True Colors (10 page)

The stall to their immediate left sported a big white poster board decorated with drawings and photographs and ribbons. In ornate, curlicue lettering it read:
Hi! I’m Lizzie Michaelian’s horse, Magic. We’re a great team. We competed at last year’s Pee Wee Days and won a red ribbon for Fitting and Showing and a special mention for cleanest stall. We can’t wait for this year’s county fair
.

“Well, now,” the man beside her said, “that’s some homey shit.”

Winona couldn’t help smiling at that. Moving on, she showed him the tack room, wash stall, and hay storage. When they’d seen all that the barn and arena had to offer, she led him back out into the sunlight.

There, she faced him. “What’s your name?”

“Dallas. Like the city. Dallas Raintree.”

“Are you prepared to stay for at least a year?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Winona made her decision. That was the point, after all. This decision was hers to make. If Daddy didn’t like him because of his skin color, it was time he changed. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like her civic duty to hire him. And besides, men weren’t exactly lining up for the job. If he’d stay for a while, why not? “Wait here.” She turned and clomped back to the house, took off her boots, went to the study for a copy of the employment contract she’d written up, and then returned to him. “This job is for room, board, and five hundred dollars a month. You want it?”

He nodded.

Winona waited for more—something besides that stare, that stance—and then started up the hill toward the old cabin. “This way.”

Up on the rise, she cut through the ankle-deep grass and went to the front door. “The porch needs work, as you can see. My sisters and I cleaned the inside, though.” She flipped on the light and saw the old place, not as she usually saw it, through the sentimental prism of her family’s history, but rather, the way it would appear to him.

Wide-plank cedar floors, scuffed and scarred by decades of use; a small living room with newly washed knotty pine walls and mismatched furniture—a faded red sofa, a pair of old wing chairs, Grandma’s ancient coffee table—gathered around a river-rock fireplace, stained black from use; an alcove kitchen with 1940s appliances, wooden counters, and a blue-painted table with oak chairs. Through the door in the living room, she could see the bedroom, with its white iron bed piled with quilts. The only room she couldn’t see from here was the bathroom, and the best she could say about it was that everything worked. The astringent scent of recently applied bleach couldn’t quite camouflage the deeper smell of wet, decaying wood.

“Will this be okay?” she asked.

“It’ll do.”

She couldn’t help staring at his harsh profile. His face was like broken glass, all sharp angles and hard planes.

“Here’s our employment contract. You can get your lawyer to read it if you’d like.”

“My lawyer, huh?” He glanced down at the paper, then at her. “It says you promise to hire me and I promise to stay, right?”

“Exactly. The term of the contract is one year.” She handed him the contract and a pen.

He walked over to the table and bent down to write his name. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Well, I don’t actually work here. My sister and dad run the place and they’re both gone right now. Just get settled in and show up at the farmhouse tomorrow morning at six for breakfast. They’ll tell you what to do.”

He gave her the signed contract back.

She waited for something more, maybe a thank-you or a promise to do a good job, but when it was clear he had nothing more to say, she left the cabin. As she went down the porch steps and walked through the tall grass toward the gravel road, she heard him come out onto the porch.

She wouldn’t turn around to check, but she was sure just the same: he was watching her.

The Grey sisters had spent Friday nights together forever, and tonight was no different. As usual, they met at the Blue Plate Diner for a quick meal and then walked down Shore Drive to the Outlaw Tavern. Men could come and go in their lives—and meet them at the bar—but dinner with the three of them was set in stone.

Tonight, they were surrounded by the familiar late spring crowd. A few tourists were here, recognizable by the brightly colored designer clothing and their shiny SUVs parked out front. The locals, on the other hand, sipped lemonade, talked quietly while reading the newspaper, and didn’t bother even looking at the laminated menus. Most of them ordered Gracie’s famous meatloaf, which hadn’t actually been on the menu since the early eighties.

Winona reached over for one of Vivi Ann’s french fries. “I hired a ranch hand today,” she said, wondering what Vivi Ann would think of Dallas Raintree.

Vivi Ann looked up. “You’re kidding. Who is he?”

“A guy from Texas. Says he knows his way around horses.”

“What was he like?”

Winona considered how best to answer that, then said only, “I don’t know. He didn’t say much.”

“Cowboys,” Aurora muttered.

Vivi Ann looked disappointed. “Like meals with Dad aren’t quiet enough. I don’t think he and Travis said more than twenty words to each other in all the meals we had together.”

“Believe me, you’re lucky,” Winona said. “To me, Dad is—”

“We’re not going there tonight,” Aurora said firmly. “This is our night to remember we’re sisters.” She gave Winona a pointed look.

They paid the bill and left the restaurant.

In the warm, lavender evening, they strolled down Main Street.

“It’s too bad Luke couldn’t come with us,” Winona said, trying to sound casual. Lately she spent a lot of time doing just that: trying to act normally around Vivi Ann.

“He had an emergency out in Gorst. Colicky mare.”

They turned on to Shore Drive and walked along the waterfront. Streetlamps came on all at once, creating a yellowy carnival atmosphere on the street.

Gradually the pavement ended, turned into gravel. Here, there were no well-swept sidewalks, no pots filled with flowers hanging from streetlamps, no merchants looking to sell souvenirs. There was just a rocky bit of road that led to a big parking lot. On the water side was Ted’s Boatyard and the alley that led to Cat Morgan’s ramshackle waterfront house. To their right, stuck back in a weedy lot, was the Outlaw Tavern. Multicolored neon beer signs decorated the windows. Moss furred the flat roof and grew in clumps on the windowsills. Beat-up trucks filled the parking lot.

Inside the tavern, they wound through the familiar crowd and around the stuffed grizzly bear that had become the tavern’s mascot. Someone had hung a bra from his outstretched paw. Smoke blurred everything, softened the tawdry edges. Behind them the band pounded out a barely recognizable version of “Desperado.”

When they reached the bar, the bartender poured three straight shots and set them in front of three empty stools.

“How’s that for service, girls?” Bud said.

Aurora laughed and sat down first. “It’s why we never miss a Friday night.”

The Outlaw Tavern was filled with the regular Friday night crowd. While the band played a watery, slowed-down version of “Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” couples line-danced across the parquet floor. Vivi Ann sat at her usual barstool, swaying to the music. She had a nice buzz going. Swiveling on her seat, she looked for someone to dance with, but couldn’t find anyone who wasn’t already paired up. Aurora and Richard were back at the pool tables playing a game with some friends, and Winona was deep in conversation with Mayor Trumbull.

Vivi Ann was about to turn back around to the bar when she noticed the Indian standing by the cash register. Anyone unknown would have stood out in this crowd of locals, but she was certain that this guy would be noticeable in
any
crowd. With his long hair and dark skin and hawkish features, he looked a little like Daniel Day-Lewis in that upcoming movie,
The Last of the Mohicans
.

He caught her looking at him and smiled.

Before she could turn around or pretend she hadn’t seen him, he was coming toward her. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t make herself move.

“You wanna dance?”

“I don’t think so.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite change the harshness of his face. “You’re afraid. I get it. Nice white girls like you are always scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He reached for her hand, took it in his. She noticed the roughness of his skin—so different from Luke’s—and the possessiveness of his grip as he pulled her onto the dance floor and into his arms. The way he did it surprised her; even more surprising was the tiny thrill she felt.

“I’m Dallas,” he said at a lull in the music.

“Vivi Ann.”

“You got a boyfriend? That why you keep looking around? Or you afraid the neighbors won’t like you dancing with an Indian?”

“Yes. No. I mean—”

“Where is he?”

“Not here.”

“I bet he treats you like some kind of pretty little treasure. Like you’ll break if he’s too rough.”

Vivi Ann drew in a breath and looked up at him. “How do you know that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her close and kissed her.

For a split second—she was sure it was no longer that that—Vivi Ann felt herself giving in.

Then someone was pulling her away from Dallas. A group of men crowded forward, pushing her out of the way. They were muttering angrily to themselves and each other, but it was Dallas who held her attention. He looked deadly calm, and when he smiled, she thought:
Someone’s going to get hurt.

“Get on outta here. Vivi Ann don’t need trash like you.” That was from Erik Engstrom, her third-grade boyfriend.

“Stop it,” Vivi Ann yelled. Her voice was like a rock breaking through glass, catching everyone’s attention. “What’s
wrong
with you?”

“We were just standin’ up for you, Vivi,” Butchie said, fisting his hands.

“You’re idiots, all of you. Go back to your tables.”

Grudgingly, the crowd dispersed, walked away. She was left alone with Dallas.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said, looking up at him. “We don’t get many strangers here.”

“I can see why.” Smiling as if it had all meant nothing, he leaned toward her, whispered, “Nice kiss,” in her ear, and then he walked away, leaving her standing alone beneath the hot lights, feeling unsettled.

“What happened?” Winona said a minute later, coming up so fast she was out of breath. “I came back from the bathroom and someone said—”

“I danced with a guy. Big deal.”

Aurora sidled in close. “Way to pick ’em, Vivi. Very classy.”

Vivi Ann didn’t know what to say. Her whole body felt odd, like an engine idling too fast. “Don’t be a bitch, Aurora.”

“Me? Never. I know how much you love a man with tattoos.” Aurora laughed. “And an Indian, too.”

“She danced with an Indian?” Winona asked sharply. “With tattoos? What did he look like?”

“Hot,” Aurora said immediately.

Vivi Ann looked away, unwilling to see the judgment in Winona’s gaze. “Dallas somebody.”

“Like his name matters,” Aurora said. “How was the kiss?”

“She kissed him?” Winona said. “In front of everyone?”

Vivi Ann would have sworn her sister was smiling when she said it. “Come on,” she snapped. “I need a drink.”

Aurora laughed. “I’ll bet you do.”

When Vivi Ann woke the next morning she felt edgy and restless, and, worst of all, aroused. Putting on her robe, she went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then headed down the hallway.

Her father stood by the fireplace in the living room, watching her come down the stairs.

Winona was beside him, already dressed for work in a blue dress that was stretched tight across her chest.

“Good morning,” Vivi Ann said, tightening her robe’s belt around her waist.

“It don’t look good from where I’m standin’,” her father said. “My daughter makin’ out with some Indian in front of God and everyone.”

She missed a step. She’d known he would hear about it, of course. In a town like theirs, what she’d done was certainly gossip-worthy. She’d just thought she’d be able to tell him her version first. Whatever her version was. “It was nothing, Daddy, really. Tell him, Win. The gossip will die down in no time.”

“They were drinking and dancing,” Winona said. “You know how she flirts when she’s drinking.”

“Win!” Vivi Ann said, shocked by her sister’s disloyalty. “That’s not true—”

“Fire him,” Dad said.

“What do you mean, fire him?” Vivi Ann asked.

“We can’t. He signed a contract.” Winona looked right at her. “You were sucking face with our new ranch hand last night.”

This was coming at Vivi Ann too fast. She felt as if she were suddenly in a boat that was taking on water.

“I’m ashamed of you,” her father said.

Vivi Ann was shaken by those hard words. She’d never heard them from him before, never imagined it to be even possible that she’d shame him. Years of connection seemed fragile; for the first time she wondered if his love was as conditional as her sisters always said it was, and that frightened her. He was the bedrock, the solid ground of their family. A crack in that was inconceivable.