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“October eleventh. Ramon carved our initials in a cottonwood near the spring.”
****
A week after their daughter’s birth, Marianna and Ramon strolled about their property.
Dressed in their autumn finery, the cottonwoods’ buttery yellow and gold leaves rustled in the evening breeze, sounding like rain on a tin roof. The Texas sage nearby exploded with purple and mauve blossoms, perfuming the air with their spicy-sweet fragrance.
Her heart bursting with love for her husband and new daughter, Marianna breathed in the scene as she inhaled the scented air.
“Let’s remember this moment.” Ramon unsheathed his hunting knife, carved the initials M & R into a tree, and etched a heart around them.
****
“I wonder if they’re still there.”
“If who are still there?” Luke opened his droopy eyes and blinked.
“Not who—what—Marianna and Ramon’s initials.”
“Why don’t we find out?”
“You mean, look for their old homestead?” Scrunching my eyes, I tried to remember the settings of my grandmother’s bedtime stories. “Castolon is nowhere near here, is it?”
“It’s only two hours south in what’s now Big Bend National Park.”
Physically connect with what I thought were fairytales? The idea appealed to my sense of family as much as my taste for adventure. “What time do we leave?”
****
The next morning, Luke woke to voices outside the door. Who’s that? He threw off the covers and sprang from the bed. Why am I dressed? Where…? Half asleep, he glanced about the room. Then he spotted Maeve in the next bed, and the evening’s events whooshed back.
Tiptoeing into the bath, he eased the door shut to avoid its squeak. After a quick shower, he found a toothbrush and razor in the hotel’s amenities, brushed his teeth, and shaved.
The hinges objected as he opened the bathroom door, and he froze until Maeve’s chest rhythmically rose and fell with each breath. Then catlike, he slunk to the window to check the weather.
Outside, the sun shone brightly. Clear blue skies above, the snow-topped peaks of the Lincoln Mountains glistened in the distance.
The snowplows had cleared Main Street but buried the parked car in salty slush.
That poor owner. Then suppressing a groan, he estimated the shoveling it would take to dig out his truck.
He scribbled a note from the hotel’s pad and stuck it in the mirror’s corner.
Luke—Gone home to change. Back at eight to see the homestead—
Barefoot, he tiptoed past Maeve’s sleeping form, and her artless beauty stopped him. Her face as serene as dawn on a still lake, she seemed to shed her military exterior when she slept. Her brow untroubled, she looked as vulnerable as a newborn, and a protective impulse overtook him. Good thing I happened along when I did yesterday.
Boots in hand, he cracked the door, checking if the clerk stood guard at the front desk. All clear, he popped into the hall.
“Luke?”
He recognized the voice, and the hairs on his neck bristled. “Bea.”
“What’re you doing here?” Her raised eyebrows silently reproached as she bobbed her head left and right, rubbernecking to see into the room.
He shut the door behind him, accidentally slamming it. So much for a silent retreat. Then he leaned against the wall to pull on his boots.
“Isn’t February a little early to go barefoot?” Her cold eyes glittered. “What are you doing here?”
