by Diana Stone
I’m forced to sit through several interminably long pieces of this dark music. He swings into the driveway and up to the house. With the engine running, he looks straight ahead and snarls one word, “Goodbye.”
I am filled with adrenaline and emotion. It comes out in a few carefully chosen words. “You’re a fool.” I state with quiet calm. I won’t let him see me weak. I exit the car and close the door without slamming it. To slam it would show my distress. I proudly stride to the house.
Once I close the front door, my eyes tear up. I held in so much emotion during dinner and the horrible drive home. He is not like I imagined him to be. He’s power hungry.
“What happened?” Veronica looks concerned as she hurries over.
“That man is an asshole,” I proclaim.
“Which one?”
I give a little smile at that, “Courtland is the asshole.”
“Come on, do you want to sit down and tell me what happened?” she looks me over with a critical eye. “Did he hurt you?”
“Mentally only. Sure, let’s sit. I’ll tell you all about the latest drama.”
She wraps her arm around me and propels me toward the sofa.
We sit and I unload my tale of two jealous men and the awful drive home.
“I agree with Monica. Both men want you. Jack is a spoiled jerk. He has had it easy his whole life. I could go on and on about all his follies in town. All the beautiful women in his arms. He thinks highly of himself,” she gives me a sudden smile.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask.
“You think he dumped you, but not the way you think. He did it because of your independence. You failed to treat him like he wants. He’s jealous of Eric. He sees the very real possibility of a relationship between you and Eric—which you have yet to realize. Eric is very nice, I think good things could happen there,” she sees my expression. “Just wait, you’ll see what I mean.”
31
The BBQ
This morning I wake to a pretty day. I need to get over this Jack fiasco, and fast.
First, I call Monica and apologize. She tells me not to worry that it was interesting to watch the dynamics at the table. She said she and Eric had a good talk on the way home, so it wasn’t a waste of time. I tell her about my drama in the car. We talk a little more and then she begins her lecture.
“Jess, let me tell you as a woman who’s been there. I hate to see you hurt, so I’m going to give you some advice. Eric is hooked on you. He is perfect for you. He’s sensitive and has good character. He’s great with horses, I know how important that is to you. He has his own house and makes a good income. He’s gorgeous and doesn’t seem to have any baggage. What are you waiting for? Are you blind? I understand you thought Jack was perfect. But first off, he’s married and secondly, I think he’s unattainable. That’s just my opinion, but I think he is just playing with you.”
“I’ll give it some thought. Right now, I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get over him pretty fast. Eric still wants to be friends with you. He isn’t in a rush. Jack is just a rich playboy. You insulted him without realizing it. Go on with your life and don’t worry,” she advises.
“Hold on, I thought he was a rancher. He saved me from the rattlesnake. But he went nuts when I didn’t tell him about the double date. I won’t forgive that nastiness. On the other hand, I know he has some depth,” I debate.
“If he decides to forgive you, don’t you dare go back!” she advises, almost angry.
“Jack makes me melt. I think he is an amazing man at the top of the heap. He’s the kind of man I’ve always wanted.” I clench my hand with conviction. “You know, a solid man I respect and admire and would actually listen to. Eric is athletic and handsome and all that, but he’s more of an equal. I mean, an equal would have been ideal for me, until Jack’s perfection came into the picture.”
She puts on a motherly tone. “Jack isn’t perfect, I think you’ve seen that now.”
“I will try to listen to your advice about Eric, but I need to mull this over.”
“I hate to see you lose the better man over some mistaken insight from the vortex,” she cautions then has to return to work.
“Thanks for your advice. I need to let it percolate for a while.”
Eric and I have been texting for the past two days since the dinner. It feels a little strained. I’m trying to ignore it. Maybe it’s my own tumultuous thoughts that are giving me this feeling, it may not be him at all.
Friday night is the BBQ for the riders in the Wine Country 25 Miler. Eric is trailering Calypso to the required pre-ride vet check to make sure he is fit to race. All he has to do is jog him in front of the vet, and have his pulse and respiration taken, then he’ll be cleared to race. The horses get their competitor numbers marked with a grease pencil on each hip. The horses will be staying overnight, so they’re ready to race first thing the next morning. Calypso is number 111. They don’t look like numbers, they look like scratch marks on the top of his haunches.
Eric’s horse trailer has living quarters and has been set up so it’s very comfortable to camp in. It’s insulated and paneled and has laminate wood flooring. There’s a small kitchen with a mini-fridge, microwave, and a single burner stove. It also has a bathroom that has the toilet in the shower. It’s ideal for horse camping. It’s also nicer than the dressing room I’m staying in.
We get Calypso set up in the temporary pipe corral that attaches to the trailer. Then spread out two bags of shavings for his sleeping comfort. I find the hose and fill several water buckets and haul them over only to discover there is a water system in the trailer. His hay bag is stuffed full. He gets a pat, then we head to the BBQ in the center of the park. I feel my stomach growling.
Eric begins introducing me to his fellow endurance-rider friends. Everyone is down to earth and nice. It’s a family kind of event, with the whole crew helping, and enjoying something of a camp-out. The BBQ pit itself is spewing spicy meaty scents into the air. I’ve decided to splurge and have a hamburger. After all, it’s locally grown and free range.
“I can’t believe you’re caving in and eating meat,” he says with astonishment.
“Sometimes I do. I carefully justify it. If the cow was happy and well cared for, then I will occasionally eat a burger. I have known a lot of really nice cows, so I don’t like to think about it.”
“Oh Jess, you’re so kind-hearted,” he reaches over and touches my shoulder. “But they were bred for this.”
“But once they’re born, they are living animals who don’t want to be killed. It’s an unpleasant thought.”
“I’m a carnivore at the top of the food chain. They were well cared for and grazed in pasture up until the day.”
“Fine, I’ll have a burger. This won’t change the world in any way. Maybe it will give me a nutrient I’m missing from my usual diet.” I try to justify this.
First the bottom bun, then the patty, then I dollop it with everything: lettuce, tomato and baked beans. Next come potato, and mixed green salads. I grab a little bag of kettle potato chips. Then I follow Eric to the picnic table.
The evening is relaxing and fun. Like a nice hometown family outing with good spirits and friendly competition. I get involved in conversations with the others at the table. Horse people are always able to talk with one-another.
My plate slowly empties, but I’m in a deep discussion with the rider to my right. Rather than interrupt, Eric places his hand up between my shoulder blades and slides it down to my waist, in a very pleasant way, to get my attention. He certainly has it. My mind goes blank for a moment.
“Would you like more of anything or dessert?” he asks, crunching on his last potato chip.
“Dessert sounds good, what is it?”
“I’ll go check.”
I’m quickly immersed with the others while waiting for him to return. It’s a lovely, warm evening and to top it off, a guitarist starts strumming country-western songs.
I could get used to this. Perhaps this is more my style than being with the Wine Baron.
A while later, Eric returns with a wedge of carrot cake. It has natural looking shreds of carrot sticking out. The frosting is luscious cream cheese.
“Wow, it’s huge, thank you.”
“There were two pieces, I ate the other one,” he admits. “I’ll be working it off tomorrow. I’ll eat what you don’t want.”
I indulge in quite a few forkfuls, then became disciplined and turn it over to him. I notice he is using my fork. That’s kind of sexy. He offers me a good-sized forkful. I give in to temptation and have a taste with the now communal fork. What am I doing again?
Then, just sitting here at the picnic table with the piece of cake between us… He kisses me… A nice kiss on my cheek. This is unexpected but nice. I look at him now and notice the intensity in his eyes. We’re so close, I can hardly miss it. Then he leans in and I can feel it in my bones… another kiss. This one is full on, and has the flavor of carrot cake. He lightly moves his lips across mine just testing. I’ve melted, I can’t respond, it’s lovely, I feel kind of boneless.
He slowly moves back, and looks at me questioningly with a raised eyebrow.
It’s easy to respond. So I smile to let him know all is good. Then I let him know all is very good this evening. I lean in and kiss him back.
His response is instant and vibrant. He wraps his arms around me and slides me closer to him on the bench. Wow, I may as well jump in with both feet. His kiss is wonderfully kind and athletic. Yes, he has an athletic kiss. It must be his general fitness and virility. And the muscles along his back are like two rows of steel. His hands have discovered my back muscles as well.
He pulls away, looking surprised. “I’m afraid I lost myself,” he apologizes.
I don’t even know what to say. I begin with, “Well, that was um, unexpected,” I give a smile. “You taste like carrot cake.”
“You taste like the outdoors and the scent of sage,” he whispers deep with meaning.
Oh.
“Come on, let’s go over to the fire pit. We’ll sit by the guitarist and roast marshmallows,” he steps across the bench and offers his hand.
This is probably the best evening I’ve ever had. This is great music that takes me back to several camp-outs rolled into one. It feels this is where I belong. I keep looking at Eric, and he smiles at me, unblinking. I decide to follow my emotion and stroke a lock of his hair from his forehead. He’s such a nice guy. He’s also gorgeous.
We stay until the very end. The guitarist has just clicked the tabs on his guitar case closed. No more music for tonight. We both thank him for the trip back in time. And for me, I have much to think about for the future.
“I had a wonderful evening with you, Jess.”
“So did I.” I don’t know what to say.
“I’ll walk you to your truck. I have to get some sleep if I can. Will you be here at 7:00 tomorrow morning?”
“Yup, I’ll be here.” Absolutely, I wouldn’t miss it.
At the truck, he keeps his emotion tucked away and we have a platonic hug.
I have a ton of feelings running through me on the drive home. I was supposed to be stuck on Jack, but that ended in a mess. What about all that soulmate stuff? Jack is strong, solid, muscular, a pillar in the community, a businessman extraordinaire. He has all the finery and trappings any girl would want. But he’s married and seems to have a huge ego. I guess there was a lot about him I didn’t know. I’ve been dumped, anyhow.
And Eric is... virile! He is sexy in a lean, athletic way. With all the things Monica said about him, I should reconsider my path. What should I do? Is he attainable? Or is he going to drift away? Jack certainly seemed interested the other night, then I blew it. Well, I didn’t actually blow it. He turned into a jerk.
Should I walk the path of the strong woman and be alone?
I drive the few miles home to get a few hours of broken sleep.
32
Race Day
I drag myself out of bed as the sun is poking her nose into the canyon. I get myself and the horses fed. I even make tuna sandwiches since I forgot to ask if he’ll have something hearty for breakfast. I tend to wilt in the heat unless I eat. I’m also bringing a sun hat and wearing a long sleeve cotton shirt. I have plenty of time to get there.
I pull into the dirt lot and park with all the other pickups and trailers. Excited horses and people are dashing everywhere. A horse gets loose, running around with the stirrups banging on his sides and the reins tangled between his legs. People are yelling ‘loose horse’ and chasing after him. Ah yes, this is typical craziness at a horse event. The competitor’s tensions are building. I’ll go see how Eric and Calypso are doing.
This is impressive. Calypso has his head down and is eating. Eric is sitting in his folding chair chowing though a massive sandwich.
“Hi Eric, you’re amazing. Everyone else is running around and the two of you are calmly eating, that’s so weird—um, unusual I mean,” I give a smile.
“I’m not in this to win, so we’re pretty mellow. I’m eating down as much as I can to keep my energy up.”
“The two of you may do better than you think. But I’ll let you know during the heat of competition if you need to slow your pace.”
He finishes his meal and gathers the things he wants me to bring to the vet check. It’s already getting late, so he saddles Calypso and the three of us make our way to the starting line drawn in the sand. It’s going to be a gunshot start.
“I’ll meet you at the second vet check, good luck!” I shout as I jump out of the way of an out-of-control horse.
The starter’s gun goes off and the horses charge across the line. It’s emotional seeing 50 horses surging forward. A few get excited and are rearing and bucking. Eric is further toward the back since he doesn’t need to take advantage of being at the front of the pack. The ride crews hurry to their trucks to begin the drive to the vet check where they’ll be meeting their riders. Eric has already loaded the truck with snacks and high-calorie drinks for himself and buckets of water for Calypso. He also added miscellaneous things for broken tack and equipment. The guy knows his stuff.
I slide in behind a few other trucks, drive several miles and get to the second check early. In the old days, you had to wait until your rider came in, not knowing if they’d be another thirty minutes or more. With the advent of the cell phone, he calls to let me know that based on the map, he’ll be here in about ten minutes. He says Calypso is doing great and he’s holding him back from really racing. I’ll meet him close to the vet if he thinks Calypso’s P/Rs… pulse and respiration are low enough to get the okay to continue.
I’m standing in the shade watching the other riders walk their horses in, and then race out when approved. It’s neat. I may need to try this sport again, or not. I can entertain the idea later.
Eric has dismounted and is walking toward the in-timer who marks down the start of the short mandatory hold. I jump up with drinks in my pocket, along with chewy granola bars, and pre-peeled tangerines. The two look good and only slightly less energetic than at the start. I take the reins so Eric can rest for a moment and get some calories into himself. I start sponging cool water onto Calypso’s chest and neck. He’s a sweaty-dirty mess from the powdery dust clinging to him. The sweat and dust are making little trickles of mud run down his flanks and legs. But he is calm and other than being dirty, he looks fit and eager. He looks good after his sponge bath, in which I get as much water on me as on him. He’s finishing off a small bucket of water with electrolytes and had eaten as many carrots as he wants.
Eric comes to my side, looking at my wet shirt with a smile. “I gotta go, thanks for being here,” he gives me a kiss on the cheek, takes the reins and heads over to the vet.
I’m standing here looking at him and his horse. Watching the vet do his exam. It’s a nice picture, man and horse, both athletes. A man who cares about his horse. They are cleared to conti
nue, and off they trot with a wave in my direction.
I’m basically free since I can’t drive to the next check. He told me not to bother hiking to the third checkpoint. We’ll meet at the finish.
I may as well sit here for a while and watch the activity as horse and rider teams come in. I see their crews doing for their own team what I did for mine. Some crews have several helpers, with two people sponging the horse at a time. Some horses look weary. They are held back until their P/Rs are low enough to continue. The vet has final authority and will pull out any horse he thinks is having a hard time. One man stands next to me, voicing his opinion about his wife’s mare who is fit, but gets tense waiting for the vet and being checked. Her pulse climbs and she keeps getting held back when she’s fine physically. That’s a shame, the only thing you can do is go on a million rides so she gets used to the vet check. I reach out to offer her a carrot, which she takes, but then drops. The poor mare is too tense to eat.
I really enjoy watching the process and stay until there are only a few stragglers coming in. Then I head back to the park and the finish line, which is the same place as where they started.
The top finishers come racing in. Eric finishes in 3 hours. Calypso is looking good and breezes in looking happy with himself as we both pet and praise him.
“That’s pretty impressive for how he looked a week ago!” I take hold of the lead rope and let Eric dismount and stretch.
“He loved it and would have gone faster, but I held him in. He’s a great horse, I’m glad I have him.”
“Let me do my job, I’ll take care of him so you can relax for a few,” I suggest.
Eric agrees, so I sponge him off with a bucket of lukewarm water. I add a slosh of Absorbine in the bucket to clean him up and relax his muscles. Then I slowly hand walk him around the camp to relax, stopping to let him pick at a patch of grass. Other riders are coming in looking tired and glad to be back. It’s a long 3 to 4 hours. It’s nice to be part of this. I don’t really want to do the long ride and all the conditioning, but I love joining in the camaraderie as a crew member.
