Filled with nostalgia, Chase moved to stand before it. He and Indigo had been so little when the picture was taken he could only dimly recollect the day. Scarcely more than a child herself, his aunt Amy stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders, her blond head tipped as if to catch something the photographer was saying, her large eyes filled with laughter. It never ceased to amaze Chase how much she resembled his mother. They weren't actually sisters, only first cousins, but to look at them, a body would think them twins.
To the left of the portrait was a photograph of Amy and her husband, Swift Lopez, a Mexican by birth but adopted by the Comanches as an infant. He was one of Chase's favorite people. Below the picture of Aunt Amy and Uncle Swift were likenesses of their two sons, little tykes with huge, soulful eyes and pitch black hair. On the opposite side of the family portrait hung a picture of Indigo and Jake with their children.
Only Chase hadn't married. He felt certain his mother had a spot all picked out on the wall where she hoped to someday hang a picture of him with his wife and family.
He moved along the wall to peer at the mementos she had framed under glass over the years. There was a Christmas picture he had drawn when he was about eight. He had printed "I love you" under it and "happy Krissmus." In another frame were the first teeth he and Indigo had lost, little kernels yellowed with age. Chase couldn't help but wonder if his mother wasn't missing a screw or two. Who else would hang her children's teeth on the sitting-room wall?
As Chase studied the other keepsakes, his sense of belonging here deepened. So many memories, and so much love. He supposed that was what family was all about—the memories, the unbreakable bonds.
Closing his eyes, he let the familiarity of everything embrace him. Maybe, as he had speculated earlier, liquor was doing his thinking, but he felt as if he'd been wandering for the last seven years in a maze and had just found his way out. Home and its simple pleasures. Somehow he had forgotten how very good life could be, and now that he was remembering, he wanted that for himself.
Over the last few days, being forced to stay here had chafed him at every turn. But now he was inexplicably glad that he had come home for a prolonged visit. As much as Hunter's lectures sometimes rankled, he was usually right. From now on, maybe he should lead with his heart, the devil take the consequences.
* * *
Nearly the first thing Chase saw the next morning when he looked out his bedroom window was Franny's pink slipper lying on the roof of the Lucky Nugget. With a sleepy grin, he sloshed water into the basin and quickly performed his morning ablutions. The instant he was dressed, he hurried down the ladder from the loft.
His mother stood at the cookstove, her blond head agleam in a shaft of sunlight coming through the window. The gigantic green mixing bowl she held cradled in one arm was the same one she had mixed griddle cake batter in for twenty years, its edges chipped, its baked finish cracked with age. Before ladling batter onto the hot griddle, she turned to smile at him, her blue eyes as clear as the polished window glass behind her. Startled, Chase froze mid-stride and stared at her. The sensation that he could see straight to her heart was one he hadn't experienced in a very long while. For an instant, he stiffened. Then a feeling of tightness washed over him.
She touched a curl at her temple. "I did a quick job on my hair so I could get started on breakfast, but surely I don't look that bad."
Chase felt a smile tugging at his lips. "You look beautiful, Ma."
It was true. For a woman of her age, she was still incredibly lovely, trim as a young girl in her blue shirtwaist, her hair barely touched with silver, her delicately sculpted face unlined. But his observation went deeper than the surface. Far deeper. The love for him that he saw shining in her eyes struck him the most powerfully. He had a sneaking hunch it had been there ever since his homecoming, and he simply hadn't looked for it. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he had insulated himself from it.
The thought gave Chase pause, and he turned his thoughts inward, trying without success to determine exactly what had changed within him during his talk with Franny last night. He only knew that he had awakened this morning for the first time in years feeling lighthearted and eager to face the day. When he remembered Gloria, the pretty little whore who had cleaned out his pockets as well as his heart, he no longer felt angry. Or bitter. Just inexplicably sad, no longer for himself, but for her. If only he had been a little older and wiser back then, maybe things wouldn't have turned out as they had. Maybe if he hadn't given up on her, if he had refused to take no for an answer, she would have come around eventually. That was something he'd never know, he guessed. The important thing—the thing he had to remember—was that only a fool made the same mistake twice.
The back screen creaked open, and Chase turned to see his father stepping into the kitchen, eggs from the henhouse resting in the crook of one muscular arm. Their dark blue gazes locked. In that moment of visual contact, Chase felt stripped, and he realized his reacquired intuitiveness could be a double-edged sword with this man and probably with Indigo as well. Hunter hesitated a moment, the fragile burden he carried forgotten as he looked deeply into Chase's eyes. A wealth of messages passed between them with that one look.
"It is a fine morning," he finally offered by way of greeting.
Chase knew he referred to far more than just the weather. Not that his father's perceptiveness came as any surprise. Hunter had always seemed to understand him better than he understood himself. "Yes, a fine morning," he agreed huskily.
Hunter continued on his way to the dish board where he began rinsing the eggs. "We have fresh honey for the griddle cakes. Indigo found a honey tree last week and robbed the bees' nest."
"Without a single sting," Loretta put in. "I swear, that girl and her antics will be the death of me one day. Yesterday she was telling me about an article she read about an antivenin of some kind that's being made for rattlesnake bites. She wants to start catching snakes and milking them." With an expressive roll of her eyes, Loretta cast her husband a meaningful glance. "Not for the money! Lands, no. But to save the dratted snakes. And did your father try to discourage her? Not by so much as a word."
Chase gulped back a chuckle. "Save the snakes, you say? From what?"
"Being killed, of course. She figures if they develop a cure for the bites, people won't fear them so much and will stop killing every one they see."
"Folks do tend to hate rattlers. She's right that an antivenin could change that."
"She could also end up dead."
"She hasn't been bit by a snake yet, Ma."
"Hmph. It only takes once. That's my worry. With the wild creatures, that young lady thinks she's invincible. Besides, making pets of snakes is a different thing from catching the poor things and milking them. It can't be a very pleasant experience for the snake, and one might bite in self-defense."
"Not Indigo. If she can't milk them gently, she won't do it." Judging by his mother's expression, Chase figured it might be a good idea to change the subject. He had eccentricities enough of his own without championing his sister's. He looked at the jar sitting on the table and rubbed his hands together. "Mm, honey on hot griddle cakes. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it. A man can't ask for much better than this."
His father nodded, clearly recalling, as Chase intended, their conversation of last night. Once again, their gazes locked, and during the exchange, Chase felt certain not only that his parent understood how sorry he was for the things he had said to him, but that he was forgiven. It was all Chase needed to make his morning perfect.
His mother ladled batter onto the griddle. The hot grease sizzled, and the smell of cooking dough filled the kitchen. "If you're planning to shave before you eat, you'd best get hopping. It's Sunday, and I've got a peck of things to do before two."
Chase rubbed his chin. "Oh? Is Father O'Grady in town to say Mass?"
His mother sent him a look. "If he were, I would've been after
you yesterday to go to confession. We're just having Sunday meeting and potluck over at the community hall. There'll be a social tonight. Maybe you'd like to go?"
"Uh . . . maybe." Chase envisioned his mother arranging for him to dance with every unmarried young woman in town and cringed at the thought. He knew when to retreat and started across the kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for her to start grilling him about his social life and the women he kept company with. Next, she'd start on church and how long it had been since he'd attended Mass regularly.
"After breakfast, would you like to walk up to the mine with me?" his father suddenly asked. "We've got plenty of time before the meeting starts. Or are your ribs healed enough?"
Since his arrival, Chase hadn't been to the mine, nor had he wanted to go. Now he wished he could. But that pink slipper on the roof of the saloon beckoned to him more strongly. "My ribs are healed enough, but I have something I have to do this morning. Can I take a rain check?"
Hunter nodded. "Whenever you are ready, I will be here."
A lump rose in Chase's throat. "I know you will be."
Oblivious to the undertones in their exchange, Loretta asked, "What must you do this morning?"
Chase felt a flush creeping up his neck. "There's a little filly here in town I'm interested in."
Hunter's gaze jerked to his. Chase bit back a grin. Loretta looked perplexed. "Why on earth do you want another horse? I'd think one would be enough of a worry, working as you do at the logging camps with no proper shelter for it. And a filly? You don't have time to break a horse, not working the hours that you do."
"But, Ma, this is a special filly. Prettiest little thing I ever clapped eyes on. Gentling her may be time-consuming. But I think she'll be worth it."
"Burning your candle at both ends, I'd say. And what about saving for that tract of land? Buying another horse will set you back."
Chase shrugged. "Looking can't hurt."
"I didn't realize anyone in town had a filly for sale," she added thoughtfully as she turned the griddle cakes.
Flashing his father another smile, Chase said, "I heard tell of her over at the saloon."
"Oh." Loretta wrinkled her nose. "Lands, I hope her owner isn't some drunk you fleeced at cards."
Chase stepped into the water closet his father had erected in one corner of the room. Leaving the door ajar, he drew water to shave. As he splashed his face to soften his whiskers, he chided, "Ma, what do you take me for? Would I fleece a drunk at poker and take his horse?"
His mother turned troubled eyes on him, her expression saying more clearly than words that here lately she wouldn't put much of anything past him. After studying him for a moment, her frown disappeared, and she smiled. "No, of course you wouldn't. It's just that I can't feature you turning loose of money for a horse right now, and I thought maybe—well, it makes no never mind."
Unfolding the razor, Chase said, "I guess maybe I'm rearranging my priorities a little. Turning loose of some money now and again won't stop me from buying the land. It'll just take me a little longer, that's all."
Hunter carried the wire basket of rinsed eggs to the stove and, as was his habit, began cracking them into the waiting skillet. Unlike many men, he didn't hesitate to help his wife inside the house.
As Chase dabbed his jaw with bergamot-scented shaving compound, he watched through the open doorway as his parents worked, each tucking in an elbow to make room for the other, both at ease with the closeness. The unity of their movements put him in mind of a couple dancing, each following the other's slightest lead. Such a simple thing, yet to Chase there was a beauty in it that he envied. Last night his father had asked him what more in life a man could want. The answer was nothing.
Chase winced as he stooped to look in the mirror his mother had suspended from a nail on the wall. Damned ribs, anyway. Or maybe he should be cursing the mirror. The oval of glass had been hanging in that exact same spot, at a perfect height for his ma to see herself, ever since his father had erected the water closet, yet another sign of the give and take between his parents. He had never heard his father complain about having to stoop to see himself in the mirror. Not that Hunter, being half Comanche, found it necessary to shave very often. But he did wash up morning and evening.
Chase grimaced. When he chose a wife, he'd have to be sure she stood taller than his mother, or he'd find himself stooping to shave for the next sixty years. Unlike his father, he was cursed with a white man's heavy beard.
A picture of Franny flashed in his mind. Definitely too short, he decided. Thinking of the slipper lying on the saloon roof, he recollected how she had looked hanging from the eaves last night. For what she lacked in stature she definitely compensated for in curves.
Smiling to himself, Chase decided a man could always hang two mirrors in the water closet.
* * *
Chase slapped the pink slipper down on the bar. After the considerable effort it had taken to lasso the damned thing to fetch it off the roof, he was in no mood for nonsense. "What in hell do you mean, I can't see her?"
Gus, the plump saloon owner, jerked the ever-present white towel from off his shoulder. Bending over the bar, he polished intently at a water spot on its varnished surface. "Just what I said. She don't accept callers 'til after dark, no exceptions."
Chase didn't intend to take no for an answer. "Look, Gus," he said reasonably. "I'm not just any caller. Franny's a friend of my family."
Gus arched a querulous eyebrow. "That's one I ain't heard before."
"It's true. She and Indigo are like this." He held up two fingers pressed tightly together. "I just want to return her slipper, for Christ's sake."
Gus dumped an ashtray. "Leave it with me. I'll give it to her."
Chase decided it was time to try another tack. "Can I go up to see May Belle then? I'll leave it with her."
Gus jabbed a thumb toward the stairs. "Be my guest. Second door on the right. But no detours, Chase. Franny's real peculiar about her rules, and I don't want her quittin' on me."
Rules. Chase had never heard of such. How could an upstairs girl expect to make a decent living if she accepted callers only after dark and worked only until one in the morning? She was losing money hand over fist. Not that he gave a fig. If he had his way, she would quit this kind of work entirely.
He climbed the shadowy stairway and paused on the landing, his curious gaze fixed on the first door, which he knew had to be Franny's since Gus had said May Belle's was the second. A large sign hung on the portal. He focused on the bold black lettering. OCCUPIED, it said. Then below, in smaller letters, it read, Please flip the sign back over as you leave so the next person in line may enter.
Curiosity got the better of Chase and he stepped closer to flip over the sign and read the other side.
It's not necessary to knock. Simply turn over the sign to
"Occupied" as you enter. Ten dollars for thirty minutes.
The rules are as follows:
No callers before dark
Leave the lamp unlit
No conversation
No extras
No refunds
Deposit your ten dollars on the bureau before you leave.
The note ended with a thank-you and Franny's signature, the handwriting graceful and precise, exactly as she was. After flipping the sign back over, Chase knotted a fist, tempted to knock on the door, for he knew she must be inside the room.
"Damn it, Chase!" Gus yelled. "That ain't the second door, and you know it."
Seeing another way to get Franny's attention, Chase raised his voice to call over the banister, "Don't get in a dither, Gus! I won't bother her. Though I can't see what the big deal is. All I wanted to do was return her slipper and give her a message from my sister."
As Chase hoped, a second later the doorknob rattled. At the sound, he turned and watched the door inch open. A portion of Franny's face appeared in the narrow crack. "Indigo sent me a message?" she asked softly.
&nb
sp; Chase relaxed his shoulders and leaned close to whisper, "Yeah, she did. But I wouldn't want anyone to overhear. Can I step in for a minute?"
One green eye stared at him suspiciously. Chase realized he wasn't the first man who had tried to breach her daytime sanctuary. "Only for a second," he assured her and held up the slipper. "Remember me, the fellow who helped you off the roof last night? Come on, Franny. Let me in. I'll be gone before you can blink."
"All right," she finally relented, "but only for a minute."
To his surprise, the door closed. He thought he heard furniture being moved about inside. When the door opened again, Franny was nowhere to be seen. His neck tingling, he stepped cautiously across the threshold. The instant he was entirely into the room, the door closed, and he turned to see her standing behind him, her back pressed to the wood, her white- knuckled hands folded at her waist.
Her wariness of him was evident in the lines about her mouth and the shadows in her beautiful green eyes. Chase was dying to ask why he made her so nervous. But he'd cover that ground later. He had a suspicion that somewhere along the line, she'd been badly mistreated by someone. Maybe by a customer. Possibly by more than one.
"Is Indigo all right?" she asked.
Feeling a little ashamed of himself for telling such a whopper, Chase hastened to reassure her. "Oh, she's fine. She . .. um . . ." He offered her the slipper. "I just came from her place, and she told me to say hello when I saw you."
"What?"
"She said to tell you hello."
"That's the message?"
He tried a grin. "Pretty lame, I know. But I really wanted to return your slipper in person. That Gus is quite the watchdog, isn't he?" She wasn't smiling. "I tried to tell him you and I are friends, but he wouldn't make any exceptions."