Owen's Daughter (22 page)

The two dogs had a little confab, and Skye looked at the house the dog had come from, the front door ajar. At each window, blue-painted window boxes waited for spring. Then a woman—possibly forty, but no older—hurried out, balancing a baby on her hip. Her hair was silver, not gray, and Skye could tell it had gone this color way earlier than it did in most other people. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Curly! Come on in the house right now. I hope she wasn’t bothering your dog,” she said as she walked closer, trying to get Curly’s attention. The woman smiled grimly. “One of my daughter’s dogs. She opens doors. The dog, I mean.”

Her dad smiled. “A dog that smart will settle down some if you teach her tricks.”

The woman nodded. “I know you’re right. I used to train all my dogs, and then she came along.” She looked down at the baby. “Now I’m lucky if I get time to brush my teeth.”

“Cute baby,” Skye said, looking into the child’s big eyes. “What’s her name?”

“Sparrow.”

“What a perfect name,” Skye said. “How did you decide on it?”

The chubby baby was drooling onto her bib, blinking at the new people she’d just met. “It’s a long story. But it seems to fit her, doesn’t it? Everyone says her eyes are hazel, but to me they seem gray, the color of a sparrow’s feathers. Curly, come on,” she said. “Enough bothering these people.” Curly was on her feet now, and major sniffing was taking place. The woman sighed. “We need to get her spayed.”

“You know, I do some dog training,” Owen told her as he took hold of the dog’s collar. “Don’t suppose you’d have any use for that service? Or maybe a dog walker?”

“Actually, a dog walker is exactly what I need. Do you have a card?”

“Not on me. I can give you my phone number, if you have something to write on, and write with.”

“Sure.” She looked down at the dog as if she were trying to figure out how to manage getting her leashed, all that and the baby, too.

“Let me hold the baby for a second,” Skye said. “Come here, little Sparrow.” The woman handed her over, and Skye felt the same thrilling sensations of holding Gracie for the first time. Memories she’d taken for granted—days gone by that would never come again—washed over her.

The woman leashed the dog and patted her pockets. “I don’t have a pen with me. But I have one inside. Can you come in, just for a second? Then I can put the baby down and get the dog out back. You must think I’m out of my mind. I’m not, I swear, just pregnant—the stage where your brain is in a fog and you cry at the least little thing. Come on, my house is right over here.”

“Skye?” Owen said.

“Coming.” This woman had an adorable baby and another on the way, and she lived in a house that could have come from a fairy tale. How did people get that lucky? Skye followed her up the steps and into a great room with flagstone floors, a groaning bookshelf, a playpen, and so many toys scattered about that it looked like a baby store riot. Her dad took the runaway dog to the French doors, let her out, and two larger dogs, a border collie and a mutt, immediately greeted Curly while Hope sat there, uninterested.

“Thanks so much for helping,” she said. “I’m Glory.”

“Skye. That’s my dad.”

“Talk about a beautiful name. Did your dad name you?”

“He’s really great with dogs,” Skye said, sidestepping the question. She took one last inhalation of that powdery, baby scent before placing Sparrow into the playpen. “Me, I prefer babies.”

“They do have an appeal,” Glory said, “especially when they’re clean and happy.” She pulled open a desk drawer and took out a yellow Post-it note pad and a chewed-up pen. “I hope it still has ink in it,” she said, shaking it.

Owen wrote down his phone number and “O. Garrett.” “I hope I can be of service to you. Seems like you have your hands full.”

Glory laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. My older girls, my dog walkers, are either at work or at college. I’d be happy to hire you to walk the big ones every couple of days.”

“The big ones?” he asked, gesturing at the three dogs outside racing around one another. “Does that mean there are others?”

She whistled. “Eddie!” Around the corner came an Italian greyhound. “He’s perfectly normal,” she said, “so don’t worry about how thin he is. It’s a sight hound trait.”

The little dog was wiggling his butt off, trying to get Glory to pick him up.

“Miniature greyhound?” her dad asked.

She nodded. “Italian.”

“I’ve trained full-size greyhounds, smart dogs. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a greyhound this small.”

“It’s a toy breed. He’s full-grown. I got him from a shelter.”

Eddie walked around the three-legged heeler, observing.

“It’s my pleasure to walk whichever dogs you want,” he said. “Just tell me how long a walk, what kind of exercise, and I’ll tucker them out for you.” He walked toward the front door, his tripod dog following.

The second Skye had let go of the baby, the hard-to-ignore desire to use had risen steadily. How great it would feel to have an OxyContin or three, a drink of anything—even a baby Valium would help. There was nothing like it when a drug kicked in and blunted everything that was difficult or painful. She loved when the hurry-up-and-feel-the-calm hit her like a rush, the relief from the constant anxiety that bubbled in her veins. When she looked at Glory, she felt certain the woman could tell what she was thinking.

“It was nice to meet you, Skye,” Glory said. “Owen, put a business card up at Kaune’s. Santa Fe’s a real dog town. Most people around here shop there. And everybody works, so I bet you could get new clients in a week’s time, or less.”

“Will do.”

Skye walked toward the door, following her father.

He stopped just below the steps, staring at the house next door. He had one hand up as if to shield his eyes from the sunlight, but it wasn’t sunny out at all. He looked back at Glory, about to say something, just as the sounds of a fussing baby began.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Glory said, then hesitated. “Owen? Clearly, I’m nobody to talk, but you should know there’s a leash law in this part of town. It’s a fifty-dollar ticket.”

“Thanks.”

Skye watched her dad reach into his jacket pocket, pull out a leash, and hold it in front of Hope. The dog delicately took the leather in his mouth and turned to walk back in the direction they’d come.

Glory laughed. “Get video of that on your smartphone, and it would make a great advertisement for your services, Owen.”

“Give me a ring and we’ll set up a time.”

“Great,” she said, and walked back to her house.

“Daddy,” Skye said, “what the heck were you staring at?”

“Just before the baby started crying, I swear I saw a girl standing right there. Dressed strange, like an old-time Indian in deerskin and feathers, long braids.” He pointed to the little bit of yard in front of the house next door. “Hope even growled at her. He never does that.”

Skye frowned at him. “Daddy, there isn’t anybody there.”

“I swear there was. She was looking right at me.”

“Really. And what did the Indian lady say to you? ‘A rocky vineyard does not need a prayer but a pickax’? ‘There is nothing so eloquent as a rattlesnake’s tail’?”

“Where’d you hear all those Navajo sayings?”

“From Duncan Hanes, drug and alcohol counselor, and reciter of Navajo proverbs. The asshole who broke confidentiality and called you, breaking laws left and right. You’d only see an Indian woman dressed like that if someone was making a movie, in which case the streets would be blocked off.”

“Call me an old fool, but I saw her.”

“You’ve had a lot of coffee,” Skye said. “You’re probably ­dehydrated or something. Let’s go back to Mama’s. Your dog needs a nap.”

“Me too.”

“Daddy?” Skye said. “Wake up, I made dinner. Go wash your hands.”

Owen rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe how long I slept. It’s dark out. What’re we having?”

“Skirt steak. Or else you can have scrambled eggs. I walked down to Kaune’s and bought us a little food while you were sleeping. But soon, one of us needs to go actual shopping, and you’re the one with the money. And more coming, since you got a dog-walking job. I need to check in with somebody about my community service, but I really thought I’d have found Gracie by now. Hard to commit to a schedule if you might have to break it.”

“Honey, give me a minute to get my bearings.” He got up, straightened his sleeping bag, and walked toward the bathroom. The dog usually followed him everywhere, but he was fast sleep on the Persian rug.

Skye fixed their plates and got extra napkins, an old habit from feeding Gracie, who liked to personally “interact” with her food, which meant fingers, not silverware. Owen came back into the room, his hair slicked back and his face washed. He sat on the couch. Skye handed him his plate.

“This looks good.”

“Wait until you taste it. There was a bottle of soy sauce, some frozen green chile, and a jar of jam in the fridge, not a lot to work with. I think I should call the cops now. I’ve run out of places to look and people to ask. While you were in dreamland, I looked all the way up to the letter
H
lawyers’ names in the phone book. Not one of them rings a bell.”

“Where’s the rodeo this time of year? Texas?”

“Yeah. Then I think it goes to California.”

“Hmm,” Owen said. “Tomorrow, after my job interview, let’s head to the library to use one of their computers. Chances are, we can find his name on the roster. Unless he took a season off. But maybe a name will ring a bell, give us someone else to call.”

“I thought of someone else while you were napping.”

“Who?”

Skye blew out a breath. “Well, it depends on the time of year, and how much money Rocky won, but he has this friend, kind of. A dealer.”

Her father was dipping his skirt steak into green chile. “A dealer in antiques or what?”

She couldn’t look at him. “Cocaine.”

“Cocaine? I thought they drug tested at rodeos.”

“Yeah, they test the horses.”

Owen set his fork on the edge of the plate. He didn’t say a word.

“Daddy, say something. You know cowboys—to them it’s nothing more than a way to kill the pain and keep riding.”

His mouth was set. “Last time I checked, it was codeine you used for pain, not cocaine. Did you use it, too?”

All Skye could think of was how ridiculous she must have looked when she was high. The higher she was, the surer she’d been that she could hide it. It was also the wrongest idea she’d ever had. “I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m disappointed in me. But I admitted my problem. I dealt with it. I imagine I’ll be dealing with it the rest of my life.”

He reached over and touched her cheek. “I’m sure you’re disappointed in me, too. Waste of time. I’m no one to judge anybody for anything. So where do we go from here?”

Skye set down her fork. Her appetite had vanished. “Rocky said when he got too old to rodeo, he wanted to get a little place in Truth or Consequences. Or maybe he went back to Oklahoma. He has a cousin there. Jared or Jerry, something like that.”

Her dad finished his steak. “You’re a good cook. You took a skirt steak and made it taste like a T-bone. That requires talent.”

Skye stared at her plate. “A miracle, more like it.” The hunk of cooling meat made her want to eat nothing but vegetables. “If Rocky went someplace like T or C, it could be a good thing. Like maybe he got a job and put Gracie in school.”

“I’ve been there. It’s a one-horse kind of town, and I mean that in the best way. Everybody knows everybody, looks out for everybody. Shouldn’t be too hard to find him if he’s there. Especially if he’s as good at bull riding as you say. That’s rodeo culture. People fix on one cowboy and follow him like golf fanatics follow Tiger Woods.”

Skye snorted. “Rocky had groupies all right. He dressed the part. He’d wear these custom-made American flag chaps, his flashiest spurs, and his hat was always beaver, a high-end quality, marked XXXX. The groupies loved that. You might have liked him, before all the drugs.”

Owen stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the knots and massaging them. “Every one of us has made a mistake like that at one time or another.” He walked over to the painting.

Skye set her plate down for Hope, who got to his feet and stretched out his remaining front leg like a yogi. “You talking about yourself?”

It was as if he didn’t hear her. That painting had him rapt. She saw in his expression that her dad was lost in memories again. He was thinking about Margaret, apparently his one true love. “Daddy? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” he said, and took the dishes into the kitchen. While he stood at the sink and scrubbed the plates, Skye read the want ads again. Slim pickings. Tomorrow she’d pick up the car, and then she could really start looking for her little girl.

Dolores

I’m spent as a sheet of wet newspaper from that appearance. I’ll have to rest. For days. Time is running out. I had to make sure Owen saw the house. It was the only way. Men aren’t so . . . easy to reach as women. Women are more willing to see things that don’t make sense because their bodies are used to magic. Men need snakebite to loosen them up before they accept the otherworldly. But this Owen doesn’t drink. Which makes it hard.