The next morning she was up early. The snow had melted, and it was definitely cooler than the previous day, but warm enough to work the horses. Shep was nowhere to be found, so she started without him. Her father readied Matisse for transport and loaded him into Mr. Lankford’s horse trailer. “I’m going into town,” he said. “Where in hell’s Shep?” Lily asked. “Does he expect me to ride
all these horses by myself?”
“Had a checkup with the doctor, I think. Looks like you’re doing fine to me, although I’d longe the chestnut mare before you ride her. She looks fractious this morning.”
“No
duh
,” Lily said. “She’s thrown me every day I’ve ridden her.” “Better wear your hard hat.”
Her father got in his truck and drove off. Lily saddled the mare and worked her on the longe line until the horse appeared docile. She unsnapped the rope and pulled herself up onto her back, and for ten minutes, they moved as one through her nicely developing gaits. She was responding so well to leg cues that Lily decided to try her over some Cavaletti poles. She wouldn’t swear to it, but it felt like this one had the beginnings of a hunter-jumper in her. Lily dismounted, dragged out the red-and-white painted poles, situated them a horse’s stride apart, and got back on the mare. They walked over, and she encouraged the mare to drop her nose and take a sniff. The next thing Lily knew, she was lying flat on her back in the sand, staring up at a cloudy sky. She’d fallen hard enough that the wind was knocked out of
her, and she gasped while the mare ran a length of the arena, whinnying her victory, coming to a stop by the fence where Jody Jr. and her pack of unkind canine relations had witnessed the whole turn of events.
The horses and dogs seemed unimpressed by the string of curses Lily delivered. She looked at her watch: Eleven
A.M.
Enough of this crap. She went indoors, took a shower, fixed her hair, and sprayed herself with Mami’s most expensive perfume. She dressed in black jeans and a low-cut black silk pullover of her mother’s and selected a
heishi
necklace from her jewelry box that was probably worth more than the sculpture Buddy’d ruined, which she fully intended to repair before that plane landed.
From the porch she saw Shep’s truck, so she called his name but got no answer. She rapped on the bunkhouse door.
“What?”
“Sheppy,” she said to the red-painted wood. “That freaking chestnut mare threw me again this morning.”
“You probably weren’t concentrating.”
“The hell I wasn’t. Here’s my plan. We tie cement blocks to her hooves or outfit her with a pair of wings. What do you think?”
He didn’t answer.
Lily rapped on the door again. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night, Shep. I have a question. Do you think maybe men are terrified of happiness? I mean, everyone goes on about all ‘fear of commitment’ like that’s the core issue. What if that’s—I don’t know—some kind of distraction thrown out to keep women from understanding the real problem?”
The wrangler had no comment.
Lily pulled her gloves from her jacket pocket and put them on. “Oh, well. It was just a thought. You want to hear another one? Maybe that lapsed psychiatrist isn’t worthy of what I have to offer. For example, he didn’t buy a single one of the condoms.”
Again, her words were met with silence. “Fine, then. Ignore me, you old fart. All that does lend credence to my theories. You all are on my list, every last one of you plus that nasty mare. I’m going to town. You need anything?”
Through the closed door came his answer: “Well, a little peace and quiet might come in right handy.”
“Your wish is my command.” Lily fetched Buddy and wrestled him past the ranch dogs into the Lexus. Jody Jr. snapped all the way up to the shutting of the car door. Lily guessed that maybe after they were weaned, dogs forgot they had children, which made her think of trying to find Second Chance again, an endless game of phone tag with various motorcycle magazines who knew of the lad but not where he currently resided. She loved her nephew enough that she’d rack up the long distance charges trying to find that out. What if she never got to have a baby of her own? Jeez. If the best she could hope for was being a stepmother figure to Leah from Stanford, it hardly paid to have ovaries.
The entire half hour it took to get to her sister’s part of town she punched numbers into her car phone. The magazine in Arizona put her on perpetual hold, but the woman who answered the phone in Albuquerque said to try Mexico, a lot of the motocross riders went south for the winter and mutated into surfers. Lily thanked her and turned up the stereo. Buddy Guy’s
Slippin’ In
was permanently programmed disc number six on the CD player. The first cut was “I Smell Trouble,” and the second, which she played three times in a row, was “Please Don’t Drive Me Away.” Lowering her voice to harmonize got her halfway to Rose’s, but pretty soon the edges of her resolve crumbled, and she began to feel as friable as end-stage inflammatory bowel disease. While the blues tapped at her soul, Lily could swear the steering wheel was yanking itself in the other direction, up that mountain toward Dr. Q. Before “Love Her with a Feeling” was ten notes into the song she had to shut off the music entirely.
“Buddy,” she said as they parked in the lot of the veterinary hos- pital, where sunlight struck the adobe walls, painting them a warm shade of russet, “a rawhide chew you don’t have to share with anybody and decent treatment from the one man with whom I am sexually combustible—do you think we ask for too much?” Her blue heeler panted happily. She snapped on his leash and muzzle, dragged him across the parking lot, and into the clinic.
“Did you have a scheduled appointment?” the woman behind the counter asked suspiciously.
“I’m Rose’s little sister, “Lily explained. “I’m here to get my dog’s teeth cleaned and take my sister to lunch.”
The woman leaned onto her arms across the counter. “So this is famous Lily.”
“I’m famous?”
“
Por supuesto
, but I thought you’d be taller. I’m Paloma. You’ll have to fill out this questionnaire. Has your dog had anything to eat today?”
Only panties and a hippie biscuit
. She couldn’t say that out loud. “Even if we asked nice I don’t think he’d tell the truth.”
“He’ll have to come back tomorrow, then. No food after midnight.
No water in the morning.”
Lily sighed. What was she supposed to do with Buddy while she and Rose ate lunch?” Couldn’t I just board him and have you guys do it in the morning?”
“Is he current on his vaccines?”
“Yeah, of course. Probably. Call his vet in California. I have his card here in my purse somewhere.”
“Without proof of inoculation, the doctor will have to examine him.”
Lily pulled a handful of business cards from the compartment in her purse, laid them on the counter, and began shuffling through them. Surgeons, technical assistants, radiologists, not a vet in the bunch. “Any chance the doctor can see him right now?”
Paloma shrugged. “Have a seat. I’ll let Rose know you’re here.” “Why don’t you wait and tell Rose after I’ve see the vet? I don’t
want to interrupt her work.”
The woman picked up the phone and buzzed Dr. Donavan. Lily wandered around the waiting room. So, this was her sister’s world:
Dog Fancy
magazines, old
National Geographics
, and on the wall above the benches, framed posters of all the known horse breeds and color variations. There was a stone statue of a dog holding a basket in his teeth. Inside the basket were folded-up flyers for tick medicine. Above the water cooler Lily spotted a little plaque with a framed Polaroid labeled “Pet of the Month.” October’s was some ancient palomino pony who reminded her of Sparrow. Maybe in exchange for a bill some artist had left framed sketches of a dachshund and two Siamese cats. Under the pictures a taped card declared that for a fee, he’d be glad to immortalize your pet on acid-free paper. Complimentary coffee in a pump thermos, a stack of paper cups, tiny packets of powdered fake cream, and the striped coffee stirrers Lily used to be addicted to chewing while she drove the LA freeways took up space next to the magazines—right here in front of her face was small-town Floralee, distilled into one of
its larger businesses. Lily’d forgotten how the close confines got under her skin.
California has infected me with small-town-aphobia
, she thought.
If Buddy needed an endoscopy, would he have to be airlifted to ’Burque
? Mami
could fly him, if she was around, or I guess I could learn to fly a plane myself. How different can flying be from driving
?
The exam room door opened and a handsome, dark-haired man smiled at her. “I’m Doctor Donavan,” he said. “Bring Buddy on back.”
Lily returned the smile but reserved half the wattage of her total shine in case this skinny guy with the hippie glasses turned out to be unworthy. “I have to warn you, he sometimes bites.”
“He looks friendly.”
Buddy ambled on through the doorway, tail wagging. He seemed amenable enough, even blasé about the exam room smells. “I guess he’s having a good day.” Lily removed his muzzle.
“Let’s lift him up on the table and check him out.”
Lily held Buddy’s collar and watched the vet work. Buddy allowed his heart to be listened to, his temperature to be taken, his belly palpated, and his ears checked, all without protest. This guy had the gentlest touch. She wondered what that translated to in bed, if such soft movements could tame her sister, because surely Rose was secretly as wild as Lily.
The vet peeled the dog’s lips back. “I agree, his teeth could use a cleaning. How often do you brush them?”
“When he lets me. Well, I did it once. How am I supposed to when he chews up the brush? I feed him those hard biscuits.”
Dr. Donavan patted Buddy’s belly. “Could be Buddy’s had a few too many biscuits in the name of dental hygiene. Ever thought about switching his diet to a lower-calorie formula?”
“You mean we
both
have to live on Lean Cuisine?”
The vet laughed. “Ms. Wilder, you don’t look like you need to lose weight. Your dog, however, is obese.”
“Why don’t you call me Lily?”
“Okay.” The vet wrote some things down in the chart he’d started for Buddy. Without looking up, he said, “The only resemblance I can see between you and your sister is your eyes. I’ve lived here all my life. Seems funny I don’t remember you.”
Lily tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “I’m five years younger than Rose. When you two were raising hell around Floralee, I
was a barn rat in jodhpurs and mucking boots. I didn’t even know boys existed.”
He snorted. “That’s not what I heard.”
“What did Rose tell you? That stuff about the photographer is totally exaggerated. Those pictures were artistic, and they
never
ap- peared in
Hustler
.”
Dr. Donavan smiled. “Hadn’t heard the photographer story, but as long as you brought it up, I wouldn’t mind hearing it now.”
Lily took out her lipstick and redid her mouth. “Not a chance.
Forget I mentioned it.”
“I’ll try. If Paloma can’t verify his vaccines, I’ll have to give Buddy a new set. He can board here overnight and get his teeth done in the morning, be ready to go home by the afternoon. Where is home, by the way? California? Or are you back in town because you’re consid- ering relocating?”
Lily thought of Tres in his cabin, and this smart-mouthed veterin- arian who was wearing a very nice watch, which indicated he made decent money or at least had good taste and a credit line to support it. “Haven’t decided on that, Doctor. Why don’t you come with Rose and me to lunch? You can pitch me the benefits of small-town life.” “Afraid I’ve got surgery this afternoon. And I think you can
probably call me Austin.”
Lily thrust her chin up. “Oh? Is that a small-town thing or a famil- iar thing?”
“Whatever you choose to make of it.”
“Maybe Rose told you I’m in the medical field, too. What kind of surgery are you doing this afternoon?”
He tapped the file chart against the exam table. “Appaloosa gelding with focal dermatitis of the penile sheath. Removing the growths or leaving them alone offers roughly the same odds, but the owner wants them removed.”
“Doesn’t sound like it’ll take very long.”
“After that I have to check on some mules. That might take a couple of hours. They’re a judge’s mules. A judge who recently did me a favor.”
“Well, Austin, if you ever have need of laparoscopic equipment, call me. I can get you the number of somebody who would cut you a dynamite deal.” She handed him a business card with her various numbers and added, “I check my voice mail hourly.”
He tucked the card into his pocket. “Thanks, but this is a fairly low-key practice. I’m pretty well set.”
“How set are you with my sister?”
Austin fumbled the file he was holding and bent to catch it before it hit the floor. When he stood up he was tight lipped. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
“One simple question and we’re all the way back to ‘ma’am’? That must mean serious sheet time.”
“Your dog’ll be ready tomorrow.”
Dr. Donavan hustled Buddy out the door so quickly Lily could feel the breeze in their wake.
Handsome
, she thought.
More Rose’s type than mine. Damn that Tres Quintero anyway. I know I could have stayed quiet enough for him to type
.
“Order whatever you want,” Lily insisted while the waitress stood, pad in hand, waiting. “This is on me, not the company, so you don’t have to experience any corporate guilt. You love seafood. Have a shrimp cocktail. And save room for dessert.”
Rose, who was dressed in nothing special—khaki pants, a navy blue turtleneck and an embroidered denim vest over that—pushed the menu aside and took a drink of water. “I only want a salad.”
Even in baggy old pants and a vest that hid her tits, which were her best feature, Rose looked good today. “Why? Are you dieting? You don’t need to lose weight.” She turned to the waitress. “Do you think my sister’s fat?”