by Kelly Wacker
“Maybe her new job isn’t one to brag about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s not as glamorous as working at the ranch or the new job didn’t work out and she doesn’t want to be seen as a failure.”
“You think being a stable manager is glamorous?”
“Working on a guest ranch in the Rocky Mountains? Yeah. It’s kind of romantic, don’t you think?”
“Only when you’re not the one working on the ranch,” Sula said with a short laugh.
“Point taken.” Melissa was shocked to see a river of red taillights in front of them. The summer tourist traffic was backed up to the edge of town. Sula put on her turn signal. “It’s like how people think being a professor is such a cushy job. I hate it when people tell me they’re envious that I teach only a few hours a day and that I have summers off. They have no idea of how many long hours I put in outside of class preparing lectures and grading, on top of all the committee work. Summer is really just time to do the research and writing you can’t do during the academic year.”
Sula nodded while listening and bypassed the traffic jam, taking side streets to their destination on the other side of the town center. A sign, painted with the restaurant’s name in an elaborate font embodying the flair of the Old West, hung from a cast-iron post in front of a striking two-story, polychrome Victorian.
The Buckaroo was busy, with people waiting outside on the porch, drinks in hand, but the hostess, seeing Sula as they walked through the door, greeted her by name and waved them forward. She led them through a crowd of people gathered around a massive oak bar with a long mirror on the back wall bracketed by decorative columns. The worn pine plank floors of the rooms looked original, as did the wainscoting and heavy wood trim around the doorways. Elk-antler chandeliers hung from the ceilings, and candles illuminated each rustic wood table. The hostess seated them at a table in a cozy corner of the back dining room and left them with menus.
“I see it pays to be a local,” Melissa said as she opened her menu and continued taking in the details of the casually elegant space. “When we walked in, I didn’t think we’d be seated for an hour, at least.”
“It certainly doesn’t hurt, but I hope it won’t lessen your opinion of me if I tell you that I called to see if I could get a reservation while you were dressing.” Sula grinned and flipped open the drink menu as the waiter, a young man with long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and sporting a thin mustache, arrived and greeted them.
“If you’d like to try something unusual, I recommend the Coniferous Cocktail.” He smiled charmingly at both of them.
“It’s good,” Sula said, glancing at the waiter. “I’ll have that, thank you.”
Melissa read the description—rye whiskey, blue-spruce syrup, and seltzer. “Blue-spruce syrup? It’s flavored with a pine tree?”
“Yeah, wild, isn’t it?” the waiter said. “We make our own syrup. The spruce tips are harvested locally in the spring and early summer.”
“How interesting! I want to try one.”
After the waiter left the table, Melissa watched Sula peruse the menu and felt her heart swell. She couldn’t think of anything that might make her feel any less impressed with the beautiful woman seated across from her. In her text messages, Beth had teased her mercilessly about being smitten with “the mountain woman,” as she preferred to call Sula. But she was beyond smitten. In the last few days she’d realized that she’d crossed the boundary between smitten and love, though she hadn’t confessed it to Sula. She wasn’t sure if Sula’s feelings matched hers equally. Sula was charming, caring, an eager and attentive lover, but she maintained a reserve that Melissa didn’t fully fathom. More than once Melissa had caught Sula with a worried, almost sad, expression. When Melissa had asked what she was thinking, the look vanished, and Sula’s answers were vague. She’d been at Sula’s house more than her cabin in the last week, and even though they’d spent an increasing amount of time with each other and were discovering unexpected, almost preternatural, connections to one another, they hadn’t talked about anything beyond the present.
The arrival of their cocktails interrupted Melissa’s thoughts. “Oh!” she said after she tasted her drink. It was light and citrusy, with a subtle woodsy flavor, not overly resinous, as she had expected. “This is fascinating.” She took another sip. “Who knew a pine tree could taste so good?”
“I’m glad you like it. People either love it or hate it,” the waiter said. “There’s rarely any in between.” He pulled his order pad from a pocket in his apron, flipped it open, and held his pen in the air. “Are you ready to order?”
“I’ll have the braised bison,” Melissa said.
“The poached trout for me.”
Melissa waited until the waiter left the table before speaking. “The trout reminds me—we haven’t talked about my parents coming up this weekend.”
Sula looked perplexed. “What does poached trout have to do with your parents?”
“Fly-fishing, remember? My dad intends to fish for trout on the ranch. My mom is just tagging along to enjoy the scenery and fresh air.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Sula said with a laugh. “But I assume they want to spend some time with you, too.”
“Well, yes, that and—”
“What?”
“Sula, would you like to meet my parents?”
Sula leaned back in her chair. “Do you want me to?”
“I do.” Melissa paused and took a sip of her cocktail, letting the gentle pine flavor roll across her tongue. When Sula didn’t immediately reply, she said, “So…do you want to meet them?”
“If you want me to, then yes, of course.” Sula gave her a sideways glance. “How will you introduce me to them?”
Melissa stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Parents are funny, you know? I could describe you as my lover, but that word would make them feel uncomfortable. I could say girlfriend, but I’m a bit too mature for that particular description. And truth be told, it doesn’t accurately describe what I feel for you.” Melissa paused, took a breath, and decided to just say it. “I don’t know if you feel the same way about me, but I know exactly how I feel about you, Sula Johansen. I have quite fallen in love with you.”
Sula’s eyebrows arched upward, and her cheeks flushed pink. She didn’t immediately speak. Melissa’s hands were resting on the table, and Sula reached out, touching them and turning them over. Still quiet, she caressed her palms with her thumbs. And she looked uncomfortable. Not exactly the response Melissa was hoping for. She began to feel a quiet panic rise as she considered that Sula might be trying to figure out how to break it to her gently that she didn’t share the same feelings. Sula cleared her throat before speaking in a quiet voice.
“Um…” Sula glanced around the room. “I hadn’t expected I’d say something like this in such a public place, but…” She looked down at the surface of the table and then met Melissa’s gaze. “I love you, too, Melissa.”
Realizing she had been holding her breath, Melissa let it out in a rush. “You look terrified, Sula. Love is the most beautiful thing in the world. It’s nothing to be afraid of.” She squeezed Sula’s hands, wishing she could transmit her surety through her touch. “And you don’t need to be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Sula took a deep breath. “I…I’ve never wanted something, someone, so much. But…”
“But what?
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I don’t know why you think you’d hurt me.”
Sula’s expression became guarded. “I don’t know how to do this…how to have a relationship.”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured to do or not do anything. Just follow your instincts, Sula. You seem awfully good at that.” An exquisite tenderness rose inside Melissa. “We’ll figure us out as we go, okay?” Melissa had already considered that they had independent lives, satisfying careers, and lived a thousand miles apart. It was a significant, but not
insurmountable, obstacle to this being more than a summer affair. But it was a supremely, heart-wrenchingly inconvenient detail.
“Okay,” Sula said in a more confident voice, her lips curling into a smile.
The arrival of their meal interrupted them, and after complimenting the look of each other’s plates and praising the wonderful flavors of the food, they shifted the focus of their conversation to discussing the upcoming weekend. Given that Melissa’s car was at Sula’s house, she planned to spend another night there and then rehang the painting in the morning before returning to her cabin to prepare for her parents’ arrival. She needed to do some grocery shopping and pick up supplies for grilling, which she used as a convenient excuse to invite Sula over to meet her parents.
“Would you like me to take your dad fishing?” Sula asked abruptly.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I know all the best places to fish on the ranch. From what you’ve said about him, I don’t think we’ll have any trouble getting along.”
“Oh, I think you’ll get along famously.” Melissa scrutinized Sula. “You sure you haven’t done this relationship thing before? It amazes me how you’ve gone from shy to wanting to cozy up to my dad. That’s what all the serious suitors do, you know.”
“Ha! No, I haven’t. I’m acting on instinct here.”
“Good. Keep following it. Like I said, your instincts are good.” Melissa took the last bite on her plate and chewed thoughtfully. “So…sure, if you want to take my dad fly-fishing, I’m certain he’d love it. He’s learning and can use all the help he can get, I think.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. The guides up here always complain about getting hooked by novices. The first thing I’ll do is teach him how to crimp the barbs on the hooks.”
“Why do that?”
“It’s easier on the fish if you practice catch and release. And without barbs, they’re a whole lot easier to get out of your skin.” Sula made gestures like she was pulling a fishhook out of her cheek. “A barbed hook goes only one way—forward. You have to cut it or clip the line and pull it all the way through to get it out.”
“Oh, God…I had no idea,” Melissa said, unsure of which was more horrific—having a fishhook stuck in your face or having to remove it. The thought made her a little queasy. She reached for her drink and took a sip. “Okay, so I think we have the weekend planned. My parents arrive on Friday, and you’ll come over early Saturday morning to pick up my dad. My mom and I will hang out together during the day, and I’ll make sure the beer is iced and the first-aid kit handy for when you return.”
Sula laughed. “The beer sounds good, but let’s hope we don’t need the other stuff.”
“Me, too. I rather like your face the way it is.” Melissa reached over, stroked Sula’s cheek, and ran her finger lightly across her lower lip. “Between Ursula’s paintings, the letters, and my parents’ visit, I feel like I’ve been dominating all our conversations…how’s your week been?”
“Good…busy…just a regular summer-season week. The visitor center is hopping. Our numbers are up, and we’re adding more volunteer docents and programming. I hate to say it out loud for fear of jinxing it, but everything is running smoothly.”
Melissa asked Sula to describe what her team was suggesting. While she excitedly described the possible new educational programs, the waiter cleared the table and returned with dessert menus. They both refused dessert, saying they were too full. Melissa knew that her underlying intent was to get back to Sula’s house sooner rather than later, because her appetite for something that would not be satisfied by food was aroused. She asked for the check and hoped Sula was thinking the same thing. The twinkle in her eyes seemed to suggest as much.
The drive to Sula’s was uneventful and comparatively quick, the downtown traffic jam having dissipated. When they pulled up to the house, the sky was darkening, and the stars were visible. Standing at the foot of the porch stairs, Melissa turned her face upward and looked for the constellation she knew so well. She smiled when she found the bright stars of Ursa Major seeming to hang in the night sky. “Ah, there you are, Sky Bear.”
“What did you say?” Sula walked toward her.
“I was just talking to my old friend, the Sky Bear.” Melissa pointed up at the indigo sky. “It’s what my grandmother called Ursa Major, or the Big Dipper, if you prefer.”
Sula stood close to Melissa, looking at her instead of the night sky above. “I prefer Sky Bear, actually,” Sula said. “That’s what my grandmother called it.”
“Really?” Melissa stared at Sula in disbelief. “Huh! I have a feeling I know who they probably learned it from.”
“Their mothers, I suspect.”
“Our great-grandmothers.” Melissa placed her hands on Sula’s cheeks, drawing her down for a kiss. Sula responded passionately, and Melissa swiftly succumbed to her wonderfully dexterous lips. When Sula’s kisses trailed down the side of her neck, she trembled and whispered suggestively into Sula’s ear, “You know, earlier today I promised to show you more of me.”
“Oh,” Sula murmured, her lips tickling Melissa’s skin. “I hadn’t forgotten.”
While the ancient light of the stars glimmered in the firmament above, Melissa laughed with pleasure as Sula took her by the hand and led her up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-two
The rising sun glinted gold off the rippling surface of Wildcat Creek. It was a picture-perfect morning: the mountain air crisp and cool, the skies overhead clear and deep blue. Standing knee-deep in the swiftly flowing water downstream from Melissa’s father, Sula observed him while keeping a safe distance from the hook on the end of his line. In a misguided attempt to avoid getting his line stuck in the overhead branches of a pine tree, he had gotten impressively tangled in a thicket of willows growing along the water’s edge. She resisted the urge to help him. He needed to learn how to manage himself and also to be constantly aware of his surroundings so as to avoid such predicaments in the future.
Having uttered a fanciful array of expletives, he was now disentangled and casting above the riffles as she had directed, allowing the fly to drift naturally with the current. She watched him with a critical eye; he was gently stripping the line as it moved past him. Keeping the line tight, as she advised, increased his chances of hooking a fish. He was pretty good for a novice, but like most people learning how to work a fly rod, men especially, his back cast was a mess. She reminded him to envision the face of a clock and to keep the rod within the ten-to-two positions. He had been trying to power the cast, putting the tip of rod far behind him and whipping it forward, the rod cutting the air with a whoosh.
But this kind of fishing wasn’t about brute strength. To do it well demanded finesse and the willingness to let the long, flexible rod do the work of gathering energy and channeling it through the line. He was just starting to get the hang of it, and his casts were becoming increasingly smooth and accurate, the tiny fly dropping gently on the surface of the moving water.
Sula hoped he’d catch a fish soon as a reward for his improved technique; the stream had a healthy population of fish. She had already advised him that if they hooked any native cutthroat trout, they would release them carefully, but they’d keep any non-natives the right size and up to their bag limit in an effort to give the natives a little extra living room. When Robert asked if it would be a good idea to offer a fish or two to Betty as a token of appreciation, Sula told him it was a thoughtful gesture, and she’d love it. Her cornmeal-encrusted trout, fried in a hot cast-iron skillet, was a simple delicacy.
Sula noticed a subtle swirl in the water and a change in color indicating a trout feeding near the surface. Robert was casting in the right spot, and if he laid the fly down lightly, he might just fool the fish into taking it. On the next cast the trout rose, its nose breaking the surface of the water for a brief moment. The fly disappeared instantly, leaving behind nothing but ripples and a bubble formed by the gulp of air passing through the fish’s gill
s when it snatched the camouflaged hook.
“Fish on!” Sula glanced at Robert’s face. He was visibly excited. He lifted the tip of the rod quickly and put his fingers on the crank of the reel. “You don’t need to crank, Robert. Just keep stripping the line and bring him in slow and easy. You don’t want to wear him out or injure his jaw if you think you might release him.”
Sula moved closer to Robert, removing her landing net from the back of her vest as she waded deeper into the cold water and took up a position alongside the grinning man. When she saw the dappled pattern and yellow spots on the fish’s sides, she identified it as a brook trout, a plentiful fish that could overcrowd streams. Sula slid the transparent net under the fish, careful to avoid spooking it, and lifted it slightly, but kept it submerged. “You could keep this one if you want, or do you want to release it?”
“I’d like to learn how to release them properly. Will you talk me through doing it right?”
“Absolutely.” Sula was glad he asked. He followed her directions exactly, wetting his hands before touching the fish, gently removing the hook, and then cradling the fish with one hand and holding its tail with the other, letting it rest to move water over its gills. “All right. You can let him go.” The fish wriggled energetically out of his hands and dashed off.
“That was awesome!” Though graying at the temples, Robert looked like an exuberant ten-year-old boy.
Sula laughed, recognizing Melissa’s expressions echoed in her father’s reaction. Like Melissa, he was hard not to like. “I’m guessing you’d like to do that again?”