“If you say so, they’re mighty big to be couch potatoes. When I think of a couch potato, I think a medium-sized Basset hound, not a huge horse,” Heather argues.
“Trust me. They are very low-key. The Humane Society thought maybe they were ridden as ponies in a circus act for kids. They give new meaning to the word mellow,” I respond.
Just then, Fannie nudges Heather in the hip, and I chuckle. “It looks like she thinks it's your turn to give out the sugar cubes.”
Heather’s eyebrows climb to her hairline, as she looks totally shocked. “Do you think she likes me? Do you think I can give her one?” she asks, her eyes wide with wonder.
I try not to chuckle at Heather’s childlike expressions; she looks a lot like the kindergartners that we have come to the ranch on their school field trips. “Sure, knock yourself out,” I encourage as I hand her a couple of sugar cubes. I demonstrate the proper way to hold out her hand palm side up with the hand as flat and compact as possible.
I feel her hand tremble as I drop the sugar cube into the center of her palm. Her breaths are so shallow that her lips are turning blue. “Ty, I’m scared. Will you do it with me? I can’t believe I’m this much of a chicken. You must think I’m nuts,” Heather murmurs under her breath.
“No, I don’t think you’re crazy,” I assure her. “I think you’re scared of something you haven’t encountered before. In my book, that makes you cautious, not crazy. Where I come from, cautious keeps you alive and that’s a good thing. I’d be happy to help you. I’m going to put my hands under yours to keep yours steady, okay? But, you need to take steady breaths.”
“I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Heather states as she places her trembling hands over the top of mine, palm sides up. Fannie’s ears twitch with interest and her nose immediately moves to the center of Heather’s hand.
A look of stark terror crosses Heather’s face as Fannie’s large head comes closer and closer. As soon as the horse’s lips touch her hand, a peal of laughter comes bubbling from Heather, uncontrollably erupting. I give Heather a questioning look.
“I didn’t expect it to tickle. She’s got some stray whiskers on her mouth, and they’re poking me.” I laugh as she continues.
“I guess I was scared for nothing because she was as gentle as a baby kitten. Do you have any more sugar? I’d like to try it again. This time I want to do it by myself,” Heather announces with more confidence.
“Sure thing, Gidget. I knew you’d be a natural. Fannie has taken a shine to you. I think I should be jealous. I bet you guys are going to be best friends. I’m going to be the odd man out. I’m going to have to teach Mindy how to ride so I’ve got someone to hang out with.”
Heather smirks as she says, “Somehow, I don’t think she’s going to have a problem with that. She already told me she has you booked for the entire Christmas break. “
“Oh, she does, does she? It’s nice of her to keep me up-to-date on our social calendar,” I say with a chuckle. “Although, I never regret any time I spend with her. She’s a pistol. She brightens anyone’s day.”
Grinning widely, Heather replies, “I totally agree with you. That little girl is a total work of wonder isn’t she? She has every right to hate the world and everything in it, but she doesn’t. Whenever I am feeling down and grumpy, I invite Mindy over for a play date and my problems seem a little less insurmountable.”
I hand Heather a couple more sugar cubes and ask her, “Are you ready for this? Remember, palm flat, fingers tucked.”
She turns to Fannie and says, “Hi there, pretty lady. Do you want a treat? I understand you have a penchant for junk food just like me. You and I should get along just fine.” She holds out her hand to allow Fannie to take the sweet treat. Ever so gently, Fannie removes the treat from her hand making soft snuffling noises. Suddenly, Fannie lays her muzzle against Heather’s shoulder and leans in. At first, Heather jumps in surprise. Then, she seems to collect herself and gives a wry chuckle as she says. “Well, you’re welcome. I like you too.”
I can see that there are tears in the corners of Heather’s eyes as she looks up at me And whispers, “Can you believe I just did that? I think she likes me.”
“I think you’ll be riding in no time. But, we’ll tackle that another day. For now, there are some chocolate lava cakes just waiting for us.”
“Hmm, Cowboy— for a guy who doesn’t know me. You guessed pretty darn well,” Heather observes as she walks away with a sassy grin.
Tonight’s the big night. I have to put up or shut up. As I’m driving over to Heather’s house, I’m still not sure how I’m going to approach this. I really don’t like pasta. It’s not just something I just made up to irritate her. I think it’s a texture thing for me. Overall, my mom is a pretty good cook. She tried when I was growing up to buck the stereotype of the Midwestern housewife—only cooking meat and potatoes. So, we didn’t always have the typical fare of meatloaf and mashed potatoes or pot roast with peas. Despite that, pasta is the one thing I could never quite stomach. My college buddies thought it was funny that I didn’t actually like Top Ramen noodles. When you’re in college, that’s almost considered sacrilege.
I’m so discombobulated by today’s activities; I wasn’t even sure how to dress. I finally decide to wear my favorite 501 Levi’s and a well-worn denim western wear cowboy shirt. I know I look like a walking stereotype, but I figure if anyone can appreciate that, it’s probably Heather. As she opens her front door, I feel instant relief. Heather looks like something out of a 1950s ad campaign for Good Housekeeping magazine complete with red lipstick, apron and patent leather pumps. She looks like an incredibly sexy housewife. I’d like to kiss off her lipstick, but I doubt she’d appreciate that. So, I settle for handing her the bouquet of Gerber daisies Jeff’s mom Gwendolyn made up for me. They have a brightly colored bow around them that matches Heather’s dress. I wonder if Gwendolyn had some inside information about tonight’s plans.
“Wow! You look different!” Heather exclaims as she opens the door. “I was getting used to the beard. I don’t think I’ve met a guy who changes their look as often as you do,” she comments as she reaches up and runs her hand along my now smooth jaw. I’m taken off guard by the brief contact.
I have to shut my eyes for a moment and focus on the present. I force myself to answer her unspoken question as I explain in a rough voice, “I sometimes help out on the undercover teams when they need someone to play the out-of-town-redneck-meth-head. So, I had to grow a little scruff.”
When her eyes grow round with shock, and she gasps softly, I realize I may have been a bit too forthcoming. Most of my friends think I’m just a step above parking enforcement. I usually just share G-rated stories about rural policing that make my job sound about as dangerous as escorting little old people across the street in Mayberry. There are guys on the force that like to brag about the adrenaline-pumping hazardous parts. I’m not one of those guys. Once you’ve lived through hell and survived to tell the tale, you soon discover that no one cares what it’s like, and the words bring back pictures you would just as soon forget.
Heather takes a deep breath and swallows hard. She reaches up and worries a lock of hair between her fingertips. Finally, she seems to settle on words as she says, “Talk about your mixed blessings. On one hand, you wouldn’t get bored at work, but then there’s that whole getting shot thing to deal with.”
Startled, I laugh out loud. Of all the things I thought she might say, that wasn’t it. “True, it’s a mixed bag,” I concede.
I watch as Heather shudders and then dons an engaging smile. I can almost see her giving herself a mental shake, trying to dispel the graphic images like a sheep dog shaking after a bath. She turns to me with a bright twinkle in her eye. “Ty, these are beautiful. Thank you so much. I’ll just go put these in some water. How was your day?” Heather asks as she takes my coat and hangs it on a hook by her front door.
There is something so strangely normal about that simpl
e domestic act, it almost makes me dizzy. It’s been so long since someone was interested in the details of my life that I wasn’t prepared for the emotional impact of that question.
“Are you okay?” Heather inquires, as she studies the perplexed expression on my face.
“Yeah, it’s just been a long day,” I reply, trying to cover my bizarre reaction.
Heather motions me over to a big recliner chair in the middle of her living room. I’m a little surprised to see it in a woman’s house, but I try not to let it show. “Would you like something to drink?” she asks as I sit down. “I can get you a beer or I’ve got some soda or some sweet tea.”
“I think I’ll stick to tea because there’s a chance I may get called back in tonight so I really shouldn’t drink,” I answer.
“Okay, tea it is. Something to snack on while we wait?” Heather offers as she turns to go back into the kitchen.
“Sure, I’m at your mercy tonight— I mean—I’m looking forward to whatever you serve me,” I respond with a wink.
“You hush up now, Tyler Joseph Colton!” Heather exclaims. “You are going to be so thankful that you had this meal. You’re not even going to know what you did before you met me. Your taste buds are going to weep with joy.”
“Well, that’s what you say. But, just so you understand the full extent of the challenge before you. I don’t just mildly dislike pasta. I really, really can’t stand it. It’s right up there with liver and onions for me.”
Heather just takes my hat off and taps me on the head as she asks “What is it you told me about the horses? Oh yeah … ‘I’ve got you covered.' That was it. So, that’s what I’m going to tell you right now. Ty, you just put your feet up, sit back and relax because I’ve got you covered. You don’t have to worry about anything tonight except having a great time. So, what are your music preferences? I guess they run toward Garth Brooks or Travis Tritt, am I right?”
“Well, I like Garth Brooks and Travis Tritt just fine. I am more of a Zac Brown Band and Keith Urban fan myself, but I’m not picky. Do you have all that music in your house?” I inquire, curious about her music taste.
“No silly, that’s what Pandora’s for. You can make your music taste be whatever suits you on any particular day,” she answers. “I’m very eclectic, so it works well for me.” Heather points to her clothes and continues, “My mood can change daily, so I often change my music to match my wardrobe.”
“What would you suggest to go with your wardrobe today?” I ask, studying her whimsical outfit.
“Well, that’s a good question,” she responds thoughtfully putting her finger to her lips as she thinks. “Do you want a country flair or not?” She disappears into the kitchen.
“I’ll leave it up to you, you’re the one going with the theme and you know where you’re heading with dinner,” I answer.
Heather yells out from inside the oven, “There are so many good choices. If you wanted country to go with my outfit, you could go with the classics, Loretta Lynn or Patsy Cline. Or if we were just going to stay true to the ambiance we could choose anyone in the rat pack. Frank Sinatra or Sammy Davis Junior. I particularly love Nat King Cole and Lena Horne.”
“Is there any reason we can’t put them all in the rotation?” I suggest.
“Nope, that’s a great idea,” Heather replies as she brings four plates to the table. There are two different appetizers. Each decorated exquisitely. They look like they came out of some fancy food magazine.
“Heather, these look amazing!” I exclaim as I walk over to the table. I pull out her chair and wait for her to sit down. She looks a little surprised by the gesture, but gives me a grateful smile and sits down gracefully.
“Thank you so much. What a gentleman,” she murmurs.
“So, what am I eating?” I ask, cautiously examining the food in front of me with trepidation.
“Normally, I would tell you. However, given your food phobias, I think it's better you don’t know. I’ll tell you when we’re all finished. You’ll just have to go on blind faith. That was the deal, remember?” she states, but she looks a little nervous.
Damn! I thought she’d forgotten about that part. “Okay, Gidget I’m putting my life in your hands, or at least my taste buds.” I pick up the first item that looks like a piece of origami art there is an orangey-red sauce beside it, so I suspect she intends it to be a dipping sauce. So, I dunk it in and take a bite. It’s fried and crunchy on the outside, and the inside has some meat with an Asian flair. It’s phenomenally tasty. I could eat twenty or thirty of these.
I look up and I see her looking at me expectantly. I shove the bite in my mouth like a kid hoarding the last of the Halloween candy.
“Well?” she asks, raising her eyebrow in question. “Ready to give me a score?”
“A score?” I wheeze as I practically choke. “You’re kidding right?”
“Nope.” Heather shakes her head sending her golden curls tumbling forward, distracting me. Geez, I’d love to run my fingers through it.
“Do you think I worked half a day for absolutely nothing? If I’m going to work this hard, I want some usable feedback on my recipes,” she explains as she hands me a card with five emoticons on it. They range from tears to elation. “Please circle the one that applies to you.”
Taking the card from her, I slump in my chair as relief courses through my body. I had expected the test to be much more difficult. This, I can do. I take the marker from her hand I laugh as I get a good look at it. “Sparkly bubblegum?” I ask with a snicker.
“Umm— I don’t suppose you’d buy the line that it’s Mindy’s?” Heather stammers as she blushes.
I chuckle as I respond, “Well, I might have until you blushed as pink as the pen, but that’s a dead giveaway.”
“In my defense, the regular pens stink. You can’t judge a girl for wanting to smell good,” she pleads with the wink. “I didn’t want to smell like a tar pit in the middle of a highway resurfacing project.”
“Oh, I’m not arguing with you there. I think it’s a beautiful pen, and it suits you perfectly. Most people would use an ordinary pen. I think it’s great that you choose to use an extraordinary pen for mundane things just because it makes you happy.”
Heather looks confused by the conversation as if she can’t decide whether I mean it as a compliment or a slight against her character. Finally, she says, “Thank you, I think.”
“Yes, Gidget, I very much meant it as a compliment. I admire your free-spirit a great deal. More people should be like you,” I respond as I circle the happiest emoticon on the card. “Okay, I’m ready to try the next one. If it’s anything like the first one, I’m totally down with the rest of the experiment.”
Heather pushes the next plate in front of me. This one has four small golden brown squares on it. It looks like there might be some grated Parmesan cheese on top. There’s a little ramekin of red sauce. It smells like marinara sauce to me. This is a positive development because I love meatball subs. I cautiously pick one up and bite into it. Well, what a surprise! On the inside is some vegetable mixture of spinach and something else green— maybe artichokes with Parmesan and mozzarella cheese. She must be saving the pasta until the later dishes. These are also amazingly delicious. It doesn’t take me long to polish off all four.
When Heather sees the expression on my face, she just pushes her plate over to me and says with a grin, “You’re welcome to finish off mine too if you want.”
I look at her with surprise as I reply, “Seriously? Are you sure? These are great!”
“I had to have some while I was cooking, so I’m not as hungry as you are,” Heather admits.
“Okay, if you don’t mind, then I don’t mind if I do,” I reply as I pop one into my mouth.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Heather states. “I made you an insane amount of food. I wanted you to try a wide variety of things. So, I hope you brought your appetite.”
“Well, my mama still refers to me as a growing boy
and claims I still have a hollow leg every time I go back to see her. As a matter of fact, I skipped lunch today because we were out on a call. To say I’m hungry is an understatement. So, bring it on,” I say with an exaggerated gesture.
“Okay, give me about twenty minutes and I’ll be out with your first course,” Heather instructs. “Make yourself comfortable. You can turn on my PlayStation if you want. I’ve got some games. There’s everything in there from Madden Football to Sims 3.”
“Sweet! Is this your brother’s?” I ask as I choose the Madden football game and settle into the recliner.
“Get real. My brother play video games? Nope, those are mine.” Heather responds with a wink. “On another day, I’ll beat your pants off. Unfortunately, I’m kind of busy today.”
Looking at her with a whole new level of awe and respect, I salute her as I reply, “I don’t know about that, Gidget. I’ve had a whole lot of practice playing video games.”
She looks back over her shoulder at me as she walks away, “Who’s to say, I haven’t, Cowboy?”
Everything I learn about her is a great new surprise that’s more interesting than the last. I almost can’t wait to see what’s next.
“I can’t wait for the matchup,” I challenge. “Should we have a wager on that too?”
I hear Heather laugh from the kitchen as she responds, “I don’t know if you can afford to bury yourself in a hole any more than you already have. You’re working up a powerful debt with me. Pretty soon, you’re going to be practically my love slave.”
“All the more reason for me to bet.” I respond.
Heather snickers from the other room. “Yeah right, like I’ve got men tripping all over themselves to be my love slaves. Not on this or any other planet.”
Joy and Tiers Page 7
