Waiting For Eden (Eden Series)

by Leigh, Jessica

  “Business is business, and business must grow,” she mumbled a line from a Dr. Seuss tale, closing the front door behind her.

  As the morning progressed, she felt more and more like the miserly old Oncler of the said same tale. Should she call Jamie and apologize? No, that was ridiculous. She’d done nothing wrong in speaking with a customer, even if the timing wasn’t so hot. So if he wanted to pout, let him.

  Distance was a good thing. A safe thing. Eden Ranch demanded all of her attention at present. No matter that she was going stir crazy, imagining things that weren’t there, ghosts and all that paranormal bullshit.

  Shrink time, Alex-girl. The taunting voice was back. Oh boy, is it ever shrink time! She gritted her teeth, and dug into a pile of fresh wood shavings with gusto. Saw dust filled the air with a fine, sweet mist, and barn swallows flitted about, already having taken dominion over her little barn. Their dulcet chortling and the soft flutter of their beating wings performed a manner of soothing background music, eventually subduing the sullen voice in her head to silence.

  The trail horses arrived on schedule and Alex was pleased that their ride had gone without a hitch. The animals backed off of the trailer quietly, obviously old pros at being carted about, and with soft nickering and gentle sniffing, they made themselves at home on Eden Ranch.

  Lunchtime came and went, and when it finally occurred to Alex that she might be hungry, her watch read two o’clock. She went inside and hastily made a bologna and cheese sandwich, slathered with mustard and pickles. Leaving the house again, she took a large bite and grinned. When was the last time she ate bologna? Middle school, most likely.

  A late eighties model Chevy Caprice rolled up her driveway at a snail’s pace. “Robin’s egg blue,” she murmured. “What a lovely choice of color.” She sat on her porch step to wait and watch, licking wayward globs of mustard from her fingers.

  The sedan rolled to a slow halt. The door opened slightly, and a thin leg, clad in checkered polyester, protruded shakily from the interior.

  “Ezra!” Alex stood and trotted toward the car. A thick shock of white hair pushed through the opening next.

  “I’m comin’. Take’s me awhile.”

  “Ezra, I can’t believe it.” She took his knobby elbow and helped him from the car.

  He leaned on her heavily for a moment, but his face held good color and his eyes were lively with chestnut lights.

  “What, did ya think, I’d take Liddy’s abuse forever? No sir, not me. And I gave that woman a what for when I left, too, believe me. Oh, that burned her good and raw. She looked like a massive lobster, she did, what with her face all red, and the teeth in that maw of hers clicking, meaty arms comin’ at me like pinchers.”

  He shivered pointedly. “Gave me a good and final scare. But I sure zipped outta that hospital like there weren’t nothing to it. Liddy gave me that kinda gumption, anyway.”

  Ezra stopped suddenly, listening to Alex chuckle, and gazed around. “You done real well with the barnyard, girl.” He nodded toward the pastoral scene of horses grazing in the lush green fields. “Fencing looks good, solid. Nice animals too.”

  Turning back to Alex, he looked her solidly in the eye. “So how are you doin’ miss? Liking the country life, I take it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I really am. I can’t believe you’re driving already! I’m glad you came to visit, Ezra.”

  “Well, me too.”

  “Would you like to sit on the porch and chat?”

  Alex had put up a long, wooden swing that hung from chains attached to the overhead porch beams. It reminded her of the one her grandmother used to have. From the porch she could overlook the barn, fields, and driveway. The spot always caught the afternoon shade, and usually a soft breeze. Honeysuckle grew in clumps behind the porch, lending a sweet and heady scent to the air.

  She helped him to the swing, where he sat creakily, then pushed off with his worn loafers, spurring the swing into motion.

  “Lemonade, Ezra?”

  “Nope. Maybe in a bit.” He patted the seat next to him, letting the swing coast to a momentary halt. “Sit awhile. Indulge an old geezer.” So Alex sat, and the swing was soon in motion again, the breeze rippling coolly between them.

  “Love to swing. Always did,” Ezra commented pleasantly, while scratching at his chin. “This is a good spot for one too. Wonder why I never thought of it?”

  Alex laughed brightly, and Ezra visibly warmed to the sound. The slight lift of breeze from their rocking lifted his white shock of hair to and fro.

  “So what happened to Florida?” she ventured lightly.

  “Well... nothin’ really. Just haven’t made it down that way as of yet.”

  The arch of her honeyed eyebrow raised the question.

  “Oh, you’re right, I’m probably not goin’. Just can’t find it in me to leave these mountain parts, I guess.”

  “They grow on you, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “I can’t really imagine leaving anymore either,” she sighed, gazing out over the bucolic scene of lush pastures and serenely grazing animals. She heard the trill of songbirds, and the swish of long, soft, equine tails as they wicked away the fat and lazy flies of afternoon.

  “Well, you got yerself the best farm in the county, I say. Ridgeway nippin’ at your heels yet?”

  Alex frowned at the reminder, and nodded reluctantly.

  “I hope ya gave that bee-hole a what for!”

  She barked with laughter. “Actually, I did Ezra. He’s certainly not too fond of me right now.”

  Ezra made a fist and swung at his imaginary target. “Pow! In the kisser, Ridgeway. She may look like a pip-squeak, but her tongue is sharp as a razor!”

  He chortled at his words and gave the swing an extra lusty shove with his toes. Alex grabbed the armrest when the swing jumped out of rhythm, jack-knifing side-to-side instead of smoothly riding front-to-back.

  “Holy cow!” he squawked. “Don’t know my own strength. Guess that’s one good thing to come out of wrestlin’ with that tub-o-lard every day.”

  When the swing had slowed to a manageable pace once again, Alex cleared her throat.

  “So what do you plan on doing with yourself, Ezra? Are you sure you are comfortable with the choice to sell this place to me?” She worried her lower lip at the thought.

  “Oh no… I’m doing fine, been quite busy... this and that, you know. I’m boarding with the Widow Lockley right now.”

  Alex grinned and made a knowing sound.

  “Now now, pip-squeak. Ain’t nothing as dirty as yer imagination. Widow cooks well, is all. She goes about a hundred pounds too heavy for the likes of me, anyway. If she’d roll over on me in the night, I’d be dead come mornin’ for sure.”

  Alex laughed, shaking her head, and Ezra chuckled as well.

  “Would you like to see the inside of the house?” Alex offered after a few moments of silence.

  Ezra sighed. “Don’t think I’m ready for that yet. I still have nightmares about that awful day. I just wanted to make sure you were all right, you know. No one... uh, buggin’ ya or anything.”

  Alex sobered, thinking about the phone calls, and her wild imagination. On impulse she blurted, “Can you tell me about Marta? What was she like?”

  Ezra’s bushy eyebrows furrowed, and he pulled at his chin. “Gotta shave,” he remarked.

  Alex suddenly felt awkward. It was wrong of her to ask such a personal question. “I’m sorry Ezra, maybe you’re not ready to talk yet-”

  “Can always talk about my Marta. You’ll probably want to shut my trap after awhile.” He slanted a glance at her, and she nodded for him to continue.

  “I was always proud I married her,” he began staunchly. “She was a fine woman, Christian and all, though we didn’t make it to church much in the later years. Never regretted one step of our fifty-one years together, ‘cept for the fact that we didn’t make no children out of our union.”

  He shook his head resolutely. “I alwa
ys said it was fate, just wasn’t meant to be, and she always said, piss on that Ezra, we make our own fate here on Earth! Marta never really gave up hope until she lost her flows. Took somethin’ out of her when that day came. But she kept her chin up, she did. That was my Marta.”

  “What did she look like?”

  Ezra glanced at her in surprise. “Younger days or older?”

  “Oh... older.”

  “Well, where do I start? She’d been slim in her youth, but once in the wheelchair for good, she gained a bit of weight, fluids mostly, her legs were swollen all the time. But she always kept long hair, wouldn’t abide by those short frizzy perms that older women usually take to. The Q-Tip look, she’d called it.

  Well, my Marta’s hair came half-way down her back and was straight gray by the end, all silvery and rare beautiful, I surely thought. It had been raven black in her younger years. I right believe there was a good bit of Mohawk in her veins. That’s what her Pop said. Oh, that sleek black hair made my blood pump when I was a buck, it rightly did.” He paused, remembering with a lusty grin.

  “Did she braid it often?”

  “Yup. Near on all the time at the end. She knew I liked it loose, too. She was a standard woman, and liked to get my goat, naturally enough.” He chuckled.

  “But she could never get the damned braids straight and even. Always went crooked on her. I’d say, ‘Why Marta, who done yer hair today, Freddy Little?’”

  Ezra cocked his head and leaned toward Alex. “Freddy lives up in Galeton, he’s blind as Stevie Wonder, but without any musical talent in his genes. Not much of any talent at all in those genes, to be truthful. He has a home business, though, licks envelopes for a living, so I’ve heard. You’ll probably run into him one day, or he’ll run smack dab into you, more’s like it.”

  Alex couldn’t quite keep her attention focused on the Freddy Little story. Her mind was filled with a picture of a little old lady in a wheelchair, with plaited silver hair, and a gently wizened face. Had she actually seen a ghost?

  She scoffed at herself, dismissing the idea. Alexandra Winters didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in over-active imaginations. Probably, she had caught a glimpse of a photo in a box while she was cleaning up. That’s all. Simple.

  She forcibly turned her attention back to Ezra. He was remarking on Marta’s love for animals, how she’d take in any sorry-looking, mangy critter that had the wits to stumble upon her back door. Anything hurt, lost or lonely, Marta vowed to protect.

  Alex patted him on his vibrantly checkered knee, and rose. “I’m going to get you some lemonade now.”

  “Ya read my mind.”

  She was in the kitchen pouring lemonade into glasses when the phone rang. Alex had a bad feeling, but answered anyway. She met with ominous silence on the other end.

  “All right, I’ve had enough of this,” she hissed into the receiver. “I’m going to have this call traced back to you, you rotten shithead.”

  Click.

  Dial tone. The bastard hung up first. Alex grinned smugly, thinking that she had definitely won that battle. It was likely there would be no more phone calls. She put the pitcher back in the fridge and rejoined Ezra on the porch.

  He was a sight to behold, perched on her swing, with his white hair standing upright, dancing on the breeze’s current. His trousers had ridden up onto his ribcage, baring his bony ankles to the soft stroke of afternoon light.

  His grin was infectious. She handed him the lemonade, which he slurped down in several noisy gulps, then sighed.

  “That hit the spot, pip-squeak.”

  Alex felt a surge of some emotion, a ribbon of warmth and ache mixed together as one. She had never known a grandfather. And at this moment, all she wanted was to wrap her arms about the old man and cover his leathery face with a granddaughter’s kiss. Blinking back tears, she settled for sitting next to him, and they began the duet of easy, rocking motion once again.

  “So tell me about this here operation of yours. This Eden Ranch. Funny thing, Marta had a garden she fancied to call Eden. That was quite a few years ago, though.” He shook his head. “More than a few, in actuality. But anyway, back to business. Tell me all about it.”

  Alex started at the very beginning.

  Waiting for Eden

  ~*~*~*~*~*~

  Chapter 13

  A rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts and clung there, leaving an itching trail in its wake. Alex ignored the sensation, and breathing deeply, tightened her legs against the tiring mount beneath her.

  The mare responded by engaging her muscled hind-end, reaching into the bridle bit with a round, capable stride. Alex grinned... what an animal to work with! It was a pleasure actually, much more so than work.

  Michael Dalton’s horses were beauties, but of the three, the bay Hanoverian mare she rode now possessed the most talent. Her registered name was Jennifer’s Kiss. She was long-legged with a floating, effortless gait, and she jumped eagerly and cleanly over any obstacle.

  It was a shame that Michael only wanted her for casual, weekend hacking, for the mare had incredible potential as a three-day eventer: a competition where jumping, dressage, and cross-country courses were combined for a total score, testing the horse’s complete range of physical capabilities.

  “One more fence, baby,” Alex encouraged. They rounded a corner in the make-shift arena - merely a large section of one pasture cordoned off with stakes and orange tape - and Alex urged her into a swift, ground-eating canter. They approached the four foot fence boldly, Alex calculating the mare’s strides, steadying, three, two, one, and they were sailing through the air. It was a clean jump, and after the landing, she slowed the mare to a jog, and then brought her fully to a walk on a loose rein.

  She patted the mare’s neck appreciatively. “You’re perfect, Jenny. We could go places. Definitely.” Alex relaxed in the saddle, allowing the mare to walk slowly and cool off. The late afternoon was warm and a trifle humid, and they were both lathered with an unsightly sheen of sweat.

  After the mare’s breathing had slowed considerably, Alex dismounted and un-tacked her, and then led her to the hose for a cool, brisk shower. The week had gone incredibly well, she mused. She’d hosted two trail rides into the mountains behind the ranch, which had consisted of an assortment of family vacationers and a handful of curious locals. They had been suitably impressed with the animals and the beauty of the statuesque mountains ripe with game and greenery.

  Alex had selectively chosen old logging trails, carpeted through time with soft, thick grasses, trails which led past lush overlooks and clear, rushing streams. Deer were abundant, and on horseback, seemed unafraid of the passing onlookers. She surmised that the human scent had been overlain by the thick and unthreatening musk of horseflesh.

  For some reason, she had steered clear of the realm of giant trees. The place felt strangely sacred to her now, a secret held between her, Ezra, and Jamie. Alex had decided to refrain from tramping through the pristine woodland with a number of loud humans and sweaty beasts. It just hadn’t seemed right…yet.

  She’d focused on spending an hour a day with each of the animals enrolled in some form of training, and had seen marked results from the effort. Between the horses, the chores, and the trail rides, she had had little time left for herself or Bold Venture. The stallion was young and spirited, and although he had plenty of room to roam in the pasture, he required more exercise than the docile broodmares. Alex vowed to spend some time with him this weekend.

  Eventually, Alex released Jenny to her stall, and the mare dived into her feed bucket, heartily devouring the grain within. She watched as the mare finished her meal quickly, smiling at the fact that although feminine in build, she was no dainty eater.

  Jenny turned, sniffing the fresh woodchip bedding, and then dropped to her knees to commence a lusty roll, grunting and thrashing her hooves high into the air with obvious pleasure. With a sigh, the mare rose, and shook her body from the tip of her muzzle
to the base of her long, black tail. Woodchips flew, the dust moving as a cloud into the aisle way.

  Stifling a sneeze, Alex vacated the barn. Glancing at her watch, she was surprised that it read five- o’-clock already. It was Friday night, and the house was mussed, definitely in need of some keeping. Having no social life anyway, Alex resigned herself to the domestic duties that lay ahead.

  She showered leisurely under cool water, and vigorously toweled herself dry. The phone rang, and she wrapped the terry fabric around her body and moved to fetch it.

  “Alexandra, this is Michael Dalton.”

  “Hello Michael. I just finished up with Jennifer’s Kiss a little bit ago. She’s a wonderful mare.”

  “Well, that’s good news. I had a feeling about her when I made the purchase, but, of course, I’m no expert.”

  “I’d wager that you had the right feeling. The other two are nice animals, as well, but Jenny is really exceptional.”

  “Glad to hear all is going well. It’s obvious to me that you’re a fine horsewoman. I’d love to watch you ride sometime.”

  Alex smiled. “That would be no problem. I’d be happy to arrange a time with you.”

  “Could I arrange a time for dinner with you? Tonight, perhaps?”

  Alex paused, a little startled. “Well, tonight’s not really the best-”

  “I’m sure you could spare a couple of hours for a client,” he murmured. His voice was low and husky over the telephone, but Alex read an undercurrent of arrogance beneath the smooth timbre. This was a man not used to hearing the word no.

  “Well...”

  “I insist. I’m anxious to hear about the week’s progress. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  She chuckled at his insistence, letting the initial unease slake off of her. What could a dinner hurt? She glanced at her wristwatch. “I suppose I could make it by seven. If it was just dinner.”

  “Good.” Alex could nearly hear the smile that now curved his dark features. Handsome features, and he knew it. For some reason, she shivered, wishing now that she had simply declined the invitation.