A Mating of Hawks (24 page)

Tracy sniffed. “He lived at Walden only about two years. And he scarfed up a lot of Mama's cooking even then, carried home lots of her pies.”

“Is nothing sacred?” Shea groaned.

“He doesn't need myths. But I'll bet you if he'd been less ascetic and had a wife, he wouldn't have died in his early forties.”

“He might have died sooner.”

“Married men live longer,” said Tracy doggedly, though she wished she hadn't tilted the conversation in this direction.

Shea nodded. “Maybe it just seems longer.”

Tossing out the dishwater, he hung up the pan, neatly draped the dishcloth over it and turned. He saw the photos and notes, came to look down at the one of the ringtail. “May I look?”

“Of course.”

Anxiously, she waited while he went through the pictures. He smiled a couple of times, but was frowning when he put them down. “I didn't know you were so good.”

“It's more luck and patience.” He was impressed, but the effect on him worried her. She laughed nervously. “I took hundreds of shots. These are the good ones.”

He gave her a long slow look. “Don't apologize for what you are,” he said. A kind of tightness seemed to dissolve in him. “You can ride, probably, but you're not up to saddling a horse. Shall I come back in a day or two and give Sangre a workout?”

“Sounds like fun.”

He didn't kiss her, but at the door he stopped. “Maybe we could catch a few butterflies.” He laughed and went out into the dusk.

XVI

He was waiting next day when Tivi brought her back from visiting Patrick. Since it was close to noon, they made a quick lunch. Then he saddled the horses and, followed by Le Moyne, they rode up a trail that wound through the cañon and up a steep narrow way to a broad mountain meadow. He lifted her down and carried her to a pile of smooth rocks. After he had loosened the horses' cinches, he untied the blanket from behind his saddle and spread it on the grass.

They made love, bodies sensuously laved in sun and air. Afterward, they rested lazily, while happiness glowed warm as the sunlight inside Tracy.

He
must
care about her. In time, if she didn't crowd him, surely he'd admit it?

“A great place for butterflies,” he said, stroking her from breast to flank. She leaned over and kissed him.

“I wonder if Socorro and her San Patricio ever made love up here?”

“Who knows? But I've thought it'd be interesting to go to the Pinacates, where they rescued each other, and try to retrace the journey. Maybe go around by Tinajas Altas, where Judah Frost and so many others died, and then head south.”

“I'd love to do that!”

“Well, maybe we can. Before you go to San Francisco.”

She wanted to say that she wouldn't go anywhere if he wanted her to stay, but that might jar his escape mechanisms. Maybe he'd become less wary since he thought she would be leaving and was no permanent threat to his Thoreau-ish desert-rat existence.

Sitting up, lips tightened, she began to dress.

When they rode up to the cabin, Judd was waiting. He stood proprietorially on the step, arms crossed, squarish gold-brown head atilt. Shea's face closed.

“You've got company.”

Judd strode forward to lift her down. “You should have come to New York with me, doll! It was a blast. The calls and telegrams I've gotten! I'm going on a speaking tour and—”

“Shea, won't you stay for supper?” Tracy asked desperately.

“You and Judd have catching up to do.” Shea's tone was brittle. He didn't look up from unsaddling Güera.

Tracy despaired. So quick to be suspicious! So ready to shut her out! Didn't their loving mean anything? Fighting tears of furious hurt, she said brightly, “Thanks for the ride—and the butterflies!”

Back stiffly erect, she slipped her arm through Judd's and let him help her to the house. Full of his talk-show triumph, he boasted about its results. Several prominent senators had invited him to Washington to testify at Congressional hearings and he was deluged with applications for Stronghold.

“That article of yours did it, Tracy.” His big hand closed over hers. “How'd you like to be my public relations honcho?”

“Honcha? Honchess?” She forced Shea from her mind and tried to smile, though she was appalled at her article's apparently having had an effect exactly the reverse of what she'd intended. “Thanks, Judd, but I'm doing PR for some owls.”

His yellow eyes lingered over her. “Maybe I can make you an offer you can't refuse.”

Afraid of where that sort of talk might lead and preferring to stay on cordial terms with him, for Patrick's sake, she got up and hopped over to the stove.

“Will you stay for supper?”

“Sure, but I'll help.”

He built the fire and made salad while she put together enchiladas. They had a pleasant meal, but she was glad when he left early, saying he had to make a number of phone calls.

When he kissed her, she turned her face so his lips brushed her cheek. He laughed, apparently too exuberant to be put off, and went away whistling. Tracy sat down, propped up her ankle and patted Le Moyne, who came to lie beside her.

“Dog,” she said, “your former master is one hard-headed man!” Just when Shea'd seemed to be thawing, he'd frozen up again. She was damned tired of it.

All the same, when she lay down that night, she remembered the sun and air of the mountain meadow and used the memory of their loving as a shield against those nightmares that waited to engulf her in the darkness.

When Tivi drove her to the big house next morning, Tracy saw with a sinking heart that the plane was back so Vashti must be. The best to hope for was that she'd stay booze-numbed enough not to harass Patrick.

That expectation died as Tracy limped through the door. Vashti's strident voice reached all the way downstairs, though Tracy couldn't distinguish words till she started up the steps.

“… fantastic offer for that worn-out land and isolated spring! This is our last chance. Hal's given us till Sunday. If you don't see sense by then, he's offering for another property.”

“He can offer right damn now!” came Patrick's weak growl.

There was a hiss of rage. “You blind old fool! You miserable cripple!”

“Patrick!” Tracy called, gripping the handrail and taking the stairs as fast as she could. “Patrick!”

That should quieten Vashti. Mary must not be in the room. She ran down the hall, though, as Tracy neared the top of the flight, and when Tracy entered her uncle's room, Mary was standing by Patrick, arm protectively around him.

“Quit shouting, Mrs. Scott. You're upsetting your husband.”

Vashti was past restraint. “Husband!” she sneered. “Might as well be a fallen log, rotting away in the middle of the road, blocking everyone who can move!”

Tracy caught her arm, smelled whiskey on her breath, and shoved her toward the door. “Go sober up!”

Vashti sprang for her, hands clawed. Tracy dodged awkwardly. Mary grabbed Vashti, pinned her arm behind her back. “If you were a man, I'd kick you in the balls!” she said between her teeth. “Get out of here, Mrs. Scott, or I'll kick your ass up between your shoulders!”

“You dirty Indian bitch! You think I haven't seen you rubbing yourself against that old wreck, letting him feel you up—?”

Mary slapped Vashti halfway across the room. In the same instant, there was a gasping, strangling sound from the bed.

Patrick's body arched, convulsed. Tracy made for the phone, sure he was having another stroke, but as she dialed the doctor, he choked, “My—my heart—”

Mary ran to him. He died in her arms.

Vashti, unsurprisingly, ordered Mary off the place at once. “You can stay at the cabin,” Tracy told her. “I'm staying here till the doctor comes, and Judd and Shea.”

Weeping over Patrick, Vashti lifted her shining head. “I suppose you'll tattletale! I loved Patrick! But he could be so goddam aggravating!”

“He won't aggravate you anymore,” Tracy said. Her voice sounded as cold and disembodied as she felt. “Certainly I'm going to tell his sons what you said to him. You caused his death.”

“I never touched him!”

“That was part of the trouble,” Tracy said.

Brushing Vashti aside, she closed Patrick's eyes and sat down to wait.

Husbands and wives quarrel frequently. That Patrick had died during such a fight was, of course, no legal charge against Vashti. Judd shrugged helplessly when Tracy told him.

“Hell, baby, it's just lucky for me Dad didn't do this when he and I would be arguing about managing the ranch!”

“An argument's one thing,” Tracy said. “Calling him the names she did, making those filthy accusations—”

“She was drunk.”

“That's an excuse?”

Judd stared as if amazed at Tracy's implacability. “What the hell can I do about it? You want me to try to get her cut out of his will?”

“No.” Tracy drooped.

After all, realistically, what could be done? Vashti's behavior since Patrick's death had even convinced her that the woman had loved him, though she'd shrunk from his paralyzed body. “I guess I don't want her to pose as a heartbroken widow and expect a lot of deference.”

“I expect she'll move to Tucson or Phoenix right away,” Judd reasoned.

Tracy sighed. “I suppose so. It was just so cruel, what she said.”

The scalding tears that she'd suppressed burst out. She leaned against the wall and sobbed, not just for Patrick, beloved as he had been, but for the manner of his death. If only he knew that Mary had held him against her warm young breast and deeply mourned him.

“Here, sweetheart.” Judd took Tracy in his arms and let her cry till she could stop before he gave her his big handkerchief. “It helps to know that Patrick didn't want to live the way he was. He hoped for a while to get back some use of his left side, but when it got pretty clear he wouldn't, it was worse than jail for him.”

“But he—he laughed. He joked and told stories.”

“Yes,” said Judd. “And at night, when everyone was gone, don't you reckon he cried?”

Tracy had no answer.

Tivi had gone to tell Shea before taking Mary to Last Spring. Shea, Geronimo and Don Aniceto came up almost as the doctor did. Vashti was in her room.

The look in Shea's eyes as he gazed down at his father made Tracy resolve not to add to his grief by telling him what his stepmother had done. Patrick was dead. There would be enough trouble over his holdings without embittering the struggle. Vashti knew her guilt. Let that punish her.

The doctor made his examination, asked questions, filled in the death certificate and left. Singly and in groups, the vaqueros came, hats in hand, brown faces sorrowful, to pay their respects. Patrick was godfather to many of the younger, the working companion of the older, and the friend of all of them.

Shea didn't stay long. After a few silent moments, he took his father's hands and pressed them to his face. Bending, he kissed the wrinkled cheek. Then he turned swiftly away, not looking at anyone. Geronimo followed, and Don Aniceto who was weeping unashamedly.

The hearse and funeral director arrived. Vashti had pulled herself together enough to make the arrangements, with Judd's help. Day after tomorrow, Patrick's body would be brought back to the ranch to be buried in the family graveyard as he'd desired.

Two of the Sanchezes carried Patrick to the hearse. Tracy watched the dark-gray vehicle out of sight. She could still not believe that the man who'd been like her father, who'd kept his zest in life even when blind and paralyzed, was really dead. She longed to be with Shea. But he'd left without a word.

“I want to go home,” she said.

Judd helped her to his RV. “I'll take you.”

When they parked by the stream, he caught her arm as she started to open the door. “Tracy. What do you plan to do now?”

She hadn't really thought, though staying at the ranch on Vashti's sufferance was unthinkable, even if the older woman had allowed it. “I don't know,” Tracy said slowly. “I'd like to finish my book. Maybe I can rent something around Tubac and Patagonia.”

“Why not stay here?”

Tracy gave a bitter laugh. “Vashti may leave the ranch as fast as she can, but she won't want me here.”

“I do.” As she stared at him, Judd took her face in his hands. The smoldering light in his eyes sent a tingling shock through her. “I never thought I'd get married, but you've changed my mind. Stay here, Tracy. Let's get married.”

Taken completely by surprise, Tracy tried to draw away, but he laughed and found her lips. His mouth was hot, avid, seeking. Tracy didn't fight. She only was still.

After a moment, Judd lifted his head. “I guess it's the wrong time for kissing. But hell, I've got to keep you from running off someplace!”

“I can't marry you, Judd.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I told you before. I don't love you.”

He snorted. “I suppose you still think you're in love with someone else?”

She thought of Shea as he'd been that day with Patrick and sorrow for him tightened her throat. “I
am
in love, Judd.”

“So when's the wedding?”

“There may not be one. All the same—”

He got out and came around to help her out. “We'll talk about it later. This isn't a good time.”

“It won't make any difference.”

He grinned at her cockily. “We'll see.”

He steadied her across the foot-log and walked her to the cabin. “Take it easy,” he told her. “And don't do anything sudden. You can stay at the ranch even if you don't marry me.”

Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he moved away, while Tracy went inside and into Mary's arms.

Tracy had known that Mary liked Patrick, but she hadn't known how deep the affection went. “There's no one left like him,” Mary sobbed. “Him or Grandpa. That bitchy wife of his!”