additional police. I can give you the license plate of her Lexus if you like. She’s always parking in handicapped spots using our mother’s sign even when Mother’s not with her.”
“Well, as to the voting, it’s a free country,” Gabe murmured, letting his voice drift off, not addressing the illegal use of the handicapped placard.
She winked at me and gave a deep belly laugh. “He’s being a politician now, isn’t he? I bet he wants to string her up by her diamond-studded ears. Probably would do her good. Shoot, she might even enjoy it.”
I laughed at the somewhat shocked look on his face. I’d known there was no love lost between the sisters, since I could remember Cappy talking this way when I was a teenager. Old age and maturity obviously hadn’t softened their attitudes toward one another.
“I think I’ll go see how Jose’s coming with the meat. Let me know if you two need anything and don’t let Giles, Willow’s no good grandson-in-law, talk you into buying stock in the company. No matter what he says, we’re not selling out to his daddy’s corporation.”
“She’s certainly something,” Gabe said, watching Cappy stride across the room.
“That’s mellow for Cappy,” I said. “You ought to see her when she’s really aggravated.” I stared after her curiously. “Wonder what that remark about selling out was about.”
Gabe shrugged. “Family squabbles. What would you like to drink?”
“Anything. I just need something to hold.” I never could eat or drink comfortably at parties where I didn’t know the people, especially when gorgeous ex-wives lurked in the bushes.
I spotted Dove and Daddy over by the natural stone fireplace gazing up at an original William Matthews watercolor of cowboys herding cattle through a pebble-strewn creek. Daddy held a glass of wine, gesturing up at the painting, nodding his head at something Dove said. I quickly scanned the rest of the room, looking for other people I knew and, if truth be told, for Lydia. I wanted to catch a glimpse of her before she saw me. There didn’t seem to be anyone resembling the woman in Sam’s picture, but I did see Sam and Bliss over by the picture window. He looked unusually subdued and even surprised me with his appearance. I don’t know who helped him pick out the clothes—Gabe certainly hadn’t—but he wore dressy dark slacks, a slate blue linen shirt, and black leather loafers. It was hard to believe this handsome, neat young man was the kid whose normal attire was either baggy surf shorts or faded Wranglers. Bliss wore dark green tailored pants and a thin, off-white shirt, her pale hair hanging loose and wavy around her shoulders. Sam dipped his dark head a moment, listening to something she said, his eyes drinking her in. They were a physically striking couple, no doubt about it—not just because of their youth, but also because of the stark difference in their coloring. I studied them a moment, contemplating what their child might look like.
Behind me Gabe said, “You look wonderful, as always.” His voice was low and pleasant, his practiced public voice. Through the thin silk of my shirt, I felt his large hand on my elbow. “Benni, I want you to meet Lydia.”
I turned and faced her, licking my suddenly dry lips. She was even more striking in person than in Sam’s photo, though, I was happy to see, not as beautiful. Taller than my five feet two by about five inches, her black hair was cut in a straight, shoulder-sweeping style, making the most of its glossy ebony shine. Perfect makeup softened her sharp features, her face dominated by the deep brown luminous eyes she’d passed on to her son. Her red designer suit—Armani, Anne Klein, Chanel, Elvia would know—fit her frame without a bulge. Though she was eight years older than me with skin that, I gleefully noted, showed it, I still felt like a mixed breed ranch horse standing next to a champion Kentucky Thoroughbred.
She held out a French-manicured
“Well, as to the voting, it’s a free country,” Gabe murmured, letting his voice drift off, not addressing the illegal use of the handicapped placard.
She winked at me and gave a deep belly laugh. “He’s being a politician now, isn’t he? I bet he wants to string her up by her diamond-studded ears. Probably would do her good. Shoot, she might even enjoy it.”
I laughed at the somewhat shocked look on his face. I’d known there was no love lost between the sisters, since I could remember Cappy talking this way when I was a teenager. Old age and maturity obviously hadn’t softened their attitudes toward one another.
“I think I’ll go see how Jose’s coming with the meat. Let me know if you two need anything and don’t let Giles, Willow’s no good grandson-in-law, talk you into buying stock in the company. No matter what he says, we’re not selling out to his daddy’s corporation.”
“She’s certainly something,” Gabe said, watching Cappy stride across the room.
“That’s mellow for Cappy,” I said. “You ought to see her when she’s really aggravated.” I stared after her curiously. “Wonder what that remark about selling out was about.”
Gabe shrugged. “Family squabbles. What would you like to drink?”
“Anything. I just need something to hold.” I never could eat or drink comfortably at parties where I didn’t know the people, especially when gorgeous ex-wives lurked in the bushes.
I spotted Dove and Daddy over by the natural stone fireplace gazing up at an original William Matthews watercolor of cowboys herding cattle through a pebble-strewn creek. Daddy held a glass of wine, gesturing up at the painting, nodding his head at something Dove said. I quickly scanned the rest of the room, looking for other people I knew and, if truth be told, for Lydia. I wanted to catch a glimpse of her before she saw me. There didn’t seem to be anyone resembling the woman in Sam’s picture, but I did see Sam and Bliss over by the picture window. He looked unusually subdued and even surprised me with his appearance. I don’t know who helped him pick out the clothes—Gabe certainly hadn’t—but he wore dressy dark slacks, a slate blue linen shirt, and black leather loafers. It was hard to believe this handsome, neat young man was the kid whose normal attire was either baggy surf shorts or faded Wranglers. Bliss wore dark green tailored pants and a thin, off-white shirt, her pale hair hanging loose and wavy around her shoulders. Sam dipped his dark head a moment, listening to something she said, his eyes drinking her in. They were a physically striking couple, no doubt about it—not just because of their youth, but also because of the stark difference in their coloring. I studied them a moment, contemplating what their child might look like.
Behind me Gabe said, “You look wonderful, as always.” His voice was low and pleasant, his practiced public voice. Through the thin silk of my shirt, I felt his large hand on my elbow. “Benni, I want you to meet Lydia.”
I turned and faced her, licking my suddenly dry lips. She was even more striking in person than in Sam’s photo, though, I was happy to see, not as beautiful. Taller than my five feet two by about five inches, her black hair was cut in a straight, shoulder-sweeping style, making the most of its glossy ebony shine. Perfect makeup softened her sharp features, her face dominated by the deep brown luminous eyes she’d passed on to her son. Her red designer suit—Armani, Anne Klein, Chanel, Elvia would know—fit her frame without a bulge. Though she was eight years older than me with skin that, I gleefully noted, showed it, I still felt like a mixed breed ranch horse standing next to a champion Kentucky Thoroughbred.
She held out a French-manicured
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