Double Standards Read online

  DOUBLE STANDARDS

  Copyright © 1983 by Patsey Gray

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  An Ace Tempo Original

  Special Book Club Edition / September 1986

  Published simultaneously in Canada

  Tempo Books is registered in the United States Patent Office

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Ace Books, 200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016

  To Gerald H. Gray, M.D., my husband,

  always young in heart

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Start reading

  By Patsey Gray

  About the Author

  About this eBook

  ONE

  “GET UP,” Sis told herself. But she didn’t move. It was great to be away from home, from her father. Now she’d forget to be angry with him, so she’d no longer feel guilt. I’ll be a new person in this summer job, she thought. Nobody out here knows why I left home, and nobody has to know.

  She lay listening to morning sounds not too different from those of Brown’s Mill, Kansas: birds, millions of birds; a horse nickering; the creek’s voice down below her apartment. Apartment? Her uncle in his letter had called it that, but it turned out to be a one-room cabin atop a small rise.

  On her squeaky cot, Sis inhaled the aroma of Tanbark Ranch, California, in June. It seemed to be a mixture of dry hills and earth mold. She tasted faintly the tang of bay from the huge tree that she’d glimpsed hugging her cabin. Some of its leaves, she now saw, had tumbled in through the window. What she wanted to smell and taste was breakfast, but for that she’d have to wait until the Chuck Wagon opened—so her uncle had told her the previous night.

  He’d said, when he met her at the airport, “You’re pretty young to be on your own. Sixteen, if I remember right?” He remembered wrong, but she didn’t correct him. She was nearly sixteen, which she’d tell him as soon as she was settled. In any case she was strong, though she’d never be tall.

  During the hour’s ride in the pickup, she’d sneaked glances at this uncle whom she hadn’t seen in years. Funny that he and her dad, brothers, should have such different careers as horseman and realtor.

  Now, this morning, she took the three steps from bed to the only window. She was looking into the upper branches of the bay tree. Its trunk seemed to be all that kept her shack from sliding into the creek.

  She crossed the room—another few steps—and opened the door. That must be a covered ring, maybe a city block away. The rocky road to it ran between barns and corrals on one side and, on the other, an oak-studded hill where horses grazed. All around, more distant hills made the area a valley.

  In her bathrobe she ran down to “her” bathroom, which had a sign, “Ladies,” over its door. Some privacy! But who cared? There, facing the mirror, she thought again, brown hair and eyes, how ordinary—and the eyes round at that. But her figure was good, though not yet sexy, and her face had the few freckles it needed, according to her sister Marion.

  “It’s that bad?” Sis had asked.

  “A disaster,” Eve kidded.

  The three sisters were good friends. Just the same it was a relief to get away from so much talent—Eve, college on a scholarship; Marion, a successful artist already. Those two sometimes shared their stepmother’s social life, which held no appeal for Sis.

  Shortly, in jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt, she walked into the Chuck Wagon.

  “You must be the new kid,” the girl behind the counter said.

  “Yes, I’m Sis Reynolds.”

  “I’m Laurie. Coffee?”

  “Please.” It might sound dumb to ask for milk. “And a doughnut. Maybe two doughnuts.”

  While Laurie served her, Sis looked around at the western decorations: branding irons, spurs, bits, ropes. Facing Laurie again, she wondered how such a curvy form could have been squeezed into such tight pants and blouse. She herself used no makeup as a rule, only sometimes eye stuff. Almost with envy she gazed at Laurie’s cascading black curls and orange lipstick and asked, “Is this where you live?”

  “Yeah, me and my husband Ernie,” Laurie answered, “at the rear of this building. Lee’s office is there, too.” Laurie went on, “By the way, if you’re staying in that cabin, better hang a curtain at the window.”

  “But I love seeing out into the tree,” Sis told her.

  “You see out, somebody else sees in.”

  Sis laughed. “Who, birds?”

  The doors swung in, pushed by her uncle. They were half doors, like those in western bars on TV. His eyes swept the room and evidently found nothing wrong. After a glance at his watch he asked Sis, “Are you settled in? Everything okay?”

  She said yes, and he continued, “When you’ve eaten, then, I’ll put you to work. We won’t be as rushed as tomorrow, Saturday. But next week, when school’s out, every day will be rushed. Which is good, businesswise.”

  Sis bolted her breakfast and ran out. Bright sunshine and the start of activity all around made her exclaim, “Oh, Uncle Lee, this place and I, it’s love at first sight!” With outflung arms she twirled around, then hoped she hadn’t seemed childish.

  Striding along, her uncle spoke drily. “Let’s hope this love affair lasts. But call me Lee. Everyone does.”

  She trotted to keep up while he led her through the two barns. Both had a feed and a tack room, a blackboard for the day’s schedule, and tie and box stalls on each side of an aisle.

  In the first barn a young Mexican boy was cleaning stalls, singing a nostalgic-sounding song. An older teenager worked in the second barn, straw in his straw-colored hair and wild patches on his jeans. He must have an artistic girlfriend.

  Past their hearing, Lee said, “Manuel and Bud will stop and lean on their pitchforks if anyone offers to talk. So keep away from ’em. Also, keep your beachwear away, shorts and such. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Likewise no horseplay. The boys get alternate Mondays off,” Lee continued, walking on toward the ring on its slight elevation. “Those days you’ll help muck out and clean the horses’ automatic drinking bowls and so on. Other days, you’ll teach, groom, and clean tack. The older clients—we have Grandma Day once a month—you have to nursemaid those. See they don’t strangle a horse tying it, or turn it loose.” He gave a snort that wasn’t humorous. “You’ll hear ’em: ‘Oh, Lee, my saddle’s coming off!’ ‘Lee, is this Stormy or is it Bandit?’”

  Sis laughed. She would have laughed at just about anything this morning. The horses’ names tickled her. She supposed they’d been chosen to make the rider, child or grandma, think she was mastering a wild one. She didn’t care that Lee hadn’t mentioned any day off for her.

  He paused to wave at some youngsters arriving in a station wagon. To the driver he shouted, “With you in a minute.” While the kids dashed to the Chuck Wagon, he spoke again to Sis about her work. Listening, she gazed around with pleasure, breathed in odors of feed and manure, and watched a couple of chickens scratch for grain. The smell of hay bales stacked behind the barns reached her, too.

  “I’m not paying you much,” Lee said, “being you’re still green. You never owned a horse, did you?”

  Sis said no, without adding that she’d always wanted one. “Most days I exercised horses at the riding school,” she explained, “and I learned to jump. A show rider coached me, in trade for my care o
f his mare. Lots of times he had me jump her in shows. And I do own the English saddle I brought.”

  Lee nodded. “That’s the point, as I told your dad. Not many here ride English, but I need help with those who do.”

  How great if she could get in some jumping, Sis thought; better yet, show jumping. But on what?

  Another car’s approach hurried Lee’s next words. “Let’s go saddle for the beginners’ lesson in the ring. They’re the under-tens, and I’m not used to teaching that age. The girl before you did that. You like kids?”

  “Yes, I really do,” Sis answered.

  In the first barn, Manuel’s barn, she followed Lee’s example: brought tack from the tackroom, saddled and bridled the rent horses in their tie stalls, then backed them out for the children. The kids loved their homely old mounts, and patted legs or stomachs, and kissed noses.

  Only one little girl reproved Sis. “You didn’t make us brush.”

  “Your teeth?”

  Giggles. “No! We’re s’posed to brush our horses, and their manes if we can reach. You do their tails in case they kick.”

  “Lucky me,” said Sis.

  “What’s your name?” a small redhead asked her.

  “Sis.”

  “Miss Sis? That sounds like Ms.” More giggles.

  In turn Sis asked, “Who helped you guys before I showed up?”

  “Oh, a lady,” she was told. “She left after Blackie bit her.”

  “I see. Which one is Blackie?”

  “The black one, of course.” Giggle. “Over there. But it wasn’t his fault. She punched his stomach with her knee because he swells when you cinch him. You want to meet Lee’s cat? His name is Burper, and he really, really burps.”

  Up in the ring, Lee stood in the center, repeating orders, each one a dozen times. “Don’t slump.” “Loosen your reins.” “Heels down.” So on and on.

  These children were too young to do more than walk, jog, and briefly lope. Their horses, wise to them, constantly stopped at the ring gate or in the center, from which Lee chased them. The littlest boy fell from an almost motionless pony, then bragged, “Fury bucked me off!” Fury was a toy Shetland, obviously a general pet. Another child ran from the ring toward the rest room, leaving a loose horse.

  Sis caught the horse and led it to Lee, who said, “I’ve about had it. Take over, will you, but go easy. And if the parents give you trouble, send them to me,” and he indicated drivers in the cars parked at the Chuck Wagon.

  Soon Sis was telling her pupils, “We’ll spend the last five minutes on a game. What’ll it be?”

  “Tag, Ms.,” the redhead cried. And when a redheaded mother came up after the class, Sis was introduced as “Ms., who’s a neat teacher.”

  “I’ll handle the next lesson,” Lee told Sis. “It’s a private. You can be getting these horses ready for the intermediates. Water ’em and loosen cinches, but don’t forget to cinch up again. And while you’re resting, put some salve on Dynamite’s withers. The boys’ll show you.”

  Sis liked the intermediates less than the beginners. They were inclined to eye her warily, to whisper and make jokes. Also, the ring was poorly ventilated so that a film of tanbark dust hung in the air. Light and air entered only through a two- to three-foot opening that circled the top of the walls except where posts supported the roof. She was glad when it was time to get outdoors again. Better yet, Lee said that after lunch she might take a client for an hour’s trail ride.

  “All you’ll have to do is follow Mrs. Ashby,” he said. “She’ll ride her own mare. For yourself, check the blackboard, and use any one of the rent horses that hasn’t been out.”

  Once more, at noon, Sis felt the satisfaction of opening the door of her own house. If I really owned it, she thought, I’d make it cute. But it needed a few things, mainly a lamp. The bare bulb hanging down was horrible, especially for one who loved to read in bed.

  Without a chair, she sat on the cot to eat her snack and listen to the voice of the creek. She imagined the water smelled fresh and reedy, having seen it bouncing over a rocky bed between cool dark banks of ferns. While she daydreamed, a gray squirrel appeared at the open window. At sight of her, he lashed his tail, chattered something indignant, and whisked away.

  She wondered about her uncle. He seemed a hard worker, gruff, with little humor. As she pictured him, she heard him call her, and went to open the door.

  He was in his pickup. Leaning out, he offered, “I’ll trust you with this pickup tomorrow if you need anything from the store. It’s only a couple of miles, at a small place called the Junction, where I live. The restaurant’s there too, Blanche’s.”

  Sis backed a step into the room.

  “Okay?” Lee called.

  “I don’t—don’t have my driver’s license,” she blurted.

  He looked annoyed, saying, “If you’re that forgetful, you and I may not get along. Write home for it tonight.” He was gunning his motor.

  “But—” She hesitated, seeing he’d misunderstood.

  “What? I’m in a hurry.”

  Panicked, she couldn’t find words, and he drove off, spurting dust.

  Sis shut the door and wandered back to her cot. “Idiot,” she called herself. “Why did you let him think you were sixteen, with a driver’s license?”

  As usual in troubled moments, one hand went to her lips, and she nibbled her nails. Then she thought, so I’m like my father after all. Dad had sold a lot for a client, then he’d bought the lot himself from the buyer and resold it at a higher price. He’d made more money for himself than for his client.

  Sis wondered again if her stepmother, Mimi, knew that. Marion and Eve knew, but it didn’t seem to bother them. They claimed such deals were common, and that Sis’s standards were unrealistic. Yet right off she’d been dishonest with Lee. What a dummy!

  Well, it wasn’t the end of the world. Sis shook herself. She was making a big thing out of nothing.

  “Cool it,” she said. “And this afternoon, level with Lee.”

  TWO

  AT TWO O’CLOCK that afternoon, Sis found both boys in the second barn. Bud, the bigger one, told her Lee had gone to buy feed and wouldn’t be back for at least an hour.

  She said with a twinge of panic, “I’m supposed to take Mrs. Ashby out.”

  “Her mare’s ready. That’s Twinkle.” He pointed to a lightweight chestnut looking from her box stall. Then he went on, “Lee said for you to ride Gull instead of a rent horse.”

  “Gull?”

  “Lee’s gelding, Seagull.” Bud snickered. “He’s kind of a nut. Mostly we just lunge him. He needs more work, and Lee don’t have the time, though I gotta say he has the guts.”

  “Why would he need guts?” Sis asked.

  “Gull’s mean,” Bud answered.

  Sis guessed that he, and possibly Lee, wanted to test her. So she said merely, “If you’ll show me Gull and his bridle, I’ll get my saddle. He’ll go English, won’t he?”

  “Will he! Eh, Manuel?” Bud asked his partner with a grin.

  The boys seemed to understand each other, though apparently Manuel didn’t speak much English. Now he answered with motions that Bud translated as, “Gull’s a jumper.”

  Within minutes Sis was back, saddling a thin gray thoroughbred in his box stall. He must measure close to seventeen hands, she judged, with a deep girth, broad chest, and well-bred head. He was really built. But his eyes and ears were watchful, and his nostrils flared in and out, questioning the scent of a stranger. He ducked from her hand raised to adjust his bridle, and jumped when one of the boys shouted.

  As she led him from the stall, she noticed the door next to it marked “Storeroom.” Evidently it was a room between two stalls, a private room, padlocked.

  Feeling Gull shy behind her, she wondered how and when he’d been abused. No doubt he had reason to be mean; he wasn’t born that way. But he showed no signs of meanness now, and surely Lee wouldn’t give her a vicious horse to handle.

 
If she could have just a little while alone with Gull to gain his confidence … only, of course, it would take longer than that. But why not, if Lee agreed? She’d gentled other freaky horses. It’d be almost as if she owned him!

  A few minutes later, Bud stood watching the riders leave, probably still hopeful of trouble.

  “Vulture,” Sis muttered.

  His watching wasn’t lost on Mrs. Ashby, who remarked, “When Lee’s gone, Bud and Manuel slack off. But I suppose most teenagers would. I have one myself. Or maybe Bud’s surprised that you should be riding Gull.”

  Mrs. Ashby appeared to be in her forties. She had on a tailored blue shirt, frontier pants, and polished boots, and a scarf over her hair. It seemed odd that she should hire an escort for a mild trail ride. She couldn’t expect problems from her mare Twinkle, who ambled amiably on a loose rein. Rides like this, plus the board of her mare, must cost her plenty. But maybe she wasn’t strong.

  The horses started out between the barns. After passing the boys’ house trailer and the stacked hay, they crossed the creek on a wooden bridge where Gull danced a little. No wonder, for his shoes rang on the boards, and cracks between these showed rushing water below. Beyond the bridge, markers pointed to different trails.

  Once on Redwood Trail he grew calmer behind Twinkle. They paralleled the creek into deepening woods where light dimmed and the only sound was the water’s. Redwood needles muffled their steps and scented the air.

  “Lovely, isn’t it?” Mrs. Ashby said over her shoulder.

  Sis agreed. It was always lovely to be on horseback. Besides that, she was glad that on the flight west she’d studied about the birds and flowers of California.

  They’d been out less than fifteen minutes when Mrs. Ashby called back, “We’ll stop and rest around the next bend.”

  Rest? Sis had been counting on exercise to relax Gull.

  Soon Mrs. Ashby turned from the trail to push through a stand of trees. Next to a large willow she dismounted, saying, “I sometimes take a little breather here.”