Daisies in the Canyon (5 page)

The next thing that came out of the duffel bag was an oversized case of CDs. She flipped through them until she found the ones by Travis Tritt and started to take one out. She stopped and stared at the picture that reminded her so much of Cooper.

“No! Not these. Not today,” she said. Instead she chose Blake Shelton. She wiggled her shoulders to the music when it started and wondered if Cooper Wilson liked country music. What kind of dancer would he be? She imagined herself with those big strong arms around her. One around her waist, maybe dipping down lower until it rested on her butt; the other with his fingers laced with hers as they swayed to the music. She inhaled deeply and imagined looking deeply into his eyes.

“Dammit!” She stomped her foot and swore. She didn’t need to be thinking of anyone. Especially not the sheriff, who was also the neighbor, and she damn sure didn’t care what kind of music he liked. A vision of his swagger as he walked away from her in the cemetery appeared in spite of her determination to forget all about him.

“Stop it right now. He’s too damned sexy not to have a girlfriend or maybe . . .” She stopped unpacking and blinked several times to get rid of the image.

Wife?
The voice in her head asked.

She shook her head. “There’s no ring, so there is no wife. Dammit again! What am I doing? Get a hold of yourself, Malloy! Put a bullet in that biological clock that starts ticking every time you talk to Haley.”

She hit the “Forward” button on the CD player again and sang along with several songs while she hung her meager supply of clothing in the closet. Two pairs of camo pants and three pairs of jeans occupied one end. A couple of sweaters and a long skirt on the other. Two or three shirts and a little black dress with a jacket, just in case she had to go somewhere important. Her combat boots would have to be cleaned up and polished before she set them on the floor beside her cowboy boots and one pair of high-heeled shoes.

She picked up a long, hard plastic case and very gently put it on the bed. She didn’t need to open it to see what was inside, but she did anyway. There was her history right there in the gun case. Her mother’s pump shotgun, all cleaned and ready for use, not that it had done a damn bit of good when those three drug addicts came into the doughnut shop and killed her when there was only $110 and change in the cash register.

The .22 rifle was a perfect match to Haley’s. The two girls had gotten the smart idea that they wanted to be hunters in their early teenage tomboy days. They’d asked for .22 rifles and for Haley’s dad and brothers to take them squirrel hunting with them. Haley was a natural just like her brothers and her father. She could aim, shoot, and a squirrel fell out of the tree every time. Not Abby. She could aim, but she couldn’t pull the trigger any more than she could eat the squirrels that Haley’s dad fixed on the grill.

The Glock was hers and she fully intended to find a site at the back of the ranch, maybe up against the canyon wall, for target practice at least once a week when spring came. She’d finally learned to shoot in the army and had scored so high on target they’d thought about sending her to sniper training. But that had fallen through when she took the psych exam. She had found out early on that it was easy to shoot someone coming toward her with a pistol in one hand and a grenade in the other, but she had never been able to shake the nightmares when that had happened.

When Blake started the last song on the CD, she sat down in the rocking chair and stared out the window. He sang about his granddaddy’s gun. She’d never known any of her grandparents. Her maternal ones had been gone before she was born. Cancer took them and her mother had always feared she’d contract it early and not live to see Abby raised.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and left wet spots on her shirt. Did Ezra have guns or had he given them to Rusty? He’d probably loved his foreman more than any of his own blood daughters. She didn’t weep for Ezra or for his guns, but for what could have been, for the father she’d never known.

Cooper stretched out on the brown leather sofa and rested his head on a throw pillow when he got home that afternoon. His dog did a low belly crawl from in front of the fireplace to lie on the floor beside him. Instinctively, he dropped his hand and scratched her ears.

“It’s been a long day, Delores.”

Her tail thumped against the leg of the heavy wood coffee table.

Cooper continued to pet the dog as he replayed the day, scene after scene. It had all started when they brought Ezra’s body to the cemetery. He and Rusty were the only ones there at that time and it had reminded him of the sad day they’d buried his grandfather. That day he’d said good-bye to his last living family member. But his grandfather had been more than just family. The old guy had been his best friend, his confidant, his mentor on the ranch, and his support when he ran for sheriff. His parents had died when he was just a little boy and his grandfather and grandmother had raised him from that point on. She’d died several years before his grandfather and for those next few years it had just been him and Grandpa on the ranch. Funerals reminded him of the fact that he was totally alone in the world except for friends and neighbors.

His mind shifted back to today when the neighbors and friends had begun to arrive. They’d gathered round close together, making a semicircle around the three empty chairs. A lump had formed in Cooper’s throat as he’d looked at those chairs. What if not a single one of Ezra’s daughters showed up? He couldn’t blame them if they didn’t, not after Ezra sending them away at birth, but still, to have that final moment on earth with no family?

“But they did, even if Abby was almost too late,” Cooper told Delores. “I wonder what Grandpa would make of Ezra’s daughters? He’d have something to say about each of them, for sure. Bonnie with her nose ring. Abby in her camouflage and Shiloh with her better-than-thou attitude. I’m surprised Ezra didn’t raise up out of that casket when they filed past it. Especially Abby, decked out in that army stuff. In Ezra’s world, women stayed in the house where they belonged. They damn sure didn’t join the army.”

It must have been the funeral, but Cooper really missed his grandfather that night. Or maybe it was because he wanted to talk to him about the sparks that flew when he was around Abby. Ezra’s other two daughters didn’t affect him like that, not one bit, but that oldest daughter? Dammit, but she got under his skin from the time she’d sat down in the last chair. He’d thought his reaction to her touch might be a fluke, but then the same thing had happened at the cemetery. The feeling had been so damned strong that he’d wanted to take her in his arms, kiss those full lips, and hold her forever.

He’d have to kick the physical attraction out in the cold, because there was no way she’d stay in the canyon. And to Cooper’s way of thinking, there was no use starting something he couldn’t finish. Folks said that more babies were born nine months after a funeral than any other time because people needed to feel alive. Maybe that’s what he’d experienced with Abby . . . the desire to feel a woman in his arms as proof he was alive.

“What do you think, Delores? Is it time for me to start getting serious about finding someone to share this big old ranch and my life? It just can’t be that particular woman, even if she did throw a couple of extra beats into this old heart of mine. There’s no way she’ll stick around for the long haul. She’ll take her third of the money and be gone by spring.”

Delores didn’t answer.

Chapter Four

U
npacking was done, boxes cut up and put into the trash, duffel bags inside the suitcases and stored on the closet shelf. Boots were brushed off and set beside the rocking chair so she could put them on first thing in the morning. No fancy purple running shoes for Abby. She ran in combat boots. All she needed before she fell into bed was a quick shower, but first she wanted a breath of fresh air. The house wasn’t too warm, but the walls were closing in on her. She felt Rusty’s presence on the porch before he spoke, which gave her back the confidence that she hadn’t completely lost her skills.

“Good evening. I was just feeding the dogs,” Rusty said.

One nosed her hand and she sat down in one of the three rocking chairs and scratched the animal’s ears. “What kind are they and what are their names?”

“Mongrels mostly. Some Catahoula with some bluetick hound thrown in. Ezra said that their mama was a bluetick over on Lonesome Canyon. That one that you’re petting is Martha. The one with floppy ears beside the food pan is Vivien and that lazy old gal scratching her ribs is Polly,” Rusty said.

Abby quickly put her hand in her lap. “Are you shittin’ me? Tell me the other two aren’t named after Shiloh and Bonnie’s mamas.”

“He told me that he named them after his ex-wives and had them spayed before they had any puppies, because he figured all they’d throw would be more bitches. No offense meant. I’m just repeatin’ what he said.”

“How old are they?”

“Five or six years old, near as he could remember. Jackson offered to give away the mixed-breed pups and all that was left was females when Ezra got around to making a trip over to Lonesome Canyon to look at them. He took them all and he trained them himself. They’re fine cattle dogs and fair huntin’ critters.”

“Does Martha take up with everyone?”

“Pretty much. She’s the friendliest one of the lot, but she’s also the best cow dog of the three. I save her for the last if the other two can’t run a rangy old bull out of the mesquite,” Rusty said.

“Why?”

“She goes for the lip and she don’t let go. They know her, and when I turn her loose, believe me, they don’t want what she’s about to bring to the fight. If you’ve a mind to learn ranchin’, then you can start tomorrow. It’s Sunday, so all we’ll do is chores. Other than that Ezra always said it was a day that God made for restin’, so that’s what we do. I’ll be takin’ care of feedin’ chores and I’ll be leaving right after six from that barn out there.” He pointed to the south. “Good night, Abby.”

He was gone before she could say another word. Martha slipped her big head into Abby’s lap and whined. Abby rubbed the dog’s ears and said, “Next January, your name is changing to Spot or Jane or Fluff Butt, anything but my mother’s name. Ezra might have thought it was funny to name you dogs after his ex-wives, but I don’t see a damn thing amusing in it.”

Vivien and Polly ignored her, but Martha wagged her tail and whined for more petting. The door opened and Shiloh came out, sat down in a rocking chair, and propped her feet on the porch railing. Her slippers were those oversized things with Tweety Bird’s head on the toes. Martha eyed them for a few seconds before she decided that they weren’t dangerous, then she went straight to Shiloh. Fickle bitch. She didn’t deserve her name and it
would
be changed. Fluff Butt was looking better by the moment.

“Wonder what their names are.” Shiloh rubbed the dog from head to tail several times.

“Martha, Vivien, and Polly. Which one was your mother?” Abby gripped the arms of the rocker so hard that her knuckles ached. Shit fire! She hadn’t meant to ask questions. She didn’t want to get to know either of them.

“Polly is my mother. She’s still livin’ and you are shittin’ me, right?”

Abby shook her head. “Rusty just now told me and I don’t think he’d make that up. So your mama’s namesake is the one over there scratching her ears.”

“What about ears?” Bonnie stepped out on the porch. She wore a stained work coat over her mismatched pajama pants and flannel shirt and cowboy boots on her feet.

“Your mama is the bitch over there eating the last of the dog food,” Shiloh said.

“My mama might not be a saint, but you ain’t got no right to be callin’ her a bitch,” Bonnie said stiffly.

“I’m not. Ezra named his three dogs after our mothers. Mine is Polly. That would be the lazy old gal who’s now curling up on the rug in front of the door. Vivien is eating and this one who wants to be petted is Martha, Abby’s mama.”

“The old bastard.” Bonnie sucked in a lungful of air and went back into the house.

Abby followed her without saying another word and Martha tagged along behind her all the way into the bedroom, where she curled up in the recliner and went to sleep. Abby grabbed her bathroom gear with the intention of taking a shower, but the tub looked so good that she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. She shucked her clothing, leaving them hanging on the nail beside the door, and slid into the warm, steamy water.

“Oh. My. God!” she muttered, leaning on the sloped back and sinking down until nothing but her head was sticking up. The only thing better would be a Jacuzzi in a hotel suite with a cowboy like Cooper.

She opened her eyes wide and focused on the water faucets. She was not going to think about Cooper anymore. She’d gone for a whole hour without letting him into her mind so it wouldn’t be that difficult.

She closed her eyes again, and as if on cue, a picture of him at the cemetery with that black hat pulled down over his eyes popped into her mind. She let her eyes drop to the way his butt filled out the jeans as he walked away from her in that sexy swagger. Mentally she brought him into the bathroom with her and watched him undress slowly, then slide into the bathtub with her.

She blinked several times and then swore when the visual refused to leave. “Dammit to hell on a rusty poker. I can control this. I can and I will.”

She banished every thought or picture from her mind and dozed, dreaming of a little girl peeking out of an upstairs window of a building. The child waved shyly a split second before the whole building went up in smoke and crumbled to the ground. Abby had given the command for the soldiers in her company to paint the building. The planes flying away had bombed it on her command and now that sweet little girl was dead. If she’d had a drop of parental instinct in her body, she would have sent someone inside to check for civilians, especially kids, before she gave the signal to light it up.

She awoke with a start. The water had gone lukewarm, so she pulled the plug and crawled out, goose bumps dancing down her back as she tucked a towel around her body. Shiloh stepped out into the hallway and closed her door softly, nodded at Abby, and carried her own supplies into the bathroom. In seconds, the shower was running. More country music came from Bonnie’s room; this time it was Conway singing, “Goodbye Time.” No wait a minute—that was Blake Shelton’s voice, not Conway’s.

Abby had watched the video of that song so many times it was burned in her memories. Be damned if Bonnie didn’t look like the girl in the video. Kind of rough and yet innocent at the same time when she looked up with those blue eyes. When the song ended, it started all over again. Had Bonnie said good-bye to some old boy back in Harlan, Kentucky, to come to Texas? Would he follow her?

She shut the door to her room as the song started over for the third time. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. If Bonnie had given up a man for this dream of having her own ranch, she wouldn’t budge as quickly as Abby had figured. One thing for sure—it was past time for her to say that it was good-bye time to those crazy feelings that Cooper had stirred up, so maybe the song was as much to her as it was to Bonnie.

Sleep was slow to come to Abby and then it was fitful, the nightmares returning to haunt her. At midnight she sat straight up in bed, eyes wide-open, pulse and heartbeat in competition to see which one could pound the loudest in her ears. She couldn’t remember what she was dreaming about, only that it was terrifying. She envied the soldiers who went home to a spouse who could comfort them in times like this.

She flopped back down on her pillow and shut her eyes. Martha whined from the recliner, crossed the floor, and jumped up on the bed with Abby. She licked her face and then curled up on the foot of the bed, her head lying on Abby’s feet. That time Abby slept until five minutes before her alarm sounded; she hit the button and swung her legs out of the bed. Time for a morning run to clear her head and get her ready for the day. Run, eat, and then it would be day one of chores with Rusty.

The house was still quiet as she eased out the door. Martha dashed out the moment she opened the door and barely made it off the porch before she squatted. Abby bit back the laughter and said, “At least you were polite enough not to do that on my bed or on the carpet.”

She did a few stretches using the porch rail as a bar, and then started a slow jog down the lane. She’d run to the main road, which by her calculations was about two miles, and back. It would be a short run, but she didn’t want to miss Rusty and she didn’t think he’d wait for her. Why should he? If they all left, he inherited the ranch.

She’d barely left the yard fence behind when she realized that she had a running companion. Martha was right beside her, step for step, not getting ahead, not lagging behind, but keeping up without even letting her tongue hang out.

“At least she has manners, Mama.” Abby grinned.

They made it to the road and Abby ran in place for a minute before turning around and starting back. She didn’t plan on turning left and running down the fence line separating Malloy Ranch from Cooper’s place, but Martha herded her that way. She’d only gone fifty yards at most when suddenly Cooper was on the other side of the barbed-wire fence, jogging along with her.

“Early riser, are you?” he asked.

“Always have been. Mama had a doughnut shop that opened at five. She rousted me out of bed at three to go to work with her.” Dammit! Why did she feel compelled to tell him anything?

She focused on his shoulder nearest to her as they ran. Surely to God there wasn’t anything sexy about a shoulder, was there? Then she imagined cuddling with him on one of the porch rocking chairs, his arms around her, his lips on that tender part of her neck as her head rested on that strong shoulder.

“Me, too, only it wasn’t a doughnut shop, it was plain old ranchin’. My grandfather left this little spread to me when he passed on. He was about Ezra’s age and I grew up right here working beside him my whole life,” Cooper said.

Not many men could run and talk at the same time. She had to give him kudos for being in shape.

“Where were your parents?” Hopefully if he talked about something like his parents she’d lose this crazy infatuation.

“Right here until I was four. I don’t remember much about them. The smell of Mama’s perfume brings back a comforting feeling and sometimes it’s like I know my dad is proud of me for bein’ sheriff and keepin’ the Lucky Seven runnin’ at the same time, but other than what I see in pictures, I can’t bring them up in my mind. They were killed when the brakes on their truck gave way as they came down into the canyon from Claude,” he said.

She stopped when she could see the house against the canyon wall. He went on, but then turned and came back, running in place.

“You quittin’?” he asked.

“Time’s up. Lights are on in the house and I want to help with feeding this morning. Have a good run. Martha and I are going home now,” she said.

He nodded and took off again. Martha flopped down close to her feet to rest while she watched Cooper’s backside keep going. Lord have mercy! That cowboy even strutted when he was jogging. She might as well quit trying to erase every thought she had of him and simply realize, even though they kept returning, she wasn’t going to do anything about them.

“Okay, girl, let’s go home and get some breakfast. I’m having another helping of cold fried chicken and some more cake. You’ve been a good runnin’ buddy. You want me to save you the bones?”

Martha wagged her tail and stood up as if she understood every word. They walked back to the house, woman and black-and-brown brindled dog with one blue eye and one brown one. When they got there, Martha flopped down on the porch under a rocking chair and shut her eyes.

“Had enough of that, have you? Well, I’ll bring you some bones anyway.” Abby went inside with a lighter heart than she’d had since she’d left Galveston.

Bonnie was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl full of peach cobbler topped with a double scoop of ice cream in front of her. Shiloh had something that looked green and horrible in a tall glass, sipping on it while she watched the Weather Channel on television. They were both dressed in faded jeans and work shirts. Shiloh’s dark hair was braided and Bonnie’s was pulled up in a ratty-looking ponytail.

One of Bonnie’s shoulders raised slightly. “Guess you intend to go with Rusty to feed, too. I thought you were still in your room.”

“I’ve already had a four-mile run like I do every morning,” Abby said. “Where’s the rest of the chicken?”