Irish Chain (26 page)

When I reached the kitchen, I picked up my purse and headed for the front door. Before I got halfway across the living room, he grabbed my shoulder firmly and turned me around.

“Let me go.” I struggled to pull away, dropping my purse on the floor. He grabbed my other shoulder and held fast.

“Not until we talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is.”

“Well, I don’t care what you think. We kissed. Men and women do it all the time. You’re a good-looking guy and, as far as I can tell, a great kisser. Is that what your male ego needed to hear? Now, let me go.”

His eyes narrowed in irritation while his fingers bit harder into my shoulders.

“Just let me go, Clay,” I said in the firmest voice I could manage. A tiny knot of fear started in the pit of my stomach. What was I thinking coming out here like this? This man was virtually a stranger to me and we were miles away from anyone, in a house that didn’t even have a phone. Don’t panic, I told myself. I looked him straight in the eye and pulled against his hands one more time.

In an instant his face changed, the anger gone as quickly as it sparked and he wrapped his arms around me, gently rocking me back and forth. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he said. “I lose this temper of mine too easy. It’s like there’s this part of me ... I didn’t mean to scare you.” His hand came up and stroked my hair.

“You didn’t,” I lied. “Now really, I have to go.” I pulled away, picked up my purse and started for the door. “Thanks for the trunks.”

He followed me out onto the wide front porch and stood watching me, one tanned arm circling a post. When I started the truck’s engine, he sprinted down the steps, two at a time, and rapped on the window. Hesitantly, I rolled it down.

“There’s something you should know,” he said, resting his forearms on the window edge. “Did Senor Ortiz tell you about me and my uncle?”

“Chief Ortiz doesn’t confide in me,” I said coldly, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

“Well, I’ll tell you then. I hated my uncle. More than anyone in my life. He loaned my dad money ten years ago when the Triple Ought was in hard times, then called in his loan knowing we couldn’t pay it. He owned the ranch with the stipulation that when he passed away, ownership would revert to us. Then a month ago he changed his mind and decided he wanted to liquidate all his assets and leave everything to some stinkin’ historical magazine back East that promised they’d name it after him. He hadn’t done it yet though, and I was sent here to try to keep him from it.”

I had to ask. “Did you?”

“Yes. I kissed his wrinkled ass until he agreed to leave the will as it was.” He gripped the edge of the truck’s window. “I’ll be truthful and tell you I’d do anything to keep the Triple Ought, even kill him. But I didn’t have to.” The truck sputtered, and I pushed the accelerator to bring it back to an even idle.

I didn’t voice what was racing through my mind, that he could have killed his uncle to keep him from changing the will again.

“You have the wrong idea about me, Benni. Ortiz had your mind made up before I even had a chance.”

“That’s not true.”

“Are you saying you trust me, then? We started something real nice seventeen years ago and I think you’re just as interested as me in seeing what might have been.”

I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel, refusing to look at him. “I can see one thing hasn’t changed in seventeen years, that colossal ego of yours.”

“You can’t deny what happened out there in that field.”

I didn’t answer.

“Look, I do agree with your boyfriend on one thing, you poking around asking questions can get you hurt. I don’t want that, I really don’t.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. And I’m not poking around in anything. I really have to go.” I shifted out of neutral into reverse and started inching the truck backward.

“One last thing.” He walked along with the truck, his brown eyes narrowed into slits. “You and me, we’ve got unfinished business, and it
is
going to be taken care of, you have my word on that.” He slapped the side of the moving truck as if it were an animal he was releasing out to pasture and walked back toward the house.

13

ON THE DRIVE back, I rolled down both windows in the truck, letting the damp wind from the coming storm whip through the cab and cool my burning cheeks. I couldn’t stop thinking about how Clay’s words seemed to be loaded with trapdoors and how possible it was that he had killed his uncle and how I still craved the taste and feel of his lips. Well, I said to myself, you wanted answers, you got them. The problem was, nothing seemed any clearer. I was still left with a bunch of questions and two men I’d gladly strangle if given half a chance. So when I got home, after paying the two hefty college students who lived next door five bucks to carry the trunks into my living room, I did what most women do when they can’t figure out why men do what they do.

“We have to talk,” I said into the phone to Elvia. “Now.”

“This sounds serious,” she said. “Come down to the store.” In the background, Cajun music so upbeat it hurt my teeth, almost drowned out her words. “We can talk in my office. Thank goodness I had it soundproofed last year.”

“What in the world is going on there?”

“I’m downstairs. They’re gearing up for Saturday. Jose is trying out a new recipe for crawfish etouffee and needed musical inspiration. You’ll have to try some. It actually looks quite good.”

“Why don’t we meet at Liddie’s?” I said. “I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like experimenting tonight.”

“Things are pretty busy here. Is a half hour okay?”

“Take your time. I have a lot to think about anyway.”

I sidestepped the trunks on my way out the door. If I experienced another sleepless night, and I was willing to bet I would, at least I’d have something to do now.

I smiled when I pulled into Liddie’s parking lot and saw who was parked there. The blue Ramsey Ranch truck looked as if it hadn’t been washed for five years. It must be one of the cooking-show nights and Daddy had “business” in town. Business that consisted of a blood-rare steak and a double order of country-fried potatoes. In the entryway a large group of senior citizens stood at the wooden “Hostess will seat you” sign, debating on whether Howard Johnson’s was a better deal. They were having an all-you-can-eat fried chicken tenders night. Ignoring them, Nadine barreled straight for me.

“How are you ...” I started. She clamped her thin fingers onto my wrist with a powerful grip that belied her sixty-five years.

“You’ve got to do something,” she hissed. “They’re driving me crazy as a June bug and I’m too old for this. Working nights is bad enough, but there’s nothing that says I got to put up with this.” Her tiny brown eyes bulged with agitation.

A couple of the senior citizens inched closer, their faces lit up with curiosity. “What is it, Nadine?” I asked, pulling her aside.

“That’s what.” She pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “You talk to them, Benni, and tell them they’d better shape up or I’m shipping them out.” She jerked her glasses off and glared at me.

“What?” I said, following her finger, though not her reasoning. Across the room, my father sat in a booth wearing a sun-faded Western shirt, his silver head hunched over a large oval dinner plate. “Is Daddy bothering you?”

She trailed her finger across the room and the picture started getting clearer. Dove sat four booths away, a fried chicken leg poised in front of her mouth, her bright blue eyes boring a hole into the top of her son’s head.

“What’s going on?” I whispered.

“They aren’t speaking, is what’s going on. At least not to each other. Tell Ben this—” Nadine’s voice went into a pretty fair imitation of Dove’s gear-grinding voice. “Tell Dove that—” She imitated my father’s grumpy bass. She pointed a knobby finger at me. “You can just tell
them
the next time they want to send a message, call Western Union!” She whipped around, grabbed a bunch of red menus and snapped at the nosy seniors, “Well, is it Howie’s or us? Make up your mind ’cause I ain’t got all night.”

I walked slowly across the carpet trying to decide who I should approach first, thinking, I really don’t need this right now. Both their heads popped up. A choice would have to be made. I looked at Dove’s glowering face, then at Daddy’s stoic one. My feet felt as heavy as hundred-year-old oak stump. After a few seconds, I gave Daddy an apologetic look and slid into the booth across from Dove. I knew he’d forgive me—he knew better than anyone the terror of Dove crossed.

“What’s going on between you two?” I asked. “You’re driving poor Nadine bananas.”

Dove took a fierce bite off her chicken leg. “Nadine Brooks should have never stopped taking her hormone pills. I merely told her to inform my eldest son that I would be ready to leave in fifteen minutes and if that didn’t suit him, I’d find another way home even if I had to hitchhike.”

“You mean you two drove into town together?” I laughed and picked up one of her french fries, touching it to the ketchup in her plate before popping it into my mouth. “You didn’t talk for a whole half hour? That I would have to see to believe.” I reached for another french fry. She pushed my hand away.

“Get your own dinner and quit being a smart mouth. You can just inform your father I won’t speak to him again until he apologizes. I mean it.”

I snagged another french fry and slid out of the booth. “Dove, this is ridiculous. Why can’t you and Daddy resolve your problems like adults?”

She gave me a crafty look. “You mean like you and Gabe?” she said, her voice dripping sorghum molasses.

I held up my hands. “Okay, okay, point taken. But at least I don’t expect someone else to do my dirty work for me. I live and die by my own sword.”

“I’m going to take a sword to your backside if you don’t get over there and tell your daddy what I said.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said good-naturedly. “By the way, just out of curiosity. Who is this Ahmad who is wreaking such havoc in the Ramsey household?”

She lifted her chin slightly, her bright eyes flashing. “He is a very nice man with a very nice family. His wife, Farideh, is a college professor and he has two beautiful children, Mitra and Mehran, who always get straight A’s in school.”

“That’s interesting, Dove, but who are they? New members of your church?”

“Heavens, no, child. He lives in New York. He’s the star of
Gourmet Cooking with Ahmad
and a brilliant Persian and French chef. He cooked for the President once. I reckon your daddy thinks his taste buds are more special than the President of the United States.”

“Dove, you know Daddy just doesn’t like to experiment with new foods. Can’t you compromise and cook what he likes part of the week?”

“I’ve compromised for seventy-five years.” She folded her arms across her chest. “He eats what I cook, or he starves. Tell him.”

I slipped in across from Daddy. He continued dissecting his steak without looking up. “Got a load of hay coming in on Sunday,” he said in his low drawl. “With this rain we’re gettin’, we shouldn’t have to buy as much next year. Dang weekend ranchers and their horses drive up the price something terrible. Havin’ to go further and further to buy it every year.”

I ignored his normal carping about horse owners. “Daddy, why don’t you just apologize? You know you’ll have to eventually. Why not just get it over with?”

“I’m sticking to my guns this time, squirt,” he said, not stopping the flow of food to his mouth. “Is it too much to ask for a man who works hard all day to expect food he can eat? Food he can understand? You haven’t tasted that crap she makes. Green stuff I’ve never seen nor heard of before. Sprinkles it with some kind of yellow powder we got to drive clean to Santa Barbara to buy. Stuff cost more an ounce than gold. You know, I’m thinking she goes out in the pasture and digs up weeds to cook. It’s crossed my mind that she might be trying to poison me.” He spit out a piece of gristle, then sawed off another large piece of steak. “I’ve put up with her for fifty-six years. I’ve done my time. I’m thinking of shipping her up to Kate’s. It’s high time one of her daughters took her.” My aunt Kate, two years younger than Daddy and Dove’s oldest daughter, lives in Wyoming on a small ranch outside of Rock Springs. Aunt Kate would love taking Dove on, she’d been itching to for years. Her husband, Rex, a part-time sales rep for John Deere, might not be as thrilled.

“Dove hates the winters up there. You know she’ll never go.”

“I’m doin’ it, I swear I am. I’m buying the ticket tomorrow.”

I sighed, not knowing exactly where to go with this now. Then I remembered a saying that Daddy always said
his
daddy used to say when things twisted out of a person’s control. Grampa Ramsey called it the country cure for high blood pressure: “If it starts to rain, let it.” Sounded like good advice to me.

“Well, Daddy,” I said, “I guess there’s nothing I can do for either of you and I’ve got a ton of work to do, so just let me know where Dove’s staying so I can write.” He grunted and speared a forkful of ketchup-covered fried potatoes.

“Have a nice trip,” I said, walking past Dove and giving the top of her table a sharp tap with my fingers.

“What?” she squawked, but I double-stepped and scooted out the front door before she could get another word out. Elvia was walking up the steps as I was coming down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Place full?”

“Too full for me,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry to drag you all the way over here, but I’ve changed my mind and I think I just want to go home. Can we do this tomorrow?”

“It’s man problems, isn’t it?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You might as well be wearing a sandwich sign.”

Elvia and I walked back through the parking lot in the comfortable silence of old friends. During my conversations with Dove and Daddy, twilight had crept in, bringing with it tule fog like low, rolling smoke. The oak trees and Chinese elms cast odd shadows over the vehicles, making it look as if someone had splattered black paint over the hoods. The wind was higher now, whipping the upper branches of the pine and eucalyptus trees, causing the leaves to softly rustle. The air had a waiting feel that matched my mood, a faint rusty scent that promised another bout of rain. When we reached my truck, Elvia laid a warm hand on my arm and gave me a long, measured look.