The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(45)

A lie is forgivable, I figured, if it hides a wicked truth. And I had enough to handle as it was, without the worry of that poor, wretched dog.

Olin smiled at Laurel. “Why, that’s very likely,” he said. “Folks would take in a lost pup, quick as that.”

Laurel didn’t look convinced, but the howls were trailing off to wet hiccups, and she wasn’t fussing anymore. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“Simon,” said Olin, “I hear you got yourself a new horse out at your place.”

“Four-year-old gelding,” said Simon. “Underweight at the moment, but good form. He’ll fill out fine.”

“Bring him over when he does.”

“Or come see him yourself. It’s been a while since you and Jessie were up. And, Joanna, you haven’t seen my place yet. You and Laurel.”

Before I could answer, Olin accepted for all of us. “You’ll need a corral, though,” he said. “Got any help?”

Simon hesitated. He glanced uncertainly at me before answering. “Davey’s been lending a hand.”

Olin and Jessie traded a queer look and fell silent. I’d never heard them—or Simon—ever mention anyone by the name of Davey before.

Simon cleared his throat. “Till the corral’s finished, the horse boards close by. Grazes behind the cabin.”

Laurel was looking curiously at Olin and Jessie. Even she could sense the shift in the air.

“Who’s Davey?” she asked.

More silence. Finally Olin spoke.

“Why, a local boy,” he said lightly. “Lives on a ranch outside town. Takes on odd jobs to help out his folks. Smart as a whip. Good with his hands.”

Jessie was nodding in agreement. From the description, I couldn’t see why the mention of the boy’s name would scupper the conversation. None of them offered more than that.

I turned to Simon. “Do you have other horses?”

“This is my first,” said Simon. “He’ll be a handful when he’s filled out. Do you ride?”

“I took lessons one summer when I was a kid. English style. I had what they call horse fever—read every book on horses I could get my hands on. But I can’t say I’m a rider. Lessons ended before I got the hang of it.”

“Why didn’t you keep it up?”

Ending the lessons hadn’t been my idea. The summer I turned thirteen, I was living—yet again—with my Oma in her little house outside Taos. Every time my mother took on a new man, sooner or later she’d pack me off to my grandmother’s, which suited me fine. I guess when I was younger she meant to spare me the sight of strange men at the breakfast table. But as I grew older, she started to see me as competition.

That particular summer, my mother and I were living in a town in west Texas, and the new man was an assistant city planner who laughed too much and drank too much and had sweaty palms that he liked to drape over my shoulder in a friendly sort of way, casual, as if he weren’t trying to run his fingers down the curve of my breast. One day my mother caught him at it, and the next I was on a Greyhound to Taos.

There was a small stable near Oma’s house, and she signed me up for riding lessons. I took on babysitting jobs to help pay for them. It was a wonderful summer, until my mother’s affair flamed out, as they always did, and she packed a cooler with six-packs and drove up to fetch me—at first because she wanted someone to comfort her in her latest hour of need, but eventually because she needed somebody to blame.

After that, we moved to another new town where my mother could put the booze and the past behind her. Start fresh. One more time.

“Riding lessons . . . they’re expensive,” I said finally.

“They are,” said Simon. “But there’s horse people round about that could help you take up where you left off. Olin here was a real rider.”

“Good enough,” said Olin.

“More than good enough,” Jessie said affectionately.

Olin squeezed her hand. “A tale for another day. But if you’re up to it, Joanna, I could make a real cowgirl out of you.”


*

One morning not long after, I woke to the sound of whinnying. I belted my robe and headed to my bedroom window. There was a man on horseback below, speaking with Olin at the open gate of the corral.

And the corral was no longer empty, but held four horses. I pulled on jeans and a shirt and hurried outside.