Native Silver (15 page)

“I’m sure your parents knew,” Brad told her when she brought it up to him. “You remember the way your father was—always just on the verge of making a fortune. He probably thought he’d have enough money to buy the place for your grandfather before the forty years were up. I’m sure that must have been it. So he felt no need to worry anyone else about it.”

She did indeed remember. Her father had been a hard worker, but he’d also been a dreamer. He’d entered every contest he ran across, invested in every sure-fire, crackpot scheme. Nothing ever came of it all. But the dreams made him happy and gave him hope.

Hope was something she could use a little dose of right now. But where was it going to come from? Reid was making a real effort, but he hadn’t uncovered anything really useful. When you came right down to it, there was only one place salvation was likely to come from.
 

David Santiago. He held the power and he was the key.

She saw him often when she took Miki out for exercise, always in the distance, always on his own horse and looking like something out of a classic tale—the mythic caballero he’d always been to her. Her heart always leaped when she saw him. She tried to tell herself it was just because of the surprise, but she knew it was so much more.
 

Was there anything she could do to soften his heart toward her grandfather? Was there anything she could use to turn his hardness into generosity? If there was, she couldn’t think what it might be. And she was too wary of getting close to him to try anything anyway.

But Reid wasn’t giving up as yet. He had her meet him at the Kit Kat again and this time he invited another cousin, Joe Carrington, a local rancher, to stop by and see if he could think of anything.
 

Shawnee had always liked Joe. She remembered him from family picnics in the old days. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had the true walk and stance of a rancher. He also had the typical Carrington good looks, with blue eyes that sparkled with humor.
 

“His wife left him awhile ago,” Reid warned her as they watched him drive up into the parking lot. “He’s got two little kids, a boy and a girl.”

“She dumped the kids on him?”

He nodded. “From what I hear, he’s been struggling. The little boy is special needs in some way. And his mother lives with them. Phyllis Carrington. Do you remember her?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

“No. She’s something of a recluse. And a problem. But Joe manages.”

And then he arrived and they were shaking hands and laughing and she felt like she’d known him all her life—and then she realized that was exactly the case.

But Joe didn’t have any special insights into Grandpa Jim’s case.

“Seems a shame the Santiagos can’t let him have that one little strip of land,” he agreed. “I can try talking to David, but we’ve never been friends, really. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’d consider it meddling. We’ve had our differences in the past.”

Shawnee shook her head. “No,” she said softly, looking out the large plate glass window at the hills beyond the edge of town. “This is my problem. I’m going to have to find a way. It’s up to me.”

Reid and Joe exchanged a sympathetic glance, but neither could think of anything of substance to offer her as advice at this point.
 

Shawnee drove home, gloom following her like a dark cloud. She couldn’t think of any remedy for her troubles. All she knew how to do was get back to work.
 

The next morning, after their workout, she rubbed Miki down and fed him some oats, jotted down his times on the trail in the ledger she was keeping, and then left him while she planned her assault on the decrepit condition of the house. Smartening the place up had very little to do with keeping it, but somehow it made her feel better.

She’d planted some flowers in the garden and thrown out some seed, hoping to restore the lawn. And then she’d almost exhausted her meager bank account buying gallons and gallons of paint, rollers, paintbrushes, and everything else she needed to begin renovations. And now it was time to get the show on the road.
 

The color had been her first problem. Off-white, she’d decided, with tan trim. That would put a new face on the old building. She’d spent most of the afternoon before with a scraper and an electric
sander, going over the roughest spots in the old
paint. Finally she put on her working uniform of
a pair of cut-off shorts and an old tank top, set up her ladder, climbed high, and began to slap on the
new coat.

She’d covered half of the front of the house when
Granpa Jim appeared on the porch. “What are you
doing there?” he called up, craning his neck to get a
look. “This old place was always green before.”

She threw him a hopeful smile. “I thought white
would be cheerier. What do you think?”

He walked out into the yard and looked back at it, hand to his chin. “We used to whitewash those
old adobe walls on the house at Rancho Verde
every spring,” he said plaintively. “Soon’s the winter
rains cleared.”

For the first time that she could remember, a
pang of annoyance at all these old memories pulsed through Shawnee’s system. She had to turn away so
he wouldn’t read it in her face.

“I’ll bet that looked real pretty,” she managed to
reply. She flashed him a bright smile. “White paint
with a tan trim will have to do here. Do you approve?”

“Whatever you think.” Evidently he wasn’t much
interested. Shrugging, he began to wander off
towards the stables. “I’ll leave it to you.”

She watched him go, a forlorn figure struggling with his own ghosts, and felt ashamed of her moment of impatience. She was here to help him, after
all, not join his critics. She got back to work, humming as she wiped the paint on to the old
wooden boards, singing snatches of songs.

When she first heard the sound of a car engine
approaching, she was sure it must be Lisa or Brad
coming out for a visit. She shaded her eyes, watch
ing the plume of dust from the road come closer and
closer, and then she realized, with a sinking heart,
that it was David’s silver Mercedes.

She looked quickly towards the stables, hoping
Granpa Jim hadn’t heard the car. She didn’t want
him to see David. It could only bring unhappiness,
and she didn’t want that to happen.

Turning back towards the house, she dipped her brush into the paint and spread it on the wood, not seeing what she was doing any longer. She heard the car come to a stop, then the car door slam, but still she didn’t look. She knew he was standing at
the foot of the ladder, and she was achingly aware
of how she looked with her hair tied back in a
pony-tail and paint streaking her bare arms and
legs, not to mention what was probably splashed all over
her face.

But that didn’t matter
, she told herself sharply.
That didn’t matter a bit.
She wasn’t trying to attract
him. Quite the opposite. The grubbier she looked,
the better.

And yet, deep down, it mattered very much.

“What the hell are you doing?”

His voice, when it came at last, made her jump,
even though she’d been expecting it. Dreading it. Anticipating it every second she waited. His tone
was incredulous and just a little angry.

She lifted her chin, still not looking at him. He
had no right to come here, let alone to talk to her
this way. He deserved a little sarcasm. “I’m up here
preparing to launch a yellow zeppelin on a quick
flight around the world. Can’t you tell?” She risked a
glance down to where he stood below her. “Why? What does it look like I’m doing?”

He was wearing dark glasses and she couldn’t see his eyes. “It looks very much as though you’re wasting your time and energy, as well as a great deal of money on supplies, on a structure that is due to be demolished by the end of the summer.”

She continued painting, slapping the brush against the surface with angry thumps. “That just goes to prove the old saying about the eye of the beholder, doesn’t it?” she said evenly.

He paused. “I thought that was about beauty. Which is hardly relevant here.”

She bit her lip. The urge to snap at him came and went and she avoided falling into temptation. She was done with bickering. It hadn’t done her any good. She’d been thinking hard about it and she wondered if it wasn’t time to try sweet reason instead. Sincerity. Maybe even a little begging.

But that would only come later, if all else failed.
 

“No,” she told him with what she hoped was serene composure. “It’s about different people each perceiving the same thing as being quite different. It’s about point of view.”

She was out of paint. She was going to have to go down and fill her bucket again, but she didn’t want to do it until he left. So she continued wiping her empty brush against the house, hoping he wouldn’t notice it was dry.

“Shawnee.” His voice was strained. “This is an exercise in futility. Come down here and let’s have a talk.”

Very carefully, she placed her brush in the paint pan and leaned against the top of the ladder, looking at where David stood. It would be much better to stay where she was; she knew that. Once she’d come down, he would be tall and wide and strong and so very close, and she wouldn’t have a chance.

“Talk away,” she said. “I can hear you beautifully from here.”

He stood with legs set wide and his mouth was a thin, hard line in his tanned face. The sun beat down on his black hair, casting a halo of golden light about his head. He wore grey slacks that fitted as though tailored just for him, and for all she knew, they were. His white shirt was open at the neck. She remembered his warmth and had to close her eyes for a split second.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” she said quickly, praying he hadn’t noticed her reaction.

“I was hoping to get you to see the sense of my position,” he said at last, pulling up the sunglasses and lodging them on his head. “But I see your stand on the matter is harder than ever.”

She looked up at the horizon, at the purple line at the top of the hills. “My stand, as you call it, is that my grandfather’s peace of mind is the most important thing and has to be accommodated,” she replied. “I’m willing to discuss anything that leads to that outcome. I’m open to alternatives.”

“There are no alternatives.”

She reached for the brush and began slapping it against the wood again, hoping she looked busy and not angry. She was working hard on this new attitude. But it wasn’t easy, especially since she wanted David to go quickly, before her grandfather started back. She threw an apprehensive glance at the stables.
 

David’s mouth quirked impatiently. “Shawnee, you’re acting irrationally. I can’t let you do this. It’s ridiculous.”

She tried to smile. “Consider it therapy for my mental health,” she said. “And just let me be.”

Brave words, but she knew they were sheer bravado. He took hold of the legs of the ladder and she gasped and clutched on to the top, knowing he could shake her down if he chose to do so.

She had no doubt he was tempted. The ladder shook a bit
, but he didn’t give it a real push. Instead,
he relied on argument.

“Do you think it’s fair to give your grandfather
false hope?” he asked her. “Don’t you think all this sprucing up is going to make the inevitable that
much worse?”

“Nothing is inevitable,” she declared, holding on
for dear life. “And you’d better not shake this ladder or you’ll end up with a paint can on your head.”

The can was empty, but he couldn’t know that for
sure. The picture she conjured of David standing
below her, dripping white paint all over the porch, was delightful. Too bad it could never come true.

“You could use a good shaking,” he told her grumpily. “But
not this way.” He let go of the ladder and stepped
back.

“Thank you,” she said, relaxing just a little. “Now please go. I don’t want my grandfather to see you
and get all excited again.”

He looked up at her, eyes clouded with mixed emotions. “Will you come with me?”

She gasped softly. What was he thinking? “Of course not. I’ve got work to do.” She pretended to stir her brush in the non-existent paint.

He moved restlessly, feet stirring the dust. “I wish
you would come down here so I could talk to you
properly.”

She looked down. “You mean so you could over
power me with your logic, don’t you?” She raised an eyebrow, letting him know she was onto his tricks.
“And we both know what your logic covers. You’ve tried it before.”

His mouth twisted in the beginnings of a smile. “Not successfully, though. That much is obvious.”
He sighed, “Shawnee, come and take a ride. A walk. Anything. I just want to be with you for a little bit. We won’t even discuss this property, or your grandfather.”

A part of her yearned to go with him, to forget everything else. But how could she do that? If she
went with him now, it would be that much harder to
pull away again. They were both better off without
the
complications a relationship would bring with it. She was just about to tell him so when a shout split the
air between them.

“Hey, you!” Granpa Jim was coming towards
them at a limping trot from the direction of the stables. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

Shawnee began to scramble down the ladder,
bent on getting David into his car and off her
grandfather’s property as quickly as possible. “He’s just going,” she called, turning to look at David with
a mixture of impatience and pleading. “Go, hurry,”
she urged him, reaching out to give him a little push. “Please get out of here. He’ll get so upset . . .”