The Tooby ranch is huge. Not that I didn’t know there was more to it than the barns and corrals I see every day, but I never dreamed it was as big as it is. It seems to go on forever. At first it’s mostly rolling fields laid out in an impressive array of greens and gold, dotted with grazing cattle and the occasional lonely outbuilding. As the hills get higher, the ground becomes rockier. Vibrant colours give way to more sombre reds and browns, and tidy pastures are replaced with scraggly clumps of scrub. Beyond that is forest — dense and quiet and regally green. We wind our way respectfully along the trails through mighty stands of cedar, fir, hemlock, alder, and ponderosa pine. Our horses’ footfalls are muffled by a centuries-old carpet of rotting leaves and coniferous needles. Micah leads the way. I follow. We don’t talk.
I have no idea where we are going. I simply trust that Micah does, and, of course, I’m right, because he eventually leads us out of the forest and into an open field. It’s long but narrow, with a rocky stream running through the middle. Tall sun-bleached grass on its banks rustles in the breeze.
Micah dismounts, so I do too. We’ve been riding nearly an hour, and it feels good to stand.
“We’re not still on your family’s ranch, are we?” I say.
He removes his hat, squints up at the sun, and wipes a sleeve across his forehead. “Yup. We are.”
“You’re kidding,” I say. “Where does it end?”
He points toward the horizon. “Way out there. Farther than you can see.”
We lead our horses to the stream. As they lower their heads to drink, I realize that I’m thirsty too.
Micah hunkers down at the stream’s edge, cups his hands, and scoops water into his mouth.
I laugh. “I thought cowboys were supposed to use their hats for that.”
He shuts one eye and grins up at me.
Damn — he’s good-looking!
“If it wasn’t a new hat, I just might,” he says. “Then I’d soak it in the stream and stick it back on my head. It would keep me cool the whole ride home. Are you thirsty?”
“Actually, I am, but I sincerely doubt that I can drink from my hands.”
“Sure you can,” he insists. “It’s easy. Even a city slicker like you can manage it. I’ll show you.”
I recognize a dare when I hear one, and not being a person to back away from a challenge, I kneel down and give it a try. But something goes wrong on the way to my mouth and the water lands all down the front of my T-shirt.
“Aaaaaggghh!” I holler as I jump to my feet and hop around, trying to pull my shirt away from my body. “Jeez, that’s cold!” I look down at myself. I’m soaked. Who knew my hands could hold that much water?
Micah is laughing so hard he’s reeling around the field. “You’re supposed to drink it, not wear it,” he informs me between guffaws.
I make a face. “Very funny.”
Still chuckling, Micah walks over to his horse and retrieves something from the saddle bag. I can’t see what it is though, and when he turns around, he slips it behind him. I take a step backwards.
Micah stops. “What? You don’t trust me?”
I send him what I hope is a withering glare. “You’re surprised?”
“Hey, you’re the one with the hole in your hands — or your mouth.” His face breaks into that smile of his, and even though I know the joke is on me, I have to concentrate on not melting. “I had nothing to do with it,” he adds.
His gaze wanders down to my wet T- shirt, and suddenly, I’m self-conscious. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I have a peace offering,” he says. And without another word, he returns to the stream. His back is to me, so I can’t see what he’s doing.
When he turns around again, he has an enamelled cup, brimming with water. He holds it out to me.
My jaw drops open. “You had that all along? Micah! Why didn’t you give it to me in the first place?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t think of it, I guess.”
“Liar,” I mumble as I take the cup.
The water is sweet and tastes of minerals and snowy mountains. I shut my eyes to savour its refreshing iciness. When the cup is empty, I lick my lips and open my eyes.
And there’s Micah. Not that he wasn’t there before, but now he’s so close I can practically see my reflection in his eyes. I can smell his aftershave, too.
I’ve imagined this moment a hundred times, but now that it’s here, I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m surprised. I’m nervous. I’m excited. Trapped in the gaze of those unbelievably blue eyes, I catch my breath.
Micah finds one of my hands. His fingers curl around mine, and he traces the shape of my nails with his thumb. I let my eyes travel his face, memorizing every detail for later. His mouth twitches as if he’s going to smile.
Time stops, and in my mind I’m poised on the edge of a cliff.
And then he kisses me.
Chapter Eleven
I have no memory of the drive back to Sam’s place. None. Lizzie takes us there all by herself — kind of like a homing pigeon. I certainly have nothing to do with it. My body may be in the truck, but my mind is on the bank of a sparkling stream, kissing the most awesome guy in the world.
“Thanks, Lizzie,” I murmur when we come to a stop and I pull the key out of the ignition. “I owe you.” Then I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind of Micah. It’s the last thing I want to do, but if Sam sees me with stars in my eyes, he’ll think I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse.
As soon as I shut the door and come around the truck, I see him. He’s sitting on the steps, exactly where I left him a few hours ago.
“Have you even moved?” I tease. My laugh comes easy.
He smiles, but there’s something missing, and suddenly, I don’t feel so lighthearted.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
Finally, his laugh-lines come out of hiding, and I relax. “Now that you’re back, it is,” he says.
This declaration touches me. “Aw, Sam.” I smile self-consciously. “You were worried about me.”
“And Lizzie.”
I sigh. So much for sentimentality. “Well, as you can see, we’re both fine,” I tell him. Then I ask, “What’s our lunch plan?”
“I thought we’d eat light today,” he says. “Maybe just a sandwich. That should hold us until tonight’s potluck supper at the community centre.”
Baby butterflies take flight in my stomach. Micah brought up the potluck during our trail ride, but I hadn’t known a thing about it. Since Sam had never mentioned it, I’d figured it wasn’t on his social calendar. And that meant I was going to have to talk him into going.
But apparently not.
I flop down on the step and give Sam’s arm a big squeeze.
He looks at me sideways. “What’s that for?”
“I’m just happy.” I hug his arm again. “I’ve never been to a potluck. It sounds like fun.”
“Is that right?” he says, still eying me sideways. “In all my life, I have never — not even once — seen a person of the female persuasion get moonstruck over chicken pot pie and macaroni salad. Is there something you aren’t telling me, girl?”
Ba-boom! That brings me back to earth in a hurry. For a guy who’s never been married, Sam is awfully good at reading women, and at the moment I have no desire to be read. My feelings about Micah are too hard to hide and too new to share. I cluck my tongue and stand up. “Isn’t it obvious? We need to get cooking. So come on.” I put out my hand to help him up. “The potluck is only a few hours away and we haven’t even figured out what we’re taking yet.”
———
Though I mostly packed jeans and T-shirts for my Webb’s River adventure, I did stuff a fun little summer dress and a pair of strappy sandals into my suitcase too, just in case. In case of what, I had no idea, but as I get ready for the potluck, I’m glad to have these girl things. Jeans and cowboy boots are fine for every day, but tonight I want to look and feel special.
I sh
ower until the water runs cold. Then I wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body. The air is thick with steam — there’s no bathroom fan — so I open the little window above the toilet and watch the puffy clouds of condensation push their way outside. I wipe the foggy mirror clear with a towel.
After drying myself, I slather cream over my body and then start on my makeup. Green shadow accentuates the colour of my eyes, and mascara fattens my lashes. No need for blusher; the sun has bronzed my skin and the emotional high I’m on has pinked my cheeks. Instead of pulling my hair back into its usual ponytail, I blow it dry and let the soft, shiny waves fall onto my shoulders. I even put on earrings, gold hoops Mom gave me for my birthday. I check myself out in the mirror — from the shoulders up, anyway. I’m ready.
Sam is pacing the living room. When he sees me, he stops.
“It’s about time!” he growls. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d drowned in there.” Then his expression softens. So does his voice. “You look very pretty.”
“Thank you.” I smile. This is a good start. I just hope Micah shares Sam’s opinion. “You look good too,” I tell Sam. “Very handsome. You have that Johnny Cash look.”
“Too much, you think?” he says as he slides the brim of his black hat through his fingers and looks down at his black shirt, black jeans, and black boots. “Maybe I should wear a different shirt — something brighter.”
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head and make a quick 360-degree inspection. I pick a piece of lint off his shoulder and smooth away a crease in his collar. “You’re perfect just the way you are. And your string tie is gorgeous. That big turquoise stone is all the colour you need.”
Sam beams. “You like it?”
I nod. “I do. A lot, actually. Mom has one that’s almost identical.”
Sam’s face brightens even more. “You don’t say.”
I nod. “Yeah — except hers is a pendant on a silver chain. What a coincidence, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Not really, considering I gave it to her. I found those stones at a street market in New Mexico when I was there for a rodeo — years back before you were born. I had one made into a necklace for your mom and the other into a necktie for me.”
“That’s cool,” I say. “Especially since you both still have them. Mom never wears hers, though. She just keeps it in her jewellery cabinet.”
Sam fingers the turquoise at his throat. “Well, that was a long time ago. Until today, I haven’t worn mine either.”
———
The potluck supper is a blast. There are so many people! When Sam and I arrive at six o’clock, the only faces I recognize are ones from the ranch and, of course, Kathy Ann from the motel. But by the time the night is over, it’s like I’ve lived in Webb’s River my entire life. Everyone feels like family.
The food is delicious. Chicken pot pie and macaroni salad for sure, but also a thousand other things. The desserts alone take up two long tables. There isn’t room on my plate — or in my stomach — to sample more than a few things. I’m in awe when I see several diners heap their plates two and three times.
Since the hall is pretty full, it takes me a couple of minutes to spot Micah and his family. The only table Sam and I can find with two empty chairs together is otherwise occupied by the local ladies’ auxiliary. One would think that at least some of these women have husbands, but if they do, they’re nowhere to be found, and Sam is the lone rooster among the hens.
I think it’s pretty funny, but I can tell Sam isn’t quite as amused. Though he takes all the attention in stride, answering the ladies’ endless questions politely and doling out compliments and smiles, he glowers at me like the situation is my fault. This tickles my funny bone even more, but finally I take pity on him and say, “Sam, could you point me in the direction of the coffee pot?”
Relief flashes across his face, and then he smiles. “No need. I can use a cup myself. We can walk together.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes himself away from the table. Then he bows to the ladies’ auxiliary. “It’s been a pleasure, ladies. Thank you for your company. You all have a good evening now.”
When we’ve poured our coffees, Sam puts a hand on my arm. “Are you going to be all right on your own for a while?”
I nod. “Sure. I guess. Why? Where are you going?”
He gestures toward the exit. “Outside for a cigarette.” He glances back toward the ladies’ auxiliary. “I’m not quite ready to sit down again.”
I drink my coffee and then head toward the washroom on the other side of the hall. Though I don’t have to use the toilet, I fluff my hair and put on some lip gloss before heading back out.
In those few minutes, the hall has been transformed. The food tables have been spirited away, and a dance floor has taken their place. At the end of the room, a stage framed with purple velvet drapes is filling up with bodies, speakers, and musical instruments. There’s an ear-splitting squeal, and a man with a big paunch and an even bigger grin taps a floor mic with his finger and says, “Sorry ’bout that, folks. We’re just about ready.”
In anticipation, the diners start gathering on the edge of the dance floor, laughing and calling out requests to the musicians on stage.
“Start us off with some Patsy Cline, Jimmy,” a woman shouts.
“Hank Snow!” a white-haired man croaks.
“Toby Keith!” hollers a younger guy.
Finally, the little troupe on stage is ready — two cowboys with guitars, another on drums, and a woman with a tambourine. They don’t start with any of the requests. Instead they break out with “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” I’m not a country music aficionado, but even I know that one. The dance floor fills up instantly. The people of Webb’s River are not shy about strutting their stuff, and faster than you can blink, they’re line dancing up a storm. Everyone is so synchronized, you’d think the whole thing had been choreographed.
I feel hands on my waist. Startled, I glance over my shoulder, right into Micah’s blue eyes. As usual he’s smiling, and I melt accordingly.
“Come on, Dani,” he says, urging me forward. “Let’s get on out there.”
I resist. “I don’t know how to line dance.”
He waves away my objection. “It’s easy and it’s fun. Come on.”
“That’s what you said about drinking from the stream,” I remind him.
His grin gets bigger, and he grabs my hand. This time I let him lead me onto the floor. Happily, he’s right, and after a couple of runs through the pattern, I’ve got the steps down. Across the room I spot Sam dancing too. I have to admit he’s pretty good, and from the flirtatious smiles on the faces of the women around him, I gather that I’m not the only one who thinks so.
The song changes, but Micah and I keep dancing. He’s as good on his feet as he is on a horse, and he teaches me a little two-step to go with my new line-dance skills.
Finally, there’s a slow song. Micah pulls me into his arms as if he’s been doing it forever. I can feel the heat pulsing from his body and his heart beating through his shirt. We glide around the floor.
As the song ends, Micah ushers me toward the exit. It’s dark now, and the night air is cool against my skin, though I’m not sure that’s the reason for the goose bumps on my arms. We walk until we’re just beyond the arc of yellow light illuminating the outside of the building. Micah leans against the wall and runs his hands up and down my arms.
“You’re cold,” he says. “Do you want to go back inside?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He puts an arm around me and pulls me close. Then he rubs my exposed arm briskly with his free hand.
“You need a sweater.”
“I’m fine — really,” I insist. I lean my head on his shoulder.
We stand like that for a few minutes — connected but quiet. Finally, Micah says, “I wish your riding lessons weren’t over.”
I pull back, so I can see him. “What do you mean — over?”
He frowns. “You know.”
I shake my head.
“I thought Sam told you. He hired me for two weeks to teach you to ride, and today was the last lesson.”
I’d never thought about my lessons costing money, though now that Micah mentions it, I realize they must have.
“But —” I begin.
He doesn’t let me finish. “It doesn’t mean we can’t still ride; it just means that we’ll have to do it on our own time. The ranch is a business, and my dad has other jobs he needs me to do.”
I feel like the ground beneath my feet has just crumbled away, and I wonder if Micah is telling me more than his words are saying. Maybe this morning’s kiss and tonight’s potluck supper are all we’re going to have.
I feel myself stiffen.
Micah must feel it too, because he pulls me closer and rubs his face in my hair.
“We’ll just have to go for evening rides instead,” he murmurs. “You can come over to the ranch in the afternoons too and cheer me on while I train for the rodeo.”
“What rodeo?” I say, feeling hopeful again.
“The Williams Lake Stampede at the end of the month. It’s a pretty big deal.”
“And you’re competing? In what?”
“Saddle bronc riding.”
I picture him flying off a bucking horse — and grimace. “Ow.”
He laughs. “Ow is right. There are going to be a bunch of ows. In fact, I can almost guarantee I’m going to need a lot of kissing better.”
I lower my eyes self-consciously. But Micah’s not letting me off the hook. He lifts my chin and kisses me. “Just like that,” he whispers. Then in a normal voice he asks, “You are coming to the rodeo, right?”
Before I have a chance to answer, a big voice that can only belong to Sam says, “Well, o’ course she is.”
I catch my breath and peer into the darkness. Though I can’t see him, I can hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel. When he gets closer, I spy the glow of his cigarette as he takes a drag before flicking the cigarette away. Inwardly, I cringe. He probably saw Micah and me kissing, and even if he didn’t, Micah still has his arm around me, and Sam has to see that. I try to read his face, though it’s pretty much impossible in the dark.
Truths I Learned from Sam Page 6
