain now she was in a behaving mood, I clicked my heels into her sturdy flanks and moved her out across the prairie.

The wind blew her big white mane and she snorted and pranced. It was a beautiful early summer’s day. Her damp back, wet from the slight exertion, both of us out of shape from the winter months, and the warmth radiated by her big body felt natural and free beneath me, an emotion only a horse could create.

I’d ridden in college and, in fact, that was the tie that bound Johnny and Buck and me. We all loved horses. Plow horse, bronc, or pleasure horse, they were all kept at the big university barn, and that’s where one day Buck Tate encouraged me to give in and marry Johnny Blake. “But I don’t think I love him,” I remembered saying.

And Buck replied, “Do you know for sure what love is?”

I shook my head sadly, saying I didn’t.

Must be Cash’s arrival that has caused all these crazy flashbacks, I thought. I turned Mariah in a circle, then signaled her to bend her massive body in figure eights. She bowed her neck and seemed to be performing for an unseen admirer. For a moment, my fantasy put us both in an exhibition ring, flowers entwined in her thick mane and the audience shouting approval.

Out of the corner of my eye, where the ringside seats would be, appeared a vehicle parked in the pasture, a figure resting on the hood, propped up against the windshield. I turned Mariah’s head, pointing her in that direction.

“You look awesome,” someone shouted, and I recognized Cash lounging on her makeshift metal bleacher. I nodded and tipped an imaginary hat to her.

One leg stretched out in front, the other bent, hands clasped around her knee, she reminded me of a picture I’d once seen of James Dean.

“Taking a day off?” My question was a bit sarcastic, meant to fend off any personal conversation she might be contemplating and to put her image back where it belonged as a ranch hand.

“Took the things Perry needed to him. He said he’s through with me for the day. Anything you want me to do for you?”

Was I imagining her tone? Everything she said seemed suggestive of more, as if she was playing with me, coaxing me into something.

Mariah stomped with her right rear leg and I realized she was fighting off a horsefly that was buzzing her shoulder. I swung at it for her and she tensed up, so I patted her reassuringly.

Cash put her hands up to her face, creating an imaginary camera, and with one finger she hit the shutter, at the same time making a clicking sound with her mouth. “Preserving this memory moment and later I’ll download it into my virtual photo album of Maggie Tanner, woman rancher.” She slid down off the Jeep and walked toward Mariah, who let her reach up and pet her neck. From my vantage point above, I could see how thick her black hair grew, almost like a horse’s mane, and how much stronger and broader her shoulders were than I’d realized.

“What are you thinking?” she asked in her invasive way, speaking to me as if we were long-time friends.

“Nice shirt.”

“Hard to find one to fit me. I usually have to buy in the men’s department. I did a lot of swimming in high school just to get out of the house and have something to do. Speaking of which, what time do you want me ready to go tonight for the festival?”

“Starts at seven. But we don’t have to—”

“Let’s get there early and stay late.” She flashed a big grin. “I’ve only been here a short time, but now I understand why cowboys wanted to go into town and get drunk and sleep with women. Not that I intend to do either.” She reddened, for the first time losing her cool and obviously embarrassed, which made me laugh. She quickly recovered. “But then who knows, I
could
. I hear strange things happen on the prairie.”

“No fun being a sheep on a Saturday night.” I turned Mariah toward the house and nudged her forward. “We’ll leave at six thirty,”

I shouted back over my shoulder, pleased I had made her laugh. I was nervous talking to her in an open field and wondered what in the world we’d say to one another tonight.

I’d been jittery all afternoon and stayed near the house, cleaning up, writing out bills, making phone calls, and behaving as if I thought I had to get everything in order because the world was about to change.

When five o’clock rolled around, I was in my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I hadn’t been anywhere that required thought about attire in a long time. We’d probably be sitting on a riverbank so I looked through some dark jeans, none of which appeared pressed. The shirts suddenly seemed dowdy and the belts worn. I realized for the first time in years that I didn’t like a single piece of clothing in my closet and that I should have come to that conclusion weeks ago when I had time to correct the situation.

After trying on three different outfits, I finally gave up and pulled a clean pair of blue jeans off the shelf with a khaki-colored starched shirt—the same kind of outfit I always wore. Spotting a wide Western belt with ornate leather tooling and a large brass buckle, I slipped that on, sprucing up the jeans. I grabbed a slightly battered pair of brown ostrich boots that matched the belt and checked myself out in the mirror. Acceptable, I thought.

In the bathroom, I put on makeup, which I had to scrounge in drawers to find since I rarely wore it when working on the ranch.
I
should wear makeup more often. Makes me look ten years younger.

Even as I thought it, I remembered how right after I married I quit wearing it because Johnny thought women should look “natural.”

I heard boots in the living room and checked my watch: 6:15 p.m.
I’ve been in the damned closet for over an hour? I’m one step
away from behaving like a disco diva. But then I haven’t been out in
ages, so why not spend a little time trying to look good.

When I pushed the bedroom door open, Cash was standing in the middle of the living room and my heart flew into my throat.

Black boots and tight black jeans with a red plaid shirt and a red bandana around her neck.

“Do I look like I should be lying down under a pizza?” she asked, her face scrunched up nervously, and I laughed. “I bought it in town. Now I’m having remorse.”

“You look very nice.”

“I guess between dorky and sexy, ‘very nice’ is pretty safe.” I took in every piece of her, wanting to remember how she looked, how she stood, how she smiled. “Tell me I look better than ‘very nice.’”

“You look better than very nice,” I said into the air as I headed for my truck and climbed in. I cranked the engine as Cash hurried to slide onto the seat beside me.

“And what’s better than very nice?” she prodded, impishly.

“Winning the lotto,” I replied.

“You, by the way, look smashing.”

“Thank you.” I kept my eyes on the road and avoided her gaze as I merged onto the highway and headed for the riverbank. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”
Now why did I ask her that? This is
the night I’m supposed to treat her like a friend, not a kid.

“No, why?” Not waiting for an answer she added, “He knows if I’m with you, everything’s fine. He’s a big fan of yours. Did you two ever—”

My neck nearly snapped as I turned to look at her. “No!”

She laughed. “You’d be the type bull riders would like.”

“And what type is that?”

“I don’t know…full of yourself. Any bull rider ever made the buzzer with you?” she asked playfully.

“I don’t want to sleep with anyone whose goal is eight seconds,”

I replied, and she laughed again. “Did you go to any bull-riding events with Buck?”

“I was born when he was fifteen so, yeah, he’s been a friend more than anything, and we pal around sometimes. He married my mom and then they got divorced pretty quick, and then about five years later he married another woman and had a couple of kids, and now he’s married again.”

“So you spend time with your mom?”

“No idea where she is. Ran off and Buck had to take me in with his new family before I started school and that didn’t go over too big, and then he and I left her when I was about ten and…then he dated around, so I had a lot of what we used to call ‘mamas du jour,’ and then finally he met Mary. Nice enough woman.”

I’d always envisioned Buck as a funny, woman-loving guy who went from gal to gal the way a hummingbird heads for nectar.

Hearing it from Cash’s point of view made Buck’s escapades seem sad, and I tried to change the mood by asking what Buck was doing this summer.

“Probably trying to convince Mary not to leave him. Some woman’s been calling their house and she thinks he’s having an affair.”