The dust rising off in the distance on the main road caught Buck’s attention. The traveler turned onto the lane and the rider, drawing closer, caused him to groan in recognition. His shoulder against the white porch post, he watched the rider approach. She skidded to halt a few feet from him and jumped down off the lathered painted pony in a flurry of white petticoats, red and white gingham skirts, and flying coils of flaxen-colored hair.
The girl tied her poor, winded little pony to the hitching rail. She dipped beneath the pony’s head, unconcerned she’d come between her thirsty mount and the water trough, and skipped toward him, a sassy smirk on her pretty face, the spitting image of her mama. “Uncle Buxton, I’ve run away from home,” she said, her chin up, defiant as hell.
“Ah, huh, I figured. This is the third time in less than a month, Birdie. I don’t think you can call it running away. Everybody knows where you run to.”
“Well, this time I mean to keep going. I won’t go back. Mama’s determined to marry me off to…to stiff-rumped Cornell Norquist. Do you know what he had the gall to suggest?” She didn’t wait for his guess. Arms flapping, she kept right on blabbing. “He suggested if I’d do something with my hair I might almost be pretty. Almost, mind you,” she said, shaking her finger in the air. “He said he’d seen mountain goats better groomed.” Cheeks burning with outrage, she whirled around to face him. “Now I ask you, Uncle Buxton, how can a girl love a man who talks to her like that?”
Not even taking a breath or giving him the opportunity to respond, the girl continued. “I’ve come to say my goodbyes to Jo and Van. I’m on my way to Daddy’s sister’s place in Halfway. She’s getting on and needs help with her farm. She’s invited me over a couple of times. I don’t know why I haven’t taken her up on the offer before.”
Buck cleared his throat and shifted his body away from the porch post, hands in his pockets. “I know why. Maria Bollo is an old maid. She lives with a house full of cats. The only place I can think of more uncomfortable than living with your Aunt Maria and all her cats would be taking up residence in a broom-closet full of spiders. Somehow, I can’t picture you sitting in a rocking chair in your Aunt Maria’s little house crocheting tea cozies all day. You’ve never been able to sit still longer than a minute.”
Moving to the top of the step, he said, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, Birdie, you know that, but you and I both know your mama is going to come out here to fetch you home. And it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if this time your daddy showed up as well, and brandishing a willow switch, ready to put some stripes on that sassy little fanny of yours.”
Giving him the full force of her dimpled, rosy-cheeked smile, Birdie-Alice Bollo coyly stepped forward and put both of her hands on his chest, looking up at him through her long, light-brown lashes. “Daddy would never lay a hand on me, you know it. He’s all bark and no bite, just like you. I’ve told him I don’t want to get married. And I especially don’t want to marry Corney Norquist, but Papa won’t listen.”
Shaking his head, Buck took one hand in each of his and held them together before his chest. Oh, so like her mother—her smile, Doreen could sidetrack a man faster than any woman he’d ever known with her smile—other than his Petra, that is. Petra could mess with his mind and make him lose all track of the conversation in the blink of an eye with her smile.
“I wouldn’t be in such an all-fired hurry to toss Cornell Norquist aside if I were you.”
Birdie snatched her hands out of his grasp and snorted with disdain. She put her lips together and puffed a wisp of blonde hair out of her face. With a swish of her skirt, she stepped around him, going up the steps headed for the screen door to the house.
Buck turned, speaking to her back. “He’s an up-and-coming young man. Wealthy, has a nice house all bought and paid for, and has a good position as foreman in his father’s mining company. I’ve heard it said, and this is just what I’ve heard, mind you, the ladies don’t find him hard to look at. Rich, wealthy, good family, handsome—nope, doesn’t sound like too bad of a deal to me.”
Eyes lit up like Fourth of July sparklers, she said, “Ha. I bet you wouldn’t like him sniffing around Jo. Everybody knows Corney Norquist is an arrogant horse’s-hind-end. I don’t know why you, and everyone else, are conspiring against me. If and when I choose to marry, I assure you, it won’t be to Cornell Norquist. I don’t care how rich he is or how handsome.” She snatched open the screen door, bracing it open with her sassy hip. “And another thing, I will not change one hair on my head for any man. Love me, love my hair.” At her pronouncement, Birdie put her nose in the air and tossed her mop of curls over her shoulder, out of her face, and marched herself inside.
Shaking his head, Buck couldn’t help but chuckle. Doreen and Raphael had their hearts set on a union between the Bollo and the Norquist families. Since his retirement, Raphael became a silent partner in the Norquist rock quarry and mining operation. Buck knew Birdie’s parents figured it only a matter of time before their daughter changed her mind, but of late, he wasn’t so sure. The Norquist kid knew nothing about finessing a woman, especially a spit-fire like Birdie-Alice. Like her mother Doreen, Birdie could be stubborn as a mule.
The explosion came from the direction of the canyon, rattling the windows of the house. Buck turned toward the hot spring and to the canyon beyond and snarled an oath.
Van bolted out of the barn, throwing the doors open wide. “What the hell was that?” he shouted across the yard. Jo and Birdie ran out onto the porch behind Buck, who reached over to put a hand on the pony’s nose to steady her.
“They’ve started blasting rock up in the canyon, I guess.”
“Blasting?” Van shouted, marching toward him. “Why? Who’s blasting? Who gave permission to blast up in the canyon?”
Van stood directly in front of his face now, and Birdie’s pony didn’t care for the boy’s tone, shying, eyes rolling back in her head. Buck didn’t much care for his tone either. He heaved a heavy sigh of defeat. He’d been dreading this moment, the moment he’d have to explain. “I gave Norquist the go-ahead.”
“We talked about this, Dad. I thought we were going to wait and see, wait until fall and see how our guests pay out.”
Buck lowered his head. The boy, who wasn’t a boy, nearly twenty-five, resembled his mother so much it hurt. When Buck looked at his son, he looked into Petra’s eyes; they were bluer than a lake in summer. Buck found it particularly hard to meet those eyes, but he forced himself to do it. Van and Jo had to hear it, had to hear the truth. “We don’t have any reservations for the summer.”
Jo put her hands on his arm to turn him to face her. Standing behind him up on the porch, she challenged him at eye level. Fine, dark brows knit together over gray eyes, she searched his face for answers. “We’re booked solid clear though September. What are you talking about we don’t have any reservations? We’re full up—for the first time in years. We’re expecting the Thurmans tomorrow afternoon. They’re celebrating their fifteenth wedding anniversary here with us. They’ve booked four cabins. At the end of the month, the Calveras are having their family reunion here. And they’ve reserved all six cabins. We’re booked solid for the entire summer. I’ve been baking all day.” Her voice cracked.
Guilt. He should’ve told her…told her before she started baking. Feeling a coward, he surrendered, the time had come to man-up. “Canceled.” One word, it fell from his lips like dirt on a grave. “Canceled, every single one of them, all thirty-two reservations canceled.”
Buck didn’t understand it, couldn’t figure it out, but he’d gotten the letters one by one. There were no guests for the entire summer, and they were broke.
He put his hand on her shoulder. A tall girl, straight, and at first glance, some might chalk Josephine Buxton up as plain, but she had beauty there in her clear, creamy complexion, high cheekbones, patrician nose, and the regal way she held herself. “Jo, I had to let the Norquist outfit take the rock out of the canyon. He’s been after me for a while, as you know. I was afraid we’d lose everything. Nils Norquist paid me a sizeable advance, enough to keep the hot spring afloat for the summer and through the winter. I didn’t know what else to do. The money will keep us going until next spring. Then we’ll see if business picks up again. There’s always the drop-in guest. We usually get a few of those during the summer and early fall.”
Van turned on his heel and snarled over his shoulder and then shouted, “Norquist. You can bet on it, Dad. Norquist is behind those cancelations. Somehow, he’s behind it. Thirty-two cancelations? The Thurmans made their reservation nearly a year ago. And the Calveras have been planning their reunion for over a year. They don’t live too far away, just over to Richland. Why’d they cancel? What reason did they give you?”
“Grandpa, he’s feeling poorly and doesn’t want to leave home. And the Thurmans’ youngest is weak from a bout of pneumonia, and they don’t want to take the chance of a relapse.”
Van halted and spun around to say, “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe any of it. You know damn good and well, it ain’t possible all of our reservations canceled just like that. I’m going up there and tell the Norquist outfit to get the hell off our land.”
“Van…Van,” Buck shouted, taking two long strides to grab the boy by the arm to hold him back. “You can’t stop them. I’ve already taken the money.”
Van’s mouth opened, and his eyes grew cold and dark blue like a stormy sea. Buck said, “I had to, Van.”
The words sounded pitiful and stupid, and Buck wanted to hide in shame. He felt like a whore. He’d been paid, he’d set aside his pride and dignity, and now he had no self-respect left. This was survival. “I took out a mortgage on the place, Van. I told you I would. We need a new barn, we had the expense of three new cabins, and then there were the repairs to the bathing pool and the bathhouses. With no guarantee guests would come to help make the payments to the bank, I had no choice, Van. We had no choice. I had to take the Norquist deal.”
The boy swiped his hand off his arm, and with his fists balled up at his side, Van sprayed him with his venom. “You should’ve talked to Jo and me before you made the decision. We have a right to know what’s going on around here. Why didn’t you let Jo know nobody was coming? Jesus, Dad. This was a partnership. We should’ve been told about the cancelations…about the mortgage.”
Van took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and then glanced up at the sky. “All those cancelations—we should’ve looked into it, not panicked and grabbed for the money.”
Turning his head and glaring at Buck, he said in a voice cold and hard, “Something’s not right, and you know it. It hasn’t been right for a while. Last fall, those cattle dying off. Twenty head, Dad, poisoned. Norquist is behind this. He wants whatever is in the canyon, and it’s not the rock, there’s something else. He’s been pushing you and pushing you for a couple of years now. I told you I caught a couple of men up there nosing around. I told you about it. I don’t know who they were, but I bet they were Norquist’s men. He’s after something, and he’s going to squeeze us and squeeze us until we cave in so he can steal our land from us. Taking the money, you played right into his hands.”
Van, having run out of steam, let his shoulders slump and lowered his head. When he brought his head up again, he pinned Buck down with his gaze, his voice hoarse with emotion. “What about Mom? What about her special place in the canyon?”
“No need to worry about it. I sold Norquist the rock at the top of the canyon on the west side. He’s not to touch Petra’s rock or come anywhere near it. I staked it out—he can’t miss it. I put detailed instructions in the contract, and if they disturb the canyon anywhere else but where they’re supposed to, the contract is null and void. Norquist will abide by the contract. We shook hands on it.”
Shaking his head, Van turned his back to him and started off toward the barn. “Oh, yeah—a handshake with a Norquist—well, good luck.” He waved his hand over his head and then stopped and threw his parting shot over his shoulder. “You and I both know what dynamite can do, it shakes the holy shit out of everything, and nothing in the canyon will be the same when Norquist is through. Nothing.”
“Are you going up there?” Buck called to him.
“Shit, yeah. I don’t know what I can do, but I’m not gonna sit here and let Norquist blast the hell out of our land.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“Me too,” Buck heard Birdie call out from behind him. When he turned back, she jumped down off the porch and started to mount her pony.
“Birdie-Alice,” Buck said, taking two long strides and grabbing the reins out of her hands. “You are staying right here with Jo.”
“Birdie,” Jo said, moving off the step and taking her friend by the arm. “We’d get in the way.”
“But I want to see what they’re doing up there. They can’t have Petra’s boulder, they can’t,” Birdie said, her brown eyes swimming in tears.
Putting his palm to her cheek, Buck said, “They aren’t going to come near the boulder. We’ll go up there and make damn certain of it.” Buck handed her the reins to her pony. “You take Gypsy to the barn, give her a rub. You rode her hard.”
His gaze traveled to his daughter. “You two stay right here.” Giving Birdie a pat on the shoulder, Buck turned for the barn only to find Van coming out with two saddled horses ready to ride.
»»•««
Side by side, Buck and Van rode past the cabins and the hot spring and the bathing pool, bathhouses, and shelter. Buck sensed Van’s frustration and fear; he could see it in the rigid set of the boy’s shoulders and spine. Van was the quiet one, the one who worried and fretted. He didn’t have Gabe’s let-everything-slide nature. Van took it all on, all the trouble, and all the work fell right on his shoulders. Buck knew it, knew he’d allowed it to happen after Gabe left. After Petra died, he’d let Van run the ranch. And he’d turned over the maintaining of the cabins and the guests to Josephine.
There was something going on with Jo. Buck had sensed it for the better part of a year now. He didn’t like that she’d taken up her mama’s role, cooking and cleaning for their guests, forgoing invitations to parties and socials. It wasn’t right or natural for a nineteen-year-old girl to bury herself out here in the middle of nowhere. He considered his daughter a beautiful, poised young woman but far too serious, tall and straight, with hair as smooth as satin, the color of burnt sugar, and eyes the color of sage.
Since her mama passed, the girl had lost her spark. It was good Birdie came out to see her. And Doreen, Birdie’s mama, she’d filled the void, pitched in with the girl, helping her heal. Josephine and Birdie were good friends. They needed each other.
Which brought his thoughts around to Gabe. Gabe ran away. He sympathized, understood how Petra’s death hurt the boy. But he’d lost his wife, and at the time, Gabe’s defection hit hard, dealing a blow to his already broken heart.
Petra was still here; she was in the house, in the garden, and down here at the hot spring. But far from finding it hard to live with the ghost of her, Buck took comfort in Petra’s personal touches around the place. He wanted the yellow curtains she’d made left hanging in the kitchen window, even though they were faded to a soft, creamy color. He refused to remove the wallpaper with the blue forget-me-nots, the wallpaper they’d hung together, now faded, in their bedroom. Her clothes still hung, untouched, in their wardrobe.
Every spring, he and Jo planted Petra’s garden just as Petra laid it out the very first spring she’d lived here as his bride. Petra decorated the cabins with calico-covered seat cushions and bedding, and she’d quilted the comforters and hooked the rugs. Everything had stayed the same. All appeared as if Petra made the beds and cleaned the rooms yesterday.
He and Van entered the canyon following the dry wash. At the top of the grade, the dust began to settle, enabling them to them to make out a handful of men. Beyond the slide, a team and buggy had pulled up on the other side of some rubble. Drawing closer, Buck thought it might be Birdie’s mama, Doreen.
The man holding the buggy team by the bit waved his arm and shouted at young Norquist. Two women sat in the buggy covered with dust, looking pale and frightened. Something about the man looked familiar. Gabe? Buck recognized the hat, the way it sat at an angle over one eye, the set of his shoulders, and the way he moved. Sometimes Buck could see Gabe’s daddy in the way the boy held himself, the way he grinned and joked around. Unlike Gabe’s sire, Kirk Laski, there was no malice or cruelty in the boy. Gabe would rather take a punch than throw one. But today, he could see the anger, see by the set of his jaw Gabe wasn’t joking around, not today.