“Right,” Vivi Ann said. “That’s what I thought. So let’s get started cleaning this place up.”
Winona felt her breath release in a quiet sigh. Maybe there was hope after all.
And she thanked God for that. Lately, she’d begun to wonder what terrible thing she might do if Vivi Ann married Luke.
A week and a half later, Winona sat in her father’s study, at the big, scarred wooden desk that looked out over the flat blue waters of the Canal. On this crystalline day the trees on the opposite shore looked close enough to touch; it seemed impossible to believe that they were more than a mile away. She had just reached for the nearest bill—from the lumber store—when she heard a car drive up. A few moments later, footsteps thudded on the springy porch steps and someone knocked.
She pushed the bills aside and went to answer it.
A man stood on the porch, staring down at her. At least she thought he was staring down; it was hard to tell. A dusty white cowboy hat shielded the upper half of his face. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in torn, dirty jeans and a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt that had seen better days. “I’m here about the job.”
She detected a hint of an accent—Texas or Oklahoma, maybe. He took his hat off and immediately pushed back the long, straight black hair that hung to his shoulders. Skin the color of well-tanned leather made his gray eyes appear almost freakishly light in comparison. His face was sharp and chiseled, not quite handsome, with a bladelike nose that made him look vaguely mean, a little wild. He was lean, too; wiry as a strip of rawhide. Black tattooed Native American symbols encircled his left bicep, but they weren’t from local tribes. These images were unfamiliar to her.
“The job?” he said again, reminding her that she’d taken too long to respond. “Are you still looking for a hand?”
“You know your way around horses? We don’t want to train anyone.”
“I worked at the Poe Ranch in Texas. It’s the biggest operation in the Hill Country. And I team-roped for about ten years.”
“You good with a hammer?”
“I can fix what’s wrong around here, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m half white, too. If that helps you make up your mind.”
“That hardly matters to me.”
“You’re above most folks, are you?”
She got the sense he was laughing at her, but nothing about him changed.
“You follow the rodeo circuit?”
“Not anymore.”
She knew that her father wouldn’t hire this man—a Native American—wouldn’t approve of him at all, and yet their ads had been posted for more than a month now and the first roping jackpot was on Saturday. They needed to hire someone, and they needed to do it fast.
Taking off her expensive blue pumps, she stepped into Vivi Ann’s oversized rubber boots, which were always stationed at the door. “Follow me.”
She heard him behind her, moving slowly, his worn, scuffed cowboy boots crunching on the gravel. She refused to acknowledge her nervousness. It was an unfortunate by-product of the environment in which she’d been raised and she would not succumb. She was above judging people by the color of their skin. “Here’s the barn,” she said rather stupidly, as they were standing inside of it now.
He came up beside her, saying nothing.
The stall to their immediate left sported a big white poster board decorated with drawings and photographs and ribbons. In ornate, curlicue lettering it read: Hi! I’m Lizzie Michaelian’s horse, Magic. We’re a great team. We competed at last year’s Pee Wee Days and won a red ribbon for Fitting and Showing and a special mention for cleanest stall. We can’t wait for this year’s county fair.
“Well, now,” the man beside her said, “that’s some homey shit.”
Winona couldn’t help smiling at that. Moving on, she showed him the tack room, wash stall, and hay storage. When they’d seen all that the barn and arena had to offer, she led him back out into the sunlight.
There, she faced him. “What’s your name?”
“Dallas. Like the city. Dallas Raintree.”
“Are you prepared to stay for at least a year?”
“Sure. Why not?”
Winona made her decision. That was the point, after all. This decision was hers to make. If Daddy didn’t like him because of his skin color, it was time he changed. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like her civic duty to hire him. And besides, men weren’t exactly lining up for the job. If he’d stay for a while, why not? “Wait here.” She turned and clomped back to the house, took off her boots, went to the study for a copy of the employment contract she’d written up, and then returned to him. “This job is for room, board, and five hundred dollars a month. You want it?”
He nodded.