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SATURDAYS AT GIGI’S café were more laid-back than weekdays. Customers lingered over their coffee and second helpings of pie. This was a Saturday Danny was working as a dishwasher and busboy. When Chey Little Wolf strolled into the café at eleven o’clock, Mari took a break without worry, and sat to have coffee with the lanky cowboy.
“How’s Travis doing?” Chey asked, nothing but friendly interest in his question.
“Better.” She peered into her coffee cup. Travis’s cool grey eyes stared up at her, his carelessly spoken words stinging her ears: If you want to go, then go. Since yesterday, that heartless remark remained a hard lump in her chest, settling deeper this morning when Sage called Mari into the office to tell her she wouldn’t need to go to the cabin that afternoon.
“Danny and I will spend the afternoon with him. Spence and his daughter Whitney will join us for dinner. Travis says you’ve been working too hard and need some fun. Tonight’s movie night at the Grange. You should go.”
“Did Travis suggest that?”
“Nope, it was my idea. I bumped into Gunnar at the mercantile yesterday, and he said he’s going. Why don’t you join him?”
“I only met him once.”
“Well, I think it’s a good idea you spend time with him since you’ll be working here together this summer.”
“Earth to Mari.” Chey’s amused voice infiltrated her thoughts.
She lifted her head and planted a smile on her lips. “Sorry... Tell me about your job. What do you do at the Tanner’s ranch?”
She enjoyed the mellow, unhurried quality of Chey’s voice, the way his dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She wondered if he would care if she left Hollister. While he spoke, her pretense of interest in the conversation evaporated. It was fascinating to hear what a wrangler did, how it was living on the guest ranch, and the famous people he’d met during the three years he’d been there.
“How many people work on the ranch?”
“Off season, the Tanners keep half a dozen full-time staff. During the season, around twenty. There’re the wranglers, the regular cowhands, a chef and kitchen crew, the housekeeping staff—”
She sat up straighter. “They hire more than one housekeeper?”
“Sure. There’re twelve guest cabins to clean daily and turn out between each stay and at the end of the season.” He wrinkled his broad nose. “I’d rather muck out horse stalls than clean those cabins.”
“Have the Tanners already hired staff for this year?”
“Why? You interested?” He looked pleased.
She hesitated. “Maybe. There don’t seem to be many full-time job opportunities in Hollister. It’s nice knowing what’s available. I’m not cut out to wait tables. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m more of an introvert.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He folded his forearms on the table and leaned towards her, his teeth flashing white in a charming smile. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the shy type. I predict we’d make a good pair.”
“Oh, well, I...”
He sat back; his manner relaxed. “Just a notion. No pressure. So, how about dinner tonight?”
Laughter bubbled. “You just said no pressure.”
“I gotta stay ahead of the competition.”
“Competition? Over me? That’s crazy.”
“Nope. Not crazy, Mari. You’re an attractive woman. And that sweet, southern accent of yours is like warm honey drizzling from a jar.”
“Oh, stop.” She couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing.
“If it’s a no for dinner, how about movies tonight at the Grange? A couple classics are playing I’ve always wanted to see. Don’t make me go alone.”
Travis’s voice rang in her head: You gonna run away like she did?
Mari lifted her chin. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”
***
IT WAS A DOUBLE FEATURE, two old black and white films starring Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn: Bringing up Baby and Holiday. Mari had never seen them. Sitting in the dark, her attention on the flickering screen, the tension building within her since agreeing to go out with Chey lessened. There’d been some curious glances when they slipped in to the Grange seconds before the first movie started, a few smiles and nods, nothing unwelcoming, nothing that screamed: you don’t belong here, you’re not one of us.
She immersed herself in the screwball comedy, joining the laughter and nibbling on the popcorn Chey bought. He sat beside her in the second row of chairs from the back. Once or twice, his arm brushed against hers when he reached into the bag of popcorn.
He’d dressed up for the evening. He wore a long-sleeved western shirt in teal green with pearl snaps, tucked into a pair of black jeans. A brown leather vest, a belt with a silver buckle, and polished black cowboy boots completed his clean, sharp look.
When she first noticed the pearl snaps on his shirt, she recalled Travis describing his rodeo days. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Was he mad at her for behaving like a bratty child? Disappointed by her rudeness when she tossed her playing cards on the bed?
After storming out of his bedroom, she spent the rest of yesterday afternoon in the kitchen. She served dinner in shifts to Squeak, Mutt, and Grady O’Rourke—who’d introduced himself before carrying his plate to the bedroom to talk with Travis. They were still talking when she finished cleaning the kitchen. She left the cabin without saying goodbye.
Earlier today, Jonathan and Pam hadn’t bothered hiding their delight when she told them about her plans with Chey. Although Mari insisted it wasn’t a date, Pam encouraged her to dress up a little. “Go through my closet,” she said. “Find something pretty. I can’t wear most of those clothes now anyway.”
Since Mari’s own wardrobe was basic—limited to three pairs of jeans, four tee shirts, two sweaters, and the two pink cotton work shirts with Gigi’s embroidered on the left breast pocket—she relented to Pam’s suggestion without putting up much of a fight. She decided on black leggings, a cotton tunic in a cheerful peach color, and a turquoise blue, silk and wool dress scarf. Pam’s feet were a half size bigger, so Mari pulled on extra thick socks to wear a pair of dressy black ankle boots. It was that or wear snow boots or sneakers—the only shoes she possessed.
When Chey arrived, the appreciative gleam in his eyes as he appraised her outfit gave her a boost of confidence. It’d been at least one year since she’d gone out with a guy. That was back when she had a car and apartment, before her meager finances and her fragile self-esteem took a devastating blow.
Chey came into the house to greet Jonathan and Pam and enjoy a brief chat. Mari spied the speaking look the men exchanged above her head. Her heart panged; this must be what it’s like when a father warns his daughter’s date to mind his manners.
But this wasn’t really a date, she reminded herself several times that evening. She liked Chey, but he didn’t interest her romantically. At least, she didn’t believe so. She felt comfortable with him, but the fluttery, tingling sensations of attraction weren’t present.
It was clear he was interested in her, though. But, to her relief, he didn’t put any moves on her. He acted the perfect gentleman, opening doors for her, taking her arm as he walked her to her seat, buying her popcorn, asking if she wanted a soda or water. She guessed he picked up on the nervousness inside her that never seemed to diminish when she was with large groups of people. When she stiffened as the lights flickered on for the intermission, he stood swiftly, guiding her to the entryway where they’d left their coats. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he said.
They stood on the edge of a square of light shining from one window. Inside, Mari spotted Shawna and Viv chatting, Samuel hovering. Leslie and Rick Sawyer were there, their nine-year-old son Kyle racing around the room with the other kids. She recognized faces from the mothers’ group that met in the Reading Room twice a week. Dodie Arneson was there too; Mari met her the other day when that woman delivered a jar of applesauce for Travis. The man beside her must be her husband, the pastor at Hollister Lutheran Church. In a far corner, she spied Gunnar, talking with two women who appeared to be Mari’s age.
Everyone was having a good time; the faint sound of chattering voices and laughter filtered through the windows.
“Do you enjoy living here?” she asked Chey.
He cupped his hands to his mouth, blowing on them before answering. The night was chilly, still damp from the recent rain. “I enjoy living on the ranch. Don’t think I could handle living in town.”
“Why?”
“Too confining for a cowboy.”
“Have you ever... Has anyone here treated you different because you’re Native American?”
He smiled good-naturedly. “I prefer the term American Indian. Native American is a label government people back east came up with. But what I prefer best is you calling me by my tribe name: Cheyenne. I’m Cheyenne. Just as you’d say, ‘I am Blackfeet.’”
“I’m only part Blackfeet.”
“Amounts don’t matter. You are Blackfeet.”
“I’m all kinds of things.”
“True, but one of them is Blackfeet. You will sense that connection to your indigenous blood when you spend more time with your people.”
She thought about the strange pulling sensation in her gut whenever she looked at the Crazy Mountains. “I guess.”
“Back to your question. Yes. People have treated me different. All my life. Even at the ranch sometimes. The Tanners have a zero-tolerance policy at their spread. A lot of summer staff they hire come from countries like the Ukraine and Mongolia. We had two Jamaicans helping last year.” He chuckled. “That made for some good times. All of us get along pretty well. It’s the guests, the first-timers, who are a problem sometimes. Seems like the richer they are, the more they imagine they can do whatever they want without consequence. You hear stupid things like, ‘Uh-oh, Chief Little Wolf’s heading this way. Hide the booze.’ They expect me to laugh along with them. There was this one lady—a senator’s wife—who told me how thrilled she was to see a ‘real live Indian’ working on the ranch and not freeloading in an Indian casino.”
He raised his hands in finger quotes on that last remark, his face contorting with displeasure.
Mari winced. “What do you say when that happens?”
“Depends. Maybe I have a more forgiving nature than others might. Most times, I can tell what’s intentional and what just comes from stupidity or lack of exposure. The worst offenders are banned from rebooking. Most guests are long-timers, though. Families who have vacationed at the ranch each summer for generations since the 1930s. They’re decent people. It’s fun seeing how the kids have grown since the previous summer.”
“It sounds like you enjoy working there.”
“I do. But I plan on getting my own place someday. I’ve had my eye on a sweet piece of property near Sourdough.”
Inside the Grange, the lights flashed.
“Time for the next movie,” Chey said.
***
ON SUNDAY MORNINGS, the café opened at ten o’clock. When Mari and Jonathan arrived for work, they found Sage in the kitchen, her hands buried in a bowl of pie dough. From the sweet aroma of fruit pies seeping from the oven, she’d been there a while.
“Oh, good,” she said. “Can you remove the pies from the bottom rack, Mari? They’re done.”
“I’ll get the coffee started,” Jonathan said over his shoulder as he pushed through the swinging door leading to the dining area.
“Did you go to the movies last night?” Sage asked.
Mari set the pies on the cooling racks. “Yes. I went with Chey Little Wolf.”
“Oh? Well... Nice. He’s a good guy.” Sage pressed dough into a pie dish. “Can you crimp this one while I do the others?”
They worked in easy silence for a few minutes, until Mari voiced the question foremost in her thoughts since waking. “How’s Travis?”
“Ugh. Like a grumpy bear. The cold’s in his chest now, and his coughing is keeping him awake all night. Not even Danny’s tacos cheered him. He only ate a few bites. Spence says he’s never seen his brother in such a sour mood. Spence sent Hedda to the cabin this morning. I guarantee she’s pouring honey and lemon tea down Travis’s throat as we speak.”
Mari frowned. “When I left on Friday, it sounded like his cold had cleared. Should we ask Shawna to make more of her soup?”
“I already did. She’s delivering it here after church.”
“So... Do you need me at the cabin today? Or...?”
“Would you? I’m swamped with orders for Easter. I can’t believe it’s one week from today. This year is speeding by. Next thing you know, I’ll be a married lady.”
Mari was writing up an order at the counter when Shawna walked into the café with her typical, head-turning style. Mari saw nothing odd in Shawna’s Sunday-go-to-meeting attire; dressing to the nines for church wasn’t unusual where she and Shawna came from. She wondered what churchgoers thought when Shawna set foot in Hollister Lutheran the first time.
Today, Shawna wore a gorgeous turquoise, knee-length silk sheath with a matching jacket. A beribboned, wide-brimmed hat—also in turquoise—framed her glowing face. When she walked to her usual booth, her silver heels clicked on the linoleum floor. On most Sundays, Samuel Pettersen joined her, but not today.
Her admiration for the woman struck Mari anew, the vibrant colors Shawna wore, the way she carried herself—so confident and graceful, her welcoming demeanor, her gracious smile. Sometimes, Mari wondered if she herself could one day achieve such style and presence. Glancing down at her coffee-stained waist apron, faded jeans and scuffed sneakers, she doubted it. Besides, it required more than clothes to pull off a strut like that; it took inner confidence and absolute fearlessness, neither of which Mari expected she’d ever have.
After seeing to the customers at the counter, she made her way to the booths. The restaurant buzzed with the typical after-church crowd, but the overall atmosphere was unrushed.
“Hi, Mari,” Shawna said. “Have you met Jarrett and Addy Tanner?”
It was then Mari noticed the couple sitting opposite Shawna. They appeared to be in their mid-sixties. The man was big and barrel-chested—the Grizzly Adams type with a bushy greying beard and mustache. His wife looked slender and petite; she had silvery-blond hair and hazel eyes.
“Hello.” Mari shook their outstretched hands, butterflies flitting in her stomach. What a coincidence. She’d been thinking about the Tanners off and on since her talk with Chey yesterday.
“We don’t get to town more than once or twice a month,” Addy said in a soft, unassuming tone. “I’m glad to meet you.”
“Are you the little gal that almost bit Travis Hollister’s thumb off?” Jarrett Tanner asked in a booming, amused voice. “You don’t look like you could hurt a fly. No wonder he thought you weren’t older than fourteen.”