PHOTOGRAPHING A WEDDING was a test of friendship for sure. Even with strangers, wedding work was Lauren’s least favorite photography gig. Take a group of stressed, self-conscious people, add some suppressed family tensions and a lifetime of unrealistic and conflicting expectations, bring the whole mess to a rapid simmer with sleep deprivation, financial strain and alcohol, and the result was less than ideal as far as working conditions. She preferred nature photography any day—a coast at morning twilight, a starlit sky, a mossy forest. Trees and rocks and birds didn’t talk back, or hide from the camera, or tell Lauren how best to pose them so they wouldn’t look fat.
She’d sworn off wedding work repeatedly, only to grudgingly accept a new gig when the money was good, telling herself that maybe this time would be different. She’d come out of retirement yet again at Dalia’s request almost two years earlier.
Dalia had promised there would be no such nonsense from her wedding party, and she’d made good on her word, because they’d all complied with Lauren’s directions without a peep of protest, and looked gorgeous doing so. Lauren had never encountered a group so photogenic, or so easily managed.
There’d been undercurrents of tension, of course—all of which involved Tony’s father, Carlos. Tension between Carlos and his sons, Carlos and his father, Carlos and his ex-wife. He seemed nice enough—charming, in fact, with a sort of shimmery quality that made you notice him. But something wasn’t right. Tony and Alex both seemed fine with their mother, Lisa, and Lisa seemed fine with her ex-father-in-law. The trouble, whatever it might be, was with Carlos.
But whatever that trouble might have been, it hadn’t affected the pictures. Looking them over on her laptop the morning after the whole haunted-baby-cradle, fallen-tree-limb, mistaken-ghost-sighting scenario, Lauren was amazed all over again. They were good.
Dalia, beautiful to begin with, strong and confident, swept along on a giant wave of joy. Tony, stunned with happiness, pleased with everything and everyone.
She clicked on a thumbnail of Tony and the groomsmen, in their coordinating but nonidentical outfits: dark jeans, brown cowboy boots, mismatched patterned shirts in a muted autumnal palette and waistcoats ranging from ivory to camel. Tony had a brown herringbone jacket, as well.
Alex wore a plaid flannel shirt with a creamy tweed waistcoat. Even in that crowd of fun-loving, good-looking guys, he stood out. There was something special about him—his bright eyes, his quick step. That slight smile that lifted his cheekbones. The full-on smile that dazzled like the sun.
He was an inspired dancer, but Lauren quit after one song. She had pictures to take, she told him; she really didn’t have any business dancing at all. And Alex didn’t push. He went on to dance with a dozen other girls. He didn’t stand still ten seconds once the band started to play, and was as energetic and graceful at night’s end as when he’d begun.
Lauren had gotten a lot of candid shots of him. She hadn’t realized just how many at the time.
She was sitting on her bed in the back of her van, propped up with pillows. Alex’s calling card stood in one of the windows with the esperanza spray lying in front.
Esperanza means hope.
The flowers looked like tiny golden trumpets. Lauren touched them, then ran a finger along the line of old-fashioned type on the calling card. Alejandro Emilio de Reyes.
The rumble of a truck engine took her by surprise. It couldn’t be eleven already; she couldn’t possibly have spent the last two hours gazing at wedding pictures.
But it was, and she had.
She’d only meant to spend a few minutes glancing over the pictures. Actually, she hadn’t even meant to do that. She’d started her computer with the intention of checking her email and attending to some minor work-related things, but instead she’d opened the album. Now here was the morning nearly gone and Alex ready to mend the busted fence. And what was she doing? Gazing at his pictures, with the card and flowers he’d given her sitting there like some sort of shrine.
Don’t be an idiot, Lauren. You can’t afford to get all gooey over the first good-looking guy to come along. Remember why you’re here.
Last night she’d been entirely too loose and flirty with him. Today she would be all business. Terse. She would be terse.
She clicked out of the album, shut her laptop and whisked the card and flowers into the wastebasket.
The truck parked alongside the tractor shed was not last night’s Silverado with the shop’s logo on the door, but a muscular-looking Dodge crew cab spattered with mud.
Alex stepped out. He wasn’t wearing his vaquero clothes today; he had on jeans, Ropers and a denim jacket. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hey there,” Lauren called as she walked out to meet him. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your clothes.”
Wow. Way to start the conversation. And it wasn’t even true. She’d just spent the last two hours drooling over pictures of him in his best-man getup, and she was pretty sure she’d recognize him at a hundred yards in a tuxedo, or an apron and chef’s hat, or a Mongolian deel.
“I mean your other clothes,” she explained lamely. “The reenactor ones.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to get them messed up,” he said. “We’ve got fence to mend.”
“What about that authentic lived-in look?”
“Lived-in is authentic. Smears of Quikrete, not so much.”
“True. I like your ride.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s its name?”
“Rosie.” His voice had a defensive, do-you-want-to-make-something-of-it? sound.
Too late, Lauren remembered she was supposed to be terse. Maybe she’d be cordial instead. That would be better, anyway. Terseness would imply that she had something to guard against. Yes, she would be cordial, as cordial as she’d be with any casual acquaintance.
“Nice and warm today,” Alex said. “Is the power back on?”
“Yep.”
“Goats all right?”
“Yep. Durango’s with them. Our fence patch is still holding.”
This was good. Weather and livestock: safe topics of conversation.
In the machine shed, Alex filled a one-gallon bucket with work gloves, a level and an iron crowbar, then loaded a bag of Quikrete, a cedar fence post and some two-by-fours onto the tractor’s tool rack.
He handed the bucket to Lauren. “Take this to the goat pen. I’ll hook up the post-hole digger to the tractor and meet you there.”
The goats were spread out in their paddock, but when Durango saw the tractor coming, he herded them into the shed.
Lauren watched as Alex maneuvered the tractor into place, started the huge auger spinning and lowered it close to the post that had broken. Slowly the auger made its way through the soil.
Once the hole was dug and the tractor was parked, Lauren took the new post off the tool rack and set it in the hole. She and Alex worked together to brace the post with two-by-fours.
“You seem to know your way around a fence,” Alex said.
“Oh, yeah, I’m an old hand at ranch work.”
“The heck you say.”
“It’s true. I spent a summer on a ranch in the interior of Mexico.”
“What, like a guest ranch? A resort?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a resort if they made people mend fence, would it? No, a regular working ranch. I parked my van on the property and worked cattle for three months.”
He was quiet a moment as he nailed the last two-by-four in place. Then he said, “Huh.”
He cut open the bag of Quikrete and poured the dry powder into the hole while Lauren filled the bucket with water from the pen’s hydrant. She poured the water into the hole, where it turned the cement mix to thick sludge. Alex added some large rocks and jammed them in tight with the crowbar. Then they adjusted the bracing, with Alex checking the post repeatedly with the level.
Finally, he nodded in satisfaction. “Perfectly plumb.”
They stood together awhile, watching the goats. There was a cool breeze, but the sun was warm on Lauren’s shoulders. In Mexico, she’d been pleasantly surprised to learn that a lot of farm work—not most, but more than she would have thought—involved just standing around staring. It wasn’t constant drudgery. It had lovely moments of leisure.
“The Angoras are bringing in some pretty respectable money,” Alex said. “I got to hand it to Dalia, she has a good head for business. And she sure makes Tony toe the line.”
“I think they seem very happy.”
“Oh, I know they are. Tony needs someone to manage him. He likes it.”
“Yeah? What about you?”
“I toe my own line.”
He checked his watch. “Four hours ’til the post is set. Then we can restring the fence.”
It was a long time, but she didn’t think she’d mind the wait. She’d expected to spend the weekend brooding over Evan, but there was something about Alex, something terribly attractive about his strength and efficiency and attention to detail, that made her ex seem kind of paltry. The effortless way Alex had hefted the Quikrete bag. The way he’d expertly backed the tractor little by little while the auger was running in order to keep the hole exactly vertical.
“What are you looking at?” Alex asked. “Do I have Quikrete on my face?”
“Sorry, no. I guess I’m just surprised by your commitment to the task. Most guys would’ve thought they’d done more than enough in patching the fence back together last night. No one would blame you for leaving the rest to Tony and Dalia.”
“I want the job done right before they get back. Tony and Dalia have been up to their necks in work. Here they’ve finally taken a weekend off, and with the baby coming who knows when they’ll get another chance. I don’t want them to come home to a big mess. I’m just so happy they’re together, you know? I mean, you talk about a big mess, that’s what Tony was not long ago. The family’s thrilled that he got back with Dalia and got his act together. I want to support them all I can.”
“You’re a good brother,” Lauren said. Good brother, nice guy. One who belonged in the platonic category. Cordial. She must be cordial.
“Ah, it’s not that big a deal. Couple of generations ago, it was normal for family and neighbors to help each other—in the country, anyway. That’s how they survived. Folks today are so insulated from their neighbors, their communities. I like living somewhere that people still look out for each other.”
“That’s how it is in the van community. I’ve met a lot of good people in groups and forums online. Everyone is so friendly and helpful and quick to share knowledge. I’ve met a lot of good people in my travels, too.”
He frowned. “That’s not really the same thing, though. You can’t have the same kind of relationships with people you only know online, or people you’re with only a little while as you gallivant along, as you can with people in the same town.”
“I don’t gallivant along. I’m very purposeful in my travels. And I don’t believe friendship has to be limited by geography.”
“Maybe friendship isn’t, but community is. Neighbors are people you see over and over, day after day, year in and year out, because you have to. You can’t just pick up and move, or exit out of the forum or whatever, every time they start to bug you. There’s a whole different level of commitment. You can’t have a relationship of value without being locked in. You just can’t. Being locked in is one of the requirements. Otherwise you’re just doing whatever feels good at the moment.”
He looked so smug, explaining her own existence to her, lecturing her like some child. She could tell him a thing or two about commitment, and about people who did whatever felt good in the moment and then moved on, regardless of who they hurt. I know about commitment, jerk. I committed—and got my heart run through a meat grinder and tossed back to me like it was garbage.
What would Alex say, if she told him about Evan? Probably that it was her own fault for falling so fast, for refusing to see what a shallow man-child Evan was.
“You don’t know anything about it,” she said.
“I don’t have to know anything about it. It’s obvious. People who spend all their time traveling around are afraid to put down roots.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe people who hide in the past are afraid to let go.”
LET GO.
Alex was sick to death of those words. He’d heard them just last night, in his father’s latest nasty phone call. Quit your griping, Alex. You lost—and getting your panties in a wad won’t change that. It’s time to let go.
People who only ever saw his dad in charm mode would never believe how vicious he could be. He was as smooth as melted butter as long as everything was going his way and he felt like he was getting his due. But call him on his bull, and out came the poisonous fangs.
And Alex had been calling him on his bull for a long time now.
Let go.
It was the hypocrisy of it that really chapped Alex’s hide—as if his father had ever let go of anything. Chasing losses was his entire life, and he didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
Lauren was looking up at him with flushed cheeks and her chin tilted and her eyes bright with anger—like she was the one who’d been wronged, like she’d put him in his place. What did she know about him?
He clenched his hands, focusing on the sensation of his nails digging into his palms, letting the pain steady him.
Then he turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?” Lauren called after him.
“To find four hours of work to do until the fence is ready to restring. Go back to your van. I can handle the rest myself.”
She followed him. “Who made you foreman? I’m the ranch-sitter. If anyone should be doing the work, it’s me.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Really? What about all that stuff you just said about community and helping each other?”
What was wrong with her? Why wouldn’t she just go away and leave him alone? It wasn’t like she wanted to be around someone like him. But he couldn’t go on refusing her help without looking like a jerk.
He stopped. “I’m going to drive around the fallow pasture and pick up some of the firewood Tony chain-sawed last year. It ought to be ready to split and stack. If you want to come along, I won’t stop you.”