Owen's Daughter (34 page)

“I haven’t ridden for several years,” Opal said, “but I’m sure it’ll come back to me. I was brought up on a horse ranch in Lexington, Kentucky.”

Was there anywhere she hadn’t been? Skye checked Lightning’s girth strap again, to make sure it was tight. “I guess I wonder why you want a trail ride—not that I’m complaining—if you have so much experience?”

“Oh, it’s not for me, not entirely. It’s a trial run for my girls’ group, the CFOBs. Every month one of us poses a physical challenge for the group. So far we’ve done hot-air balloon rides during Albuquerque’s festival, zip lines at Angel Fire, hang gliders, and a most unfortunate BBQ where Adrianna served us grilled rattlesnake. Trust me, it does
not
taste at all like chicken. I wouldn’t give that to my dog. I hid my serving in her potted mums.” She laughed, a tiny tee-hee only older women could get away with. “Anyway, now it’s my turn to pick our activity, and I thought this sounded like a fun way for us to get some fresh air, provided we can keep our wigs on.”

“Wigs?” Skye echoed.

“Side effect of chemo.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Skye said. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, honey, don’t feel badly. Most of the ladies are doing just fine. Sometimes you have to push yourself back out into the world,” she said, lifting her arms as if she held the whole world in her small hands. “You have to be more courageous in remission than you were during treatment. We created the club so we could keep each other’s spirits up.”

Skye watched as Opal placed her helmet over her chin-length bob that was black and shiny, with enviable platinum-blond streaks. It didn’t look like a wig, but apparently there was some incredible wigmaker on the level of the Passier saddlemaker.

Opal adjusted her embroidered cowboy-style pearl-snap shirt and said, “I’m ready.”

Skye couldn’t stop looking at the shirt. Sometimes, not often, she’d come across a Double D Ranch brand or Johnny Was shirt at Double Take, a secondhand store down the street from the Guadalupe BBQ. Even used, they cost a lot of money. “So, Opal,” she said. “You have such a pretty name. Were you named after a relative?”

“Nope, born in October, named after the birthstone. Papa always said I was his little gem.”

Skye pulled up a mounting block with a step attached. “You know how to use mounting blocks?”

“Yes, I do. And I despise the fact I can’t get up without help.”

“You won’t feel bad for long. Everything looks better from the top of a horse.”

“How sweet to hear you to say that. My father used to tell me the same thing.”

Skye got her settled, then went around Coco to get to Lightning. She walked him forward, coming around Opal’s left side.

Opal was focused on the man heading into the barn. “Who is that handsome man?”

Skye thought it best not to respond. Opal was already holding her reins the correct way. Skye was impressed. “Do you need me to go over any of the basics? The emergency stop?”

“No, dear. ‘Grab mane and press yourself into the horse’s neck.’ I remember all that. What a wonderful feeling this is,” Opal replied. “Makes me wonder why I waited so long to ride again.”

She pointed back over at the man who was now tipping a bale of straw end over end toward the barn. “That fellow is so handsome he could be on the cover of a romance novel.”

“Opal,” Skye said, “stop looking at that man and pay attention to your horse.”

“A girl’s allowed to look,” she said.

“Not when it’s my
dad
,” Skye said.

“Oh, my heavens,” Opal said. “I thought he was Kris Kristofferson. Will your father be around when my girls come to trail ride?”

“I imagine he will since he’s the barn manager. Can we please go now?”

“All right,” Opal said. “Just one more thing. Is he married?”

Skye sighed. She stood in front of Lightning and placed two fingers between his ears, and he dropped his head until his muzzle was almost touching the ground. Skye almost put her right foot in the stirrup but remembered a trick she’d taught Lightning years ago. Would he remember? Facing his beautiful spotted muzzle, she planted her legs about a foot apart. Her arms reached toward his poll, and he flexed his neck muscles. She made a kissing noise, and Lightning jerked his head up, and Skye was slightly airborne before she landed deftly on his back, facing his butt. The fact that he remembered touched her in the sore places, but also made her sad. She turned herself around, put her feet in the stirrups, and took hold of his reins. “Let’s head toward the gate.”

“That was astounding,” Opal said. “Can you do that when the ladies are here? Tell them that’s how you get into the saddle. They will flip their wigs, literally!”

“I’m not sure that’s the best way to inspire confidence,” Skye said, “but I suppose it couldn’t hurt, so long as they realize it’s a stunt.”

“No, you have to let them think it’s the standard,” Opal said, her laugh going from polite to laugh out loud. “You probably think I’m a mean old woman, but honestly, I’m not. I just like to have a little fun.”

Skye headed toward the gate with Opal following, then bent down to open the latch, shoo Opal in, and lock it after herself.

“When do we canter?” Opal asked.

“How about we just walk and trot today?” Skye suggested. “Maybe next time we can canter a little. Now, Coco will follow behind me if you make it clear that’s what you want. No wandering off trail, okay? Nobody wants cactus spines, least of all the horses. See that rock? We’ll ride out to there, turn around, and come back.”

“Ah,” Opal said. “The Cieneguilla Petroglyphs. That’s the perfect spot for a picnic. The girls would love it. We could get Chocolate Maven to put together a proper high tea, spread out a blanket, let the horses graze.”

On what? Skye wondered. Nothing grew there besides weeds. “Today we’ll just concentrate on getting there and back. Another time we can stop there and hike up to see the petroglyphs or eat chocolate.”

“I haven’t been up there in probably twenty years. After my Diego died, I just stopped doing things.”

Skye listened as Opal poured out her heart, and it wasn’t all recipes and cowgirl dreams, either. Imagine, having the love of your life die in your arms. Opal had seen most of the planet, including Antarctica. She told Skye about her daughters, one of whom was a power Realtor, the other an attorney who had a 100-percent win record in her practice. “The old-boy network is terrified of her,” Opal said. “They’re just the most modern girls you ever could find. I don’t think Shannon has cooked a single dinner in her life. Jodie works so much I told her she ought to set up a cot in the courtroom. They hardly ever have a minute to spare. And neither one wants my Haviland china. Then there’s the everyday original Fiestaware, two complete sets, and the Stickley furniture.”

“What’s Haviland?” Skye asked, listening to the creaking of her saddle, thinking of the hidden places she needed to soap up, to get it flexible.

“Oh, Skye. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to tell you the whole, exciting story. The company began in the 1700s, and has a delightfully juicy history, what with cutthroat competitors and the discovery of true kaolin clay in Limoges, France. Artists like Rodin, Dufy, and Cocteau all made a contribution to the china known today as Haviland. It was the White House china during the Lincoln administration. Google it up on the computer sometime. It’s as engrossing a story as anything Ngaio Marsh or Dorothy Sayers ever penned.”

Skye had never felt so uneducated in her life. “I’m sorry. Who are they?”

Opal posted the trot perfectly until she was up alongside Skye. Then she slowed Coco to a walk. “This will keep you from wrenching your neck to look at me. Darling, they are the most marvelous mystery writers of the 1930s and ’40s. On our next ride, I’ll bring you some books to read. Or you can pop by my house and pick them up. I live at Waldo and Houghton. I must warn you, I rescue miniature dachshunds, so there’s a bit of barking.”

“I wouldn’t feel right borrowing your books,” Skye said. “They sound like they’re valuable.”

Opal laughed, a tinkling, glassy sound. Even her laugh sounded well informed. “At my age,” she said, “I can give things away to whomever I want. After all, they’re just things. Besides, knowing you’ll read them makes me happy. Think of the discussions we can have.”

I just met you
, Skye wanted to say, but in the next breath she asked herself, what on earth prevented her from making a friend who was maybe sixty years older than her? “I look forward to meeting your friends,” Skye said. “I’ve been wondering about the ‘CFOBs.’ What’s it stand for?”

“Cancer-Fighting Old Broads,” Opal said.

Skye looked at her and raised her eyebrows, suppressing a smile.

Opal laughed again. “Yes. We thought we should have an acronym for our little club.”

They were silent as they reached the turnaround point. Skye had to pay more attention to Coco and Lightning here, as they both tended to be barn sour, just like RedBow. “Keep your reins tight,” Skye said.

“Is it all right if I trot just a little?”

“I guess so,” Skye said, “but keep him on a short rein. Who knows? Coco is an old man, but I’ve never met a horse that didn’t want a chance to get his yayas out.”

Opal smiled at her and assumed the formal position of an English rider. She began by pressing her legs against Coco until he sped up, then she slowed him down, as they agreed to a lovely, quiet pace, moving slowly. “Good boy,” Opal said, patting Coco’s neck. The gait was what Skye’s father called a “gentleman’s jog.” And it was beautiful.

When they were unsaddling the horses after they’d returned to the barn, Skye wrestled up the courage to ask, “Do you mind me asking what kind of cancer you have?”

“Oh, I’ve been in remission for years,” Opal said. She lifted up her wig, revealing a shiny bald head. “I have alopecia.”

Skye walked Opal to her car as they set up a time for next week. There would be four riders in all, and Opal asked if she might have a horse with more “pep.” Skye would put her on Lightning. She watched her drive away, and thought,
Damn, I forgot to ask Opal for the thirty-five dollars!
As she stepped into the breezeway where she would brush both horses, she overheard her dad talking with Peter. Owen was hauling rented heat lamps outside the barn, placing them every five feet or so. The wind was picking up, and Skye felt certain her dad would be dragging them back inside the barn shortly. “Hi, Peter,” she called out. He looked at her but did not wave. The look on his face said
hangover
in flashing neon.

Damn it
, Skye thought.
Nothing I said made any difference. I guess if he wants to throw himself a pity party, that’s none of my business.
She moved the horses to their stalls, listening to her father and Peter talk.

“I could use some help here, son.”

“What do you need me to do,” the boy asked flatly, his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, don’t tell me. Somebody has a case of the poor-me blues?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell,” Peter said.

Skye rubbed Lightning’s neck, stifling a laugh.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Can you help me unfold the tables? I need them set end to end. The tablecloths are in the box over yonder.”

“Yonder?” Peter laughed. “Sure thing, Hoss.”

A slap of New Mexico wind flew into their faces, flinging grit with it. Skye watched her dad brush the dust off his face with his bandanna. “That wind is giving me no end of doubts,” Owen said. “Maybe we should move the party indoors. What do you think?”

“What is wrong with women?” Peter asked, clearly focused on matters other than the weather.

Her dad chuckled. “Other than the fact that they are a superior species, I haven’t a clue,” Owen said. “If this is about Bonnie, your mom already told me. Getting divorced is never fun.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter said. “First, she’s like, ‘Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible, since we both want the same thing.’ But we don’t want the same thing, and what I want isn’t up for discussion. She lives with somebody else. She’s having his baby. Now she wants me to give her alimony! She makes more money than I do. What the fuck?”

“Next time you feel like dropping the F-bomb, say ‘pinochle.’”

“Why?”

“Because it will sound so ridiculous you’ll understand why swear words change nothing. I’m sorry to say, Peter, but the judge will rule in her favor. You might as well get used to it. Now grab hold of that end of the tablecloth and give it a shake.”

The moment Peter gave it a snap, Brown Horse let out a panicked shriek and kicked her stall door hard. “Uh-oh,” Skye said, coming out of Lightning’s stall and going to Brown Horse next door. Someone in her past must have whipped her, Skye figured. “Hey, it’s okay, Brown Horse,” she said, soothing the horse the way she had Gracie. Sometimes Gracie had a bad dream; other times, after a video, she could remember only the monsters and not the heroes. Just then, a tablecloth blew by the barn, and Brown Horse kicked again, just missing Skye. “That’s enough of that,” she said, and quickly latched the stall door. Maybe they should move her to the other side of the barn. Santa Fe was famous for wind. As in cartoons, it picked up lawn chairs and umbrellas and tossed tumbleweeds wherever it chose.