Seven Sisters Read Free Page A

persona for her to overcome as a cop. “I grew up on a commune outside of Garberville. That’s north of San Francisco.” Looking at the ground, she relayed the information with a wry, slightly embarrassed tone, her pale skin flushing pink to the edge of her downy hairline.
    “I heard it’s real pretty up around there,” Maggie said.
    “It is. My dad still lives there,” Bliss continued, “but my mother moved back to Seven Sisters when Grandma Cappy fell off a horse and broke her arm six months ago. Mom’s a nurse-midwife. I left the commune when I turned eighteen and worked as a groom for my grandma while I went to Alan Hancock College in Santa Maria. I’ve wanted to be a cop ever since I can remember. One time when I was eight I was out with my dad, and he was pulled over and busted for possessing some marijuana. I was really scared, but this old cop, he was really nice to me. He told me that they wouldn’t hurt my dad and waited with me until my mom came to pick me up. He didn’t look at me as if I were a piece of trash, and, well, I decided I wanted to be just like him. His name was Lyle, that’s all I remember.” Then, as if realizing she’d revealed too much personal history to her boss’s wife, she tightened her lips. Her face remained rosy-colored, and a forced scowl only made her look more vulnerable.
    I kept my face serious, hoping to reassure her that her revelations wouldn’t affect my respect for her. “We all have people in our lives who we can say influenced us. Actually, your grandmother was a real inspiration to me as a girl.”
    “Why’s that?” Maggie asked.
    “Cappy Brown was a trick rider in the rodeo during the forties and fifties, and for a while taught a barrel-racing school out at her ranch. That’s how I really came to know her. She used to take her students around the state to compete in amateur rodeos. The best show I ever saw was one she put on for four of us girls in an empty arena one morning in Bishop. She did things on her horse I’d never try, and she was in her fifties. She used to tell us that anything we wanted to do was possible, that there were no ‘boy’ jobs or ‘girl’ jobs, only jobs.”
    Maggie’s head nodded in approval. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”
    Talking about her grandmother softened Bliss’s expression. “She’d tell us grandkids to always ride tall in the saddle. I bet I’ve heard that a million times.”
    “And, girl, you’ve sure as shootin’ had to heed that piece of advice a few times at work,” Maggie said.
    The frown reappeared on Bliss’s face. “They’ve learned not to mess with me.”
    “They?” I inquired.
    Maggie chuckled. “This poor little child has been hit on more times than those old mission bells. You can’t blame those besotted fools at the station. Just look at her.”
    Bliss’s frown deepened. “All I want is to be a good cop. I don’t have time for a boyfriend.”
    Well , I thought, as I mixed the M & M’s into the cookie dough, apparently she, found a little time.
    Gabe, bless his experienced little cop’s heart, was immediately suspicious when he sat down for dinner at our pine kitchen table.
    “So, what’s up?” he asked, digging into the steaming chiles rellenos. “Did you find a house you know I’ll hate?”
    ‟Nope.”
    “Seriously, you’re buttering me up. Why?”
    I wouldn’t tell him, changing the subject every time he brought the conversation back around to it. When he was almost through eating, when I was in the middle of describing the latest house the realtor had shown me, Sam knocked on the front screen door.
    “In the kitchen,” I called out, smiling widely at my husband.
    Gabe’s wary, blue-gray eyes traveled from my face to his son’s, then back to mine. A small groan rumbled in his chest. “I should have known. Just what are you two plotting?”
    “I’m starved,” Sam said, opening the cupboard and taking out a blue-and-white stoneware plate.
    “Let’s finish