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84 pages

English

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Halves and half-nots. Haves and have-nots. He was a Have-not and the woman uncomfortably sharing a train nook with him was a Have. There was no in-between any more. Las Vegas is no longer the party city it once was. It has become a place where the gap between rich and poor is wider than the nearby Grand Canyon. Owen Frost has made choices he never wanted to make. When he arrives for his job as a tutor of the child of Evelyn Sayles, one of the richest women in this changed world, he wonders if he's made another.The wind was gone. Far out in the darkness, coyotes sang. Vivian shivered again. This was only a story. There were no such thing as ghosts. But Ruth Abbot Stiers' art was full of ghosts, shreds of things gone, long past, dried up.Vivian Littel is afraid of horses but that doesn't stop her from taking a job as a private nurse on an Idaho ranch. Horses don't scare her as much as the memories she's trying to escape. But more frightening events are in store for her when she meets her employer, Ruth, and Ruth's two sons, Todd and Matt.

Sujets

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Fantasy

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Publié par	Book View Cafe
Date de parution	09 janvier 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781611387094
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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GOTHIC WEST
Two novellas, and a bonus story, of love and obsession
Jill Zeller
www.bookviewcafe.com
Book View Café 2017
Copyright © 2017 Jill Zeller
In the Shade of Horses
I
A man walked out of a burnished sun setting on jigsaw mountains behind the house. He said, “You must be the nurse.”
Squinting against the molten light, Vivian Littel tried to see his face, but he was all silhouette—tall, tapered from shoulders to hips. Hatless. She nodded, shading her eyes.
He gave his name as Todd Stiers, wiped his hands with a towel and thrust one toward her to shake. The sun waned, sucked behind the hills. Now Vivian could see sandy hair, skin crazed by sun, the beginnings of a paunch, how old—thirty-five? Luminous blue eyes. Vivian noticed his denim shirt and blue jeans, but instead of cowboy boots he wore flip flops and his feet and jeans were smudged with black.
A breeze brought the odor of damp, charred wood. Todd, son of the patient, sighed as his smile faded. “Sorry for the mess. We had a fire last night.”
Puddles in the grass, eruptions of mud in the earth. Tire tracks gouged the lawn. The front of the Stiers’ ranch house, a wooden weathered structure two stories tall, held together by a veranda, appeared unmarred. Curious, Vivian wondered what had burned.
Todd took a breath, struggled not to frown, focused his eyes on her. “Mom’s inside. She’s looking forward to meeting you.”
Vivian had no doubt of that. She remembered what the agency had said. Many good private nurses, but none would stay on the place for long. Did she mind isolation? Nothing much to do? Town was over forty miles away down washboard roads. A film of Idaho red rock dust coated her car. This was perfect. As far away from her father as she could get.
Horses were here. She could smell them, too. But there was no need for her to be anywhere near them.
While Todd pulled her suitcase and box from the trunk of her car, Vivian cast a quick look toward the paddock. No horses were visible, but she saw another man standing against the fence. He appeared small, rangier than Todd. Arms and legs stretched over-long on a short body. A red bandanna tied hippie-style over his head, he fed a rope through his hands. Seeing her glance, he looked down.
Todd noticed. “That’s my brother. Come on up.” No introduction was made.
Inside the house a breeze shuddered through open windows and rustled the poplar wind break behind. She could see leaves flicker in the setting sun like metal bamboo curtains.
“She’s on the back porch, supervising, as usual.” Todd put Vivian’s bags in the living room next to a rust-colored leather couch. The room rose to a cathedral ceiling of pine beams where Navajo blankets hung. Vivian expected to see paintings, but nothing hung on the walls except fancy horse tack. The room smelled of charred wood, too.
“We’re trying to get the smell out. Fire started in the laundry, just off the kitchen.” He led her through open French doors to where a deck led to the lawn and a large garden. Beyond, the trees spun in the wind and hills loomed darkly as the sun dipped behind.
On the deck two women sat in chairs arranged around a table. Beside one, a walker leaned against the arm of the chair, and behind her Vivian saw a folded wheelchair.
Todd made introductions, but Vivian recognized his mother, Ruth Abbot Stiers. In photographs she had always been thin and now she looked no different, despite the cancer. She had given her son her sharp nose and full lips, and full waves of hair whitening to bleached sandstone. But seeing her in person, Vivian saw something lacking, of fires banked and going out.
Vivian walked around the table, sat next to Ruth and extended her hand. “Hello, Ruth. How are you today?”
Eyes the color of jade appraised her. Vivian was reminded of a horse’s eyes, sizing her up, looking for the vulnerable places. “I’m fine, thank you,” she said, her voice husky, steady. “This is my friend Jody, staying with us for a while.”
Ruth waved a hand in the other woman’s direction. Rusty skin covered Jody’s cheeks and her Brillo-y hair matched them. Her eyes were bleached blue. She smiled and shook Vivian’s hand. “Such a pretty nurse. You better behave yourself, Todd.”
Wind pulled through the house, strongly gusted and cold. The sun was gone, and for a moment no one spoke. Vivian knew how to keep her distance from families, and young men who commented on her looks. She glanced at the expanse laid flat and bare between her and the mountains. She was used to seeing valleys carpeted with homes and lights, not this emptiness. As she watched, she saw a lone horseman move over the plain, and the flash of a red bandanna before the light faded. Something moved with him, a shadow horse, as if an unseen sun was over her shoulder, bringing an icy glare. Vivian shivered.
“It’s getting chilly out here,” she said, moving to pull Ruth’s sweater around her. “Would you like to go inside?”
A wary look filled Ruth’s eyes. Vivian rose, pulled the walker toward her. After a moment, Ruth laid her hand on the handle.
A chair in the great room, draped in a fleece blanket and handy to an ornate wooden table, was the throne Ruth occupied most of the day, Todd told her. After Vivian got her settled, Todd showed Vivian her room in the east wing, next to Ruth’s. In Ruth’s bathroom she found medications, read the labels, examined the bathtub—rails, rubber mat. Supplies, diapers, blue pads, IV tubing. Beside Ruth’s bed lay the morphine pump, disconnected at the moment. A bank of windows framed the mountains. The sky took on the sheen of metal; stars tentatively showed, as if afraid. Vivian stood, looking at a world of nothing. Like Ruth’s paintings, the window view captured what was not there.
At dinner, cooked by Jody who ran a restaurant in Albuquerque—“It runs itself these days”—they ate strips of beef marinated in tamarind sauce, wild rice, sauteed mangos. Vivian mentioned the paintings.
“Glad you got that out of the way,” Ruth said while Vivian cut the beef for her. “I don’t keep anything here. All in galleries, private collections.”
Vivian felt disappointed. She had been looking forward to seeing them. She had not meant to mention it, but she found herself saying, “My father bought one. ‘Idaho potato’. He loved the idea of the mountains looking like potatoes.” She tried to laugh, looked around the table, saw only frowns. “From a gallery in LA. He was not much of an art lover, but this one caught his eye.”
Silence lay heavy, and Vivian turned from it, wiped a rice grain from Ruth’s chin. Sighing, she ordered herself not to care. After all, this was not her family. Vivian had thought the painting threatening, almost stubborn. Her father bought it in one of his many episodes of mania, when he would take off in his special handicapped van and be gone for days.
Jody rose, swept the plates off the table. “I’ll get Matt’s.”
“No. I’ll take it out to him.” Todd pushed back his chair. A vertical crease formed between his sandy eyebrows. “I have to talk to him.”
“He didn’t have anything to do with the fire.”
Ruth’s voice was edged, harsh. Her intensity surprised Vivian. Ruth’s cheeks showed the faintest flush.
“I know that.” Todd picked up a tray, covered with a plaid kitchen cloth. “We both know who it was.”
“No, not them either. Accident, stupidity. Bad wiring.” Ruth looked at Vivian. “The washing machine is toast. Wash by hand until we get a new one. Sorry.”
After dinner Ruth went to bed, exhausted by the fire, the clean-up. She complained of pain, and Vivian connected the pump and dosed her, gave her a sleeper, rubbed her back, straightened pads, positioned pillows. Ruth closed her eyes. When Vivian turned off the light, night lights in all the sockets cast a golden glow on the carpet, pale walls, the bare nothing of the room.
Ruth murmured as Vivian left the room, door ajar, summoning button in Ruth’s hand. The words stopped her, and she tried to think about what they were, what did Ruth say?
“Only potatoes keep.”
In the kitchen Vivian found Jody cleaning up. Jody wore clanging earrings, beaded bracelets. She was stocky in tight yoga pants and green top.
“Ruth hates anyone to talk about her art.” Jody laid the rice pot in the rack. Her hands were red like her cheeks and hair.
Vivian picked up a wine glass. Others had wine, including Ruth, which was not ideal for her. Vivian didn’t touch alcohol. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I just thought—”
“I think it’s nuts, too. But you have to understand. She hasn’t painted since she found out she had cancer.”
They worked in silence while Vivian wondered about Jody. Was she too, the hired help? Had she come to smooth out Ruth’s last days?
“Is Matt the other son?” She had wondered why he wasn’t at dinner. Why a tray had to be brought to him as if he were grounded, banished to the barn.
Vivian followed Jody to the deck where Jody packed a small pipe with pot and offered some. Vivian refused. Colored lights hung from the eaves.
“Isn’t the night heavy, special? There is nowhere on earth, except in New Mexico, that smells the same.” Jody blew a plume of smoke into the air.
Jody had not answered her question about Matt. The night smelled of green grass, empty pastures, leather. Vivian pulled up the collar of her jacket. She wore a wool jacket, city clothes. She would have to get a flannel shirt like Todd.
“I thought I saw Matt go riding, just as the sun set.” She remembered the shy drop of his head when she looked in his direction.
Jody held her breath; her eyes narrowed against the smoke. “Did you see anyone with him?”
Invisible at the lawn’s borders, the trees whispered. Vivian folded her arms against the chill. She remembered the shadow following, running, dark. “No.”
Jody nodded and was silent a moment. “So you did see her.”
“Her?”
Squinting, Jody looked toward the invisible mountains. “ La Yegua Fantasma. The Ghost Mare. She follows those who are cursed, or so my great aunt used to say.”
She mu