Daisies in the Canyon(51)

Shiloh went to the refrigerator and brought out a two-liter bottle of Coke. She poured a couple of fingers of whiskey into a glass, added ice, and filled it with the Coke. “At first I was mad at Mama for sending him all those things. I called her and pitched a bitchin’ fit. She listened for a couple of minutes and when she finally figured out what I was sayin’, she was every bit as angry as I was.”

Abby didn’t mix good Jack Daniel’s with anything, not water, not Coke, and she didn’t throw it back. She sipped it, letting each tiny mouthful lie on her tongue for a few seconds before she swallowed. “Did you call your mama, Bonnie?”

She shook her head. “Mama is complicated. Sometimes I like her better drunk than sober. At least she’s not a mean drunk and she is a mean sober person. I lived with her right up until I left Kentucky—the bills had to be paid and someone had to put food on the table for her.”

“Who does that now?” Shiloh asked.

Bonnie shrugged and went to the refrigerator to pull out the sweet tea. “Like I said, it’s complicated, but everyone has to learn to take care of themselves at some time in their life.”

“Tough love,” Abby said.

“You should know all about that. Haven’t you been on your own since you were eighteen?” Shiloh asked.

“I have. I joined the army right out of high school and was in training school when I got the news Mama was gone. So I went home, took care of things just like she asked, leased out the doughnut shop for ten years, and rented a storage unit. I only missed a week of my schooling and the army let me make it up when I got back rather than making me start all over. I was nineteen a few weeks later. Couldn’t even buy a drink or rent a car legally and I was on my own.”

“Enough melancholy. I shoved the boxes back under my bed. I don’t know what I’ll do with them, but tonight we’re celebrating. We have run this ranch for one day all by ourselves and we did a damn fine job of it.” Shiloh raised her glass and the other two touched theirs to it, making a clinking sound in the quiet room.

“To the fastest learners in the state of Texas,” Abby said.

“To the Malloy daisies.” Bonnie smiled.

“Daisies?” Shiloh asked.

“Ezra must have thought about us as daisies or he wouldn’t have told Rusty to give them to us to put in his casket,” Bonnie said.

“I don’t want to be a daisy. I want to be a rose,” Shiloh said.

“Well, I want to be a bloomin’ cactus, like what blooms in the desert,” Bonnie said.

They looked at Abby.

One shoulder raised in a semishrug. “I like daisies. They’re my favorite flower—but not the kind we pitched in the casket. I like the wild ones. They are hardy and free spirits.”

Bonnie said, “I’ll be a daisy, even if I do prefer those pretty, bright-colored blooms on cactus plants.”

“I was a wild and free daisy today out there in the rain, chasing cows and mud wrestling with Abby,” Shiloh said.

Abby laughed. “I’ve finished my drink so hand me that moonshine and we’ll see how free my spirit can get tonight.”

Shiloh slid the pint jar across the table to Abby. “Sowing wild oats on Saturday night means you have to go to church tomorrow morning.”

She picked it up and carried it to the living room. “Sowing wild oats does not have anything to do with whiskey, tequila, or moonshine.”

“Why?” Bonnie followed Abby.

“Why what? That it doesn’t have to do with liquor or why don’t I have to go to church?”

Bonnie sat down on the end of the sofa and set her glass on the coffee table. “Both, and where are the dogs?”

“I put them outside in their pens and I’m sure they are disappointed that they have to be in their doghouses rather than by the fire, but they won’t leave that damned bull alone even from inside the house,” Shiloh answered.

“What’s wrong with the liquor?” Abby poured two fingers into her empty glass. “I’m just drinking, not sowing wild oats. Sowing means seed . . . think, Bonnie.”

“Oh! If that’s the reason, then I don’t expect none of us need to go to church, because we haven’t had time to sow wild oats this week,” Bonnie said.

“Abby did.” Shiloh joined them with another Jack and Coke in her glass.

“When?” Bonnie asked.

“I do not kiss and tell.” Abby immediately wished she could cram the words back into her mouth. God Almighty, what was wrong with her? She couldn’t be drunk on that little bit of liquor.

“Aha!” Shiloh pointed. “Was it good?”

“Curled my toes.” Abby turned up the moonshine. Sweet Jesus, that shit had some kick and a hell of a lot of fire. It burned all the way from throat to gut and hopefully scalded her vocal cords so she couldn’t talk.

“Tell us more,” Bonnie said. “We want details.”

“I won’t tell any more than that. This is some potent shit, girls. You’ve got to at least taste it. It’s got kick like vodka and for moonshine, it don’t taste bad. I think I got a hint of peaches.”

Bonnie headed back to the kitchen and returned with a red plastic cup. “I’m the ’shine expert. Let me have a taste.”