The Wilder Sisters (9 page)

Lily grinned. She should have narrowed the parameters consider- ably before she made the bet. “There’s a little trouble. Nothing major. It’ll pass or it won’t. I’m not sweating bullets. But Pop, listen, I’m about seventy-five miles from Gallup.”

“Alone in your car? You’d better be carrying your .357.”

“I’ve got Buddy here beside me.” She held the receiver out and told her dog to speak. He was more than happy to oblige. “What do you think of that?”

“Sounds like a dog, all right. What a thoughtful daughter you are, coming to pay your old man a visit. Sad thing is, I won’t be home for a week or so. I’m settling some horse business down here, and your mother, God bless her, is busy making new friends or saving greyhounds. Every night it’s dinner with that professor who wrote those horse books or some whacked-out artist who can’t eat anything normal. I swear, my stomach’s a wreck. Raw fish, pasta in cream sauce, or some greasy French stuff that will likely bring on my gout.” “Order Caesar salad. Ask for the low-fat dressing, and you’ll be fine. I practically live on it. When you get back home I’ll cook you some real food, Pop. And we’ll trailer out and go riding in the mountains, maybe even camp a few nights. How’s that for something

to look forward to?”

Her father sighed. “About one step beyond wonderful. No bull- shitting around now, Lily. What in the devil is going on with you that your work can spare you like this? Did you get yourself fired?” She bit a hangnail and stared at the passing landscape. In some ways she was thankful it looked so desolate. It kept too many people from relocating. New Mexico’s total population was just over a million and a half; Los Angeles County alone was over nine million. Nine million! There wasn’t anything in the world there should be nine million of, unless it was tax-free greenback dollars nestled in

her bank account.

She might just have to extend her leave to forever. “Everything’s taken care of, Pop. Have fun in Texas, and go see that statue. It’s supposed to be very cool.”

“Sooner or later you and I are going to sit down and talk,
en- tienda
?”

The phone crackled and buzzed. “Yes, Pop. Love you to pieces, but I’m losing reception. Gotta go. Bye now.”

She pressed the phone’s End button, and Buddy gave her a ques- tioning look. “That wasn’t a lie,” she said. “There was some static on the line. Besides, holding back a little is not the same thing as ly- ing.” He licked her elbow and nudged her with a slimy nose. “Buddy, quit acting like a shrink.” She rummaged in her purse on the seat and, one-handed, unwrapped a berry-flavored PR bar. “Eat your snack and take a nap.”

As Buddy worked on his treat, Lily wished like hell she could clear the dead bugs from the driver’s side of the windshield. When exactly had some
vato
decided to decimate her wiper? And further- more, why? That pointless violence, it was just
so
Orange County. Car envy, road rage, whatever you wanted to call it, ran rampant in Southern California. She wondered if she had left her steam iron on back at the condo, then decided no, that was panic-attack syndrome rearing its ugly head—yet another of the state’s perks to which she had nearly succumbed.

In Albuquerque she bought lunch to go at the Owl Café, parking at the far end of the famous burger joint’s lot. It wasn’t very crowded, and the waitress who brought her takeout order comped Lily a handful of stale cookies for Buddy. Lily changed the CDs in her cassette and sat sharing her salad with Buddy. She ate whatever was green, and after he finished his chile verde burger, Buddy took care of the croutons. “What a great deal we have going here,” she told her dog. “Why did it take me so long to see it? You’re the only guy for me, forever.”

Buddy licked the Styrofoam platter clean of ranch dressing, and Lily threw it in the back seat. She started the Lexus and the CD player clicked into Tish Hinojosa’s voice bleeding through the speakers, as honest as the river she was singing about. Each separate note traveled down Lily’s spine like a piece of ice some boy had slipped down her

blouse. Even though she had forgotten most of her Spanish, she shivered at the emotion emanating from the lyrics, and Buddy began a primal whine. “You’re right,” Lily said, switching tracks until “San Antonio Romeo” replaced the Rio Grande balled that was reminding her of how broken her heart felt now that Blaise was on the past boyfriends roster. “We don’t need to hear that, do we? He wasn’t worthy of either of us. Say it out loud with me, Buddy:
We deserve better. We deserve better. We deserve better.
. She patted his head and straightened his collar so the bone-shaped tag with his name on it was centered beneath his chin. “Only a couple more hours, dingo mine. Then you can chase horses and pee on every sage bush your wild blue heart desires.”

Floralee was north of Santa Fe, but not quite as far north as Taos. Off 518 the town was accessible by a twisting, partially paved road that seemed to be in a constant state of resurfacing. Lily waited be- hind a line of cars for the flagman to wave her along. She passed sleepy old ranch houses that had been handed down from family to family over the years. Cottonwood trees swayed in the breeze, and curious backyard horses peered over fences. Willows spilled lacy canopies of shade. In the neighboring towns it seemed that very little had changed since her childhood. Floralee, on the other hand, she knew would feel different than last time she’d been here. Over the years word of mouth had slowly leaked out:
Buy property in Floralee. Good riding, nearby fishing, more bang for your buck. Historic haciendas and two excellent restaurants. I’m telling you, Floralee’s about fifteen years away from being another Taos
. As Lily drove past the Kiwanis sign, she saw that the whispered rumor was having an ef- fect. The single gallery that had supplied the town with posters and local art had been joined by a couple of rivals. Just down the block, the general store with the saloon doors still offered homemade ta- males, but they had tripled in price. The ¡Andale! roadhouse had a fancy new bay-shaped window and looked more like the bakery next door than the down-home watering hole featuring second-rate bands every weekend, where Lily had worn out more than one pair of shoes. The tack shop facing the small plaza had mutated from a practical sportsman’s’ outfitters to a thinly disguised gift emporium. Each crumbling adobe storefront had been tidied up very carefully, maintained to appear old and quaint. Colorful wild-

flowers grew in haphazard plantings, contrasting nicely with the brown clay—a New Mexico staple—but there was something delib- erate even about their placement. Even the old hardware store had been repainted and now wore a mantle of subtle hipness. The whole effect put Lily in mind of one long bed-and-breakfast so expensive that no one in this town could afford to stay there.

Disgusted, she sped up the two-lane main drag and made the sharp right turn, heading east toward her parents’ ranch, passing a clutch of rural mailboxes in various shapes and sizes. Farther along a metal windmill worn to the color of pewter by the elements spun lazy circles, making that wonderful unique whirring noise she’d never heard duplicated anywhere else. Lily opened the car window and took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting balm of newly cut hay and deeper, more faintly, horse manure. The apple tree out front of El Rancho Costa Plente was heavy with fruit. The only car noise Lily could make out came from her Lexus. There were no competing sounds other than birdsong and her tires crunching across the gravel. She shut the engine down in front of the two-story adobe with the shining metal roof and sat listening to the silence.

“Look, Buddy,” she said to the heeler as she pointed a finger at the outbuildings. “You were born in that barn right over there. Here comes your mama now.”

The emerging pack of dogs barked a collective warning, showing off their various stations in the herd hierarchy. Jody Jr., the old blue heeler bitch who had mothered so many of the ranch pups, walked among her fractious offspring, hackles lifted, but somehow she managed to make threat displays come off regally. As she spied Lily, she began slowly wagging her long tail. Pop didn’t believe there was any good reason to dock puppies’ tails, no matter what was popular. To him dogs were working animals, and whatever God- given attributes they’d been born with they ought to be allowed to keep, including testicles. Lily worried a little about that, since Buddy was no longer in possession of his. Well, Pop would just have to get over it. Lily stretched her arms above her head and turned her neck from side to side, trying to erase the hours of driving from her sore muscles.

Shep Hallford, her father’s ranch foreman, sat on the fence, packing his cheek with a fresh plug of Red Man. His expression didn’t change when he saw who had just stepped out of the fancy white car.

Lily, however, grinned and ran over to him, wrapping him in her arms, hugging him as hard as she could. Had Shep allowed such things, she would have covered him with kisses and sat in his lap. Instead, she stepped back and said, “Hey, Sheppie. How’s it hanging?”

He nearly smiled. “Well, well. Look what the cat drug in. Haven’t seen you around in a pile of years. California crack apart and fall into the ocean?”

“We can only hope.” Lily leaned against the post-and-rail fence, which was as old as she was and remarkably sturdy. “What’s up with you, old man? Fathered any new children recently?”

The weathered old cowboy spit tobacco juice onto the dirt. “These days I’m sticking to horses. Shorter life span, plus you don’t go to jail if they need killing.”

Lily laughed, and Buddy came bounding up, relentlessly chased by the other dogs. He tried to scramble into Lily’s arms and she took hold of his front paws. “Rule number one, Buddy. You’ve fight your own battles here. Mama can’t help.”

Shep craned his neck and stared at the dog’s hindquarters. “Unless my eyesight is going, I’d say your dog appears to be toting a couple of empty suitcases.”

“I had him cut.”

Shep clucked. “Your father will not be happy to hear that.” “Hey, my father didn’t have to bail his blue ass out of dog jail

everytime he attacked my dates, either. One little incident cost me upward of five hundred bucks. Trust me, a no-nut version of Buddy is preferable to having to put him down.”

Shep didn’t seem convinced. “We’ll see what Chance has to say. You sticking around awhile, or is this one of them drive-by things?” “Sticking. It was either come home or check myself into the nut-

house.”

“Around here some days it’s pretty hard to tell the difference.” He slid down off the fence, his faded Wranglers and flannel shirt unable to hide the fact that he’d lost weight. “Boyfriend troubles?”

“I’ve quit liking boys.”

“Ha. That’ll be the day. Well, sane or not, I’m glad to have you. I’m getting so old and stove up I can’t ride all these damn horses by myself anymore. Your pop’s always gallivanting off to one place or another. Starting tomorrow you can help me work.”

He ambled off in the direction of the bunkhouse without saying good-bye. Lily watched his back until he ducked into the doorway. Shep had worked here all her life. He was like some cautious uncle who knew all her secrets but was loathe to step into the fray. A man of few words, each one he chose to share was direct, and always good advice. She’d wear herself out riding whatever horse he asked her to, just not tonight, while the sun was going down, and she felt so deliriously road weary. She needed groceries, a bath, and a sunset,
pronto
.

Lily used her key to let herself in, set down her purse and keys on a table covered with mail, then stood in the Great Room, looking around at familiar sights. One entire wall was covered in river rock, surrounding an open fireplace so large five adults could stand inside it. Twin Stickley couches, a Mission-style chair, and a coffee table constructed of pickled pine were carefully arranged facing the hearth so as to appear casual, but Lily knew how Mami had planned everything, choosing a particular grain of leather, rejecting all but just the single piece of pine. The east wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of Lily and Rose, cataloging their lives from birth to young womanhood. Some were pastel studies, others charcoal sketches, portraits executed by artists to whom her mother had en- deared herself. Professional-quality photographs snapped in the early days of careers by names that had gone on to shine in the art world were present, too. A few of the more casual shots had been taken at horse competitions, and in those pictures Lily, astride a Wilder-bred horse, was wearing her trademark half smile, breeches the color of skin and tight little tops that barely contained her bud- ding breasts. Lily thought of her business suits, the unwritten rule that professional salespeople couldn’t wear anything sleeveless, and looked again at the tank tops and sports bras. Mami didn’t seem to care what her daughters did, so long as they didn’t outshine her. Still, how Lily’s outfits must have driven her father nuts. Her youthful boldness made her smile until she came to Rose’s pictures, when her amusement caught in her throat and stuck. Here were her sister’s babies. Rose, looking tired but determined in a hospital bed. Philip standing alongside her, smiling way too hard to be happy, his gaze fixed just outside the camera’s range. Philip—Lily knew more than one tale on that man she could tell Rose, but it wasn’t right to speak ill of the dead. Better to concentrate on the living, such as her niece and nephew, whom Lily couldn’t have loved more if she had birthed them herself. Their pictures were here, too, Amanda gap toothed in ele-

mentary school, and Second Chance, already handsome at twelve. Rose’s family had always seemed sacrosanct, a tribe Lily would de- fend to the point of death. She’d sat in the waiting room when Rose gave birth to her son, had acted as godmother when the boy was baptized Second Chance after their pop instead of Philip after his father. When Amanda came along, Philip had been off fishing in Mexico or some damn thing, and Lily experienced the singular privilege of holding her sister’s hand while she labored and gritted her teeth, pretending the whole business didn’t hurt like hell. Lily would never forget Rose lying on that delivery room table, barely twenty-one years old, scared breathless, or herself at sixteen, in awe at the sight of Amanda’s full head of hair coming into this world.