Chapter Four
“We need to go, Liz,” Diane said when I told my sisters about the invitation. “It’s only polite.”
“Screw politeness,” Liz said. “It will be fun! I’ve never been to a Texas barbecue, never mind to an event with the kind of people I don’t usually hang out with. I wonder what kind of artwork they’ll have. Mexican pottery is so vibrant.”
“You’re really developing a potty mouth,” Diane said.
“I’ve had one for years,” Liz said. “You’re just getting exposed to it.”
“It’s been worse since we left New York,” I said. “What would Walter say?”
“Walter encourages me,” Liz said. “He likes me when I’m earthy.” Her voice lowered on the last word. She blinked her eyes and licked her lips.
“Ew!” I said. “Keep it to yourself!”
“I can kind of relate,” Diane said. “It’s been a long stretch.”
I put my hands over my ears. “You two are over-sexed.”
Liz pulled my hands down. “So is he good-looking?” She turned to Diane. “He must be good-looking. Otherwise she’d have no problem going.”
“He’s an older Latino man with a mustache,” I said. “If you define that as good-looking, then there you go.”
“We obviously have to attend this,” Liz said. “I can tell nothing from that description … except my sister is obviously asleep where men are concerned.”
“I like it that way,” I protested and turned away to fill a glass with water.
Even before he got ill, Michael and I had stopped being intimate. I’d figured that’s the way it was, although memories of Mom and Dad kissing passionately when they thought no one was looking occasionally resurfaced.
With Michael, the change was partly due to our growing distance in our day-to-day living. I had my things to do around the ranch; he had his. As long as the kids got to where they were supposed to be and did okay in school, he was happy with them. As for me, he didn’t fuss as long as dinner was on the table at the correct moment, and everything else ran smoothly around the house.
“C’mon, Kathleen.” Diane interrupted my thoughts. “We’re going to be in this area for a long time, let’s meet some people.”
“You could go to church and meet people,” I pointed out.
The pair of them gave me their best “that’s not happening” expressions, fists on hips and all.
I sighed. I should never have mentioned the barbecue. That would have been the only way to get out of this.
“What are we going to bring?” I asked.
~ ~ ~
We were running late by the time we left the RV. Liz had nixed my original outfit, and Diane fussed with my hair and insisted on make-up.
I felt like a prize cow going to the state fair, hopefully to win a blue ribbon before being sold to the highest bidder.
Liz had pulled together fruit and potato salads, so we wouldn’t arrive empty-handed, a forbidden situation.
Liz was driving, taking the curving road like she was on a racetrack. My job was to make sure the salads got to the barbecue in one piece.
“Wow,” Diane said as we reached the address.
The long driveway began with the traditional arch made of huge logs of gleaming wood. Massive longhorns graced the top part of the square arch. Below it, a sign announced, “Ramirez Ranch.” The sides ended in two stone pillars connecting to an iron fence. A beautiful iron gate was open, welcoming us to the long, paved drive.
It was extraordinarily different from the three peeled logs our grandfather had used to mark the beginning of the often-rutted dirt road that led to our ranch house.
In the green field to the right, a few cows grazed, while a lone, longhorn steer claimed the field to the left.
“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Diane said quietly.
“Nope,” Liz agreed and put the car back in gear to head down the long drive.
It stretched for nearly a mile before curving around a small hill to a valley where a cluster of well-kept buildings nestled. There were a number of cars around the main house, more than one of them a high-end vehicle .
“These aren’t our people,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
“Nonsense!” Liz said. “Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
“She doesn’t have any,” Diane said.
“Just go,” I muttered. “We don’t belong here.”
“Too late,” Liz said and nosed into a space along the fence.
Rodrigo had spotted us, and was walking toward us with a smile on his face.
“Is that him?” Diane asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh,” Liz said. “Definitely good-looking. Definitely.”
“Good thing you’re already taken,” I said.
“But you aren’t,” she shot back.
“Shut it,” I warned. I pushed my car door open and stepped out, plastering a smile on my face as I did so.
“You came!” Rodrigo beamed, his moustache gracefully arching above his mouth.
“I did,” I stated. “And I brought my sisters.”
By that time, Liz and Diane had gotten out of the car.
“Ah, yes. I can see immediately that you are sisters. Your father must be a lucky man to have such beautiful women as daughters. Your mother must be stunning as well.”
Good grief. A flatterer. This party couldn’t end soon enough.
I stood there, unsure what to do next.
“Unfortunately,” Liz said, holding her hand out in greeting, “our parents have passed. I’m Liz, the middle sister.” She nodded at Diane. “Diane is the oldest, and Kathleen is the baby.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m sixty-three years old for god’s sake.”
It took all I could do not to clap my hand over my mouth for taking the Lord’s name in vain.
Rodrigo didn’t seem to notice.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said.
I turned to the car to retrieve the salads, handing one to Diane and the other to Liz.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness,” he said, gesturing to the bowls. “Now, come and I’ll introduce you to the others and get you something to drink.”
He led us down a path through a garden lush with foliage of different hues of green.
“This is lovely,” Liz said.
“My wife planted it. She did all the landscaping around the house.” He paused and looked around. “She was a very talented woman when it came to domestic arts. I’ll show you our home later so you can see for yourself.”
“She’s gone?” Diane asked gently.
“About five years ago,” he said. “Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said while Liz and I murmured our agreement.
“It was a while ago. We had a good marriage,” he added with a finality that put an end to the discussion.
As we made our way to the patio where the guests were gathered, I turned his phrase over in my mind. What did a “good marriage” mean to him?
Heck, what did it mean to any of us? I would have sworn Michael and I had a good marriage, but that had turned out to be a false assumption.
We reached a large patio area with a massive barbecue and stone fireplace in one corner. Another corner held a beautiful hand-constructed fountain, incorporating bright Mexican pottery from which water spouted.
More of the late wife’s handiwork?
A gaily decorated pi?ata hung from one of the vine-covered overhead beams, ready for the small children who darted here and there among the adults like small lizards.
Rodrigo made the round of introductions, but few of the names stuck in my head. They were beautiful, lyrical names that were the antithesis of the meat and potato names of my relatives. Instead, I sorted them by identity: neighbor, relative, or friend.
The one name that stuck was Juan, Rodrigo’s oldest son. He was a gracious copy of his father, although a little less garrulous. His chatterbox wife made up for it, although her conversation was frequently interrupted by rapid commands in Spanish to her two children.
We finally got settled next to a pair of kindly neighbors who were happy to learn about our travels.
That’s when Trixie Lynn made her entrance.
She’d changed her clothes since this morning. This version still showed off her trim figure, but gave a nod to the wide skirt and wide belts several of the younger women at the barbecue wore. Her cleavage was accented by a beautiful squash blossom necklace.
As she carried a tray containing bowls of salsa and chips to one of the scattered picnic tables, she nodded like a queen greeting her subjects .
When she reached the table, people helped her unload the tray. Bowls were whisked away as she walked to Rodrigo and put a possessive hand on his arm before looking at me with a fake smile.
“Ouch!” Liz said. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
One of the neighbors we’d been chatting with returned with few bowls of chips and salsa for us. We’d all picked up bottles of water on our introduction rounds, deciding to save our alcoholic indulgences for home.
Rodrigo said something to Trixie Lynn that made her frown, but she released his arm. He turned and came over to us.
“I promised to show you my house. It’s best to do it now before we start to eat.”
I rose with a smile, an expression I made sure Trixie Lynn saw.
Her eyes narrowed.
Triumphant, I walked with Rodrigo into the house, my sisters following behind.
The entryway from the patio led to a large hallway next to the kitchen. A high bar, currently covered with an array of side dishes, separated the two before ending in an arched doorway.
“Oh! That’s amazing,” Liz said, staring at the gleaming appliances and bright tilework.
“It’s how my wife wanted it,” Rodrigo said with a smile. “I merely paid for it.”
This guy was traditional through and through. Not surprising, but it bothered me more than I thought it would.
Opposite the kitchen was a family room, complete with a large-screen television. Next to the kitchen was a laundry-utility room. One of the two wings off the center contained a formal living room, dining room, and office. The other contained four bedrooms.
There were three full bathrooms in the house, all of them spacious, lush, and sparkling clean. I almost swooned.
“Your place is lovely,” Diane said as we returned to the patio.
“Gracias,” Rodrigo said. “Later I can show you the outbuildings.” His pride in his ranch shone through the few words.
“That will be Kathleen’s thing,” Liz said with a smile that bordered on a smirk.
Diane nodded.
“Would you like to do that?” Rodrigo asked.
“Sure,” I said.
My sisters were going to get it when we got home .
“I look forward to it,” Rodrigo said. “I’m especially proud of my horses.”
“How long have you owned this ranch?” Liz asked.
Rodrigo settled in a nearby chair and took a sip from a bottle of Tecate beer. “This ranch has been in my family for multiple generations,” he said. “My ancestors emigrated from Mexico in the late 1700s. It was a time of conflict with the Native Americans who were here then.” He shook his head. “We were a new brand of conquistador, seeking to dominate with a rifle rather than a cross. It was a tragic time.”
“And your family has had this ranch since that time?” Liz asked.
“Yes. Through all the different governments and governors. We are still here. We have enlarged the size of the ranch and made it prosper.”
He took another sip of his beer.
“My ancestors stuck to it,” Rodrigo continued, pride lurking around the edges of his voice. “Even during the difficult years, when Texas was a republic. Mexican law had been more equal, I think. It was forbidden to enslave people. And women?” He smiled at us. “There was a community property law so all land was held jointly between a husband and wife. Women had other rights as well; things they no longer had when the Americans took over in the name of independence.”
Trixie Lynn settled into the chair next to him, once again possessively touching him on the arm. The gaze she turned on us wasn’t a glare, but it came close.
“Are you boring these nice ladies with your stories?” she asked. With a tinkling laugh she added, “Rodrigo loves history. He forgets not everyone is as interested.”
“I like history,” I said. What Rodrigo had told us, combined with our visit to the Alamo, intrigued me.
Trixie Lynn’s expression crossed the line to glaring.
“There are more guests asking to see you,” she said. “And Marcos keeps asking when they can smash the pi?ata.”
The smile lines in Rodrigo’s face deepened.
“Marcos is my grandson. He’s going to be a great horseman. You should see him ride. A natural!”
Trixie Lynn rose. “It’s important you talk to the county commissioner. Remember, he said he could only stay a short while. You told me to remind you.” She gave us a fake smile. “I’m sure you’ll excuse us. ”
“Ah, yes.” Rodrigo stood as well. “I don’t like how he’s spending my money. I need to remind him who elected him.” He focused on me and smiled. “I’ll talk to you later.”
What was that strange sensation in my chest?
If I ignored it, I was sure it would go away.
“That woman does not like you,” Diane said.
“Nope,” I replied. “I don’t know why. It’s not like I did anything to her.”
Liz laughed. “It’s what she’s afraid you’re going to do to her plans that’s the problem,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Rodrigo likes you.”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s a nice man to everyone. They all adore him at church.”
“We did leave you in Montana too long,” Liz said. “He’s a nice, rich , single man. Trixie Lynn has her sights set on being Mrs. Ramirez number two. And you’re a potential threat.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “She’s wrong in so many ways. I’m looking forward to being on my own in Montana. No more love and no more men for me.”
“We’ll see about that,” Diane said. “The more you resist, the harder you’ll fall.”
“I’m getting a margarita,” I said, standing up. Enough of this nonsense. If we weren’t in polite company, I’d give my sisters the finger, but as it was, all I could do was turn my back on them and head to the table where the blender whirred.
~ ~ ~
The barbecued meat, served on toasted buns, was perfection. I couldn’t remember when I’d tasted better barbecue, and I told the man who’d been at the smoker.
“Gracias, gracias,” was his only reply.
“He doesn’t speak much English yet,” a young man said to me. “He just got here from Guatemala. My papá was his sponsor.”
“That was nice of him,” I said. “You must be Rodrigo’s son.”
“I’m Juan.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “Papá says you are from Montana, but you’re taking a road trip in an RV. I’ve always wanted to see Montana. I understand it’s beautiful.”
“We think so,” I told him. “If you ever do get up there, please stop by our ranch. I’ll make sure your father has our contact information. ”
“That’s very nice of you.”
A small boy, about four or five, ran up to Juan and jumped up and down. “Pi?ata! Pi?ata!” he yelled.
This must be Marcos, the young one so ready to smash the paper donkey and reap its rewards.
I felt a sudden longing for my own grandchildren. Although I didn’t see them very often because they were busy with their own lives, my children were an important part of my life. They were one of the good things I’d gotten from Michael.
“Your son?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Yes, the little monster himself.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “Let’s go ask Abuelo when the pi?ata will be ready to smash, okay?”
“Okay!” Marcos looked up at me and smiled. “Who’s she?”
I crouched down to his eye level. “I’m Kathleen. I’m visiting.”
Large brown eyes studied me, and then he nodded. “Okay!” He grabbed his father’s hand and started pulling. “Pi?ata!”
“Got to go,” Juan said with a smile that was an echo of his father’s.
Once they’d departed, I stood up and headed back to my sisters.
Trixie Lynn stopped me on my way back.
“It was so nice you were able to join us. We don’t get many new people at these gatherings. Usually they’re only for family and close friends.” Her smile was as fake as the eyelashes she’d plastered on.
“It was very gracious of Rodrigo to invite us.” I started walking again. It was difficult to avoid being snarky with a woman like Trixie Lynn.
“So when do you head back to Montana?” she asked.
“Not for a long time,” I said. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do, being a busy hostess and all. So I’ll just leave you to it.”
I gave her a smirk and a little wave of my hand.
By the time I got back to Liz and Diane, there was a cluster of small children jumping up and down under the pi?ata, vying to be first to swing the stick at the poor paper donkey.
Rodrigo chose a girl to be first, much to the dismay of Marcos. The boy started to protest, but a stern look from his grandfather settled him down.
The girl, obviously skilled at this game, gave a mighty thwack to the underbelly. Marcos was next, and he swung wildly, the blow glancing off the donkey’s rear. The rest of the children took their turns, some missing altogether, some with accurate and deadly aim. Slowly the paper became torn and dented. When it was the first girl’s turn again, she took careful aim and hit it with all her might.
The paper tore open and candy rained down.
Small children scrambled after the morsels that rolled everywhere. When Marcos realized one of the younger boys hadn’t gotten much of the candy, he gave some of his own to the kid.
Juan was raising his son well. Had he learned it from his mother or father?
~ ~ ~
When the sweets had all been scooped up, Rodrigo asked me to come with him to see the rest of the buildings and the horses.
We stepped out into the warm air, and I looked around me. “It’s beautiful countryside,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m glad you appreciate it.”
“I’m a rancher,” I said. “We always notice the land.”
“It’s true,” he said. “You’ll have to tell me about your place in Montana, but later. Now I want to show off mine.”
The corrals and buildings showed no signs of needing repair or painting. This was a ranch that was doing well, with extra cash that allowed for regular maintenance. It was a contrast to my own experience, where things only got fixed if they had to be, and I’d become an expert at getting one more month’s life from the aging machinery.
As we walked, he explained his operation and the delicate act of balancing his costs against the prices the small monopoly of beef buyers would pay.
“I’m not a big fan of regulation,” he said. “It can often cause more harm than good. But it would be good if there was a way to break these monopolies and stop what looks like price fixing to me. It’s harder to be a small rancher when the conglomerate consistently squeezes prices.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. We discussed the problem as we walked toward a fenced-in field on the far side of the barn.
When we got to the fence, he opened a gate and we walked into the field.
He gave a sharp whistle.
A cluster of four horses that had been at the end of the enclosure lifted their heads.
He whistled again.
The horses immediately trotted in our direction, their distinctive heads held high, manes and tails gracefully drifting behind them. One in particular stood out to me, a chestnut brown with a white star on her forehead.
As they came closer, I realized their body configuration was different from the broad-chested quarter horses I owned. Mine were work animals, bred for the rough weather of the mountain west.
These were beautiful, an indulgence I’d never be able to afford.
The chestnut singled me out. Dropping to a walk, she approached cautiously, sniffing to determine if I was friend or foe. Her breath was warm on the hand I held out, palm up, to introduce myself. As soon as she was done nuzzling, snorting, and inspecting, I reached my hand up to caress her soft jawline.
“She likes you,” Rodrigo said. “Unusual. She doesn’t like most people.”
“What’s her name?”
He pointed to her forehead. “Star of Arabia.”
“So she’s Arabian.”
Rodrigo nodded and rubbed the horse closest to him. “They’re my pride and joy. Such beautiful animals and so easy to ride. You’ll need to come riding with me someday, and you’ll see for yourself.”
Star decided it was her turn and rubbed her nose against my hair. Deciding she liked the texture, she took a nibble.
“What are you doing?” I stepped backward, stumbling over a small hillock in the field.
I almost went down, but Rodrigo steadied me.
“I forgot to warn you that she likes to do that,” he said, his hand still on my shoulder.
Normally, I don’t like men touching me, especially those I don’t know very well. But this felt natural.
I stepped away and shook my finger at the horse. “No more of that!”
Star looked at me, stepped closer, and settled her head on my shoulder with a nicker.
“Definitely likes you,” he said with a warm smile.
Star might not be the only one who liked me.