That would sound good.
“What time are you expecting May back?”
“Within the hour, I guess.”
She turned away from him, pretending to be absorbed in watching the cow and calf. But with each passing second, the tension built in her chest. She realized something. May didn’t need her. She had friends who cared and stood by her side in times of need. What would Christy be but an old ghost coming back to haunt her? She didn’t have any right to butt in on her sister’s life like this.
“I know May wants to see you.”
That got her to turn around. Jim was flaking off hay into the corner of one of the stalls for the cow inside. “She’s been praying for you,” he said.
“Yeah, probably that I’d go to hell.”
Jim looked at her, his expression unchanged. “The opposite, actually. And also that you two would have the chance to spend some time together.”
“You know, I don’t understand something. What happened to her? Our parents weren’t religious. I don’t even remember going to church at Easter.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to talk about it.”
Christy didn’t know if she would let that happen or not. Religion had to give May double the reason to be disappointed in her. Yet she hadn’t seen any kind of disapproval in May’s face.
“What’re you thinking?” Jim asked. “That she’s gonna pound you over the head with her Bible?”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. It was hard to see through that mustache. She’d play it like he was serious. “I guess I am.”
“She isn’t like that.”
“What is she like?” Christy stood in the open doorway, her back to Jim who’d stepped inside the stall with the bottle. She watched the falling snow and wandering cattle. “I only have memories of a fifteen-year-old girl.”
He didn’t say anything right away, and she was glad of it. Maybe that meant he would give her a good answer. “Your sister’s a strong woman,” he finally said. “She’s independent, and if she sets her mind to doing something, it’ll get done.”
It calmed her a bit to hear his response. That was the personality she remembered. The same stubbornness that often got May into trouble as a kid.
“She likes to have fun,” Jim continued.
“Always did.”
“I suppose she hasn’t changed much then. But her aunt taught her about God. You heard her at the funeral. That’s her story.”
Christy dropped the subject. She stood at the stall door and watched him. He knelt in the straw, his gnarly hand gently cradling the head of the calf, his other holding the bottle in the animal’s mouth. Liquid dribbled down the calf’s chin as it noisily suckled. Jim spoke to it softly. “There you go, little girl. Drink up.”
She was getting colder and thrust her hands in the pockets of the coat, wondering if it was May’s. The dog pawed her knee. She squatted and rubbed his ear, clueless what to do next. She hadn’t come all this way to hang out with a rugged cowboy.
Scribbles’s sharp yap startled her, but it sounded different than with her in the study. He barked with happiness and excitement as he flew out the door.
That could mean only one thing.
She stood up, a wave of what almost felt like excitement hitting her. Quickly brushing off her jeans, she ran a hand through her hair and hoped she looked okay.
When Scribbles bounded back through the door, tail wagging with abandon, May was behind him.
Chapter 14
May broke into a huge smile. “What are you doing here?” Before Christy could do or say anything, she was encircled in a hug, even bigger than the one May gave her at the funeral.
“I’m so glad to see you again,” May said into her shoulder, then let her go. Collars of several shirts stuck out at her neckline. She wore a hat similar to Jim’s, with nicks in the edges and mud splatters all over the felt. Christy almost smiled. Here was the grubby little girl who could never seem to stay clean.
“Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”
May shook her head. “What, are you kidding? I just can’t believe you’re actually here. You know how often I’ve wished this would happen? That you’d show up and surprise me?”
Actually, she hadn’t pictured May wishing it at all.
“So I take it you two have met?” May said to Jim.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jim said with a chuckle but didn’t mention Christy’s trespassing. Maybe he knew the embarrassment she felt about it.
May’s face lit up, and she clasped Christy’s arm. “Wait right here. I’ve gotta get Ruth.” She ran out the door, leaving Christy alone once more with Jim.
“I told you,” he said. “She’s glad to see you.”
Christy wanted to believe him. It felt better than she could have imagined to hug her sister again. But why wasn’t May upset with her for leaving the funeral?
May reappeared with the lady who’d accompanied her at the church. Shorter than May and round in the middle like a tomato, the older woman’s dark face was a sea of wrinkles, no doubt from countless hours of outdoor exposure.
“Here she is,” May said. “Can you believe it?”
“Great to finally meet you,” Ruth said, the skin around her eyes crinkling into deep crow’s-feet. She gave Christy a firm handshake with both hands. “My name’s Ruth.”
May touched Christy’s arm. “I’ve gotta check the fence to find where some of the cows are getting out. Come with me.”
“In the snow?”
“It isn’t too bad. We’ll take the horses.”
She hesitated. “I haven’t ridden in years.”
“I’ll give you a gentle one.” May’s eyes were pleading, and Christy couldn’t refuse.
As they walked away together toward the barn, she glanced back at Jim who winked at her, then busied himself with the hungry calf.
***
Pulling up to apartment building C, Harvey wished he’d driven his older Buick. It would have blended in better than the Mercedes. As it was, he checked the locks twice before leaving the car, knowing they would offer little protection in this neighborhood. Any car thief worth his salt wouldn’t let a lock faze him.
Harvey studied the dilapidated building. Two windows on the third floor were boarded over with new plywood. The bricks around the wood were stained with soot.
Christy lived here?
Inside the dark stairwell, a male and female shouting profanities reverberated through the walls from somewhere in the building. The argument faded as he climbed the stairs and reached the third floor. He checked the apartment number he’d written on the back of a business card—306. It took only a second to realize which one it was. The numbers of each apartment were glued to the wall on the left side of the doors. Number 306 had plywood nailed crudely over its doorframe.
A sick feeling grabbed his stomach. Where was Christy? What happened here?
Harvey knocked on several doors, got no answer at two, and a shout to “Go away!” at another. Finally, he was rewarded when a red-haired guy with a pimply face and no shirt answered at one of them.
“I’m trying to find the person who lived at 306,” Harvey said, pointing down the hall. “Christy Williams.”
“Who?”
“Christy Williams. She does live here, right?”
The guy hung out his doorway to see the boarded-over door. “Hey, man, I don’t know for sure. Maybe. They move in and out of here, you know?”
“Know anything about this fire?”
Red Hair squinted as if trying to think. “No one was in there when it happened; I’m pretty sure. Cops came, and some guys were poking around afterward. They think it was arson. Made the TV.”
“They arrest anyone?”
Red Hair shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Any idea where I could find the girl who lived there?”
Another shrug from Red Hair. Harvey thanked him for his time and returned to the first floor. He knocked on more doors. Someone
referred him to the landlady, and she confirmed for certain that Christy had lived in apartment 306.
“Do you know where she is now?” Harvey asked as Mrs. Mendoza walked out, barefoot, closing her door.
She looked him up and down. “You a reporter?”
“No.”
“Cop?”
“Just a friend of Christy’s.”
Mrs. Mendoza threw her hands up. “What do I know? She could be in Timbuktu. Didn’t know she had any friends.”
“How about a forwarding address?”
“Never gave one.”
“What can you tell me about the fire?”
Mrs. Mendoza perked up at that question and told him the whole story, emphasizing every part she’d played.
He learned nothing new, except that Christy had been out all night and came home after the fire was extinguished. “Did you see Christy leave?”
“Sure, but there was nothing to it. Just drove off. I’ll tell you though.” Mrs. Mendoza stomped her foot. “She owes me a month’s rent!”
He made a mental note to have his secretary send the woman a check.
A few minutes and plenty of gossip later, Harvey got back in his Mercedes. If it was arson, was Christy a target, or was it random criminal mischief? Who would want to do something like this to her? And where was she now?
He drove away with too many unanswered questions.
***
“Christy, meet Spirit.” May led a huge dappled gray horse from the corral and walked him over to where she was standing outside the fence.
“Wow.” Christy cautiously approached them. Even through his shaggy winter coat powerful muscles bulged in his chest and shoulders. “Is he a stallion?”
May laughed. “He’d like you to think that. Actually, he’s a gelding. Here.” May handed her Spirit’s lead. “You hold on to him while I get Nugget.”
“Nugget?”
“She’s the paint in the corner over there. The one you’ll be riding.”
Spirit nudged Christy’s shoulder, throwing her off balance. “Hey, hey. Careful now.”
It had been over twenty years since she’d been around horses. When she was twelve and May was nine, Mom and Dad gave them both a year’s worth of riding lessons. She hoped she still remembered what to do.
“Those riding lessons sure paid off, didn’t they?” she called to May already halfway across the corral.
“Best gift I ever got!”
Spirit snorted, and Christy patted his neck, which sent a cloud of dust into the air. How did she end up here, standing in the middle of May’s cattle ranch holding a horse that looked like he could clobber her in one stomp? Watching May, she wondered what her sister was thinking. Could she really be happy to see her?
A few minutes later they had both horses in the barn, restrained with cross ropes hanging on each side of the aisle. When they were attached to their halters, the horses couldn’t move much in either direction.
“I don’t remember how to do any of this,” Christy said. Even back during their lessons she’d asked May to saddle for her more than once. She’d never been interested in all the brushing, hoof picking, and tacking up. She’d just wanted to hop on, let her hair fly, and look like Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet.
“Well, I’ll let you off this time.” May circled a curry comb through Nugget’s coat, completely at ease around the animal. Like she was born to be doing this. Even at their first riding lesson, when all Christy could do was tell the front end of the horse, May got it. Something had clicked for her, and she’d soaked in every one of the instructor’s words.
Her sister swung the saddle onto Nugget’s back as effortlessly as if she was flinging on a blanket. That had to take strength.
“So what brought you all the way out here?” May asked.
Not sure how to answer, Christy grabbed the second brush May had brought from the tack room. She might as well give a half-truth. “Seeing you at the funeral . . . I guess I just thought it was time to, I don’t know, catch up.”
May reached under Nugget for the hanging cinch strap.
“Um, should I start brushing Spirit?”
Slipping the leather strap into the buckle, May pulled it tight. She checked her work, then tightened them even more. “Gotta get this when they’re breathing in. Nothin’ worse than a loose saddle. I got thrown once by rushing this part.”
Christy wanted to ask May how long she’d been working here, how she’d met that woman Ruth, where Jim fit in the picture, and a host of other questions, but she didn’t for fear it would open herself up to questions in return.
Fifteen minutes later they were finished, and Christy was staring at Nugget’s saddle, wondering how in the world she was going to climb on. She knew enough to mount on the left side, but before she’d only ridden ponies, not full-grown, towering horses.
“Want a leg up?”
“If you don’t mind.” Christy bent her knee and May supported it, giving her a lift as she pulled herself into the saddle. Atop the animal, she smiled down at May. “Nice view.”
May patted her leg, then just stood staring at her, hands on her hips.
“What?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Let’s just see if I can keep from falling off.”
“You’ll do fine. Nugget’s a sweetheart.” May led Spirit toward the gate, gesturing for her to follow on Nugget.
Christy watched her sister’s back for a moment, surprised at the emotion rising in her throat. They’d lost so much time.
***
“See, I knew you could manage it,” May said.
Christy held the reins loosely in her right hand and wrapped the other around the saddle horn. She was doing her best to look as cool and comfortable as May did riding Spirit in her chaps and boots. “Just don’t ask me to do anything.”
“All you do is hang on. Let ol’ Nugget do the rest.”
They were following a fence with the beautiful mountains on their left. May explained they were looking for a break where cows had been getting out. Twice this week the neighboring ranchers, a couple named Jan and Keith Mercer according to May, had to bring back cows that had wandered into their herd.
After a moment May said, “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
Now that they were truly alone, was May finally going to let her have it for being such a rotten sister? It was easier not to respond. Christy jerked loose the pack of squashed cigarettes in her back pocket, bumped one out, and attempted to light up with one hand, concentrating on enjoying the familiarity of the process. It was the only thing familiar about this whole experience. But the wind kept blowing out her lighter.
May glanced over at her, and Christy expected a glare of disapproval. Wasn’t smoking considered a sin? Instead, without a word, May rode closer to her and cupped her hand over the tip of the cigarette, effectively shielding it from the wind. Christy was able to light it without any further trouble.
“Uh, thanks,” she said.
May’s response was a smile, and they continued riding for a few minutes in silence, Christy’s horse walking automatically behind May’s.
“So what’re you doing these days?” May called to her.
An innocent enough question. “I work at a bookstore in Longmont.”
May turned around in her saddle, nodding in approval. “Really? I can picture that. Remember when you used to read to me before bed?”
“And you always fell asleep before I finished.”
“I still remember some of the stories.”
“You do? Which ones?”
May thought for a second. “Those sisters during the Civil War.”
Christy tapped ash off her Winston, letting herself smile. “Little Women?”
“I guess.”
“I think I read that to you a couple times.”
“And that series about those four kids who travel to a different world.”
“Narnia.”
>
“That’s it. I liked that one.”
Another minute passed with only the sound of their creaking saddles and the plodding of the horses’ hooves. Christy was glad May’s back was to her. She’d be even more uncomfortable facing her sister. This whole thing was crazy. In a million years she wouldn’t have pictured horseback riding in the middle of nowhere with May.
She had no idea what to say. It was stupid to hope they could pick up where they’d left off and put the past behind them. Sooner or later they’d have to talk about why she’d left, and Christy dreaded it.
“Chris, how old were we when we got our own rooms?”
She clutched the saddle horn with both hands, cigarette and all. It had been a long time since she’d thought about any of this, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. “I was twelve.”
“Those were good days. Remember PYA?”
“PYA?”
“You know, Pretend You’re—”
“Asleep. Sure I remember.”
“Think Mom and Dad knew?”
“Probably.”
May threw another glance in her direction. “Harvey told me about Aunt Edna’s books.”
Christy sucked at her cigarette. She’d been afraid of this. She’d wondered how May would feel about her, the alienated sister, being willed an equal inheritance plus the books, when May was the one who’d been the dutiful niece. How was she going to tell May the books were gone? Easy. She wasn’t. “I was surprised she gave them to me.”
“Why?”
“I hardly knew her.”
“But she remembered how you loved books. And she never forgot how you’d drool over her library. She told me that the day before she went home.”
The lack of spite in May’s response puzzled her. If only she’d known this great woman like May had. But she’d had her chance and passed it by. As a teenager she’d thought of Aunt Edna as an old-fashioned spinster, part of a generation that would keep her from having fun or would try to mold her into some Goody Two-shoes.
“I’m glad you got the books.”
“A lot of them were gifts from you.”
May smiled. “Never had to worry about birthdays or Christmas.”
“But most of them were religious titles.”
“Well, God was Auntie’s first passion. Books were her second.”