The Wilder Sisters by Jo-Ann Mapson Page B

Mexico staple—but there was something delib- erate even about their placement. Even the old hardware store had been repainted and now wore a mantle of subtle hipness. The whole effect put Lily in mind of one long bed-and-breakfast so expensive that no one in this town could afford to stay there.
    Disgusted, she sped up the two-lane main drag and made the sharp right turn, heading east toward her parents’ ranch, passing a clutch of rural mailboxes in various shapes and sizes. Farther along a metal windmill worn to the color of pewter by the elements spun lazy circles, making that wonderful unique whirring noise she’d never heard duplicated anywhere else. Lily opened the car window and took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting balm of newly cut hay and deeper, more faintly, horse manure. The apple tree out front of El Rancho Costa Plente was heavy with fruit. The only car noise Lily could make out came from her Lexus. There were no competing sounds other than birdsong and her tires crunching across the gravel. She shut the engine down in front of the two-story adobe with the shining metal roof and sat listening to the silence.
    “Look, Buddy,” she said to the heeler as she pointed a finger at the outbuildings. “You were born in that barn right over there. Here comes your mama now.”
    The emerging pack of dogs barked a collective warning, showing off their various stations in the herd hierarchy. Jody Jr., the old blue heeler bitch who had mothered so many of the ranch pups, walked among her fractious offspring, hackles lifted, but somehow she managed to make threat displays come off regally. As she spied Lily, she began slowly wagging her long tail. Pop didn’t believe there was any good reason to dock puppies’ tails, no matter what was popular. To him dogs were working animals, and whatever God- given attributes they’d been born with they ought to be allowed to keep, including testicles. Lily worried a little about that, since Buddy was no longer in possession of his. Well, Pop would just have to get over it. Lily stretched her arms above her head and turned her neck from side to side, trying to erase the hours of driving from her sore muscles.
    Shep Hallford, her father’s ranch foreman, sat on the fence, packing his cheek with a fresh plug of Red Man. His expression didn’t change when he saw who had just stepped out of the fancy white car.

    Lily, however, grinned and ran over to him, wrapping him in her arms, hugging him as hard as she could. Had Shep allowed such things, she would have covered him with kisses and sat in his lap. Instead, she stepped back and said, “Hey, Sheppie. How’s it hanging?”
    He nearly smiled. “Well, well. Look what the cat drug in. Haven’t seen you around in a pile of years. California crack apart and fall into the ocean?”
    “We can only hope.” Lily leaned against the post-and-rail fence, which was as old as she was and remarkably sturdy. “What’s up with you, old man? Fathered any new children recently?”
    The weathered old cowboy spit tobacco juice onto the dirt. “These days I’m sticking to horses. Shorter life span, plus you don’t go to jail if they need killing.”
    Lily laughed, and Buddy came bounding up, relentlessly chased by the other dogs. He tried to scramble into Lily’s arms and she took hold of his front paws. “Rule number one, Buddy. You’ve fight your own battles here. Mama can’t help.”
    Shep craned his neck and stared at the dog’s hindquarters. “Unless my eyesight is going, I’d say your dog appears to be toting a couple of empty suitcases.”
    “I had him cut.”
    Shep clucked. “Your father will not be happy to hear that.” “Hey, my father didn’t have to bail his blue ass out of dog jail
    everytime he attacked my dates, either. One little incident cost me upward of five hundred bucks. Trust me, a no-nut version of Buddy is preferable to having to put him down.”
    Shep didn’t seem convinced. “We’ll see what