Chapter 4

Supper…with Bea there…Luke took a sharp intake of air. Knowing her, she’ll ‘slip’ about me leaving Maeve’s room. Doesn’t matter that nothing happened. Bea gets too much pleasure skewing facts, then watching people squirm.

The waitress delivered their orders.

“That’s my cue to let you young people enjoy breakfast. See you both tomorrow.” Rosie retrieved her tray, then navigated the steady streams of customers coming and going, all the while trading pleasantries and balancing the overloaded platter in one hand.

Maeve leaned across the table. “Your aunt’s such a warm person.”

“She’s a born nurturer—always feeding or encouraging someone, whether here or at home.”

“And she makes it look easy.”

“She invented multi-tasking.” He eyed his plate of grilled chorizo, crispy corn tortillas, eggs sunny-side up, homemade guacamole, and refried black beans, all lightly sprinkled with crumbled cotija cheese. “How are your huevos rancheros?”

“Picture perfect and they smell heavenly.”

“Dig in.” His stomach rumbling, he inhaled the intoxicating aromas of his chilaquiles verdes, the lemony floral fragrance of cilantro balancing the sausage’s spicy scent. “Nobody cooks like Aunt Rosie.”

Her mouth full, Maeve groaned and nodded, enjoying her breakfast.

His fork poised mid-air, he opened his mouth to speak, then stifled a sigh.

She cocked her head. “Something on your mind?”

“Yeah.” He gave a wry chuckle. “About last night—”

“Everything all right?” The waitress leaned between them as she refilled their coffee cups.

Flinching, Maeve clattered her fork against the dish.

“Delicious. Thanks.” He nodded, waiting until the waitress moved to the next table. “You and I know nothing happened, but—”

“Then let’s keep it our secret.”

“If only it were that simple. This morning, Bea caught me leaving your room.” He stifled an uneasy sigh. “At the very least, she and the night clerk suspect…” Growling in his throat, he shook his head. “There’s no delicate way to put this.”

“I get the picture.” Her smile was crooked. “Like you said, nothing happened. The roads were closed, and we did the only sensible thing. That’s all there was to it.”

Was it? He remembered faking sleep when she emerged from the bath, smelling of lemon and vanilla. More than part of him hoped she would choose his bed, but she had slipped into hers. Fantasies don’t count. He repositioned himself on the chair. “You’re absolutely right, that’s all it was, but I wanted you to know in case…anyone…brings it up.”

“Anyone…do you mean Bea?” She arched her brow. “Which reminds me, why did you call her territorial? Are you two seeing each other?”

Her directness startling, he ran his hand across his mouth. “No.”

“That wasn’t my impression.” Maeve’s eyes twinkled.

“We dated a while back, but we’ve gone our separate ways.” No need for details. He drew a cleansing breath before nibbling the sausage.

“Maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He washed down the food with coffee.

“Maybe you’ve gone your way, but Bea hasn’t.” She dipped her fork into the pico de gallo.

“What makes you say that?”

“Subtle details”—she chuckled—“like her death-grip on your arm or her blocking my exit or glaring through the window when you helped me into the truck.”

“Didn’t realize she was that obvious.” He wolfed down the refried beans with a toasted tortilla. “I only mentioned this topic because…” His mouth went dry. “She’ll be at my aunt’s tomorrow for supper.”

“Isn’t tomorrow’s supper a family gathering?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why’s she coming?” She squinted. “If Bea’s not your ‘friend,’ is she another cousin?”

“No.” He laughed at the notion. “But for some reason, Aunt Rosie always includes her—considers her family.” He shrugged, wanting to end the topic. “We’d better eat before the eggs get cold.” He shoveled a forkful into his mouth, then remembered his plans. “After breakfast, how’d you like to drive to the park and see Marianna’s old homestead?”

“I’d love it.” Her green eyes lit up, then dimmed. “But I don’t want to keep you from whatever you’d planned.”

“This is the slow season. Besides, with the snow, I can’t work in the vineyard, anyway.” Enjoying her company, he looked forward to the day’s plans. “The park’s only two hours from here. We’ll be back before dark.”

“I’d really like to connect with Grandma’s stories—walk in my ancestors’ footsteps, touch something they handled.” Her shoulders hunching, she chewed her lip. “But what if the insurance company calls?”

“Smitty will take care of it.” Is she stalling? “Or maybe you’d rather not go…?”

“No, I just don’t want to step on”—she winced—“anyone’s toes.”

Is that all? “Trust me. You’re not stepping on Bea’s toes.” The morning brightening, he dug into his chilaquiles with renewed gusto. Yesterday brought Maeve. What’ll today bring?

****

We pulled into Big Bend National Park just as the sun climbed above the mountains. The sky was cobalt blue, and the snow capping the peaks contrasted against the flame-colored rocks. Despite the frosty temperatures, the mountains’ rugged beauty was inviting.

“Want to go for a hike?” Confined to the passenger’s seat for two hours, I jumped at the opportunity to stretch my legs. “This path’s calling me.” I gestured toward the trailhead with my thumb.

“You sure you’re up for a three-mile hike through creosote and cat’s claw?”

I took in the austere beauty, then laughed. “Three miles is just a warmup.”

Luke parked near a narrow caliche path. “The morning is still chilly, but when the sun’s overhead, it can take its toll. I’ll bring water just in case.”

“I’m not new to desert conditions.” I met his gaze. “Don’t forget I spent time in Afghanistan.”

“I did forget.” He dipped his chin while he fished two water bottles from the back seat. “Ready?”

As I stepped from the warm cab, the icy mountain morning jolted me awake. My senses reeled from the bracing freshness, and the cobwebs cleared. For the second time since my discharge, I sensed a purpose—a mission. What it is, I haven’t a clue, but I’m not adrift.

The frosty air filling my lungs, I closed my eyes and tilted my face to the sun, letting its warm rays penetrate every thought and cell. A sense of place permeated me, and I wrapped my arms across my chest, hugging myself. I’ve come home.

When I opened my eyes, I caught Luke watching and gave a sheepish laugh. “I love the high desert.”

“Apparently.”

“Didn’t realize how much until this moment.”

“Why?” He cocked his head.

Taking in the craggy splendor as I scanned the horizon, I spoke in a whisper. “Its raw beauty…” Then I flung out my arms, encompassing the magnitude of the land. “But the sense of freedom is what I love most.” I pointed to the prickly-pear cactus and yucca dotting the chaparral. “Even the plants give each other space. Here, I’m not restricted, not boxed in. I have room to grow.”

“They practice social distancing.”

I laughed. “That and the desert offers a oneness with nature—a solidarity. Here, I’m free…yet I belong.”

“I feel the same way.” His gaze steady, he nodded. “This land beckons with a melody few hear.”

“Beckons—yes, that’s the word.” Sensing a kindred spirit, I took a second look, homing in on his inviting lips. His chest hair peeked from his V-neck shirt, and my pulse quickened. Then Cody’s face flashed before my eyes, and I skidded to an emotional halt. “Want to continue this discussion while we hike?”

“Good idea. Do you like petroglyphs?”

“Absolutely, I love anything to do with history. Why?” I started on the caliche trail.

“That formation has ancient petroglyphs.” He pointed to the rocky crest on the left. “If you don’t mind scrambling up rocks and know where to look…” His eyes twinkled in the morning sun.

“A challenge? You’re on.” Tossing my chin, I pushed past him to lead the way. Twenty-five minutes later, I reached the base of the cliff, then scrambled up the steep slope.

He pointed to a ledge several feet above the sheer rock wall. “That’s where you’ll find the rock carvings.” Nodding toward the rise, he cupped his hands to give me a boost.

“Thanks.” I pushed off, reached for the ledge with my other hand, and hoisted myself the rest of the way. “Your turn.” I caught his hand and pulled as he scaled the smooth rock face.

The ledge was so narrow, we sat shoulder to shoulder, facing the desert’s expanse with the petroglyphs at our backs. To see the weatherworn lines and circles, I had to twist my torso. Some figures were etched into the rock wall; other pictographs were painted on its surface. “I wonder what these symbols mean.”

“I’ve heard the zigzag lines indicate lightning or they warn of snakes.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure of their meanings, but from their sheer number, I’d guess this place was important.”

“Maybe sacred.” Our shoulders rubbed each time we moved. The downy hairs on the back of my neck tickling from the electricity passing between us, I shivered as the currents barreled down my spine.

“Cold?” Eyes wide, he caught my gaze.

I opened my mouth to speak but, forgetting what I meant to say, lost myself in his inviting brown eyes and could only nod.

He reached his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, sharing his body warmth.

With the faint scents of leather and saddle soap wafting from his jacket, his nearness was intoxicating, and I was tempted to lean into a kiss. Yet huddled together on the bone-chilling ledge, I gazed instead at the rugged wilderness surrounding us, content to savor the sweet ache of longing. If more is meant to be, it’ll happen.

Then thoughts of Cody froze me like a blue norther. Why did he come to mind?

****

So close, Luke felt the rise and fall of her chest each time she breathed. Her hair tickled his ear, raising goosebumps—and possibilities. If she turns toward me or gives any sign…But her sigh signaled something else. He side-glanced to read her mood, but she stared at the scenery, apparently oblivious of his rising libido.

“Want…” His voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Want some water?”

“Sure.” She turned her head quickly, her hair brushing his cheek with a citrus scent.

He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a bottle, and opening it, handed it over.

She took a long swig, then returned it with a smile. “Thanks.”

Not wiping off the bottle, he took a long swallow, sending a subtle signal. Then he offered it to her, watching her response.

Her cheekbones rose, and her lips curved in a half-smile. Her green eyes sparkling like fireworks, she reached for the bottle, drank it dry, and handed it back. Then with a snicker, she jumped off the ledge. “Weren’t we going to the homestead?”

Surprised by her mixed signals, he laughed. “Your command is my wish. Lead on.”

A half-hour later, they were back in the truck, heading south along the Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive.

“Mule Ears Viewpoint.” Reading the signpost, she peered at the twin mountaintops rising from the chaparral.

“Want to stop?”

“Absolutely.”

He parked facing the two peaks, then tilted his head left and right. “If you get the right angle, you can see a mule’s head and ears.”

“I think some of us read more into scenes and situations than others…” Her lips twitched.

The shared water bottle came to mind. Busted. He swallowed a sheepish smile before pulling back onto the road. “Next stop—the old homestead.”

“When did Marianna and Ramon’s ranch become part of Big Bend?”

“The government began buying land for the park during the thirties. From what I heard, they had mixed feelings about selling, but the Depression and Dust Bowl decided for them.” He parked near the trailhead. “What’s left of their farmhouse is less than a half mile from here.”

As the dusty trail descended into a narrow valley between the foothills, the flora changed from Spanish dagger and yucca to spindly trees and native grass punching through the rocky soil.

“Is that a chokecherry?”

“Yeah, they say Marianna planted the first tree, and it’s reseeded itself.”

“To think this is the offshoot of something she planted, and it’s still going…still growing.” She lightly drew her fingers along a branch. “It’s almost like touching her, physically connecting.”

He reached for her hand. “Now you’re touching the offshoot of something she planted.”

She pulled away, stiffening. “Let’s see the homestead.”

Chastened, he led the way to the adobe ruins, then stepped inside the roofless cottage. “The door’s long gone. These walls are all that’s left.”

“Imagine living here…” She caressed the crumbling adobe. “I love reaching through time and connecting with the past.” She spun toward him. “Just think. We’re standing where they did…why, Marianna could’ve touched this brick, right here…”

“Never thought of rubble that way.” Impressed by his cousin’s fresh perspective, he recalled the reason for their journey. “Think their initials are still here?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t it be great to find them?” Her eyes lit up like green fire. “The journal said Ramon carved them in a cottonwood near the spring. Where’s the spring?”

“This way.” He led her along a narrow path lined with trees and teeming with birds, then paused. “Listen.”

Songbirds trilled and sang as they flitted among the branches.

He turned toward a tall ashe juniper and crooked his head. “That slurred whistle is from a Say’s phoebe, and that single chirp is from an ash-throated flycatcher.” He pointed out the golden-breasted bird as it took flight. “In the desert, water is life. This spring’s created an oasis in a wilderness.”

Stepping toward a mature tree, he estimated its width with his hands and shook his head. “This one’s not old enough.”

He searched from tree to tree until he found a granddaddy of a cottonwood. “This one might’ve been here in Marianna’s time.”

“How can you tell?

“Look at its width.” He tried spreading his arms around it, estimating its girth. “It has to be eighteen, maybe nineteen feet in diameter. This tree’s well over a hundred years old.” Stepping over a mud puddle, he walked around the tree but saw no initials. “Do you see anything?”

“Nope.”

Then his gaze followed the trunk to the upper branches. “What’s that?” He pointed to a slight deviation in the bark’s pattern. “Maybe forty or fifty feet up…see it?”

“I see something.” She squinted. “But I can’t make it out.”

“Give me a sec.” He hoisted himself to the nearest branch, and climbed, limb from limb, until he got a clear view. Grinning, he gave a thumb’s up and snapped a photo with his phone. Five minutes later, he swung down from the lowest bough.

“What’d you see?” Her eyes flashed.

She’s like a kid on Christmas morning. He chuckled at Maeve’s enthusiasm as he brought up the picture. “Look for yourself.”

The bark had grown around the carved heart over the decades, and the two initials had lightened over time.

“M & R.” She cooed like a mourning dove. “They’re still here.”

“Just a little higher off the ground than they were a hundred and twenty years ago.”

The color of spring leaves, her eyes flashed in the stippled sunlight. “Be right back.” She attacked the climb as if it were a military maneuver, but when she reached the initials, she traced the heart with her finger, pausing as if in silent communication with the carver.

After a moment, she started down. Her cheeks ruddy from the exertion, she grinned from ear to ear as she jumped from the lowest branch. “I connected with them. We know Ramon’s fingers carved this tree.

“All right, you’ve ‘touched’ the characters in your grandmother’s stories and walked in their footsteps.” Her enthusiasm contagious, he chuckled at her obvious delight, glad to contribute. “Now is your bucket list complete?”

“Complete? Hah!” She tossed her chin. “Nowhere near!”

“Then what’s next?”

****

“Is it possible to see Marianna’s cinnabar mine?”

“I don’t—”

“And did I see a sign in Lajitas?” Another thought took hold, and I grabbed his arm as I raised up on my toes. “Something about horse stables?”

Luke grinned. “To answer your first question, the park includes several abandoned mines, but I doubt any of those were on Ramon and Marianna’s land. However, you asked about horses…” His eyes flashed. “Do you like trail riding?”

“Love it. Why?”

“A friend of mine offers trail rides to an abandoned quicksilver mine.” He cocked his head. “Interested?”

“Heck, yeah.” Returning his grin, I fought the urge to let out a Texas whoop. “Are his stables nearby?”

“A half-hour drive.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one now. Are you hungry?”

“Not really. I’m still full from breakfast.”

“Same here.” He nodded as he scrolled through his phone’s contacts, then pressed a key. “Let’s see if he has room for two more riders on the next tour.”

****

Hoisting myself from the stirrup, I mounted the dappled-gray mare. Feels good to have a horse beneath me again. I breathed deeply, inhaling the moment as much as the mustang’s earthy scent. “I love the smell of horses.”

“Maybe that’s alfalfa you smell.” Grinning, the stable’s owner, Joel, gestured to the nearby bale of hay as he and Luke approached on quarter horses. “It’s a richer, more complex scent than coastal hay.”

“You sound like you’re describing wine.” Luke snickered. “Next you’ll say it has a tangy, pungent bouquet, and you’ll comment about its legs.”

“Nope, I’m more a beer man, myself.” Joel chuckled as he led us from the corral into the pasture. “Love the grainy whiff of a good microbrew. You don’t just smell the rye, oats, and malted barley—you drink ’em. Beer’s a feedstore in a bottle.”

“Well, I love this horse’s scent.” I crouched forward, burying my face in the mare’s mane, and inhaled the fragrance. “It’s organic—something between freshly mown grass and warm tomatoes on the vine. I could breathe it all day.”

Pointing, Joel reined his gelding. “The mineshaft is in those hills. See the pink mounds? They’re tailings from the abandoned mercury mine.” He guided us toward a rocky trail, then gestured to an earthen knoll. “That’s where they stored the dynamite.”

I regarded the ridges of caliche and loose rocks. “These dunes look like a scene from a moon landing.”

Joel smiled over his shoulder as he pointed to the left. “That’s Maverick Mountain.”

The undulating foothills at the base of the mountain rose, fell, and then climbed higher on the next ridge and the next. After a half hour, the mine’s abandoned buildings came into view.

“The ruins look so stark out in the middle of…nothing.” I stood in my saddle, taking in the three-hundred-sixty-degree lunarscape. “How did they mine and refine the cinnabar in such a remote area?”

“Through sweat equity and sheer determination.” Luke’s lips set in a thin line as he peered into the distance.

What’s he thinking?

“This was one of the mineshafts.” Joel pointed to an entrance blocked with heavy-duty wire mesh. “If you think life was tough topside, imagine the miners tunneling below.”

Luke reined his horse closer to the opening and peered in. “The heat must’ve been unbearable.”

“Like burrowing to hell.” I shook my head.

“That’s cinnabar.” Joel pointed out the brick-red rocks strewn about. “The story goes that this area was so rich in deposits that the heat from a campfire would form drops of quicksilver.”

“Isn’t it poisonous?”

“Mercury sulfide’s the most toxic mineral on earth.” Joel nodded. “Miners inhaling its dust or furnace workers breathing its vapors led short lives.”

Peering into the dark hole, I took a deep breath, glad to be topside.

Joel clicked his teeth as he reined his horse around. “Let’s find some better scenery.” Riding past several roofless shanties of stacked limestone and adobe, he led us down a steep ravine. Then he guided us across a narrow trickle of water flowing through a wide riverbed. “This is Rough Run Creek. Looks peaceful now, but you wouldn’t want to be here in a flash flood.”

The horses climbed a vertical incline to one of the highest peaks, and as the path widened onto a broad butte, he pointed northeast. “Those are the Christmas Mountains, the highlight of the tour before we start back.”

The majestic range extended to the horizon, with only sparse vegetation dotting the miles of stony terrain.

“Xeriscaping on a grand scale.” Using my chin, I pointed toward the nearest vegetation. “What kinds of shrubs are those?”

“A mix of mesquite, ocotillo, lechuguilla, cholla, and prickly-pear cactus.” Luke spread his arm across the expanse. “To survive here, everything needs thorns, spines, or quills.”

“A protective shell.” I nodded, relating. “Yet in their own way, each is beautiful. Maybe that’s why I love the desert.”

“A prickly kind of love, like between a porcupine and a cactus.” Luke turned toward me with a languid smile, his smoldering brown eyes sweeping over me like a desert breeze.

I held his gaze a beat too long, then to cover, checked the time. “Four-thirty? Are you getting hungry? Because I sure am.”

“No wonder. Breakfast is nothing but a dim memory.”

“Terlingua has a restaurant that opens at five.” Joel glanced from one to the other.

“I have no pressing engagements.” Or timetables, or orders. Enjoying the day as it unfolded, I shrugged.

“Works for me. Otherwise, it’s another two hours to Fort Lincoln.” Luke caught my gaze. “You game?”

****

“The wait for a table’s thirty-minutes.” The hostess took Luke’s name, then pointed to the old-time saloon. “But the bar’s open, or you’re welcome to sit on the front porch and watch the sunset.”

“Thanks.” He turned to Maeve. “How ’bout something to drink?”

“After Joel gushed about microbrews and ‘a feedstore in a bottle,’ I could go for a beer.”

“A cold draft it is.” Luke held the door while a steady stream of people entered and exited. “Why don’t you grab us seats on the porch. This may take a while.”

He joined her several minutes later, handing her a bottle just as the sun set behind them, casting long shadows. “To tranquil sunsets and new dawns.”

“I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her bottle against his.

Enjoying her nearness, he leaned back against the weatherworn bench, while the evening sky morphed from crimson and gold into plum and amethyst. The reflection of the last sunrays transformed the Chisos mountains into a glowing spectacle of ginger and crimson. “This is the only place I know where you watch the sun go down in the east.”

Her gaze on the mirrored sunset, she chuckled in her throat.

Someone strummed a guitar, and he relaxed into a comfortable camaraderie. “After we get back, want to read more of Marianna’s journal?”

****

Luke found packets of spiced apple-cider mix by the hotel lobby’s coffee machine and brewed two cups of mulled cider.

A substitute clerk slid a basket of heart-shaped cookies across the front desk. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” It isn’t Valentine’s Day, is it? He checked his phone’s calendar. February eighth. Will she still be here on the fourteenth? Juggling the cups with one hand, he snagged two cookies with the other, then settled into the same armchair as the night before.

“The dates don’t follow the first chronologically, but here’s a later diary.” Waving the journal as she entered the sitting room, Maeve sported a pink crewneck sweater with a red-heart pattern. Though a bulky weave, the wool sweater hugged her like a kid glove, tapering at her slim waistline.

“You look like a Valentine.”

“Too much?” She pivoted as if to return to her room and change. “I was a little chilly—”

“No, you look terrific—and very seasonal.” Chilly? Rising to his feet, he considered sharing his body heat in a hug but, instead, offered her the steaming cup. “Maybe this cider will warm you.”

“Good thinking.”

Seven. He counted the freckles on her button nose. Then becoming aware of the pause, he tilted his head toward the treats. “Speaking of seasonal, have a cookie.”

“How cute.” She nibbled one as she took her seat.

He sank into his chair and gestured toward the notebook. “You say this is a later journal?”

“It’s dated nineteen-eighteen. I’m guessing Marianna would’ve been in her early forties at this point.” As she faced him, the fire’s glow outlined her high cheekbones. “Isn’t it strange to peek in and out of people’s lives, tapping in years or decades later?”

“Last night, we read about her life in nineteen hundred. Now tonight, it’s nineteen- nineteen. How time flies.” Swallowing a smile, he deadpanned. “Whose turn to read?”

“Yours.” She handed him the diary.

“Okay.” He sneezed as he opened the composition book’s water-stained cover.

“Gesundheit.” A smile played at her lips.

“What microbes and dust mites did I just inhale from the past?”

“Who knows, but that diary holds more than a century’s worth.”

“And on that thought…” He turned to the first entry. “September twenty-second, nineteen-nineteen. Ramon has influenza.”

Recoiling as he speculated about infectious viruses, he took his gaze from the diary. “Wasn’t that about the time of the Spanish Flu?”

“Yikes.” She grimaced. “What happened?”

“September twenty-third. Ramon was too weak to get out of bed. Ramona came home to spend time together.”

“Ramona…wasn’t she the baby born in nineteen hundred?”

Maeve nodded. “If she ‘came home,’ does that mean she’d married?”

“September twenty-fifth. Ramon’s better—kept down toast and chaparral tea. Ramona stayed as long as she could, but the children need her.”

“Guess she was.” As Luke sipped his cider, an idea formed. “What’re you doing tomorrow for lunch?” Then second thoughts surfaced, and he flinched. Am I moving too fast? Coming on too strong?

“Not a darned thing.” Her face lit up.

Responding to her smile, he leaned closer. “I know a ‘quaint place.’ How ’bout I pick you up at noon?”