Daisies in the Canyon(7)

Haley gasped. “You didn’t tell me you were going to do that. Your mama would feel strange about being back.”

“I didn’t know I was going to until I went to the bank and opened up the safe-deposit box. There they were and something told me to bring them with me.”

“There’s a reason for everything, and maybe Martha wanted to go back to that canyon. Maybe it was to remind you that she’s with you in spirit. What in the hell is that noise in the background?”

“Bitter cold north wind rattling the tree limbs and sleet hitting the phone.”

“Holy shit! Pack up your stuff and get out of that place. Galveston is your home. Give your portion to those other two. You don’t need the money or the aggravation in your life,” Haley said.

“Not until I see what is here.”

“Well, then, go have a look and then come home where you belong. Call me from the first hotel you stop at and we’ll talk then. Hugs,” Haley said.

“Hugs back,” Abby said.

Good-bye was something they didn’t say anymore. The last time Abby told someone good-bye, she’d finished basic training and had a week at home before going to Georgia for training school. Tears hung on her eyelashes as she remembered that last moment with her mother. Martha wore a tan-colored knit shirt with the Martha’s Donut logo on the back. Khaki shorts peeked out from the bottom of a white-bibbed apron that the wind whipped to one side.

“?’Bye, Mama,” she’d yelled as she pulled away from the curb. She watched through the rearview mirror as her mother waved until the road made a curve and she couldn’t see her anymore.

She’d planned another trip home at the end of her training in Georgia, but it was only a week later that she got the call that Martha had been killed in a robbery. She’d vowed she’d never tell anyone good-bye again.

She slid the phone back into her pocket and pulled a ski mask from a pocket on her cargo pants. After she tugged it over her head and tucked it under her collar, she stuck her gloved hands into her pockets and trudged on down the gravel lane toward the Malloy Ranch sign. On the positive side, she was sweating so much inside her clothing that her whole body was damp. On the negative side, she hadn’t seen a damn thing to keep her from unpacking.

Black cattle, with a brand that looked like a capital M with an R sharing the last leg of the M, huddled up under the trees to her left. If she stayed on, that brand would be redone even if she had to get rid of every cow on the place and start with fresh stock. Everything that had Ezra’s name, brand, or idea behind it would be erased. It would have a strong name like its neighbor, Lonesome Canyon, but warm and inviting.

“Malloy Ranch sounds as bitter cold as this weather. I don’t blame Bonnie a bit for wanting to change it,” she mumbled from behind the ski mask.

She knew nothing about ranching. She was aware that the black ones were Angus. She made a mental note to ask Rusty if there was another breed that would grow as well in the canyon. Maybe she’d replace them with those brown ones with white faces she’d noticed in the pastures when she drove up through Texas.

“Or maybe even Texas longhorns. I’ll have to do some research on them,” she said.

How in the hell did this place produce enough grass to feed cattle anyway? All around her were crazy-looking formations shooting up from the ground, some a hundred feet or more, in varying colors of orange, burnt umber, and brown. One looked like a chimney; another like a giant sand castle kids might build on a beach.

The bits of snow collecting on the fence posts reminded her of daisies, which happened to be her favorite flower. They were wild, hearty enough to grow in rock, and were some of the first flowers to bloom in the spring. Were they Ezra’s favorite flowers, too? Was that why they’d been given them to put in his casket at the service?

“I hope not,” she murmured. “If they are, I may change my mind about them.”

A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she followed it until she focused on an eagle with something in its claws. It soared toward the sky and finally lit on one of the formations that shot up from the ground. The majestic sight took her breath for an instant. Was it an omen for her to stay and get above the problems of the past before she made a decision to kiss Texas good-bye? Abby didn’t believe in omens, fate, or any of that superstitious mumbo-jumbo shit. She always said that folks made their own decisions and lived with the consequences of them.

“You best enjoy your last year,” she told the sign above the cattle guard. “If I’m here next year on this day, you are coming down and that’s a promise. And if I’m not here, Bonnie is going to change your name.”

The bumpy gravel road went on east, but she couldn’t see the highway from where she stood. Why in the hell hadn’t Ezra extended the ranch to the road? If she stayed, she intended to use the money she’d gotten when she sold the doughnut shop in Galveston to buy that land and haul in gravel to fix the potholes in the road.

She turned north and followed the barbed-wire fence. The wind whistled through bare mesquite limbs, and the winter mix, as the weatherman called it, turned into more sleet than snow. Refusing to let the strong blasts hitting her right side keep her from her mission, she hunched her shoulders and kept walking.

Over there on the other side of the fence was Lonesome Canyon. She liked that name for a ranch and she’d liked Jackson and Loretta in the short time she’d met them. They looked a little old to be having another child, but if Abby decided to have kids, she could possibly be as old as Loretta when she started a family.