He took it from her without looking up from his Western Horseman magazine.
She stood there a moment, wondering what she could say that would start a conversation.
Dressed in his usual work clothes—well-worn Wrangler jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, with a saucer-sized silver belt buckle and leather gloves tucked in his waistband—he looked like he did every morning. And yet there was something different, too: a subtle collection of lines or wrinkles that aged his face.
The years since Mom’s death had been unkind to him, sharpening his features and adding shadows where none belonged, both in his eyes and in the fleshy bags beneath. His spine had curved; it was the mark of a farrier, he said, the natural result of a lifetime spent hammering nails into horses’ hooves, but loss had played a part in that curving of his spine, too. Vivi Ann was certain of it. The weight of an unexpected loneliness had reshaped him as surely as the hours he’d spent hunched at work. The only time he really stood tall anymore was when he was in public, and she knew how much it pained him to appear unbowed by his life.
He sat down at the table and read his magazine while Vivi Ann readied and served breakfast.
“Clem’s made some awesome practice runs this month,” she said, taking her place across from him. “I really think we have a chance of winning the rodeo in Texas.”
“Where’s the toast?”
“I made pancakes.”
“Fried eggs need toast. You know that.”
“Mix them in with the hash browns. We’re out of bread.”
Dad sighed heavily, obviously irritated. He looked pointedly at the empty place setting on the table. “You seen Travis this morning?”
Vivi Ann glanced through the window toward the barn. There was no sign of their ranch hand anywhere. No tractor out and running, no wheelbarrow by the barn door. “I fed the horses already. He’s probably out fixing that fence.”
“You picked another winner with that one. If you’d quit rescuin’ every hurt horse between here and Yelm, we wouldn’t need no help around here at all. And the truth is we can’t afford it.”
“Speaking of money, Dad . . . I need three hundred bucks for the rodeo this week and the coffee can is empty.”
He didn’t respond.
“Dad?”
“I had to use that money to pay the hay bill.”
“It’s gone?”
“The tax bill just came, too.”
“So we’re in trouble,” Vivi Ann said, frowning. She’d heard it before, of course, had always known there wasn’t much money, but for the first time, it really hit home. She understood suddenly why Winona was always harping about saving money for taxes. She cast an upward glance at her dad. He sat hunched forward, with his elbows on the table. Her sisters would have seen that as rude; Vivi Ann was sure she knew better. “Your back hurting you again?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge the question.
She got up, went into the kitchen, and got him some ibuprofen, setting the pills gently on the table between them.
His splayed farrier’s hand closed over them.
“I’ll find a way to get the money, Dad. And I’ll win this week. Maybe as much as two thousand bucks. Don’t you worry.”
They finished the rest of the meal in silence, with him reading his magazine. When he was done, he pushed back from the table and stood up. Reaching for the sweat-stained brown felt cowboy hat that hung on a hook by the door, he said, “Make me proud.”
“I will. ’Bye, Dad.”
After he left, Vivi Ann sat there, feeling unsettled.
For most of her twenty-four years she’d been like a leaf on the water, just floating along, following whatever current came her way. She’d tried changing direction a few times, but every attempt (like community college) had ended quickly, with her returning to this land.
She loved it here, plain and simple. She loved being around the horses, training them, and passing her expertise on to the bright-eyed girls who idolized her riding ability. She loved that everyone in town knew who she was and respected her and her family. She even loved the weather. Lots of folks complained about the gray days that followed each other, one after another, from November to April, but she didn’t mind at all. No rain, no rainbows. That was her motto, and had been since she was twelve years old, a girl standing beside a freshly dug grave, trying to make sense of an incomprehensible loss. Then, she’d told herself that life was short and having fun was what mattered.
Now, though, it was time for her to grow up. Water’s Edge needed her for once, instead of the other way around. She wasn’t sure exactly how to make a change. Business and planning were hardly her strong suits, but she was smarter than people gave her credit for being. All she had to do was think about it.
But first she needed to borrow three hundred dollars from one of her sisters.
She’d tell them it would be a good investment.
Winona liked running the show. Any show; every show. And not from the sidelines, either. In college, all it had taken was one constitutional law class, and she’d glimpsed her future. Now, at twenty-seven, she had her life pretty much as she wanted it. Not completely, of course (she was unmarried, not dating, childless, and struggling with her weight), but pretty much. She was far and away the most successful attorney in Oyster Shores. It was common knowledge that she was fair, opinionated, and smart. Everyone said she was a good person to have on your side. Winona valued her reputation almost as much as she did her education. Dad and Vivi Ann might worship at the altar of their land, but Winona had a broader religion. For her, it was the community that mattered and the people who lived here. It was okay that Vivi Ann was the beautiful heart of town; Winona strove to be its conscience.
She reached for the intercom on her desk and pushed the button. “The council will be here in about ten minutes, Lisa. Make sure we have enough coffee.”
Her receptionist answered promptly. “Already done.”
“Good.” Winona turned her attention to the slim pile of paperwork in front of her. There were a couple of environmental reports, a proposed short plat map, and a real estate sale contract that she’d written up.
It could save Water’s Edge.
Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration; the ranch wasn’t poised on the edge of financial ruin or anything. It was more like one of those pathetic starving horses Vivi Ann kept rescuing: limping along. Every month Dad and Vivi Ann barely made enough to keep the place running, and the taxes kept going up. This secret corner of Washington State hadn’t been “discovered” yet by the yuppies who turned rugged waterfront lots into gold, but it was only a matter of time. Someday soon a developer would realize that their sleepy town sat on a spectacular stretch of beach that overlooked the Swiss Alps–like Olympic Mountain Range, and when that happened, Dad would find himself sitting on one hundred and twenty-five desirable acres. The rise in taxes would force him to sell the land or lose it, and no one seemed to notice the inevitability of this future except her. It had already happened all across the state.
She jotted notes down on her yellow pad, words to use in talking to him. It was imperative that he understand how important this was, how she’d found a way to save and protect him. Equally imperative was that she be the one to solve the problem. Perhaps then, finally, her father would be proud of her.
The intercom buzzed. “They’re here, Winona.”
“Send them into the conference room.” Winona slid the documents into a manila folder and reached for her blue blazer. Slipping into it, she noticed it had gotten tighter across the bust. Sighing, she headed down for the conference room.
Her office was housed in a large Victorian mansion on a corner lot in downtown Oyster Shores. She’d bought it four years ago and renovated it room by room. The entire downstairs was completed so far. She could hardly have people judging her public rooms and finding them lacking. Next year, she’d begin on the living quarters upstairs. She had saved up almost enough money.
&nb
sp; In the hallway, she paused at a mirror just long enough to assess her reflection: A plump, pretty face, dark brown eyes set beneath arching black brows, full lips, the shoulders of an NFL lineman, and enough bust for three women. Her one outstanding feature—her long black hair—was pulled back from her face and held in place by a white and blue scrunchie.
Forcing a smile, she kept walking and turned into what had once been a ladies’ sunroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and a pair of antique French doors covered the back wall. Through the rectangular panes could be seen her winter-brown garden; and beyond that were the brick and wooden buildings along Front Street. In the center of the room was a long oak table. The members of the Oyster Shores city council sat around it, including her father, who wasn’t technically a member, but was invited to every meeting nonetheless.
Winona took her usual place at the head of the table. “What can I help you with today?”
Beside her, Ken Otter, the town’s dentist, smiled broadly. He always smiled broadly, saying it was free advertising. “We want to talk about what’s going on at the reservation.”
The reservation again. “I’ve told you before, it’s not possible to stop them. I think—”
“But it’s a casino,” Myrtle Michaelian said, her round face turning red at the very thought. “Prostitution is sure to follow. The Indians are—”
“Stop,” Winona said firmly. She glanced around the table, eyeing each person for a long moment before she turned to the next. “First of all, they’re Native Americans, and you don’t have the legal right to stop them from building the casino. You can spend a lot of money fighting them, but you’ll lose.”
They argued on for a few moments, but the mention of spending money had pulled the wind from their sails. In the end, their dissent conked out like a dying engine and they rose to leave, thanking her for saving them money and helping them out.
“Dad?” she said. “Could you stay for a minute?”
“I got to be in Shelton in forty-five minutes.”
“It won’t take long.”
He gave her a short nod, just a flick of the chin, really, and stood there, arms crossed, while the council members left. When everyone was gone, Winona went back to her place at the head of the table and sat down, opening her manila folder. As she glanced over the paperwork, she couldn’t help feeling a swell of pride. This was a good plan.
“It’s about Water’s Edge,” she said, finally looking up. She didn’t bother asking him to sit down. She’d learned that lesson well: Henry Grey moved when and where he wanted. Period. Trying to influence that only made the speaker look foolish.
He grunted something. She didn’t think it was a word.
“I know how tight your finances are right now, but there are a lot of things at Water’s Edge that need fixing. The fences are in bad shape, the loafing shed is starting to list, and someone’s going to get lost in the mud in the parking area someday if we don’t get a grader in there and lay some gravel. And don’t even get me started on the taxes.” She pushed the short plat map toward him. “We could sell off the ten acres along the road—Bill Deacon is ready to pay you fifty-five thousand dollars for it right now—or we could short plat it into two-acre parcels and double the price. Either way we can make enough money to tide you over for years. God knows you must be tired of shoeing seven horses a day, every day.” She smiled up at him. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? I mean, you can hardly see those acres. You’ll never miss them, and—”
Her dad walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Winona flinched at the sound. Why had she allowed herself to hope? Again. She stared at the closed door, shaking her head, wondering why a smart woman such as herself kept stepping into the same mud puddle and expecting it to be dry. She was an idiot to still want her father’s approval.
“You’re mentally ill,” she muttered to herself. “And pathetic.”
The intercom on the table buzzed loudly, shocking her out of her thoughts.
“Luke Connelly on line one, Winona.”
She pushed the red button. “Did you say Luke Connelly?”
“Yes. Line one.”
Winona drew in a deep, steadying breath as she picked up the phone and answered. “Winona Grey.”
“Hey, Win, it’s Luke Connelly. Remember me?”
“Of course I remember you. How’s Montana?”
“Cold and white right now, but I’m not there. I’m here, in Oyster Shores. I want to see you.”
She caught her breath. “Really?”
“Everyone says you’re the best lawyer in town—not that I’m surprised. I’m considering buying half of Doc Moorman’s veterinary practice and I’d like to talk to you about the terms. Would that be okay?”
“Oh. You need a lawyer.” She refused to feel disappointed. “Sure.”
“Could you come over to the house tomorrow? I’m knee-deep in work over here. The last renters really left a mess. So, what do you say? We’ll sneak a beer. It’ll be just like old times.”
“How about four o’clock? I hear that’s Miller time.”
“Perfect. And Win? I can’t wait to see you.”
She hung up the phone slowly; it was as if the air had thickened suddenly to water and resisted her movement. I can’t wait to see you. She got up and left the conference room, walking down to the foyer, where Lisa sat behind an antique dining room table, typing a letter on her big green IBM Selectric typewriter.
“I’m going out,” Winona said. “It’s an emergency. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“I’ll reschedule Ursula.”
“Good.”
Winona left her quiet office and walked down the sidewalk, following the cement strip two blocks to her sister’s impeccably maintained brick rambler.
There, she opened the unstained wooden gate at Aurora’s backyard and went up to the laundry room door to knock.
It took Aurora forever to answer, and when she finally did, she looked harried. A four-year-old child was on each hip; a boy and a girl. “You just missed Vivi Ann. She borrowed three hundred bucks for the rodeo. Said it was an investment.”
“With a straight face?”
Aurora smiled. “You know Vivi. Good things just come to her.”
Winona rolled her eyes at that, even though they both knew it was true. Their youngest sister often seemed to be standing in a ray of sunlight that excluded everyone else. “Did she leave for Texas?”
“Just now. I hope that old truck makes it.”
“If it breaks down, she’ll meet Tom Cruise at the gas station.” Winona pushed past her sister and went into the small, cluttered laundry room, where stacks of folded clothes layered every surface. “Can we talk about me for a change?”
“Come on, kids,” Aurora said behind her, “Aunt Winona is crazy today. Give her plenty of room. You never know when she’ll blow.”
“Very funny.”
Aurora took Ricky and Janie upstairs and put them down for naps, or television; whatever mothers did with four-year-old twins in the late afternoon. Fifteen minutes later, she was down again.
“Okay, what’s going on?” she said, standing in the middle of the living room. Today she was wearing tight black jeans, penny loafers, and a boxy jacket with oversized shoulder pads. Her straight brown hair was drawn back from her face in a French braid. Bangs poufed out over her forehead like a tiny awning.
Now that Aurora had asked directly, Winona found herself reluctant to reveal her true reason for racing over here. Stalling, she said, “I told Dad he should sell off the back ten acres or short plat them and then sell them.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got the learning curve of a lemming.”
“Water’s Edge is going under. Why else would Vivi Ann have to borrow entry money? And have you noticed how run-down the place looks?”
Aurora sat down on her new gray and mauve sofa. “You can’t tell him to sell his land, Win. The man would rather sell his sperm.”
“It’s a f
ew acres you can’t even see, and it could give him financial security.”
Aurora leaned back, drumming her long red fingernails on the glossy mahogany end table beside her. “You know you should talk to Vivi or me before you do something like that.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“I know. You think you’re smarter than we are, and it’s your responsibility to take care of everyone ’cause you’re the oldest, but honest to God, Win, when you get a thing in your mind, you can’t see the forest for the trees.”
“I was just trying to help.” Winona sat down on the salmon-colored brick hearth. A moment later she got up and went to the window. From here, she could see Aurora’s child-friendly backyard and the houses behind it.
Aurora frowned. “I haven’t seen you this jumpy since Tony Gibson asked you to go away for the weekend.”
“We promised never to mention that.”
“You promised. How can I forget the image of him stripping down to his women’s panties?”
Winona couldn’t take it anymore. She blurted out: “Luke Connelly called me today.”
“Wow. That’s a blast from the past. Last I heard he was off to vet school.”
“He’s back in town, and thinking of buying into Doc Moorman’s clinic. He wants me to look over the documents.”
“He called you as a lawyer?”
“That’s what he said.” Winona took a deep breath and finally turned to face her sister. “And that he was looking forward to seeing me.”
“Does he know you had a crush on him?”
Crush. That was a pretty small word for what she’d felt, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell Aurora that. Instead, she said, “I’m going to meet him at four tomorrow. Do you think you could help me look good? I know it’s a herculean task, but—”
“Of course,” Aurora said without smiling.
“What is it?” Winona asked. “You’re giving me the something’s-wrong look.”
“I won’t say anything. Okay, I’ll just ask a question. It’s about Luke, right? Just Luke.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad always wanted the Connellys’ land. Don’t pretend you don’t know that. And he liked them.”