Daisies in the Canyon (3 page)

Chapter Three

A
few snowflakes drifted down from the gray skies and came to rest on Abby’s jacket when she left the house right after lunch. Her duffel bags and the rest of the things from her truck were stacked neatly in the corner of the bedroom. She had taken time to unpack her snack suitcase, and now the top drawer in the dresser was filled to capacity. A bulging pocket gave testimony that she couldn’t get another piece of candy or bag of chips tucked in that drawer.

The small wooden box holding her mother’s ashes sat on the dresser. They’d never traveled with her before, but she couldn’t leave them behind this time. The rest of her things she could unpack and arrange after dark, but right then she wanted to see exactly what this ranch looked like. If it didn’t feel right, she would reload her things into the truck and go back to Galveston and be a beach bum. As sleep deprived as she was, she might not make it far that night, but she didn’t have to hurry. She had money in the bank, a good truck, and a destination. That was enough to keep her for a few months until she decided what she wanted to do with her life.

According to Rusty, she should walk down the lane to the cattle guard with the ranch sign above it. That’s where the Malloy Ranch stopped. From there on to the road, the land belonged to Lonesome Canyon. She was to pick a direction at that point and keep following the fence line until she reached the canyon wall, then circle back around.

The crisp winter air cooled her lungs as well as her cheeks. She shivered when the north wind picked up and the snow invited sleet into the winter mix that Saturday afternoon. It was a foolhardy mission on a day like this, but she’d done PT in far worse, from snow that was knee-deep in Michigan one winter to the blistering heat on the base in Afghanistan. Besides, another minute in that house would have her climbing the walls. A big argument on the first day would make the other women dig their boots in to show her that she couldn’t run them off. She took a butterscotch hard candy from her pocket, removed the wrapper, and popped it into her mouth.

She smiled when the ringtone on her phone said her best friend, Haley, was calling. She had trouble fishing it out of the cargo pocket on her pants without removing her gloves, but she managed to answer on the fourth ring.

“Hey,” she said.

“Is it over? I’m dying to know about your sisters. Tell me about the funeral. Did you see your father?” Haley, her friend since they were in the nursery together in the little church on the outskirts of Galveston, finally stopped to catch a breath.

“Yes, it’s over and yes, I saw him. It was like looking at a stranger. I can’t tell you much about Ezra’s other two daughters other than the youngest one seems bound and determined to stick out the whole year. The place is even more desolate than the pictures we saw on the Internet and I’m not sure I can handle it for a year, Haley. It’s colder than a witch’s tit in this place. I’m out for a walk around the property to see if I even want to unpack. I did bring Mama’s ashes, though.”

Haley gasped. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that. Your mama would feel strange about being back.”

“I didn’t know I was going to until I went to the bank and opened up the safe-deposit box. There they were and something told me to bring them with me.”

“There’s a reason for everything, and maybe Martha wanted to go back to that canyon. Maybe it was to remind you that she’s with you in spirit. What in the hell is that noise in the background?”

“Bitter cold north wind rattling the tree limbs and sleet hitting the phone.”

“Holy shit! Pack up your stuff and get out of that place. Galveston is your home. Give your portion to those other two. You don’t need the money or the aggravation in your life,” Haley said.

“Not until I see what is here.”

“Well, then, go have a look and then come home where you belong. Call me from the first hotel you stop at and we’ll talk then. Hugs,” Haley said.

“Hugs back,” Abby said.

Good-bye
was something they didn’t say anymore. The last time Abby told someone good-bye, she’d finished basic training and had a week at home before going to Georgia for training school. Tears hung on her eyelashes as she remembered that last moment with her mother. Martha wore a tan-colored knit shirt with the Martha’s Donut logo on the back. Khaki shorts peeked out from the bottom of a white-bibbed apron that the wind whipped to one side.

“ ’Bye, Mama,” she’d yelled as she pulled away from the curb. She watched through the rearview mirror as her mother waved until the road made a curve and she couldn’t see her anymore.

She’d planned another trip home at the end of her training in Georgia, but it was only a week later that she got the call that Martha had been killed in a robbery. She’d vowed she’d never tell anyone good-bye again.

She slid the phone back into her pocket and pulled a ski mask from a pocket on her cargo pants. After she tugged it over her head and tucked it under her collar, she stuck her gloved hands into her pockets and trudged on down the gravel lane toward the Malloy Ranch sign. On the positive side, she was sweating so much inside her clothing that her whole body was damp. On the negative side, she hadn’t seen a damn thing to keep her from unpacking.

Black cattle, with a brand that looked like a capital
M
with an
R
sharing the last leg of the
M
, huddled up under the trees to her left. If she stayed on, that brand would be redone even if she had to get rid of every cow on the place and start with fresh stock. Everything that had Ezra’s name, brand, or idea behind it would be erased. It would have a strong name like its neighbor, Lonesome Canyon, but warm and inviting.

“Malloy Ranch sounds as bitter cold as this weather. I don’t blame Bonnie a bit for wanting to change it,” she mumbled from behind the ski mask.

She knew nothing about ranching. She was aware that the black ones were Angus. She made a mental note to ask Rusty if there was another breed that would grow as well in the canyon. Maybe she’d replace them with those brown ones with white faces she’d noticed in the pastures when she drove up through Texas.

“Or maybe even Texas longhorns. I’ll have to do some research on them,” she said.

How in the hell did this place produce enough grass to feed cattle anyway? All around her were crazy-looking formations shooting up from the ground, some a hundred feet or more, in varying colors of orange, burnt umber, and brown. One looked like a chimney; another like a giant sand castle kids might build on a beach.

The bits of snow collecting on the fence posts reminded her of daisies, which happened to be her favorite flower. They were wild, hearty enough to grow in rock, and were some of the first flowers to bloom in the spring. Were they Ezra’s favorite flowers, too? Was that why they’d been given them to put in his casket at the service?

“I hope not,” she murmured. “If they are, I may change my mind about them.”

A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she followed it until she focused on an eagle with something in its claws. It soared toward the sky and finally lit on one of the formations that shot up from the ground. The majestic sight took her breath for an instant. Was it an omen for her to stay and get above the problems of the past before she made a decision to kiss Texas good-bye? Abby didn’t believe in omens, fate, or any of that superstitious mumbo-jumbo shit. She always said that folks made their own decisions and lived with the consequences of them.

“You best enjoy your last year,” she told the sign above the cattle guard. “If I’m here next year on this day, you are coming down and that’s a promise. And if I’m not here, Bonnie is going to change your name.”

The bumpy gravel road went on east, but she couldn’t see the highway from where she stood. Why in the hell hadn’t Ezra extended the ranch to the road? If she stayed, she intended to use the money she’d gotten when she sold the doughnut shop in Galveston to buy that land and haul in gravel to fix the potholes in the road.

She turned north and followed the barbed-wire fence. The wind whistled through bare mesquite limbs, and the winter mix, as the weatherman called it, turned into more sleet than snow. Refusing to let the strong blasts hitting her right side keep her from her mission, she hunched her shoulders and kept walking.

Over there on the other side of the fence was Lonesome Canyon. She liked that name for a ranch and she’d liked Jackson and Loretta in the short time she’d met them. They looked a little old to be having another child, but if Abby decided to have kids, she could possibly be as old as Loretta when she started a family.

Thinking of that sent her back to Cooper sitting beside her at the dinner table. When his strong thigh touched hers, fire had shot through her veins. Then when her knee bumped his, it happened all over again. He’d sat there as cool as an icy-cold beer, but her pulse had raced and her gut had twisted up into a knot. What would he be like in bed? She shivered at the mental pictures that popped up in her head.

“Shut up!” she mumbled. “Stop it. There’s a hard year ahead of you, Abby. And this is going to be your home if you decide to stay on for the long haul. Don’t shit where you eat.” She cracked a smile against the yarn of her ski mask. “Talk about awkward.”

A dog barked and she looked to her left. It wagged its tail and took a couple of steps toward her, then ran back to the cemetery gate. She recognized it as one of the three dogs that had met them when they arrived at the house. Surrounded with an old iron fence with lots of ornate scrollwork, the gate groaned when she pushed it open. Another thing on her list was to give the whole fence a fresh coat of paint and to oil the gate hinges.

The dog ambled on toward the back of the cemetery and stopped at the tombstone in front of the fresh mound of dirt. Abby propped a hip on the cold gray granite and pulled another candy from her pocket to dispel the thoughts of the little girl in Afghanistan that came to mind whenever she thought about parenthood. “I’d share, but all I’ve got is hard candy, and I don’t suppose you should be eating that.”

The mutt put its paws on her leg and wagged its tail.

She squatted down and scratched the dog’s ears. “You and I could be friends. What’s your name? I always wanted a pet, but we lived above the doughnut shop, and Mama said that the health department would pitch a fit over anything that had hair and wasn’t human.”

Abby had never been to a private family cemetery before that day. It must be a rural custom or maybe it was just a Malloy custom to bury their dead right there on the ranch. Whatever it was, she did not intend to bury her mother’s ashes in that place. She’d take them back to Galveston and throw them out into the ocean before she put them anywhere near Ezra.

She stood back up and started to leave, when she glanced back over her shoulder at the tombstone. Ezra Malloy, born November 5, 1933. The death date had yet to be added, but it would say January 1.

Start off the New Year with a death, end with a birth.
She remembered the old wives’ tale Granny Spencer had related. She hadn’t really been her granny, but she’d always been thankful that Haley had shared her family with Abby. They’d spent so much time either at the doughnut shop, in the apartment above it, on the beach, or out at the farm where Haley lived that most folks thought they were sisters or cousins at least. It had been Haley who’d insisted that she go to Ezra’s funeral and that she make the trip to the canyon even if it was just to meet her siblings.

She cocked her head to one side and frowned, studying the dates until finally it hit her. “Holy shit, Mama! He was more than fifty years old when I was born. You were only thirty-two that year. What in the hell were you thinking? Was he good-looking back then or did he have some kind of charisma when he was young? All I saw was an old, withered-up guy wearing overalls.”

“You think you’ll get any answers by staring at that chunk of rock?” The deep Texas drawl startled her so bad that she automatically reached for the pistol strapped to her leg, but it wasn’t there. Heart thumping in her chest and pulse racing, she spun around to come face-to-face with Cooper. Only he wasn’t a sheriff anymore. He was a full-fledged cowboy, in a mustard-colored work coat, a black cowboy hat shading his brown eyes, scuffed-up work boots, and a plaid shirt showing beneath his coat.

Her eyes met his and the same feeling she’d gotten at the dinner table came rushing back. If all the sparks flittering around inside her were set loose, the bare trees surrounding the cemetery would go up in flames.

“I’m not so sure I’m even interested in answers. What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Hiram, the guy who owns the funeral home, left one of the tent poles. I told him I’d pick it up and bring it into town tomorrow. What are
you
doing here? Is that butterscotch I smell?” He took a couple of steps closer to her.

She crammed her hands deeper into her pockets to keep from reaching across the short distance separating them and brushing away that little bit of white sleet sticking to his facial hair.