Zoey sat on the edge of the box and read aloud: "Thin winter carrots in early spring. Taste like candy."
Anne and Zoey looked at each other. "Yeah, right," Zoey said. "Grandma was funny."
Anne silently agreed, but in her mother's defense, she bent over and attempted to pull one of the thin green shoots out of the soil. It snapped off cleanly right at the top of the infant carrot. "Oops."
Zoey's nimble little fingers probed beneath the damp soil and wiggled the miniature vegetable out of its home. "Wow. It's a teeny-weeny carrot."
"Made for teeny-weeny bunnies, perhaps?"
They took turns examining it. "It smells like a carrot. Should we eat it?" Zoey asked.
Anne shook her head. "It's covered with mud."
A foot away was a faucet wrapped in insulated foam; a hose sat coiled like a snake at its base. Zoey took the carrot to the impromptu sink and washed it thoroughly then returned, holding it aloft like a slick, wet Olympic torch. She thrust it at Anne. "You first."
Anne's mouth went dry. The only carrots she'd ever eaten came in plastic bags. Stalling, she pinched the thread-like white root off then bravely bit down. As she chewed her saliva glands went into overdrive. Sweeter than any carrot she'd ever tasted, Anne closed her eyes to savor the flavor. "It's like eating sunshine," she said, popping the remaining morsel into her mouth without thinking. "Delicious."
Zoey let out a shrill cry of outrage. "Mommy, you ate the whole thing." Tears erupted from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
"Oops. Sorry, sweetie. But, look," she said, redirecting her daughter's attention to the planter box. "There's a zillion more, and we'll never have big carrots unless we thin them. And eat them." Like candy, Anne heard her mother add.
Zoey's tantrum ended as quickly as it began. Sniffling, she wiped her cheeks with her muddy hand. The black smear resembled war paint, but Anne kept the observation to herself.
They both turned to the carrot patch and set to work thinning. Every few minutes one of them would wash a handful of the candied treats and they'd munch and crunch.
Between bites, Zoey tried to teach Anne a song she'd learned in school. Appropriately, the lyrics were about bugs and slugs, but Anne was so lulled by the sun and the warm breeze she couldn't concentrate. Before she knew it, they had a basket full of mini-carrots and a freshly weeded planter box. And the best of all, Zoey hadn't had an asthma attack.
They were sitting on a convenient wooden bench plotting their next move, when the clippity-clop of a horse's hooves filled the air. Zoey jumped up, spilling the carrots she'd been hoarding on her lap. "Look, Mommy, it's Will. Hi, Will, want some carrot candy?"
Anne knelt to pick up the fallen produce. From beneath the shaded brim of her floppy hat she could study Will sitting astride his large brown horse. Anne didn't know enough about the breed to be able to identify the exact make or model. It was a horse. It was big. And Will looked as if he belonged in the saddle.
Broad, muscular shoulders housed in crisp white cotton. His western-style shirt, neatly ironed, was tucked into snug Wranglers. At his waist, the requisite buckle sparkled in the sunlight. Her mind recalled snippets of some talk she'd once attended called "Archetypes and The Modern Woman." The feminist lecturer theorized that "the cowboy" was a classic image that spoke to a woman's need to conquer new frontiers.
Frontier schmontier. The erratic tempo of her heart tapped out the real reason women liked cowboys. They’re just plain sexy.
"How are you ladies doing this fine morning?" Will said, looping one leg over the horn of the saddle. He pushed his yellowish-white straw cowboy hat back and flashed them a million-watt smile. Anne wondered if he had groupies--legions of adoring female fans who followed him from bull-riding event to bull-riding event.
"Josey here just got her new shoes and wanted to show them off," he said, running his hand along the horse's neck in an affectionate way.
Anne swallowed. Those hands had touched her in a similar way in her dreams.
"Hi, Josey.” Zoey crammed the toes of her Sketchers between the slats of the fence and pulled herself close enough to touch the horse's nose. Josey made a snuffling sound and arched her neck.
Zoey wobbled, almost losing her balance. Anne's instinct was to run to her, but she forced herself to wait. Once she saw that her daughter wasn't going to impale herself on a fence picket or topple beneath the feet of a newly shod horse, she transferred the carrots to the bucket and stood up.
"Baby carrots," Will exclaimed, leaning over as far as his precarious position would allow. "Gramps mentioned a winter garden, but to tell the truth, I wasn't paying attention. Got any to share?"
Anne offered him the pail. "With dirt or without?"
"Doesn't matter," he said, giving her a playful wink. "Lord knows I've eaten my share of dirt over the years." He grabbed a handful and sat back in the saddle. "Josey would be happy to eat any of the tops you're throwing away, Miss Z."
Anne watched him rub each little carrot between his thumb and middle finger before popping it in his mouth. He chewed with gusto. "Mmm, dang, these are good."
Anne still had the taste of carrot in her mouth, but suddenly she was ravenous for something more substantial than a root vegetable.
Zoey bumped into Anne as she raced back to the carrot box where their discarded tops littered the ground. Anne realized she was staring. But not at Will's hands. As the heat rose in her cheeks, she dropped to one knee to help gather the now-wilted greenery.
"Can I feed her? Can I?" Zoey asked, clutching her bounty.
Anne watched Zoey approach the fence. On her face, fear battled with yearning. Anne understood those diametrically opposed emotions all too well.
Josey apparently spotted the leafy-green bouquet and stepped closer to the fence. A single click from Will dampened her exuberance, but it was obvious she had high hopes the greens were meant for her. "Go ahead and hold them out," he told Zoey, returning to his original position in the saddle. "Just be sure to let go when she takes them in her mouth. Her teeth are a long way from her eyes. She might accidentally get a finger if you're not careful. Josey loves carrots but isn't partial to fingers."
Anne clasped the bucket to her chest. Her baby's hand looked awfully small compared to the horse's mouth, and Josey's teeth resembled cogs in a giant garbage disposal. Anne was set to intercede until she looked at Will. Every single ounce of his attention was trained on her daughter.
She held her tongue. And her breath.
"Nice horsy," Zoey said, lifting her arm.
The green fronds shook like a wand in the hand of a fairy god mother with palsy. Josey didn't have a problem with that. Her large mouth opened; the stems disappeared.
Zoey clapped with joy. Anne quickly counted all ten fingers.
Before she could breathe a sigh of relief, Will asked, "How 'bout a quick ride with me, Miss Z? Just to the barn and back. I need to give the horseshoer a check."
Anne's initial protest was drowned out by her daughter's exuberant delight. "Oh, Mommy, please. I've never been on a horse and Josey likes me 'cause I fed her carrot tops. Please."
Anne wished she could be angry with Will for putting her in this position, but in all honesty, she'd known this showdown was coming. She'd already made up her mind that Zoey wasn't going near a horse without riding lessons and the proper safety equipment, but only a ridiculously over-protective parent would deny her daughter a chance to ride with an experienced cowboy. "Okay."
Zoey hugged Anne fiercely. "Thank you, Mommy. Thank you. I'll write about it in my journal tonight."
"Super. You promised Grandpa you'd write every night, remember?"
Zoey bounced back. "Before, I didn't have anything to write about. Now, I do."
Anne rolled her eyes and caught Will staring at her. He coughed and flexed his heels so the horse moved parallel to the fence. "If you boost her up, we'll mosey around this area while you write out the check," he suggested. "I can add my signature when I get to the barn."
He gave her the name and dollar amount and Anne dashed inside to write out the check. A simple task, except her hand was shaking so badly her signature was barely legible. She sat down in A.J.'s chair and took a deep breath.
How would my mother handle this?
The answer seemed obvious--in a manner exactly opposite to the way Anne was inclined to do things. Anne and her mother had disagreed constantly about parenting issues. Although she had never come right out and said it, Esther had implied that Anne tended to coddle Zoey.
"Risk is a part of life, honey," Anne could hear her mother saying. "You have to let Zoey try new things. She might get hurt, but at least she lived bravely."
Brave. Esther was without a doubt the bravest woman Anne had ever known. Her mother courted risk, while Anne hid from it. To be precise, Anne assessed it carefully, assigned an acceptable loss factor and made an informed choice.
Anne knew that her mother had admired Will for following his dream, despite the toll bull riding took on his body. And while Esther was supportive of Anne's choices, she seemed faintly critical, too.
"You've done well for yourself, Anne, but are you happy?" Esther had asked toward the end.
Sorta. Kinda. Not really.
Then do something about it, a voice whispered.
Suddenly, Anne felt a strange sense of peace. She knew without the slightest doubt that she could trust Will to care for her daughter as if she were his own. And Anne also knew that if she was ever going to practice a little risk taking in her own life, now was the time.
Not with Will, per se--that would be just plain foolish--but in response to his challenge. Her mind made up, Anne rose. As soon as she returned to the office, she'd find that piece of paper she'd used last night to write down A.J.'s number. No doubt Linda would be surprised to hear from her.
Zoey was in love.
The second her legs hit the saddle and her fingers wrapped around the stiff, course hair of the horse's mane, she knew she'd found heaven.
It didn't hurt that behind her Will's big, solid body made her feel safe. He seemed to be part of the saddle and he moved with the steady, easy rocking motion of the horse as they walked in a circle around the grassy yard at the base of the big tree.
"Have you tried out our swing, yet, Miss Z?" he asked, motioning to the black tire suspended on a long rope.
She shook her head. "Mommy said she needed to test it first. To see if it could handle my weight."
He didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Your mommy is smart. That rope has been hanging there for more years than I can remember. It could be frayed up high. I'll test it myself. That way, if it breaks, I'll hit the ground and not your mom. I'm used to hitting the ground."
She turned sideways just enough to look at him. "How come? Do you fall down a lot?"
"Sometimes, honey, it feels like that's all I do. I ride bulls for a living. Sorta like in a rodeo. Do you know what that is?"
"Of course. I'm not a baby."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just figured you might not have seen one since you live in a city. Although one of our biggest bull-riding events takes place in New York City."
"That's where I live. We used to live in New Jersey. And Pittsburgh. And...I forget. A bunch of places."
She leaned forward to stroke the horse's neck. "Does Josey like to be petted."
"Yes, she does. Gramps told me Josey is a favorite with the people who stay here because she's gentle, but she can haul a...a lot of stuff when she has to."
"What kind of stuff?"
His mouth opened, but instead of answering he made a clicking sound and Josey lifted her head. The horse gave a little skip and Zoey grabbed for the funny-shaped knob in front of her. "There's your mom. Hang on, sweetie. We're going to try a trot."
The bouncing gait made Zoey's teeth rattle and her vision blur. Her insides felt jumbled and jittery. Not in a bad way, but she checked her pocket for her fast-acting inhaler, just in case.
They stopped abruptly in front of the gate where her mother was standing. She wasn't wearing the goofy hat, thank goodness. Her hair was messy in a cool way and she was smiling. A happy smile.
"How do you feel, honey? Are you having fun?"
Zoey ignored the first question. She was sick of people asking how she felt. "I love horseback riding. Can we buy a horse, Mommy? I'll take care of it. Really. I will."
Both adults laughed, which would have made her mad except she noticed the look her mother gave Will--friendly and nice. Zoey's breath stopped. If Mommy likes Will, she might trust him to give me riding lessons.
Oh, man, Zoey thought, this could be great.
Suddenly, she had so many things to write in her journal she was almost sorry it wasn't bedtime.
Chapter 6
As Will closed the door of his cabin behind him, he paused to look around the Silver Rose compound. He couldn't believe a week had passed since his grandfather's departure. The first guests of the season had started arriving the previous Saturday. Four by land--two couples driving shiny SUVs, which were parked in a designated strip close to their cabins--and two by air. Will had played chauffeur, greeting Ms. Gustaffson and Mr. Taylor at the Reno airport. Unfortunately, they had arrived on different airlines and at different times.
Will was beginning to hate the drive to Reno. That, he told himself, was why he'd agreed to give Anne driving lessons this morning.
With a resigned sigh, he started toward the house. His reticence didn't stem from a reluctance to spend time with Anne. On the contrary, he enjoyed their contact, hit and miss though it was. They'd both been swamped with hiring personnel and prepping for guests, but her hastily scribbled notes and quick exchanges while signing checks had demonstrated her knowledge of the business.
She was a good judge of people, too. For instance, Anne hadn't hesitated to hire Joy McRee as head chef. It didn't hurt that the woman had shown up with a basket of cookies and a list of menus for the week.
"Joy is going to save my butt," Anne had confided at dinner the night before last. "I've overseen bigger kitchens, but it's been years since I actually cooked for a large group. And Joy's even willing to handle the bunkhouse, too. Plus, she's talking about expanding Mom's "Old Time Cooking Lessons" to include men."
Will like the sound of that--anything to take some of the entertainment pressure off his back. He truly had no idea how his grandfather, a hermit at best, had managed to juggle all the responsibilities that came with running a ranch and entertain a bunch of city slickers as well.
"Oh, William," a voice hailed. "Just the man we need."
Will put on his best PBR meet-and-greet smile then turned to face the couple marching toward him. The tall, thin woman and her several-inches shorter husband were in their late fifties. Both wore hundred-dollar cowboy hats and handmade boots.
"Howdy," he hailed. "Isn't this a glorious Nevada morning? What can I do for you folks?"
"Buddy was wondering if you could teach him how to ride bulls," the woman answered. Will had noticed she did most of the talking.
"Got a hankerin' for a couple of broken bones, Bud?"
The man shook his head. "Not exactly," he said. "More like a photo op. We couldn't help but notice that rigging you have behind the barn. A bucking barrel, I believe it's called. Cherish thought it would make an excellent picture to show the guys back home."
"A simulated ride," Cherish added, waving her phone. "We could add the bull later."
Will smiled. "Wish I'd thought of that. Could have saved myself a couple of surgeries."
They set up a time that would provide the best light, then Buddy and Cherish waved goodbye. Since today was a "free day" on the ranch, the pair had opted to join a group visiting Virginia City, the historic Comstock Lode boomtown that was a favorit
e of tourists.
As he resumed his walk, three cowboys on horseback--each shadowed by a novice cowpoke--trotted past. Whenever possible, Will tried to pair beginning riders with experienced ones. Tomorrow his crew was scheduled to move the Silver Rose herd from his grandfather's land to a leased field a few miles away. The three-hour job would probably take six thanks to their extra help, but Will figured that went with the territory.
And, fortunately, none of his hired men was likely to complain. Like Anne, Will had been blessed to have job applicants with Silver Rose experience on their résumés. In cowboy terms, that meant they showed up, named the ranchers they'd worked for then unloaded their gear in the bunkhouse.
He glanced at his watch and picked up the pace. Anne liked schedules, he'd noticed. Her housekeepers, three high-school girls, had an allotted time to complete the rooms before Anne followed behind with a checklist. Somehow, Will doubted that Esther was that detail oriented. But, so far, he'd heard nothing but positive comments from their guests.
The real test would come next week when every room was filled. Between dropping off existing guests and picking up new ones, they had six trips to Reno scheduled. Hence the driving lesson.
"It isn't fair that you do all the picking-up and dropping-off," Anne had told him Sunday night as he'd lugged their latest guest's massive suitcase up the stairs. Gina Gustaffson, a history teacher with a passion for architecture, had been delighted to learn that she would be staying in the main house instead of a cabin. A.J. had cut her a deal on her two-month booking.
"I love the ranch house," she'd exclaimed with a thick Boston accent. "Classic turn-of-the-century function versus form. I plan on working on my book while I'm here. It's called From Log Cabin to Brothel--The Western Way of Building.
"Your mother was so helpful last year, Anne. She'd drop me off at the library, then pick me up in time for happy hour at the local saloon."
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