by Susan Fox
At her parents’ ranch, she found her daughter in the kitchen, Taylor Swift singing on the radio as Robin chopped celery. Robin gave her a big smile. “Hi, Mom, you just missed Kimiko and her mom.”
“That’s too bad.” She washed her hands and face at the kitchen sink.
“Kimiko and I did our homework. So I can help you work Mystique tonight, okay?”
The gray filly—a quarter horse–Tennessee walking horse cross—had recently been sent to Jess by her friend, Ty Ronan, who lived down in the Fraser Valley. He was a healer who worked with rescue horses. If their personalities were right for the Crazy Horse, he sent them on to Jess after he’d worked his magic. The Crazy Horse paid a token sum and Jess trained them for trail work with dudes.
“Sounds good to me.” She was so lucky her daughter shared her love of horses. “What’re you making?” She glanced into the bowl where Robin had tossed the celery, and saw chunks of apple. “Waldorf salad?”
“Uh-huh. Could you get me some nuts?” As Jess obeyed, Robin said, “You know, there’s this really elegant big hotel in New York called the Waldorf Astoria? Caitlin’s grandmother took her there for brunch for her birthday. I wonder if that’s where the salad got its name?”
Did everything have to remind Jess of Evan? “Maybe. You could ask Mitch. You’re at your dad’s tomorrow, right?” Mitch was the chef at the Wild Rose Inn.
“Yup. Dad’s going to help me with the assignment I have to do on the solar system.”
Jess grinned, happy Dave had fielded that one. There was a lot to be said for sharing parenting responsibilities. “Where are your grandparents?”
“Gramps was out riding and he went to take a shower. He’s going to barbecue hamburgers to go with my salad. And I think Gran’s on the phone with Mrs. Baxter, planning the bake sale.”
Jess smiled again, thinking how lucky she was. Although Evan had a successful career, she was the one who had truly “made it” in terms of having a happy, fulfilling life. Loved ones always came before work.
Not that she was ready to shelve her no-frills boot camp plan any day soon.
On Wednesday, Evan woke early, feeling anything but relaxed. He was addicted to the fast pace of life in Manhattan, and withdrawal was hell.
Before breakfast he placed a long call to Angelica, then tried Cynthia again. Last night, he’d gone to voice mail, and the same just happened again. He slammed the old-fashioned receiver into the cradle, then felt ashamed of himself. Cynthia had a busy career and a busy social life. She didn’t center her life around him. He’d never wanted a woman who would do that. But her busyness only emphasized how dull—and futile—his own life had been this week. He had one and only one mission, and was no closer to accomplishing it than he’d been back in Manhattan.
He’d never have guessed that Jess, who as a girl would babble for hours about her dreams, could be so closemouthed. But then again, the days of being best friends were ten years in the past, and though that fact pained him, there was no way to change it.
After breakfast he returned to his cabin. He had time to spare, but not enough to concentrate on a work project. He did a few stretches, then paced restlessly. Boredom definitely didn’t suit him. Even though he figured Jess would be too busy to talk, he decided to head down to the barn.
Despite the stretches, his muscles were stiff, he noted gloomily as he strode down the hill. It’d be a miracle if he could get his right leg over Rusty’s back.
The scene that greeted him was similar to the previous day’s, except he didn’t see Madisun, and Jess’s “Morning” was even more curt, and accompanied by a frazzled expression rather than even a noncommittal smile.
No, they weren’t best friends anymore.
He stood to one side, feeling useless and frustrated, and in a few minutes was surprised to see other early-comers, Thérèse and George. Jess, hurrying past them, tossed off another quick greeting as the Swiss couple headed over to their horses and fed them carrot sticks. Then the pair went into the barn, emerged with saddles and bridles, and began getting their horses ready. They’d been here last year, Evan remembered, and clearly knew their way around. He felt even more out of his element.
After dashing past him a couple of times, Jess said, “You can bring the tack out. I’m going to do Chipper next. You know how everything’s marked.”
“Sure,” he growled. He was a paying guest. They were supposed to wait on him, not the other way around. Still, he’d rather be doing something other than standing and fuming. He went into the barn, located the saddle and bridle marked Chipper, and took them to her. He watched as her fingers flew through motions she’d obviously done thousands of times.
“Where’s Madisun?” he asked.
“Must be running late.” Her words were casual, but a flicker of concern crossed her face.
“If a person takes a job, they should be responsible about it. Maybe she’s too young.”
Jess paused a moment. “Madisun may only be eighteen, but she’s mature.” Was he imagining it or did she sound rather grim? She hauled the cinch up. “I’ll do Mickey next.”
He headed back to the barn. A gofer. The CEO of his own very successful business and he was gofering for a dude ranch wrangler. If he’d been in a better mood, he might have found it funny.
When he returned, she said, “You do this one and I’ll watch. After this, you’re on your own.”
“But . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He wasn’t used to being in a bad mood. It never happened in New York. Or, if it did, he was too busy to notice.
He dumped the saddle on top of the pad that already rested on Mickey’s back. Joan’s horse, he thought. He was actually beginning to tell the animals apart.
Jess popped around the other side of the horse, gave a tug, and said, “Make sure it’s sitting straight before you do the cinch.”
He felt like a total fumble-fingers under her scrutiny, and was aware of her barely concealed impatience. Finally, he had the bridle fastened to her satisfaction. “Okay, now you can do Rusty.” She hurried away and he headed back to the barn, wondering if his bad mood had more to do with her seeming indifference to him than with being put to work.
The sound of an engine made him turn as a beat-up car rattled up, a clunker that reminded him of his mom’s old car, the one he’d learned to drive in. Madisun got out and rushed over to Jess. The two exchanged a few words, and he wondered if the girl was getting a reprimand. If Jess wanted to manage a business, she had to know how to discipline her employees.
He went into the barn and was taking down Rusty’s bridle when Madisun darted in and grabbed a saddle and bridle. “Morning,” he said coolly.
“Good morning, Evan.” Her voice sounded cheerful—determinedly so—and he noticed she was wearing dark glasses even in the gloom of the barn. A fight with her boyfriend, and she’d been crying all night? Or perhaps she was hungover? His childhood had given him a lot of experience with hungover people, so he knew to stay out of her way.
The morning ride was longer than the previous ones, and Evan’s muscles loosened up more quickly. He took a certain pleasure in noting he’d become more attuned to Rusty’s trot, or more skilled at “sitting it,” to use Jess’s term. But aside from those small differences, the ride was pretty much like any other. Rather than let it be a total waste of time, he focused on one of the items Angelica had e-mailed him. He was on the board of directors of Gimme a Break, a charitable foundation that funded scholarships for underprivileged kids. Angelica had sent him and LeVaughn Duvalle a batch of applications.
Thanks to LeVaughn’s sizable startup endowment, their fund-raiser’s competency, and Evan’s own investment wizardry, Gimme a Break had lots of money to give away. The problem was, there were so many deserving kids, far more than the foundation could ever support. What Evan and LeVaughn looked for when they vetted the applications wasn’t so much marks or even a clean record. It was the sense that the applicants had the drive to
succeed, that they weren’t looking for a free ride but would use the opportunity to truly make something of their future the way LeVaughn had. The guy had been an inner-city kid, his most likely destiny a gang and drugs, jail and an early death. But thanks to a strong mom, an amazing teacher-mentor, and his own talent and discipline, he was now a basketball star.
When the ride finished, most of the guests limped away, saying they were going to rest and relax before lunch. The Swiss couple remained behind, tending to their horses.
Evan longed for a lot of things—the Internet, cell reception, and a shower, among them—but something held him back. He told himself that if Gianni wanted him to immerse himself in the ambiance, he’d damned well do it. “Can I help?”
Jess eyed him skeptically, then shrugged. “Sure, if you want. Thanks. We need to loosen off cinches, swap bridles for halters, and make sure the horses have food and water.”
“I think I can handle that.”
She strode away and he noticed Madisun leaning against one of the horses as if it was propping her up. She’d taken her sunglasses off. Her eyes weren’t puffy and red, but her brown-skinned face looked tired and strained. As if to confirm his impression, she gave a huge yawn. Then, realizing he’d seen, she hurriedly covered her mouth. “Sorry.”
“Late night?”
She ran her hands through her long black hair and sighed. “My little sister was sick. I didn’t get much sleep.”
He felt rotten for having guessed a hangover. “That’s too bad. I hope she’s feeling better.”
“Me, too.” She frowned. “Had to leave her with a neighbor. I hated to, but I couldn’t leave TJ in the lurch.”
Where the hell were the parents? It seemed that, in addition to holding down a full-time job, Madisun was playing surrogate mom for her sister. Jess had said she was mature. Perhaps her mother had died, and she’d had to grow up early.
Madisun was gnawing on her lip.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “The neighbor will call the Crazy Horse if there’s a problem, right?”
She smiled, suddenly looking less troubled. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Evan.”
While they’d talked, he’d dealt successfully with Rusty’s bridle and halter.
Madisun took the bridle from him. “Good work, cowboy.”
Cowboy. That would be the day.
Jess went about her chores, but kept an eye on Evan. It was normal, over the course of the first week, for guests to get more involved with the horses. Still, she hadn’t expected it of him. She couldn’t figure him out. Sometimes he seemed to resent being there, even though he’d been the one to choose riding as the challenge that would win him his ten-year plaque. But then he’d drop the chip on his shoulder and get into the swing of life at the Crazy Horse. His riding was coming along and he moved among the horses with increasing confidence as he took off saddles and bridles and eased halters onto horses’ heads.
When the work was done and Thérèse and George headed off to clean up, Madisun said, “I’m going to run home and check on my sister. See you this aft.”
Evan had ended up back with Rusty, untangling his mane. He gave the horse’s neck a pat. “See you this aft, too, pal.” Another ride, shorter than the morning one, was scheduled.
Jess joined him as he moved away from the strawberry roan. “I know you, but I don’t,” she blurted out.
He gave her a warm smile. “You knew a boy. Now I’m a man. I’ve changed.”
She considered that. “In some ways. But I bet the core is the same. You were a loyal, generous, protective kid, and—”
“I was? Seems to me I was an obnoxious little shit.”
She chuckled, eyes dancing. “That, too. But you were passionate and driven about your studies and your career. I bet you’re still all of those things—the good ones anyhow—just more fit and confident, more open to experience and vulnerability.”
“Vulnerability?” He sounded offended.
“Trying something new and not being paranoid about doing it perfectly.”
“Oh . . .” He took a few moments to mull that over, then said slowly, “I’m not sure Cynthia would agree with you on some of those attributes. Like protective and vulnerable.”
Cynthia again. “Maybe she doesn’t call out those qualities in you. You always said your ideal woman was strong and successful.”
He nodded. “Yes, and Cynthia is. She’s a top-notch lawyer with one of the top firms in Manhattan. With her and me, there’s almost a sense of competition. Friendly competition. For example, whoever gets a new client buys dinner. It’s one of the great things about our relationship.”
“Mmm.” It sounded pretty darn different from her own relationship with Dave. The two of them were a team, just as she and Evan had once been. Ev had seemed to like it that way, back when he was a kid. “But . . .”
“What? Say it.”
She bit her lip. “Don’t you ever want to be vulnerable? Don’t you want to be with someone who can be vulnerable? I mean, if neither of you is ever vulnerable, why do you need each other? It’s one thing to have fun together, to celebrate successes, but isn’t the true friend the one you can turn to when you’re down, when you’re feeling beaten or just plain stupid? When you’ve done something dumb, and you need to confess to someone who will sympathize? After all, we all do dumb things, we all have fears, we all have bad days. Don’t we?”
“I guess.”
He didn’t seem to be getting her point. She felt like a hick, a country girl with only a high school education. Cynthia was a high-flying Manhattan lawyer.
But Jess was stubborn. She didn’t mind—well, she didn’t mind horribly—if someone disagreed with her, but she hated it when the person didn’t understand what she was driving at. Time to stop with the abstract stuff and give him something concrete, something that hopefully he could relate to. “You and me, when we were kids, we were a team. Right? Each of us was fine on our own, but when you put us together there was something bigger and stronger and brighter.” She stopped, distracted by the thought of Robin: the product of the two of them, and the brightest light in her life.
She rushed on. “When two people care about each other, you form something new.” Dang, why did everything she said lead back to Robin? She quickly added, “Remember when I had to give that speech in grade ten? I was petrified. I was sure I’d throw up onstage, or forget my lines, or . . . Well, I had a list of at least a hundred possible disasters.”
“Oh yeah, you were a mess,” he said in a fond tone.
“But you helped me. You rehearsed me and pep-talked me, you teased me and bullied me, and when the day finally came and I had to do it, it wasn’t just me up there on stage. You were with me. It was like that line from the old song Mom loves: You were the wind beneath my wings, and that day I flew, Ev. Because of you.” Her eyes grew misty.
He reached out a finger—a grimy, horsy one, her absolute favorite kind—and caught a tear as it spilled over. “Still cry at the drop of a hat.” His hand lingered, cradling her cheek.
Such a tender, affectionate touch. It was all she could do to keep from pressing into his hand and asking for more.
“Remember when I broke Mrs. Gutterson’s window?” he asked. “I’d been fooling around with a softball, in the days before I swore off sports completely. I didn’t mean to break anything, I was just clumsy. No one saw me. I could have gotten away with it. But I felt awful, and told you. You made me see I had to confess, whatever the consequences.”
Jess nodded, scarcely able to breathe as he stroked the side of her face.
“You came with me,” he went on. “You stood by my side while she cussed me out in German, and then you helped me mow her lawn every week, all summer.”
She managed a choky little laugh. “Hey, that’s what friends are for. Besides, I figured you’d probably chop off a finger in her horrible old machine.”
His expression was affectionate. “Friends, Jess. I valued our friendship so much, and then I d
estroyed it. I’ve missed it—you—a great deal.”
She could no longer resist leaning into his hand. “You mean, you thought about me after you’d gone?”
He drew a deep breath, then let it out. “Yes, I thought of you. When I had a problem—or a triumph—my first reaction so often was that I wanted to tell Jess.”
Her heart did a somersault, and that recalled her to reality. She forced herself to step away from him. “Until you met Cynthia, I guess.”
After a few seconds he said, softly but deliberately, “Even after I met Cynthia.”
“Oh!” The heat and intensity in his gaze mirrored her own feelings. What was he saying? What were they doing? Was he trying to throw her off balance? Was she throwing him off balance?
No way could she deal with this. Quickly, she strode across the stable yard, tossing a quick order over her shoulder. “Go for lunch, Ev. I have work to do.”
As lunch—delicious barbecued salmon and a wild rice salad, followed by strawberry shortcake—was winding up, Evan leaned close to Thérèse and whispered, “Where’d you scam those carrot sticks?”
“Scam?” she queried in her engaging French accent.
“Beg, borrow, or steal,” he translated.
“Ah, yes.” She winked. “Kathy keeps a supply in a dish just inside the kitchen door. Apples, too.”
Evan wasn’t ready to risk applesauce again, but helped himself to a pocketful of carrot sticks. He limped back to his cabin and sank down on the couch. How much more could his body take? And how much idleness would his mind survive?
He checked the schedule for the afternoon. A short ride, then several hours that he could devote to work, perhaps broken by a swim. Dinner and then the hayride. The hokey hayride. He wasn’t actually going to go, was he?
As he did some stretches, he reflected on his last conversation with Jess. It was true that, even after he’d met Cynthia, Jess was often the first person he thought about when he wanted to talk to someone. Oh, not about the ins and outs of his job—that was an area where Cynthia was invaluable. But if it was a matter of feelings—like his anxiety before the first Gimme a Break board meeting, or his pride afterward—it was always Jess Bly.
