“Take a chair anyplace,” the woman said. “My name’s Maggie Donaldson. My husband, Don, and I own this ranch, and we want you to have a fine old time while you’re with us.” A large man with sun-weathered features stepped up beside Maggie and waved.
Anne and her father chose chairs about midway down the table. She glanced about curiously, hoping to see girls her age, though many of the guests seemed to be couples with young children.
Anne shook her dinner napkin and placed it across her lap as Maggie continued with introductions. “These kids will be our waiters.” She motioned to a cluster of young people who emerged from the kitchen. “Many are college and high school kids from all over the country who’ve come here to work, earn some money, and have a taste of the West. They’ll be responsible for cooking, clean-up, cabin clean-up—in short, whatever you need to make your visit to the Broken Arrow the best. And the ranch hands are here to work, but if you need anything, ask one of them. We all want to help.”
Maggie gestured toward the food. “Right now, eat up. We’ll have a meeting later tonight to tell you what’s in the works for you all this week. The hands get up early, and you will too. There’s too much to do for a body to lie abed all day.”
Once Maggie had completed her speech, the bowls of hot food were passed along the table. A girl who Anne guessed was close to her in age came alongside with a basket of hot rolls. Anne smiled, and she smiled back and moved on.
Morgan Lancaster watched Anne from the other side of the table, warily. He was convinced that he knew her type—pretty, rich, and pampered. It was the only part of life on the ranch he hated. Every summer, his Aunt Maggie and Uncle Don took in wealthy, often snobby guests who thought that a few weeks on a ranch made them experts on the West.
The spoiled teenage girls were the worst, to his way of thinking. Some of them had provided diverting summer fun for him over the years, but for the most part, he didn’t like them. And he didn’t like the girl across the table from New York City, either. The only thing that got to him about her was her large, expressive brown eyes, which appeared somehow sad. What could a rich girl from the East have to be sad about? He could tell her plenty about sadness, if he had a mind to. Forget it, he told himself. She wasn’t worth his time.
Aunt Maggie stood up and clanged her spoon against the side of her water glass. “When you’re finished, feel free to wander around the premises. Stables for the horses and ponies you’ll be assigned to ride during your stay are open for you to tour. Our boys will be glad to show you around. There’ll be a roping demonstration down at corral four—maps are available at the desk. Remember, the lodge never closes, so come over anytime, day or night. See you back here at eight for the general meeting.”
“So, what do you think?” Anne asked as she and her father walked toward their cabin after dinner.
“I think the food’s great, but I don’t know about all this fun stuff. Frankly, I’m glad I brought along my laptop computer.”
“You’re impossible!” Anne exclaimed, hooking her arm through his. “I’m going down to the stables to choose my horse for the trail ride tomorrow.”
“You do that,” her father said. “I’ll see you back at the lodge for the meeting. I’m glad to see you smiling so much.”
Anne threaded her way around the cabins. She heard the sound of children laughing. The softness of the summer night, the laughter and squeals, made her pause. She would never hear the sound of her own children. Melancholia stole over her. The thought jarred her. Until now, she’d never even thought about being married and having children.
Even if the AZT helped her body arrest the inevitable progress of AIDS, having children was out of the question. The virus could be passed to a pregnant woman’s unborn baby. Anne knew she couldn’t do that to an innocent baby. No marriage. No babies. No sex. Anne mentally went down the list of what HIV was denying her.
“Stop thinking about it,” Anne told herself firmly. No sex didn’t mean no love. She told herself there was a difference, but what man would want to love her, knowing he couldn’t have a total relationship with her?
The Wish money had offered her a few weeks of uninterrupted happiness. She wanted to capture all the fun and good times she could for whatever time she had left. She forced herself to resist negative thoughts about tomorrow, and concentrate on the here and now.
She was just rounding the final cabin site when she heard the distinct sound of someone crying. Anne stopped and strained to catch the direction of the soft sobs, then started toward the source.
For a moment, Anne studied the girl who’d served the rolls at dinner. She tried to put herself in the girl’s place. Would she want some nosy stranger to intrude on her sadness? Yet, even as she wondered, Anne knew she would speak. “Excuse me,” Anne said. “Can I help?”
The girl started, wiped her eyes, and turned away. “Nada,” she said in Spanish. “Nothing.”
“I have a friend back in New York,” Anne told her. “Whenever she says ‘it’s nothing,’ she means ‘it’s the end of the world.’ I won’t pry, but if there’s anything I can do … even just listen … I will.”
With her back still turned, the girl said nothing. After a few awkward moments, Anne stepped backward. Admonishing herself for interfering, Anne started to leave.
She’d gone only a few steps when she heard the girl’s quivering voice say, “Don’t go … please. I need to talk to someone. I’m so unhappy, I could die. Just die.”
Five
A SLIVER OF MOONLIGHT allowed Anne to see the girl’s tear-streaked face. “I’m Anne Wingate. What’s your name?”
“I’m Martes Rodriguez—my friends back home in Los Angeles call me Marti. You’re obviously a guest here. I have to spend the summer out here working. My parents are forcing me.”
“They’re making you work here against your will?”
“It’s really all my brother’s fault. Luis is a cop in L.A. He’s the one who arranged to have me sent out here. About ten years ago, he worked here for two summers in a row. He said it saved his life, because he was in a gang and now all the boys from that gang are dead. He’d be dead too, he said, if it hadn’t been for this place and the Donaldsons’ influence. According to him, this place turned his life around.” Marti sounded angry.
“You’re in a gang?” Anne could scarcely believe that the trim, raven-haired girl in front of her ran with a street gang.
“Not me. My boyfriend, Peter Manterra. My family thinks he’s bad for me. What do they know? They don’t remember what it’s like to be in love.”
Anne saw that Marti was hurting, but she couldn’t imagine feeling such sorrow over being separated from a boyfriend. “It’s only for a summer. Maybe time will pass more quickly if you’re busy.”
“I doubt it. Did you leave a guy back home?”
“Not me. I wanted to spend the summer here. I’m with my father. He’s the only guy in my life! I thought a summer out West on a ranch sounded like fun.”
Marti made a face. “I don’t mind the work, but I miss Peter so much. What if he finds another girlfriend? What if he forgets about me?”
“But if he really loves you, why would he look for another girl?”
“You sound like my mother,” Marti retorted.
Anne laughed. “I’m sorry. I guess that was a parent-type thing to say. But the way you’re complaining about being here reminds me of my father. He gripes constantly about the fresh air and open spaces.”
Marti smiled tentatively. “I didn’t mean to complain about the ranch. Actually, I think it’s a pretty nice place. I live in L.A. near the barrio, and summers are hot and mean. I guess that in some ways, this is a change for the better.” She cut her eyes sideways. “Un pocito. That’s Spanish for a ‘very little.’ ”
“You can write to your boyfriend, can’t you? Every day if you want to.”
“I guess, but it’s hard being separated from him. I love him so much. You must know what it’s like.” Anne didn’t
want to admit that she had no idea what it felt like to be in love. “Why are you here just with your dad?” Marti asked, blowing her nose. “Are your parents divorced?”
“My mother died years ago. It’s just me and my dad. I’m used to it, I guess.” Then, changing the subject, she asked, “Will you get to go on any trail rides with us? Maybe riding horses can take your mind off your boyfriend.”
“The workers are kept pretty busy. We got here over a week before you guests arrived. Our free time’s our own whenever we can grab some of it. I hope to do a lot more riding. A couple of the hands, some of the younger guys, have offered to take me along. The owners’ nephew, Morgan, works on the ranch like an ordinary hired hand, and he’s been nice to me,” Marti added.
Morgan’s image sprang into Anne’s mind. “What’s so unusual about that?”
“You can bet that if I were related to the owner, I wouldn’t be working like a hired hand.” She paused thoughtfully. “But you know, he’s a regular person, not bossy or mean one bit. He’s kind of reckless though. He reminds me of my brother, Luis … kind of loco, you know, crazy.” Marti made a face. “But if it weren’t for Morgan and his friend, Skip, I’d have gone crazy last week.”
Anne could hardly believe that Marti was describing the same guy she’d had words with at the corral. “You sure Morgan was really nice?” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, forget it.” Anne peered at Marti more closely. Her tears had completely dried. “Feeling better?”
Marti nodded. “Thanks. I guess I really did need to talk to someone—someone female and my age who’d understand.”
“Since we’re both going to be here for the summer, maybe we can do things together,” Anne offered. Although Marti was different from Anne’s friends in New York, Anne already liked her. She was open and honest about her feelings.
“I’d like that. The other girls working with me are older—sophomores and juniors in college. We don’t have much in common. I could use a friend. My quarters are on the south side of the lodge, in cabins close by the kitchen. Maybe we could meet tomorrow afternoon. I have free time from two till four.”
Anne gave Marti her cabin number and invited her to come by anytime. The crunch of boots on gravel made them both turn. Morgan ignored Anne and addressed Marti. “My aunt’s looking for you. They’ve cranked some ice cream, and she wants you to help serve it after the meeting.”
“Back to the salt mines.” Marti sighed and shrugged. “See you around, okay? I’m glad we got to talk.”
Anne watched her hurry off. Alone with Morgan, she felt unsure of herself. “I was headed to the stables, toward the tame horses,” she said, unable to resist getting in a dig. “I heard Marti crying and investigated.”
Morgan hooked his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “Marti’s all right—sort of lost out here, but she’s getting used to it. My buddy, Skip, has taken a liking to her.”
Anne wasn’t sure why it pleased her to know that Skip, not Morgan, was interested in Marti. “I guess I’ll get down to the stables before all the decent horses are snatched up.”
“Would you like me to help you pick a mount?” Morgan’s offer surprised Anne. He continued quickly, “I know the animals—all their idiosyncrasies. I could help you choose the right one.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate your help,” she said. His input could be valuable. She wanted a horse with some spirit.
As they walked to the stable in silence, Morgan wondered why he’d volunteered. Yesterday, he’d decided to steer clear of this particular girl, and now he was headed to the stables with her. Deep down, he felt Anne of New York City was trouble. She obviously had money and probably was spoiled. He thought back two summers before, when he’d been sixteen and fallen like a load of bricks for Stacy Donner, a rich debutante from San Francisco. She’d toyed with him. He learned from the experience. Rich girls were fickle and not to be trusted.
At the stable, Anne stopped in front of each stall and studied each horse. The horses were well cared for and content. “Most are quarter horses,” Morgan explained. “They’ve worked on the range and earned the right to some leisure time.”
“Not like the ones in the other corral,” Anne said. “I liked them better.”
“They’re wild. Most of them are jugheads.”
“Jugheads?”
“That’s what we call a horse with no sense. They usually end up as broncos in rodeos.”
“The bay seemed different.”
Her natural eye for horseflesh impressed Morgan. “I’m going to cut him out and work with him. I’d like a new horse, but first I’ve got to see if it’s worth the time and effort to train him.”
“You mean you’re going to break him yourself?” The idea of taming and training a wild horse fascinated her.
“It’s no picnic. It’s hard, time-consuming work,” Morgan replied. He pushed back the brim of his hat and gazed down at Anne. “Before I make a recommendation about a horse, why don’t you tell me which one you think is right for you.”
Anne wandered back along the stalls. She stopped in front of a good-size palomino. “If I have a choice, I’ll pick this one. He’s got nice confirmation and bright eyes.”
Morgan was pleased. Anne had chosen the horse he would have picked for her. “That’s Golden Star, a nine-year-old gelding. He’s yours while you’re here.”
Anne smiled. “I’ve always wanted to have my own horse—and now I will, even if it is only temporary.” Temporary. Now, everything about her life was temporary. She wondered if JWC, her mysterious benefactor, had experienced this sense of impermanence.
“Making plans too far into the future is stupid,” Morgan said. “You never know what’s going to come along and blow them away.”
Anne was surprised that he seemed to understand a person’s life could be shot down, even when the person did nothing to bring it about.
“Look, I should get back to the lodge. Do you mind?” he asked.
“No problem. I’ll stay here and admire my new horse, then head back for ice cream.” She was glad he was being nicer.
Anne watched him walk away and tried not to feel so hopeless. This ranch represented everything she could never have, everything that had been stolen from her by an unalterable circumstance. Tears welled in her eyes and slid softly down her cheeks.
Six
ANNE AWOKE BEFORE dawn the next morning. She tossed restlessly, finally got up, dressed, and headed down to the main lodge. Maggie Donaldson glanced up. “Morning,” Maggie said with a broad, friendly smile. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You’ll be so tired by this time tomorrow, we’ll have to shake you awake.”
Anne saw some of the kitchen crew clearing away the table. “Did I miss breakfast?”
“The hands eat early so they can be about their chores. But you’ve got a few hours before the morning bell. Would you like a piece of fruit to hold you over?”
Anne plucked an apple from a fruit bowl on the table and waved at Marti, who offered a smile and exaggerated sigh. “Catch you later,” Marti said.
Anne wandered over to where Maggie was working. “I already like the ranch,” she told her. “I’ve lived in New York City all my life. It’s so different out here.”
“I’ll bet.” Maggie’s kind green eyes looked up at Anne. “I grew up out here—my Pa, Frank Lancaster, owned the next spread over. I married Don, who owned this place, and when it became impossible to make ends meet ranching alone, we decided to open the place up in the summer. Guests get a taste of the West, and we get to keep working the ranch.”
“You’ve never traveled out of Colorado?” she asked.
“Oh, I’ve been to other places, but no place I liked better.”
“Do you have family here too?”
“Just Morgan, my brother’s boy.”
Anne was curious about why Morgan wasn’t with his father. She would have thought the famil
ies would be working together. “Where’s your brother?”
Maggie looked up, catching Anne’s gaze and holding it. She said nothing, and Anne knew that she’d overstepped the boundary of small talk. Just as Anne began to feel self-conscious, Maggie said, “Why’s a pretty little girl like you sitting around jawing with an old gal like me? You should go out into that fresh air and watch the sun come up. It’s a pretty sight you’ll never forget.”
“Sometimes entire days go by and we don’t see the sun in New York City.” Anne laughed.
“Then all the more reason to see the sun come up over God’s country. When you hear that morning bell, come back for flapjacks and bacon.”
Anne walked outside. She realized Maggie had definitely changed the subject when she’d asked about Morgan’s father. She shrugged. It wasn’t any of her business anyway. Just as her life wasn’t any of theirs.
Overhead, the sky was turning gray with faint streaks of yellow and pink. She heard the sounds of men’s voices, hollering and whooping. Curious, she followed the noise and soon found herself near the corral she’d discovered the day before. A group of men hung over the fence watching. Anne edged closer, straining to see what the commotion was about.
“Come on, Morgan, show him who’s boss,” a dark-haired man called.
“He’s ornery, but you can take him,” another fellow shouted.
Anne unobtrusively slipped into an opening in the cluster of men. In the center of the corral, she saw Morgan standing in front of the big bay range horse. The horse was blindfolded and held by a taut rope around its neck. Morgan, holding the rope, was attempting to inch closer, all the while muttering soothing words to calm the frightened animal.
One of the men called out, “You can think of plenty of sweet things to say if you pretend it’s a pretty woman.”
The hands laughed, and Morgan retorted, “How would you know, Ben? The last pretty woman you talked to fainted dead away.”