Back in the saddle, p.5
Back in the Saddle, page 5
The flash of the woman’s smile rivaled the brightness of the sun overhead. She released Tina’s arm and extended her the very same hand. “I’m Tori. Tori Davis.”
Chapter Five
“HI MOM.” DEB GAVE her mother a kiss on the cheek before turning her sister’s way. “How’s she been today?”
“She’s doin’ okay, aren’t you, Mom?” Fran answered Deb’s inquiry in a way that let her know their mother had been better.
“Why don’t you go on home. I can take over from here.” Deb reached for the nearly full bowl of fruit that Fran held. She watched the barely recognizable semblance of their mother clamp her mouth shut and roll her head furiously from side to side. She was refusing to be fed anymore. “C’mon, Mom, just one more bite. For me, please,” Deb pleaded.
She speared a small ball of cantaloupe and lifted it to her mother’s tight-lipped and quivering mouth, which opened, albeit reluctantly. As the woman struggled to get her lips around the tines of the utensil, juice dribbled down her chin and spilled onto the front of her pajama top, which Deb noticed was already stained.
Deb’s heart sank for her mother, knowing she would be so ashamed, not only to be wearing soiled clothing, but because she rarely dressed these days. What was even more disheartening was the reality that there was no need to don pretty clothes. All her mother did was move from the bed to the couch to the table and back, only to do it all over again in an endless and pitiful parade. Deb fought to control her tears.
It had been nearly three years since her mother was diagnosed with liver cancer. Together, she and Frances had fought hard to keep her at home. Lately, it was becoming more of a challenge. Bathing her, feeding her, and keeping up with her nocturnal wanderings, while still managing to maintain some type of life of their own, was taking a toll. Deb looked at Fran and wondered how big a role caregiving had played in the recent demise of her sister’s twenty-plus-year marriage.
A sudden unexpected movement brought her focus back to the present. Her mother had moved the blankets to uncover her legs.
“Mom, do you have to go to the bathroom?”
She nodded, and Deb reached to lower the rail of the bed, offering her hand in assistance. Once she’d gotten her mother on her feet, she silently watched her previously strong mother shuffle across the tile, ravaged and weakened by the debilitating and demoralizing effects of the disease. She almost made it before Mother Nature demanded release.
“It’s okay, Mom. I’ve got it. Don’t you worry ’bout a thing.” It broke Deb’s heart to know that, at times, her mother was lucid enough to be ashamed and embarrassed about such happenings. She wished she could make her understand that it didn’t matter. Deb would always be there for her, just as her mother had been there for her in her beginning, and every time thereafter she was needed. The circle of life was completing, as it often did when a parent was aging.
“There you go, Mom. All finished? Let’s go ahead and get you into the shower so we can make sure you’re good and clean. Then I’ll get you set up with popcorn and a movie. What’s it gonna be tonight?” Deb already knew what her answer would be. Without fail, it was always Julia Roberts as Pretty Woman. She often wondered what it was about the film that had her mother so fixated and fascinated. Maybe it was just that she couldn’t remember she’d already seen it more than a hundred times. Deb didn’t really understand dementia, how it wiped out so much of a person’s short-term memory while preserving, intact, the most random and remote fragments of long ago stored information.
She had no sooner popped the movie into the player than her sister announced, by way of a vehicle sighting, that they had a visitor coming their way. Deb had forgotten to tell her that she’d invited Kendall. She quickly filled Fran in about the interview and proposed magazine article before she rushed out to meet her new friend.
Deb needn’t have bothered hurrying. Kendall took her time coming up the drive. She slowed and seemed to admire a lantana bush and a copse of perfectly trimmed shrubbery along the lovingly landscaped way. The private road wound past autumn sage, purple heart, crepe myrtle, Spanish lavender, and agave, all native to the region.
As she climbed down and closed the truck’s door, Kendall smiled at Deb. “This is a really beautiful place.”
“Thanks. This house was Mom’s dream. Come on in.” She slid the screened patio door to one side. “We all worked hard on it. When we first built out here, we’d drive up from San Antonio every weekend. We pulled hundreds of cacti out with pitchforks and our eternally scarred hands.” She turned hers around for Kendall to see. “I can’t stand the sight of the things to this day.” Deb smiled at the bittersweet memory.
The two of them joined the others in the living room, and Deb introduced Kendall to her sister. Kendall shook Frances’ hand politely, then moved slowly toward the loveseat. It was as if she knew not to startle Deb’s diminutive mother. Kendall looked her in the eye, as she reached down and gave her fragile hand a gentle squeeze. “Hello Mrs. Mueller. I’m sorry to interrupt your movie. I’m a friend of Deb’s, and I just wanted to tell you what a lovely home and yard you have here. The flowers, the landscaping, it’s all so gorgeous.”
Deb’s mom took her attention away from the television screen. A spark of intelligence shone through, before her gaze quickly clouded over again.
“Debbie? Debbie!” In apparent alarm, Mrs. Mueller began feebly and frantically calling out to her youngest daughter. Her voice cracked, as if in fear that she’d been abandoned by all familiar faces.
“I’m right here, Mom. It’s okay.” Deb hurried to her side.
Florence looked at her daughter as if she didn’t recognize her face. “Dónde están mis palomitas?”
That quickly, her moment of lucidity, if it had been there at all, gave way to a painfully familiar routine. Deb explained. “Every day, after dinner and clean up, we sit down with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie. Mom can’t always remember what’s just been said, but she can lapse into conversations she had decades ago, in a language only she can understand. She grew up in Laredo, hasn’t spoken Spanish in years, but every now and then, out of the blue, she’ll let out a phrase or two and sometimes go on for minutes. We mostly have no idea what she’s sayin’.”
Deb opened her arms as if seeking an ever-elusive explanation, and Frances moved to dodge them as she delivered a bowl of freshly popped corn to their mother’s outstretched hands.
Deb looked at Kendall. “I’m sorry. I don’t think we’re gonna be able to do this today.”
“Don’t worry about it, Deb. It’s okay.”
Deb motioned to Kendall to follow her into the kitchen. “Do you have plans for next Saturday? If you’re not doin’ anything, how ’bout we have a nice brunch, and then I’ll take you to my place. My awards and trophies and everything, they’re all there anyway.”
“That’s a great idea. I’d love to take a few pictures to go along with the article.” Kendall hesitated, “but…are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you’ve obviously got a lot on your plate.”
Deb smiled in appreciation of Kendall’s understanding of the situation. “Fran’ll be here to give me a break next weekend, so it’ll actually work out better for me. I don’t know what I was thinkin’ when I told you to come over today. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you if you’ll give me another chance. So, whatta you say? Do we have a date?”
Kendall stared at her a moment.
“Absolutely. I can’t wait!”
Deb walked her back out to her truck while Frances waited patiently inside.
Soon after Deb returned, Frances hugged their mother goodbye and gathered her things. Before she headed out the door, she smiled at Deb. “She seems like a nice girl.”
“Get outta here. She’s just a friend, so wipe that grin off your face.”
“Uh-huh,” Frances gave her little sister a kiss on the cheek. “See you next week.”
It was nearly midnight before Deb put her head down on the tiny twin frame that was set up next to the hospital bed her mother slept in. Deb would have to rise with the roosters in order to make it to work before her first meeting. She sure hoped Carmelita would make it in time to take over for her in the morning.
Although she and her sister did what they could, they’d had to resort to hired help during the day. Neither of them could afford to give up working, and their father was simply too old to help much. Besides, they sure didn’t want to put him in an early grave.
Deb tossed and turned, trying to still the thoughts that galloped like wild stallions through her head. Unable to control them, she gave in to their pull and rode along. She was incapable of getting comfortable on the sunken mattress, the one she’d slept on as a kid. Memories of her youth and thoughts of her mother, her recent rodeo losses and wins, and Kendall—and not in that order—all did battle with the poking, inner-coil springs until sheer exhaustion won the war. She finally drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Six
“THIS HERE’S A CATCH rope. It’s what you use to catch the calf.”
“Duh-uh.” Kendall playfully drew out her response.
Deb held a smaller rope in her hand. “And that would make this the tie, or piggin’ string. You always wanna carry two with you, just in case. Tuck one down into the back of your jeans, behind your belt, and carry the other one in your mouth like this. See?” She demonstrated by putting the rope between her teeth.
“Yuck.” Kendall followed Deb’s instructions, then spit in the dirt and pretended to pull nylon frays from between her teeth.
“Cute. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the feel and taste. For now, we’re only gonna be practicing ropin’ the calf, so we won’t be needin’ the piggin’ string.”
Deb tucked the cord into her Wranglers as she’d shown Kendall, then picked up the larger lariat and began slowly circling it over her head.
“You wanna swing the rope with your arm while you take aim with your eyes. It’s all about hand-eye coordination. See how big the loop is? You wanna keep it a lot larger than what you’re tryin’ to rope. It’ll be easier that way.”
With her arm fully extended, Deb let go of the lariat. The knot landed with a thud in the earth, causing a small cloud of dirt to rise up.
“After you’ve gotten it over the calf’s head, when you pull your arm back, the movement will tighten the slack.” She handed Kendall the rope. “Here, you try it. First, just get used to the weight and feel of the lasso in your hand. Then practice swinging it.”
Kendall did as she was told and shown.
“That’s it. Good.”
After a few free throws of the rope, Deb told Kendall she was ready for the next step. She went into the barn and returned pulling a wagon on which she’d balanced a bale of hay and a dummy. The fake calf’s head was made of painted plastic and trailing two long prongs of steel in place of a body and legs. Deb jammed the metal stabilizers into one end of the straw bale and turned it around. They were standing behind the pretend bovine, about six strides away and looking at the back of its tiny head.
“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about it getting away,” Kendall joked.
“Not yet. That’ll come later, when we’re ropin’ real calves,” Deb promised. “For now, get a good swing in your arm and practice letting the rope fly over the animal. See if you can grab the head, or a horn, or anything.”
The first few attempts sent dirt and hay flying. Had it been a real calf, she would have probably knocked the poor thing unconscious. When Kendall managed to get anywhere near her target, all she could do was slam it in the head with the hard knot.
“I can see this is gonna take a while, but I’m not complaining.” Deb moved to stand behind Kendall and shadowed her movements, guiding her gently. “Relax. Let me lead. Follow me.” She spoke near Kendall’s ear, softly.
Deb couldn’t be sure if she had moved forward or if Kendall had stepped back, but one thing was clear—the space that had existed between their bodies when they started had shrunk considerably. She closed her eyes and felt the lids of her eyes flutter and her heart skip a beat, as she leaned into Kendall’s essence. At that very moment, Kendall turned slightly her way, causing Deb’s lips to lightly brush her neck just below the ear. The brief but searing contact was like a hot-iron brand upon her lips. As she struggled to regain her composure and catch her breath, Deb opened her eyes just enough to see the tip of Kendall’s tongue move to wet and part her full and sensual lips. Deb’s heart began pounding in her chest.
Beep, beep, beep, beep…
The pulse of the screaming alarm echoed the throb Deb felt within. She quickly moved to silence the unwelcome intruder, unwilling to accept that what she had been experiencing was only happening in her head. The feeling had been so real, so intense.
Without opening her eyes, she pulled the pillow out from under her and wrapped her arms around it, searching for a return to the all-but-evaporated images of her dream. Unfortunately, it appeared her phantom lover would not be back for a visit, at least not right away. She sighed, illuminated the dial on her watch, and set the snooze in her head.
Deb had always been fascinated by her dreams, although this one didn’t exactly require an in-depth analysis of her subconscious. She was definitely attracted to Kendall. Deb knew it, and wasn’t denying reality. What she didn’t know was how she could go about shaking it. The woman was definitely not available. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway? She’d been alone for quite some time, and no one else had ever provoked such nocturnal tantalizing and teasing.
She wondered what would happen next week, when she came face-to-face with the object of her fantasy. How would she look at her without remembering every delightful minute of her deliciously delectable dream?
Chapter Seven
SHORTLY AFTER SHE LEFT Deb, Kendall got a call from her editor at the paper. She’d been assigned a scoop on what sounded like quite an interesting story, at least relatively speaking. After all, not much happened in the one-horse town in which she found herself living these days.
She spent hours talking to those involved, including the target of the smear campaign, a woman she had met only once before. As soon as Kendall put a face to the name, she wasn’t surprised someone was trying to run her out of town, or at least ruin her reputation. Kendall had met Jones back in September while filling in for one of the beat reporters who was on vacation. That was when she had, for the first and last time, covered the dreaded and dreadful weekly town council meeting. She’d never forget the experience.
Kendall stifled a yawn as the members of the board droned on and on, spewing dollar amounts as they discussed budgets and proposed cuts. As a rule, she stayed out of any discussions pertaining to politics and money, but the writer who usually had this job was trying to get lucky spinning the reels at Lake Charles Louisiana’s L’Auberge du Lac Casino.
The assignment was boring until a local politician roused everyone from sleep with a debate over the issue of land development versus historic preservation.
Miranda Jones stirred up a veritable hornet’s nest with her feverish finger pointing and some serious accusations. Mandy was getting under more than one person’s skin while getting in everyone’s face. By the looks of it, very few had even an iota of affection for her.
The heat and fire in the small cement and block building rivaled the infamous mulch fire in Helotes. The sudden memory of those three months caught in Kendall’s throat and caused her to cough away the emotion. Angry eyes turned her way, attributing her actions to support for the Red Team.
As all hell broke loose around her, Kendall scribbled feverishly across her spiral’s pages.
“What do you mean the ordinance is being revised? We’ve managed to keep city lights at bay precisely by limiting the glow and glare of mega-kilowatts from blazing down on our hometown. What’s going to happen when you start easing restrictions on developers and allow them to build on what little land remains? People are already drowning in flash floods after any heavy rain. Have you given any thought to where the water’s going to go, the runoff? Of course not. From what I hear, the mayor has a vested interest in building. I hear he’s got lots of back slapping, good ol’ boys in big-box places.”
The speaker turned to address the recently sworn-in incumbent of their small city. “What exactly was it that you did, Mr. Mayor, before ousting Lydia by one unlucky-for-us vote in last May’s election? And just how was it that you managed that, anyway? Oh that’s right, I remember, you dismissed yet another regulatory measure, a move that allowed you to cut the size of residential properties and relocate more of your supporting henchmen into our beautiful small town, which is soon to be extinct.”
This was getting good. Kendall’s fingers were aching.
Red-faced and visibly exhausted by his emotional outburst, Ned Johnson, one of the last original homesteaders, remained standing. Across the room, Susan Oliver stood and motioned for the microphone-slash-gauntlet to be handed her way.
“My family and I moved here precisely because we wanted to get away from the very blights that you now want to bring out here to us. The proposed addition of a park in our midst, more than a mistake, is a ludicrous suggestion. If you hadn’t quartered the minimum lot size requirement, there’d be no need nor desire for communal swing sets and sandboxes. The rest of us have plenty of room for our kids to play in our own backyards, as it should be. You’re proposing what’s bound to become a graffiti magnet and gang and pedophile hangout. No doubt, our taxes will be raised for the cleanup. Just you wait and see.”
The rumble of the crowd gained momentum as town crier after town crier stood to have his and her say, all of them ignoring the pounding of the gavel and the ticking of the clock that had long ago announced what should have been the end of the meeting.
By the time Kendall got home, the sun had already set over another very long day. She made her way up the drive to find Tina’s truck parked outside of the garage, and the house dark. “That’s odd.” The eerie stillness felt as if time and Kendall had crept up on her home unexpectedly. Even the nosy neighbors, usually noisy until late in the night, appeared to be in for the evening. Not a dog was barking. There wasn’t the faintest hint of a breeze, and no leaves were rustled by the hasty retreat of a timid lizard. It wasn’t Friday, but it sure was freaky. Chalking it up to having read too many mysteries lately, Kendall put her key in the lock. She turned the knob slowly and went in.
