Texas Standoff. Ruth Smith Alana

turn to smirk. “Maybe, but I’d just as soon avoid taking another swim in a ravine with mesquite branches scraping my ass. See you in an hour or so.”

      

      UPON RILEY’S RETURN to Cheyenne Moon, he reported to Elise that Mr. Majors was, by this time, well on his way to wherever he’d originally been headed. She received the news with a dismissing nod. Neither Riley nor anyone else at the ranch, with the exception, perhaps, of Mamie Smallwood, gave the overnight houseguest another thought. Elise did her best to put him out of her mind, also, by burying herself in therapeutic work. The day passed quickly. With sunset came the usual quiet that settled over Cheyenne Moon at the end of a hard day. Supper had been devoured and the hands were unwinding in the bunkhouse or lolling about on the grounds. Elise had no appetite. Her supper sat untouched on the kitchen table inside the big house. Andele noticed her ensconced in the porch swing beyond the back screen door.

      He addressed her in Spanish, asking if she wished him to rewarm the food.

      “Has Buddy eaten?”

      “Si,” he told her.

      “Then just clear it away. I’m not hungry tonight.” He heard something more than mere weariness in her tone.

      “Is the senorita sick?” he asked, worried.

      Sensing he was studying her through the screen door, she angled herself in the swing so he couldn’t read her face. “Just moody, I guess. Call it a day, Andele. I know you’re anxious to be off. I’ll see you on Monday.”

      It was obvious she wished to be left alone, and Andele was happy to abide by her wishes. One weekend a month he traveled south to return to his roots in Mexico. Once the table was cleared, he retrieved a faded gym bag he’d earlier stowed in the broom closet, bid the kind senorita adios and sprinted down the main drive to meet up with the van full of other homesick Mexican laborers heading for the border at full speed. Elise sat studying the faint star clusters. The sway of the porch swing was soothing. She loved this hushed time on the ranch. The quiet, the stars and the cool touch of night air on her face had a calming effect. Generally she treasured such a moment, especially after spending hours on end with a bunch of rowdy men. Tonight, however, these very same things-the quiet, the distant stars, the cool night air-only served to underscore a feeling of aloneness she rarely acknowledged. It was too quiet after the stimulating exchanges she and Colin had briefly traded, and the stars were a reminder of the great distance between them. She and he might as well be light-years apart for all the differences that separated them. A close encounter of foreign bodies might make for a good sci-fi script, but when the same event was translated into romantic terms, it came off more like a soft-porn novel. Yet the sex between them had been anything but sleazy, and the strong feelings that had prompted the act nothing but honest. The accidental collision was perhaps unorthodox, definitely unreal, but never, ever would she characterize the sex she’d shared with the Dallasite as tawdry.

      She had regrets about the whole affair. The fact that she’d let her guard down and given in to the hot blood that flowed through her veins disturbed her greatly. But most of all she regretted having gone to bed with a man she had no chance of ever knowing in the deep way she’d like to have known him.

      Engrossed in remembering in vivid detail the kisses and touch of a man who had promised nothing and left with only a vague hint that he might return, Elise did not hear her brother come up the back porch steps.

      “Ya thinkin’ hard on somethin’, E.Z.?” Buddy Winston settled on the top step. Stretching out his long legs, he leaned back on his hands, took careful aim and spat a wad of chewing gun dead center in the rock garden Andele had designed and now tended with artistlike fervor.

      It never ceased to amaze Elise how handsome a young man Buddy had become. Tall, like their father. Fair, like their mother. Sweet and honest, as so many folks only wished they could be. Perfect in every way-except one. His mind had not developed beyond that of an eight-year-old child, which made him fragile and vulnerable, which made her adore and protect him all the more.

      She smiied down at him. “I was just thinking how much I’ve missed seeing your funny face around here the past few days. Did you have fun with Stu in Kerrville?”

      He nodded enthusiastically. “His folks are nice. They treated me real good. We went to the picture show. Had ice cream both nights, too.” He beamed as he related the details of his trip to Kerrville. Stu Petty was one of the younger “punks” who’d recently come to work at the ranch. Buddy had instantly taken a shine to him. When he learned that Elise was sending Stu into Kerrville to buy some necessary equipment to mend a broken windmill and that Stu planned to stretch the trip a few extra days so he could visit his family, Buddy wanted to tag along. The Petty boy was fond of Buddy, and like E.Z., he didn’t have the heart to refuse most anything Buddy asked of him.

      Though they were both twenty-four, Stu treated Buddy like a kid brother. Sometimes seeing the pair together broke Elise’s heart. Her brother was by far the best-looking of the two, but he would never know the wonder of young love, which Stu had recently discovered. Her brother was physically superior to Stu, but he would never be able to work the same as he did or hold down any real responsibilities. Buddy’s attention drifted, the same as any child’s. He always had to be watched to ensure against any harm coming to him. Sometimes it seemed so unfair. Yet Buddy was the one constant joy of her life. His cheery disposition and disarming innocence were a precious gift. In her eyes, he was a blessing, and anyone who dared to refer to him as a burden was never fool enough to do it again. Though they’d been separated for a year or so after Buddy’s birth, Elise had been the one who’d mothered and cared for him since he was two and she seven. And she’d done a fine job of it.

      Elise could not understand or forgive the mother who had, in her lifetime, deserted two children and two husbands. Shortly after Buddy’s birth and the discovery that the oxygen deprivation he’d suffered during the difficult delivery had left him permanently impaired, Lady Pamela returned to England. She’d naively believed her marriage to a cattle baron would be an endless adventure. She discovered quite the contrary to be true and in short order came to loathe the dull reality and solitariness of ranch life. Her parting note to her husband had been brief and painfully blunt:

      Dearest Roe,

      I have tried but failed miserably at adapting to this rugged life. Unthinkable and as unnatural as it may be, I know I cannot face the daily reminder of our son’s imperfection. He is better off left in your care. You may communicate with Elise through my mother. I am so sorry to end it this way, but eventually you will come to terms with what I already know. Try not to hate me.

      Pamela

      Elise had memorized the empty words written to her father when, years later, she’d accidentally found the note secreted away among his personal papers. Her memories of her mother and the time she’d spent at her grandmother’s estate outside Devonshire were vague. All she recalled was that her mother had seldom been around. Lady Pamela quickly escaped the rigidity and boredom of the manor house and rejoined the social set she’d once run with in London. She was too engrossed in the whirlwind of lavish parties and polo matches to be bothered with the child she’d uprooted and placed in the care of stuffy strangers. Her “stint in the wild and woolly West of the American colonies”, as she referred to it, became a source of great entertainment for the wealthy bluebloods she partied with. Lady Pamela was more popular than ever. Since her presence was in demand in London, she was rarely present at the manor house or available to her daughter.

      Nightly Elise prayed for her daddy to come to England and whisk her back to the warmth of Texas. Daily she wondered why he hadn’t done so. Only years later did her father admit that he’d been too numb with the pain of his wife’s desertion to act decisively. Then he became consumed with looking after a baby with special needs while at the same time trying to survive a drought that threatened to destroy his ranching operation. He said it didn’t excuse his delay in fetching her back, but explained the why of it. Finally her little-girl prayers were answered. Upon being notified by his former mother-in-law that Pamela had gone off to South Africa to live out yet another romantic escapade with a dashing mining magnate, this time forsaking her firstborn, Roe