Page 78 of Tempting Fate
When they got to the farmhouse Gabe dropped her and went home to get a change of clothes. He hadn’t been to his duplex apartment in a few days, and Raylene supposed he had things to catch up on. Still, his absence left her feeling melancholy.Get used to it, she told herself, and made a call to Lucy’s House.
Wanda answered the phone. Like Raylene, she was a volunteer and had graciously taken Raylene’s Saturday shift. Unlike Raylene, Wanda had been married to a wonderful man who’d been killed two years earlier in the line of duty while responding to a domestic violence call. Helping at Lucy’s House had been Wanda’s salvation, something the two women had in common.
“How’s everything going?”
“You tell me, girl. How was the wedding? Any fireworks?” Raylene had given Wanda the entire 4-1-1 on her history in Nugget.
“I got through it unscathed and have lots of pictures of Logan and Annie to show you. That asshole Butch threw me a curve ball with my horse, but I’ll tell you about that when I get home.”
“Ooh, you better. I love me some TAB stories. That man deserves a hot poker up his ass.”
Raylene laughed. Wanda always had the power to make a terrible situation not feel so bad. That’s why the women at Lucy’s House loved her.
“Any changes there?”
Wanda sighed. “Jenny’s waiting to hear on whether any of the grants she applied for will come through, but she isn’t optimistic. A lot of organizations need money, and there’s not a lot of it to go around. What we need is a wealthy benefactor.”
“I’m working on it.” Raylene was no longer wealthy, but two hundred thousand dollars would be enough to hold the non-profit over until they could raise more.
“I know you are, girl. I’d give ’em DeRon’s pension if I didn’t need it to live on.” In Los Angeles, a cop’s pension didn’t go far.
“I got a good offer, Wanda. I just need to close escrow.” She still had to sign the papers.Today, she told herself.
They talked a few minutes longer. Afterward, Raylene climbed in the shower, dressed, and grabbed a quick breakfast. On her way out, she texted Gabe to meet her at the property at noon.
The last time she’d been to Lucky’s ranch, he’d been living in a single-wide trailer, waiting for workers to metamorphose the place into a full-service dude ranch—a cowboy camp, as he called it. She hadn’t believed it possible. Once a church camp, the place had fallen into disrepair. The outbuildings were mostly rotted, the big lodge infested with rodents, and the land strewn with old tractor parts.
Today, it looked completely different. A big ranch gate and sign had been erected at the entrance with Lucky’s brand and “Cowboy Camp” in big letters. Spiffy split-rail fencing stretched around the perimeter of the property and pavers took the place of dirt on the long road to the office and parking lot. All the buildings had new roofs, new siding, and new front porches. Raylene didn’t remember any front porches from before. In the distance, she could see river rock had replaced the crumbling chimney on the big lodge. And rows of corrals, barns, and an arena with metal bleachers now sat where there once was a weathered horse ring and amphitheater.
The trailer was gone, and in its place was a big cabin with a front porch, complete with a row of rocking chairs and an outdoor fireplace made from the same river rock as the lodge’s chimney. A wooden sign on the door said, “Welcome and Check in Here.”
She found a parking space next to a Toyota Prius, took a deep breath, and tried to steady her shaking hands.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,courage to change the things I can,and wisdom to know the difference.
This was it. This was the very spot she’d stabbed Lucky in the back.
She slowly got out of her truck and forced herself to take eight long strides to the cabin. There was a young man behind the counter who Raylene didn’t know.
“Howdy, you checking in?” The man craned his neck to look behind her, presumably wondering where her luggage was.
Someone ought to tell him that no one said “howdy” in California.
“No, I’m looking for the Rodriguezes.”
“Sure.” He picked up a cell phone. “You have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Okay. What’s your name and what company are you with?”
Raylene hesitated for a minute. She didn’t want to lie, but she knew if she told the truth Lucky might refuse to see her. “Lucy’s House.”
The guy didn’t seem to notice that she hadn’t given a name—perhaps he thought she was Lucy—and punched in a number. “Hi, someone’s at the front desk from Lucy’s House. Okay, I’ll let her know.” He put down the phone and turned to Raylene. “Someone will be here in a few minutes. Would you like something to drink while you wait?”
A vodka tonic would be good. “No, thank you.”
He motioned for her to take a seat on one of the big kilim sofas. Whoever decorated the place had serious talent. It was rustic and Western without being Country Bear Jamboree, and despite the soaring ceilings and massive space, the room felt cozy. There was a credenza in the corner with two large coffee urns, a set of ironstone mugs, and a tiered plate of cookies. Raylene smelled hot apple cider coming from a separate dispenser. Navajo rugs covered the wide-plank floors and two Stickley chairs hugged the fireplace, a larger replica of the one outside. She gazed around the room at the pictures of Lucky riding bulls. A couple of his championship buckles had been framed in shadow boxes and hung on the wall, along with aCowboys and Indiansmagazine cover that featured Tawny’s custom boots.
