by Lisa Wingate
I felt relieved, let off the hook the way I had when Sleepy increased the distance between us in the horse corral. Jocelyn was right about me. I was a serial offender. Once again I was committing willful injury to a potential relationship.
Zach was silent for a long time, and when I looked up, he was staring out the window, concentrating on some point far in the distance, thinking. Probably figuring out how to let me down easy. An eternity of silence passed. I wished he would just get on with it. Make his excuses and be done. He seemed far away, as if he’d forgotten I was there. Maybe he hadn’t even been listening to my big information dump. Maybe his mind was on something else altogether.
In which case, he wasn’t a fit relationship partner, and my problem was solved, either way.
He turned slowly to look at me, his eyes reflecting the brooding sky outside. “That has to be hard.” I had the distinct impression he’d been about to say something else. “Having Sydney gone, I mean.”
“It is.” As I had last night, I sensed that he didn’t just hear what I was saying; he heard what I was feeling, as if there were some invisible connection between us. “It’s like someone ripped out my heart, and it’s walking around outside my body, and I have no control over what’s happening to it. I can’t think. I can’t function. I can’t … breathe.” I couldn’t believe I was telling him all of this. I couldn’t believe he was listening.
“Is that why you came to Texas—here to the therapy camp?” His chin came up, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew there was more to me than I’d been letting on, and he was waiting to see if I would tell him the truth.
I met his gaze, and knew I couldn’t lie anymore. “Zach, I have a confession to make.” An invisible fist clenched in my chest, squeezing everything. What was he going to say when I told him the truth? Then again, if I really wanted him to run away, why did I care? Maybe because I didn’t want him to run away? “I came here … for something other than horse therapy. I mean, I came to Texas in the first place just to get away from home and visit my sister, but when I got here, Laura had this idea of my helping Collie with an article”—taking a deep breath, I came out with it—“about the stolen dinosaur tracks. I’m not really a writer. I’m a lab supervisor for a museum in Colorado. I specialize in archaeology and paleontology. Jocelyn and Collie were hoping I could help find the people who took the fossils.”
Zach nodded, his face impassive, giving little hint of his feelings. If this were poker, he would have been good at it. “That explains a few things”—he glanced speculatively toward my mired Jeep—“like you visiting with Melvin in town, and being down here at the river this morning. But then, why the horse psychology class?”
Biting my lip, I tried to decide if the whole truth would cause serious trouble between Jocelyn and him. I wished he would look at me, react, give some indication of what he was thinking. He seemed to be calmly taking it all in, maybe waiting until he had all the facts before he exploded. The funny man didn’t look so funny anymore. There wasn’t a hint of the usual humorous twinkle in his eye.
I puffed out a breath. Jocelyn and Collie were probably going to kill me for telling him. What if he blew the whole plan right out of the water? “Don’t get mad,” I prefaced, “but the horse psychology class was … a cover. Jocelyn didn’t want to upset Pop, or you, and she didn’t want any of the ranch hands to know why I was here. She and Collie think the theft was an inside job.”
“Great.” He drummed the steering wheel with his palm heel—the first hint of brewing emotion. “We’ve been over that. I told her to leave it alone. That’s just what Pop needs now—to find out Jocelyn’s investigating his help. Pop’s got enough problems already. He doesn’t need anything else to happen.” The depth of his feelings for Pop were clear in that last sentence. Zach’s face was dark with worry and grief. It was obvious how much he loved his grandfather, and for him, nothing else mattered but Pop’s well-being.
I laid my hand on his arm. “We’re keeping it quiet, Zach. Jocelyn knows Pop’s health is fragile. But if there’s somebody working here you can’t trust, don’t you think you should find out about it before something else happens?”
His jaw tightened in response. Clearly his mind was made up. “If something else happens, we’ll deal with it then. I told Jocelyn that already. Pop’s not the addle-brained idiot she thinks he is. He’s going to find out what’s going on eventually, or else Dan will figure it out and tell him. Pop doesn’t need that kind of excitement. The tracks are gone. The damage is done. Jocelyn should leave it alone and let Pop recover in peace.”
“Just let it go a few more days. Don’t say anything to Jocelyn,” I pleaded. “I’ll be discreet. I’ll make sure no one figures out what’s going on. I’ll even take more horse psychology classes.” The last part was a feeble attempt to lighten the moment. To my surprise, it won a faint smile from Zach. “Come on, humor me.” I made a puppy face at him. “I’m having a bad day.”
“Good Lord, those eyes,” he muttered, shaking his head at me. “All right.”
“Thanks!” Leaning across the seat, I gave him an exuberant hug. The next thing I knew, we were kissing and my heart was thundering like a racehorse bolting from the starting gate.
By the time the kiss was over, I couldn’t imagine how I could ever have thought of this as a bad day. Today was a wonderful day. Sunshine and rainbows, regardless of the weather. It wouldn’t have mattered if I got ten Jeeps stuck in the mud, as long as Zach came to rescue me every time.
“Tell you what”—he put the truck in gear—“I’ll drop you by the cabin to clean up, and then let’s run on into San Saline. They have high-speed Internet at the library, and when we’re done, we can grab some lunch at the café over there.”
A lump formed in my throat again, but it was a happy-tears lump, the kind you feel when someone gives you an unexpected gift. “You don’t have to do that. I’m all right now. I promise.”
“I want to,” he said, reaching over and mussing my hair in a way that was both familiar and sweet. “Besides, it’d be good if I got online today and cleared up my e-mail from work, maybe checked in with the kid who’s house-sitting my place in Austin. The rain’s supposed to stop pretty soon. Once things dry out a little, I’ve got some more windmills to check. I’m on a mission to eliminate the need for the Bales brothers before I leave here.” Glancing sideways at me, he raised a brow playfully. “You might want to come along.”
“I might,” I said, smiling back at him. “You know what? I just might.”
SIXTEEN
DEAR SYDNEY,
MOMMY MISSES YOU. SORRY I DIDN’T GET TO SEND A VERY LONG E-MAIL YESTERDAY. I WAS BORROWING THE COMPUTER IN THE LOCAL LIBRARY, AND THE POWER KEPT BLINKING ON AND OFF. I THINK THE POWER COMPANY MUST HAVE BEEN TRYING TO FIX SOME LINES AROUND TOWN. ANYWAY, I’M SORRY YOUR DAD’S CREW DIDN’T GET TO COME OVER LAST NIGHT.
I didn’t comment on the rest of what she’d said about one of the crew members having been thrown in jail for brawling in some bar, and Geoff spending his evening at the police station, no doubt bribing the officials to drop the whole thing. I didn’t want to think about that. If I did, I’d go crazy worrying about the fact that Geoff planned to have his party tonight, now that none of his crew members were in jail.
ANYWAY, IF THEY COME TONIGHT, BE A GOOD GIRL AND STAY OUT OF THE WAY. GROWN-UP PARTIES ARE FOR GROWN-UPS, SWEETHEART. YOU GO ON TO BED EARLY AND LET THE GROWN-UPS HAVE THEIR GET-TOGETHER, ALL RIGHT?
I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD DAY YESTERDAY. DID YOU LIKE THE PICTURES OF THE RUNNING HORSES AND THE BIG WHITE DOG? ISN’T HE FUNNY-LOOKING? IT’S THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, AND HE’S SLEEPING BY THE DOOR. HE SNORES WORSE THAN GRANDPA DRAPER. THERE ARE COYOTES HOWLING OUTSIDE, AND IT ISN’T BOTHERING HIM ONE BIT, BUT IT’S KEEPING ME AWAKE… .
I knew it wasn’t the coyotes or the snoring dog that was keeping me awake, but I couldn’t tell my daughter that. My mind was in hyperdrive, reliving the last two days with Zach over and over again as I tried to
distract myself by writing tomorrow’s e-mail to Sydney.
THE DOG HAD A BIG ADVENTURE THE OTHER DAY. HE’S A BIT OF AN OUTLAW, I THINK. HE MADE A GREAT ESCAPE AND WE HAD A WILD CHASE THROUGH THE PASTURE IN A PICKUP TRUCK. FINALLY HE STOPPED UNDERNEATH A TREE… .
Where I kissed Zach Truitt while the Blum sisters looked on. By now, word was probably all over the county.
IT’S A FAMOUS TREE, AND YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE HOW BIG IT IS. WHEN YOU’RE UNDERNEATH THE BRANCHES, THE SHADE IS THICK AND COOL, WITH BITS OF SUNLIGHT STREAMING THROUGH. THE BRANCHES START HIGH OVERHEAD AND SCOOP TOWARD THE GROUND, SO THAT ON THE ENDS THEY TOUCH THE WILDFLOWERS. IT WOULD BE A GREAT TREE FOR CLIMBING. THERE’S A LEGEND THAT IT’S A MAGIC TREE, AND PEOPLE AROUND HERE REALLY BELIEVE IT. DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE SOMETHING FROM ONE OF YOUR STORYBOOKS? SORT OF LIKE THE MAGIC TREE HOUSE, WHERE JACK AND ANNIE HAVE BIG ADVENTURES …
Except in this case, Zach and Lindsey ended their adventure with a kiss, and not just any kiss. My body flushed as I snuggled into the memory—Zach and I chasing Mr. Grits through the pasture, kissing beneath the branches of the Lover’s Oak, driving back to the ranch, sharing a private lesson in horse psychology, our hands moving together over Sleepy’s sleek silver hide, his velvet muzzle beneath my fingers. Trust. Faith. Fear. Freedom. Climbing the windmill tower. Dublin Dr Pepper. Zach’s lips touching mine. His heartbeat. His smile. Watching the sun descend, the sky catch fire, then turn dim, the stars come out, the moon rise, heavy and orange and full. Sitting and talking for hours. Zach rescuing me from the mud yesterday, not saying a word about how idiotic it was to have gotten stuck like that. The way he listened as I talked about Sydney, not offering the usual trite comfort lines or pat solutions, just holding my hand in a way that eased the lonely ache in my body and soul. He’d spent the morning taking me to the library to use the computer, sat there thumbing through a copy of Lonesome Dove, patiently waiting in a chair that was made for someone much smaller than he was, as the power blinked on and off, repeatedly losing my message before I could send it to Sydney. He never seemed frustrated, or urged me to give up so he could get on with his day. He just skimmed his book, chatted with the librarian—the only other person in the library on such a day—and finally resorted to experimenting with the balance point of his undersized chair, tipping back onto two legs like a little boy bored at school.
When the electricity finally seemed to be recovering, he moved to the computer next to me, and we sat side by side checking e-mail. Afterward, we had lunch at the Sale Barn Café, where everyone knew Zach and was interested in me, and then we took a tour of San Saline. By the time we were finished, things had dried out and the sun was high and hot as we headed back to the ranch. We performed minor operations on three windmills, drove the tractor down to the river to pull my Jeep out of the rapidly drying mud, washed the mud off with the pressure washer at headquarters, then went back to Loveland for more windmill oil and supper at the Big Lizard, where we sat by the river in the moonlight, talking for the longest time before he brought me back to the cabin.
Only later did I realize that, all day long, the conversation had focused mostly on me, my life. We hadn’t talked about Zach’s past, not the more recent parts anyway, except that he traveled a lot for his job, and he had a home outside of Austin where he lived when he wasn’t traveling. He hadn’t mentioned the divorce, or why he was no longer Becky’s brother-in-law.
Why?
Of course, there were things I’d omitted from my personal history, as well. How deeply I’d been in love with Geoff. How devastated I was when he left. How afraid I was of everything. I’d revealed that I was investigating the stolen tracks, but I hadn’t told him that Melvin had shown me a perfectly preserved femur, and I suspected there was something big somewhere on the Jubilee Ranch—his home, which he didn’t want changed by horse psychology camps or, undoubtedly, the discovery of a major fossil site along the river.
It was wrong to keep that secret. Alone in the dark of midnight, I could see that clearly enough. If he found out by accident, he might think that the romance was part of some sleazy plan. My way of distracting him while I snooped around the ranch. Today when I saw him, I’d tell him about Melvin’s discovery. Somehow I’d show him that this—whatever it was between us—was as far from my plans as the sun is from the earth. What was happening was a matter of pure gravitational pull. I was terrified of getting burned in the end, but when we were together, I couldn’t stop myself from dancing closer and closer to the flames.
If I told him all of that, would he reveal the parts of himself he had so far kept hidden? If he did, what would they be? Then again, what if he didn’t… . ?
Rubbing my eyes and blinking away the sleep, I left off the analysis of Zach and returned to my e-mail to Sydney. I was finally getting tired, sheer exhaustion slowing the whirling in my head and extinguishing the sparks floating through my body like drift from a Fourth of July sparkler. As soon as I finished writing, I’d turn in.
I’d sleep in the bedroom where Jeremiah and Caroline’s picture hung on the wall, where they once shared a lovers’ bed. The thought of it brought an emptiness, a hollowness to some deep, needy place inside me—a place I’d tried for so many years to ignore. I wanted to love. I wanted to be with someone who loved me more than anything. I wanted to ride the sky-high gondola across the Royal Gorge and see what was on the other side. I didn’t want to be alone and afraid, insulated behind a chain-link fence the rest of my life.
Common sense told me that I shouldn’t be looking for a solution a thousand miles from home with some cowboy veterinarian I barely knew.
I focused on the computer screen again. On a story I could write the way I wanted to. Real life was so much more complicated.
I think I am in love.
I sat staring at the words, wondering if my fingers were in need of an exorcism. How was it possible that I could have typed those six little words? How could I have thought such a thing?
Yet there it was in black and white. I think I am in love. At the end of the line, the cursor sat blinking, demanding more, insisting on further analysis. I think I am in love … and, and, and? And what? What could possibly come after that? Perhaps some unrealistic Hollywood description, like:
When I’m near him, I feel like a completely different person. I feel free, alive, ecstatic. He makes me laugh. When he smiles, I catch my breath. When he touches me, I can’t catch my breath. When he kisses me, I feel like I’m soaring, like nothing matters but that moment. I feel as giddy as a teenager, as if my entire body is full of giggles and butterflies. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. Never been kissed like that …
Sitting back in my chair, I studied the words, shaking my head at their foolishness. I wasn’t a teenager, or some dewy-eyed starlet in an old movie. I was a grown woman—a combination of Control Freak Lindsey, and Mommy Lindsey, and Archaeologist Lindsey, and Romance Lindsey, and Practical Lindsey, who should have been able to think things through more clearly than this.
I started typing again, my emotions flowing from the keyboard like an artist’s self-portrait, rough and honest and freehand.
When I’m with him, I feel like a completely different person. I like the way this person feels. And then I wonder—is this the person I really am?
How can you know for certain what parts of yourself are authentic and what parts you’ve invented to make life bearable?
Stopping, I stared at the cursor, reading, thinking, afraid to put the most important question into print, until finally I broke down and typed it anyway, so that I could see how it looked.
What if this is real? Sometime between grits in the morning and Dublin Dr Pepper at night, I fell in love. Really in love. True story.
The cursor demanded more.
And now, and now, and now?
I had no idea. Until today, I would have never considered that love at first sight was even possible, though that was the way my father told the story of falling for my mother. They met at a party for
returning soldiers, they danced all night, and he knew. He wrote home and told his mom he’d met the girl he was going to marry. I’d always thought that story was fiction, something he made up to make life sound more glamorous than it really was. A funny little anecdote to tell at neighborhood barbecues and Christmas parties at the army base. Now I wondered.
Maybe the legend of the Lover’s Oak really is true. Maybe it’s—
By the door, Mr. Grits let out a deafening bark, and I jerked halfway out of my chair, the laptop sliding down my legs and clattering onto the floor. Mr. Grits scrambled to his feet and barked again as I untangled myself and reached for the computer.
“Please don’t be broken,” I muttered, pushing up the screen and waiting to see if the computer was dead, or had just gone into sleep mode when the screen snapped shut.
The dog growled ominously, and I forgot all about the computer. I’d never heard him make that sound before. Setting down my laptop, I moved closer to the dog, my heart rocketing into my throat as he snarled at the door, his jowls drawing back so that his long canine teeth flashed in the dim light.
“Mr. Grits?” I whispered, afraid of him, or whatever was outside, or both. I looked for a weapon and settled for a flashlight and an old walking cane from the hall tree.
Mr. Grits glanced at me, whined, then growled at the door again.
“What’s the matter, fella?” I stood looking at the old iron doorknob with the skeleton key still in the lock. Slim protection if there really was something out there.