Lone Tree (12 page)

“Shit!”

Reed’s head jerked around, eyes wide at her
language, then his gaze dropped to her shirt. “Yep. That’s what it is, all
right.” He looked away, expression strained. Lainie paid little attention.

The gross...stuff...was revolting. The stench alone
gagged her.

Carefully, nose and face wrinkled at the smell, she
pulled the garment free from her jeans, then unbuttoned it, cuffs first. By the
time she got to the second cuff, she had Reed’s attention. By the time she
reached the last button down the front, she had everybody’s attention.

The smelly brown mound was on the right side, and
she gingerly extricated that arm first, heedless of her audience. Then, holding
her left arm straight out from her body, she pulled the offending shirt free.
With great distaste, she wadded it up and plopped it at the feet of the nearest
steer.

She pivoted to Reed and shot out her hand. “Keys,”
she demanded.

His gaze rose from her black lace bra to her eyes.
If he didn’t close his mouth, he was going to catch one of those flies.

“Keys!” she snapped, waggling her hand. “You can get
a ride. I need the truck.”

She had to get out of there and go get a shower. The
stuff had soaked through the shirt and touched her skin. Her skin! It was on
her skin!

At the back of her mind she was aware of the
spectacle she was making of herself. The only clean bra she had left this
morning was this flimsy, expensive piece of lingerie she’d bought in a weak
moment, just because it was pretty. And now she was parading around in it, in
front of a dozen or so cowboys.

Reed’s attention was again riveted on the black lace
and what it wasn’t covering, but he’d regained enough sense to dig into his
pocket and he came up with the keys. She grabbed them and stomped off to the
pickup in her boots, jeans, bra, and straw hat.

She climbed up into the red truck, slammed the door and
took off in a hurry, leaving a wake of dust—and several pairs of stunned
eyes—behind her.

*

Lainie arrived at Jackie’s house for supper, bowl of
green salad in hand and stoic expression in place. It’d only been yesterday
she’d shown everybody her pretty black bra, and she’d been tempted to cancel
tonight’s plans, but had told herself that some things in life one just had to
deal with. Putting this one off wasn’t going to make it any easier to handle.

Jackie said nothing when opening the door, just gave
her guest a big toothy grin. Lainie ignored her and headed for the kitchen
where a pot of beans and bacon was simmering.

Her friend’s amused drawl followed her. “I’ve been
asked a question by a whole bunch of people—mostly of the male persuasion—that
I can’t answer. Guess they’re hopin’ I’ll get the answer out of you.”

When Jackie joined her in the kitchen, Lainie
wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Was that a bikini top you were wearin’ at the
practice arena yesterday, or was it a bra?”

Lainie opened the oven door. The cornbread was
starting to brown. She helped herself to dishes in the cabinet and set the tiny
kitchen table for the two of them.

“It was black and lacy, I heard, very pretty and
downright sexy. Is that right?”

Lainie got napkins and utensils and placed them
around the plates.

“And skimpy, real skimpy. Didn’t cover up a whole
lot, I heard.”

Lainie leaned back against the sink, folded her arms
and attempted to stare Jackie down. Jackie leaned against the refrigerator,
folded her arms and won the staring contest hands down.

“So far as I can tell, the reason these menfolk have
been asking, is that they want to know where you bought it so they can get the
same thing for their significant others. You made quite a hit, girl.”

“Jackie, that cow—steer, whatever it was, it—”

“I know what it did. But what’s going down in
everybody’s memory is what you did.”

Lainie leaned her head back and stared at the
ceiling.

“Heavens to Betsy,” Jackie went on without mercy.
“Wish I’d been there. A show like that and I had to miss it.”

“Is that pot of beans almost ready?”

“What else were you wearin’? Haven’t heard much
about the rest of your attire. Seems everybody’s attention was riveted on that
black, lacy, see-through thing you had on up top.”

“I’m going to mix the salad. You’d better check that
cornbread. I don’t want to eat it burnt on the bottom.”

“Reckon it’s a good thing that steer didn’t get
anything on your jeans, too.”

“Oh, Jackie. Enough. Please?”

Jackie’s tickled-pink expression didn’t abate, but
she grabbed potholders and opened the oven door. “Sit down then, and let’s
eat.”

Lainie fed Glory a slice of apple and glanced at the
two empty stalls at the end of the stable. Coco and Misty Morning had moved on
with Andy and Mack to a ranch outside of San Antonio. Mack was head cowboy for
a group of wranglers, some of whom were available only on weekends, while
others could take longer assignments. Andy was older than he appeared, she’d
learned; he held a bachelor’s degree in finance and was working the summer to
help pay off college loans. Miles paid top wages to contract labor cowboys, one
hundred seventy-five per day. They supplied their own dogs, horses and tack.

Thinking about the hefty noon meal served to all the
ranch hands, she got another thought and looked over at Nelly. “I seldom see
you in the dining room.”

“Got me a hitch in my git along,” he said as he hung
a grooming brush on its peg.

Her eyes narrowed as she translated that.
“Arthritis?”

“Yep.” He gave her a rueful smile. “Move around okay
most days, but it don’t like me to walk much.”

She learned from Rosalie that he also suffered with
ill-fitting false teeth, but instead of putting himself into a dentist’s hands
he’d put himself on a soft-food diet. The cook prepared special meals for him,
and Lainie fell into the habit of taking her lunch and his out to him.

“Um,” he said as she approached with a tray one warm
day at noon. “That sure do smell good, little missy.”

A circular bench had been built around an aged elm.
Nelly sat there, waiting for his dinner. She took the cover off a soup bowl
containing mashed potatoes smothered in chicken gravy. Nelly’s eyes grew big
and he started right in. Lainie was happy with a drumstick and a hot biscuit
with a slab of butter melting in the middle.

She’d not asked, but assumed Lone Tree Ranch had
been named after the elm they sat under. A few mulberry trees were scattered
here and there, but nothing quite as beautiful or imposing as the solitary elm.

Nelly finished his potatoes and started on the
applesauce. Rosalie made it especially for him, and every day he ate a big bowl
of the mushy fruit, smacking his lips like a happy child.

“Glory be askin’ about you,” he said, and Lainie
smiled.

“I’m gonna say hi, maybe walk her around a bit.”

“You not be out in a while.”

“Everyone’s been busy.” She rubbed her greasy
fingers on a napkin. “But I’ve got a date with Reed for the oasis tomorrow.”

She’d given herself a good talking to, and had
decided she wasn’t going to run scared of that cowboy. If she couldn’t control
her libido—and resist his—she needed to turn tail and skedaddle home.

“Too bad you not out on your own yet.” Nelly’s spoon
dinged the side of the bowl. “Come and go as you please.”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to that, but Reed—”

“Has to be sure.”

“Uh-huh.” Lainie gave him a half-smile. “Is he
right?”

Nelly grinned. “He’s right, but you’re almost
ready.”

Nelly could’ve been a well of information regarding
Lone Tree history, especially Miles and Elizabeth, but Lainie kept their
conversations casual. She suspected Nelly had guessed she was more than just a
misplaced Californian. That had been her gut impression when she’d first met
him and that feeling remained, though nothing had happened to strengthen it.

She was on guard with him, yet curiously she was
also relaxed. Lainie liked and very much enjoyed this wizened old man who never
had a complaint about anyone or anything. The most she’d dared was to ask at
one point, keeping her voice light, “How come you call me little missy? For
goodness sake, I’m bigger than you are.”

But he’d chosen to answer literally. “No, little
missy. We might be close to the same size, but you’re not bigger.”

Once they finished their meal, he ambled back to the
stable, and Lainie headed for the house with the depleted food tray. She met Miles
on the porch.

“You’re your own boss today,” Miles said, then
paused and gave her an amused look. “But then again, I’ve got a feeling you’re
always your own boss. I’ll be back for supper.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

The kitchen was empty. While Lainie arranged her and
Nelly’s dishes in the dishwasher, Rosalie walked in.

“There you are.” The housekeeper held car keys up.
“Shopping day. Angie’s youngest has the sniffles and she’s gone on home. You’re
on your own, Lainie. Bye.”

Lainie looked at the doorway and the empty kitchen,
then entered the silent hall. The house was huge and she felt strange in it by
herself. At the office door, she paused and looked down the corridor toward the
personal wing.

Not thinking about it twice, she passed up the
study. She’d never get a better opportunity to explore her mother’s room. Her
footsteps sounded loud, following her, telling on her. When she pushed the
bedroom door open and entered, her feet sank into a pale lavender carpet. The
muted colors created a soft, restful aura. Elizabeth had possessed a knack for
color, and it was obvious in this room.

A vase on the nightstand held lilacs. They looked so
real she crossed to them and gently touched one, needing to ascertain that it
was artificial. She was grateful it was. Fresh flowers would be too eerie in
this room that seemed to be waiting for its occupant, who’d fled from it
twenty-five years ago and now was no longer alive.

Lainie’s sense of awe grew as she looked around the
room. Timidly she pulled open the drawer of the nightstand and discovered a
historical romance paperback that made her eyes moisten. Her mom had always
loved those.

Beneath the book was a
Texas Youth
magazine
and a
Young Bride
. She sat on the bed and stared at the second
periodical. She and Elizabeth had thumbed through countless magazines like this
when she’d been engaged to Jason. But her mother had pored over this one,
dreaming her own dreams, before Lainie existed.

Pushing the drawer closed, she mused about Miles
saving the room exactly as Elizabeth had left it. Her departure must have hit
him hard. But he might also have been suffering from guilt.

Why, Mama
? she thought.
Why,
Miles? What happened?

Her gaze rose to the dresser and the two picture
frames. She stood, remembered to straighten the bedspread, and was struck by
the thought her mother had slept in this bed for almost half her life. She felt
close to Elizabeth in this room, yet was aware of distance. This was a part of
her mother she’d not known or shared.

She shook off the sadness and crossed to the
dresser. One picture was black and white—Miles, Alice Ann and baby. Lainie’s
eyes grew moist. This had meant enough to her mother that it was on her
dresser, yet she hadn’t packed it. What had she taken with her?

The second photograph, in color, was of a grown
Elizabeth in a blue, full-length formal gown. Lainie picked it up and smiled.
Prom night? Grad night? Then she sobered. Who was your date, Mom? Garth?

She replaced the picture and pulled open drawers.
Beneath protective tissue lay underwear, nightgowns, sweaters, stationery. In
the act of closing the last drawer, Lainie pulled it open again. Her eye had
caught a bulky envelope.

Yes, snapshots; several of them. She sat in the
white satin slipper chair and went through the pictures. She recognized her
mother’s handwriting on the backs of some. At one, she caught her breath:
Elizabeth and Jackie Lyn, both sitting bareback astride a majestic palomino.

But—

Then she laughed at herself and how slow she was.
She’d not met Jackie’s mother, but she now knew what she looked like.

The next one was of the same women and two young
men, all four in formal attire. Lainie glanced at the larger photo atop the
dresser. Yes, her mother was wearing the same dress. The man next to her in the
snapshot was husky and dark-haired and of medium height. She turned it over, a
slight tremble in her hand. But it read:
Raymond and Margene, Elizabeth and
Harlan
.

Lainie was almost at the end of the pictures when
she grew still. It was Elizabeth with a different man, and something about her
mother’s expression told Lainie what the man’s name was. She turned the picture
over. Nothing.

The next one was of the same man, by himself. He was
smiling at the camera and his hands were extended, caught in a come-here
gesture. Both the smile and gesture appeared smooth, practiced, posed. But it
was an effective pose. His name was written in the lower right corner of the
photograph. It wasn’t her mother’s handwriting.