Gloria gave Meg what she wanted. They had explored each other’s bodies enough times to know exactly what the other liked and needed, and the familiarity was part of being home. She was aware of the curve of Meg’s hip, the arch of her back as she got close, how she held the sheets, tilted her head back, enjoying Gloria’s touch. When Meg tipped into her own climax, Gloria held her palm tight against Meg’s curls, waiting for the shudders to stop before she stretched out next to her.
“How long are you going to be gone this time?” Meg asked, turning to face Gloria.
“Couple of weeks, maybe a month.”
“Depending on what the pickings are in Mammoth?”
Gloria swung her feet over the edge of the bed and began collecting her clothes, not wanting to deal with the undercurrent of insecurities that resurfaced for Meg when she traveled away for work. She threw on some sweats and a tee and folded her work clothes over her arm.
“I’m due at work,” Meg said, backpedaling. “Want to grab a bagel?”
“I need to check in with my folks and get on the road. I’m heading in for a shower.”
“My cue to leave.” Meg flopped back across Gloria’s bed, brown curls splayed across the pillow. She was short enough that she looked comfortable stretched out in the cramped bed. Gloria could only almost achieve that if she lay diagonally.
Gloria tried to tamp down her frustration. She pulled her shoulder-length blond hair into a messy ponytail. Meg knew that she had already kept her longer than she should have this morning. As much as she enjoyed the alive hum in her body from the morning sex, she hated the guilt that came with it. She should feel a pang in leaving instead of relief to be away again, but she’d never made any promises to Meg. She tried redirecting to the positive. “Thank you for a lovely wake-up.”
Meg frowned. “I miss you when you’re away. I only feel complete when you’re home. When are you going to get something permanent here? There’s probably something at the local field office.”
“You sound like my mother,” Gloria sighed. She rested her hip against the bed but didn’t sit down.
“Good,” Meg said, stroking Gloria’s thigh.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Good?”
“I have this theory,” Meg said, lounging back against the pillows. “If a straight girl supposedly marries her father, wouldn’t it stand to reason that a gay girl marries her mother?”
“First you need the marrying kind,” Gloria said as gently as she could. She leaned in for a quick kiss, escaping before Meg could wrap her arms around her and pull her back into bed. “I’ll call you when I’m back in town,” she said at the doorway.
Stepping out into the heavy mist, she let the door to her camper slam shut, hoping it would jar Meg from her bed and to work. It would be hard enough to say goodbye to her mother. She didn’t need another Meg extraction to worry about before she made the ten-hour drive from Eureka to Mammoth.
The camper was already packed, so once Meg was gone, she was ready to take off on her latest field project. In between projects, it stayed in the shed that she and her father had built together when being a helper had meant handing him nails. The shed protected the camper they had bought for their summer family vacations. Walking to the house, she noticed that Richard Fisher’s car wasn’t there, so she knew he’d already gone to work.
Still, she held her breath as she eased shut the back door of her parents’ house behind her, not wanting to disturb her mother if she was still sleeping. Before the tongue had even engaged the jamb, her mother’s voice carried from the kitchen, startling out the breath she’d been holding.
“Eggs for Meg or just for you?” Kate Fisher called.
“Just me.”
“That’s too bad,” her mother continued. “I’ll have to stop by the bagel bakery later to tell her not to be a stranger when you’re away.”
Gloria rolled her eyes. “I’m grabbing a shower.”
“My bet is you need it. Hurry up, I’m cracking the eggs.”
She paused, considering whether to complain about her mother’s observation but continued without saying anything, knowing how lucky she was to have parents relaxed enough about who she was to joke with her about it.
Freshly scrubbed, she scooted onto a stool opposite her mother, and dug into breakfast. Gloria found a note on the counter from her father wishing her well on her journey and felt only mildly guilty about the reason she wasn’t in the house earlier to say goodbye in person.
“Ready to take on a new set of bears?” her mother asked, sweeping from her forehead her wispy bangs that were surprisingly more gray than blond. She, too, was dressed for the day in her gardening jeans and one of Richard’s old sweatshirts that she more than swam in now.
Gloria smiled, grateful that she didn’t pick back up on the Meg topic.
“I have to get acquainted with the staff there first.”
“And that’s what’s got you nervous?”
Quizzically Gloria looked at her mother, who motioned to Gloria’s plate with her fork.
Gloria answered the motion with a smirk and tried to eat as if her stomach wasn’t full of butterflies. She concentrated on her toast, hoping it would settle her belly.
“You don’t have to worry about me, you know. I’m a tough old hag who didn’t even need you to fly halfway across the country, and now you’re just across the state.” Though her face was lined, much thinner since before her fight with cancer began, her jaw was strong and firmly set.
Gloria’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t even swallow. She sipped some coffee, trying to force the solids into her stomach. “There’s still the issue of my being out of cell range a good amount of the time.” She’d inherited her mother’s stubbornness along with her slim nose, high cheekbones and dark blue eyes. Her father often joked that he wasn’t sure he’d contributed anything, but since her mother had become sick, Gloria had begun to see more of her father in herself, the way they both worried.
“I’m sure the Forest Service in Mammoth is every bit as good at tracking you down as they were in Tennessee. If you’d been up early enough, you could have heard all of this when I covered it with your father…” Her knowing eyes pinned Gloria’s and forced a blush from her. Gloria couldn’t help but glance out back, wondering if Meg was still in the camper. “She’s already gone,” her mother said, rising to clear her dishes. “She cleared out while you were in the shower. You know you could have let her shower here.”
“I wanted to talk to you, just you, before I go,” Gloria said, tackling a small bite of egg.
Her mother’s eyes brightened. “Why? Are you finally thinking of settling down with her when you get back?”
“Mother.”
She frowned. “I keep telling both you and your father to quit worrying about me. You, especially, need to worry about yourself. How long do you think Meg’s going to let you treat her like a plaything you can pick up and discard whenever you feel like it?”
“I know you don’t understand our arrangement,” Gloria began.
Her mother waved her off. “And I don’t need to. But pretty soon, she’s going to find the person who can give her everything.”
“And I wish her the best when she does,” Gloria interrupted.
“I just don’t understand why you distract yourself when you know she’s not your forever.”
“So now you want the details.” Gloria wiggled her eyebrows, and her mother threw a dishtowel at her. When she busied herself with the breakfast dishes, Gloria felt chagrined. She carried the towel and her plate to the counter, leaning her back against the surface to try to catch her mother’s eye. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Her mother shrugged, refusing to look at her. “You avoid forever just because it doesn’t come with a guarantee.”
“I’m not avoiding. I’m open to the idea, but you know that my work…”
“Don’t. If your work was your real priority, you wouldn’t have quit Tennessee. Your idea of family is this circl
e, this tiny circle. It scares me to think of you and your dad…”
Gloria wrapped her arms around her mother, resting her chin on top of her head. “I don’t think I should marry someone so you think I have someone to take care of me.”
“I know you can take care of yourself,” her mother said, swiping away a tear. “So you quit worrying about me, and I’ll try to quit worrying about you.”
“Deal,” Gloria said. She glanced at the clock.
“Get going. I taught you better than to be late your first day.”
“My first day is tomorrow.”
“Then get out of here so I can get on with my morning.”
Gloria gathered her toiletries and paused at the back door, her eyes resting on a photo album that sat by the couch.
“I can’t wait to see where you’re going,” her mother said.
Gloria nodded because she was sure if she answered, her voice would crack. She readied her camper for travel and opened up the gates. Her mother remained inside, never one to make a big deal of her departures. Gloria pursed her lips as she eased out onto the road, plenty of time ahead of her on the long drive to work through all her mother had given her to think about.
Chapter Three
It’s funny how quickly it all comes back, Kristine thought, bent down on one knee next to the sorrel mare. Like riding a horse…or is it supposed to be a bike? Having been on a horse since the time she could sit up, years before attempting to ride a bicycle, had forever ruined the phrase for her. She smiled to herself and turned to the task of getting her tiny rider into the saddle.
“Trust me,” she said to the adorable pigtailed young girl whose head tilted all the way back to get a look up at the saddle. She had her father’s jet-black hair and almond eyes and her mother’s dimpled chin, Kristine noted, patting her chap-covered thigh. “Put your right foot here. Left foot in the stirrup, and swing aboard.”
The girl’s feet followed orders, and the seven-year-old sat proudly in the saddle.
“A natural,” Kristine said, making sure the girl’s feet were secure in the stirrups. She handed her the reins. “You remember her name?”
“Goldie!” she shouted.
She could feel both the approval of the little girl’s mother and the scrutiny of Brian, the young cowboy learning the ropes who would be making this same trip at least two hundred times over the course of the summer. He at least had the costume down with his Western brushpopper shirt, Wrangler jeans and black felt hat. When they got back to the corrals, she’d let him in on some of her secrets to securing better tips from the dudes who did the shortest of their rides down to Rainbow Falls and back. So many of the kids Leo hired cared only about spending the summer in the saddle. They treated the guests, who very often had never been on a horse, disdainfully simply because of their lack of experience, their being “dudes.” But he surprised her, dropping to his knee in front of the beautiful twenty-some- year-old woman whose horse he had pulled around.
Kristine dipped her hat to hide her embarrassment for him. Though the young woman was short, she was clearly experienced. He might have noticed that if his eyes had gotten past the vest zipped tight over her long-sleeved polo shirt and her form-fitting riding pants tucked into her paddock boots. She proved Kristine’s intuition true when she took the reins, captured the stirrup and launched herself into the saddle.
They finished loading the rest of the riders, Brian leading the three other dude horses to the stump that served as a mounting block. He and Kristine rode the as yet untried horses from the employee corral. The willowy redhead who had refused Brian’s leg up angled her horse behind Kristine for the loop down to lower falls.
“How long have you been riding?” Kristine asked, turning in her saddle to make sure the whole group fell in behind her.
“Since fourth grade,” she answered, “but all English, hunter/jumper.”
“Clearly, the skills translate to Western,” Kristine said with a quirk of her eyebrow, smiling at the blush the woman didn’t try to hide.
They fell into easy discussion about the different riding styles, horses they’d owned, how great it must be to get to ride all summer and get paid for it. Engaging her in discussion had been easy, and, as usual, it made the ride go so much faster. Kristine had always had a knack for being able to find something to talk about with anyone. She pointed out wildlife and flowers and hollered the story of the fire that raged through the forest in 1992 and what the outfit had done with the stock. It was a talent that had been rewarded with rave reviews from the guests and extra cash to help with her college expenses.
They returned to the Lodge via the wagon trail and riding between the mule corral on their left and the horse corral on the right. The horses automatically lined up at the tie rail by the horse corral. Kristine wasn’t surprised when she circled around to tie them up and Miss hunter/jumper handed her some bills. She also wasn’t very surprised when she whispered that she was in campsite seventeen and would really like to get to know her better. The guest winked and sauntered away as the little squirt ran over with her own fistful of bills.
“Don’t go asking mom for a pony,” Kristine said to the youngster, tucking the money into the breast pocket of her plaid shirt. As mom smiled on, she bent down to whisper just to the little girl, “tell her to start you on a horse.” The little girl beamed and galloped off toward the café.
“How do you DO that,” Brian grumbled.
“Get tips or get campsite invites?” she asked.
Brian’s head snapped in the direction of the young woman he had attempted to help. “She invited you over? YOU?” The scrawny teen tipped his hat back and scratched his red hair.
Feeling like she had shared too much with the newcomer, Kristine slipped off Rip’s bridle before tying it to the saddle, steering the conversation away from the personal. The tack shed behind them held four-by-four beams, two high, to house the saddles. Kristine heaved the first saddle onto a top rung. Brian followed her lead, grunting to push the saddle into place.
“Watch your guests,” Kristine said, as they worked on the next two horses. “You pick up on little things. Bigger kids like to try on their own. They’re independent—as are most women.” He hung his head. “You’ll get the hang of it, and fast with three rides down to the falls every day.”
“You make it look so easy.”
Kristine shrugged but remembered very well feeling awe-struck by the day-ride crew years ago when she herself had been the newbie, learning the trails, the horses, the soap-opera dynamics of the people she worked with.
“Teeny!” a deep voice barked.
She groaned at the annoying nickname of her youth. “Where the hell you been, girl?” The voice came from a cowboy so old and bent by time that he had to peer up at her. She saw the smile behind his eyes, his brown skin darkened and wrinkled from years in the sun and couldn’t deny him a hug. She snapped his red suspenders as they pulled apart.
“How’r you, Sol?”
“Still dodging the question, I see. I knew your daddy made a mistake listening to Leo about going to school. Can’t see what they have to teach you that you haven’t already learned from us…”
“How are my mules?”
“Yeah, I figgered that’s why you were back. Not for us geezers. C’mon.” He tugged at his battered baseball cap and limped across the yard.
Kristine gave Brian instructions for putting up the stock and joined Sol down at the mule corral. She scampered onto one of the felled trees that served as the corral and gazed out over the stock.
“Suuuuuuuzy-Q! Scooter!” Out of the thirty head in the corral, four long, dark ears swung her way. The pair broke from the herd and strolled over to put their faces in Kristine’s lap, snuffing for treats in her chap pockets. Most of the mules in the corral were bred and trained by Kristine’s father, but Kristine considered Suzy-Q and Scooter her babies since they were the first her father had let her train on her own. Amazingly, they had not forgotten her.
> “You been spoiling this year’s foals, too?” Sol grumbled.
She shoved him with her shoulder. “I don’t have the time to live down at the corral like I did when I got these guys. I grew up with them. I learned a hell of a lot having free rein with their training. They taught me about boundaries, so no. No more spoiling. Don’t go telling my dad he was right.”
Sol worked the chew in his lip a minute his eyes still on the mules in the corral. “How’s the old man?” he finally asked.
“Same pisshead he’s always been.”
“You watch your mouth, girl,” he growled.
But Kristine laughed at his attempt to scold her. “And who taught me about pissheads?”
He hmphed and joined Kristine in scratching the ears of the mule in front of him. “Clifford might be an asshole, but he sure breeds a fine mule.”
“You’re the only person in the world I know who calls him that.”
“You talk him into doing a draft horse cross, get something a more respectable size?” he asked. “Get a Belgian mare and one of those Mammoth jacks. He’s got more than those bitty donkeys now, right?”
“We picked up a Mammoth jack stud.”
Sol rubbed his hands together. “A cross like that would make a fine mule.”
“Only problem is how attached we are to our Morgan mares on the ranch. They’re always going to throw a smaller mule, and there are plenty of people who agree that it’s a great cross. Not everyone thinks bigger is better,” Kristine said even though Sol was one of the few packers who agreed with her. She straightened Suzy-Q’s forelock. “They all need haircuts.”
“Unlike you.”
Kristine hid her smile by tilting her hat, shading her face from Sol.
“You got any hair under that hat, or’d someone scalp you?”
“Not scalped, Sol. Just grown up.”
“You sure about that?”
“Hell, I’m not even sure you’re grown up, old man.”
He laughed then, his eyes disappearing into his weathered face and chins multiplying. “C’mon, young ’un. You can call me anything you like…”
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