by Janice Sims
A few miles more, and Jake was turning onto the road that led to the resort. As they approached, Cherisse took in the breathtaking beauty of ponderosa pines, their tips kissing the sky. Now she knew where the resort got its name. The lodge was made of hand-hewn pine, itself. The building was three stories high and blended well into the natural background of the surrounding pine forest.
She and Harry were greeted by the owners, Brian and Mitzi Raynor. Both were in their mid-fifties, Brian was tall and trim, with light brown hair and brown eyes, and Mitzi, also tall and slim, had red hair that she wore in a very short pixie cut, and hazel eyes. They spoke with marked southern accents, which delighted Cherisse, who rarely heard southern accents in her neck of the woods.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Brian. He and Harry shook hands.
Harry introduced Cherisse. “This is my good friend Cherisse Washington. Cherisse, meet Brian and Mitzi Raynor.”
Mitzi grinned at Cherisse and gave her a warm hug instead of shaking her hand. “Hello, Cherisse, welcome to Ponderosa Pines.”
“Thank you, Mitzi. This is beautiful country. I really enjoyed the drive here.”
“Isn’t it?” said Mitzi, taking Cherisse by the arm and escorting her up the walk to the entrance to the lodge while the men brought up the rear. “Brian and I instantly fell in love with the ranch when we first saw it twenty years ago. We’re a couple of hillbillies from Arkansas, much like Bill and Hillary Clinton, and we had never seen so many mountains and pine trees before. Wait until you see the country in the spring. The high-country meadows are just blanketed with fairy bells, lilies of the valley and violets. It’s a sight to behold!”
Behind them Brian was saying to Harry, “Harry, I have to tell you I’m a fan. In my opinion, you and John Elway were the best quarterbacks the Broncos ever had.”
“I’ll let John know that the next time I see him,” Harry joked.
Over lunch the Raynors explained why they were selling the resort “It’s become too much for us to handle alone,” said Brian. “We both had health scares last year—I had a minor myocardial infarction and Mitzi developed diabetes. Our doctors told us that we had to reduce the stress in our lives. And although we love this place, it is stressful sometimes. We always want to please our guests and some guests are not capable of being pleased. Am I right, Harry?”
“I’ve had my share of disgruntled guests,” Harry agreed. He usually let their complaints roll off his back, though. When you’ve done everything within your power to please a guest, there is nothing else you can do except wish him a good journey back home and suggest, perhaps, another venue might be a better choice for his next vacation. Harry never encouraged disgruntled guests to try them again. Who needed that kind of negativity? He knew he offered top-of-the-line accommodations and excellent service. He had his standards and they were always met by his staff or they would no longer work for him. It was basic good business sense.
“So, we’re moving back to Arkansas to be near our children,” said Mitzi. “We have a son and a daughter and six grandchildren between them.”
“Mitzi, you don’t look old enough to have six grandkids,” said Cherisse, smiling at her hostess.
“Don’t I know it,” said Mitzi, grinning back. “But I’m thrilled to be a grandma. They range in ages from fourteen to two. We had all of them here for Thanksgiving, and boy, oh, boy, did they wear me out!”
“And she’s looking forward to seeing them every day,” Brian joked.
After lunch, it was agreed that a trail ride would give Harry and Cherisse a good overview of the property, so they all retired to their rooms, Harry and Cherisse to a cabin a few yards from the main guest lodge and Brian and Mitzi to their suite in the lodge, to change into riding gear.
The cabin had a living room, kitchen and two bedrooms with their own baths. Cherisse put on jeans, a flannel shirt, leather boots and her down coat. It was colder in Montana than it had been in Denver. And from the lowering of the sky it appeared as if snow was imminent.
She met up with Harry in the living room. He was similarly dressed in jeans, boots, a long-sleeve denim shirt and a fur-lined jacket. He was also wearing a brown Stetson.
He stood with his right hand behind his back, admiring her. “You make a very cute cowgirl, Ms. Washington. There’s just one thing missing.” And he presented her with a Stetson just like his.
Grinning, Cherisse took it and put it on her curly mane. She’d put her hair into a ponytail and now the hat fit snugly over her thick hair. “How does it look?” she asked Harry, eyes sparkling.
Harry stepped forward and adjusted the hat at a jaunty angle. Then he bent and kissed her, slowly and with passionate intensity. It was the first time they’d been alone since getting on the plane in Denver. Harry vowed not to miss an opportunity to kiss her whenever they were alone.
“Mmm, that’s better,” he said, raising his head and smiling at her.
“The trouble with you, Harry, is one kiss is just never enough,” she said, and kissed him back.
When she let go of him, Harry had to struggle to control the tightness in the groin area of his already tight jeans.
Cherisse, as if oblivious of the state she’d left him in, flounced to the door and turned back to smile at him. “Coming, Harry?”
She’s going to be the death of me, Harry thought, and followed her out the door, hoping that once he hit the cold December air his problem would subside.
The Raynors took them into the pine forest to a ridge that allowed them to look down on Ponderosa Pines Ranch. As the four of them sat on their horses and gazed down, Brian said, “It’s one of the last best places on earth.”
Harry had to concur with that. The ranch was so beautiful and peaceful that those attributes alone should draw guests from far and wide. However, as a businessman he knew that guests liked creature comforts. Beauty, yes, but comfort, ultimately. The ranch provided both. He was seriously thinking of making the Raynors an offer. But he would sleep on it. Tomorrow he would know for sure.
It started to snow on their descent.
At one point they had to go down a hill in a single line. And since it had begun to snow, the horses now had to step gingerly on the terrain. Brian went first, followed by Mitzi then Cherisse on a gentle pinto pony that Mitzi said was called Slowpoke for a reason, followed by Harry on a more spirited mount.
Slowpoke was almost at the bottom of the hill when a sound like a buzz saw split the air. All of the horses were startled, but the three more experienced riders instantly knew how to control them. A horse that is properly halter broken would not pull against pressure on his halter even when startled. Harry, Brian and Mitzi applied sufficient pressure to keep their horses from panicking. However Cherisse wasn’t aware of this trick and did not. Slowpoke henceforth took off at a pace that belied his name.
Cherisse held on for dear life.
Harry took off after her, and Brian and Mitzi followed Harry.
The culprit behind the earsplitting nose, a teenaged boy riding a dirt bike, kept going, unaware of the chaos he’d caused. Slowpoke made a beeline for the pine forest and Harry yelled, “Cheri, duck!”
Cherisse did duck, but apparently not low enough because a low-hanging branch effectively unseated her and she wound up on her back on the pine-needle-covered forest floor looking up at the tips of the pines, in a world of pain. The air had been knocked out of her, but she soon began breathing again and knew that a lung hadn’t been punctured by a sharp twig as she had at first imagined. She had managed to hang on to her hat, which she suspected helped her escape a concussion. Her head didn’t hurt and her thinking wasn’t fuzzy.
Harry reached her and quickly dismounted. Running to her side, he knelt beside her. By this time, Cherisse was trying to get up.
Putting a firm hand on her stomach, he said, “Don’t move, darling.”
“Nothing’s broken,” Cherisse said a bit breathlessly, up on her elbows.
Brian and Mitzi arrived and assessed
the situation. “I’m going back to the lodge to phone 911. Cell phones don’t work up here,” Brian said. He galloped off on his horse.
Mitzi dismounted and knelt beside Cherisse. “Where does it hurt, Cherisse?”
“At the moment, my back and my ankle,” Cherisse said. “But I don’t think anything’s broken. I can feel all of my extremities. My ankle might be sprained, but otherwise I’m okay.”
Mitzi smiled at her and then smiled at Harry. “She’s not talking out of her head, is she? How can she be sure nothing’s broken? That was quite a fall.”
“She’s a nurse,” Harry answered, concern written all over his face. He met Cherisse’s eyes. “But in this instance, she’s not going to diagnose herself. She’s going to the hospital.”
That’s how Cherisse wound up in the emergency room of the Marcus Daly Memorial Hospital in the nearby town of Hamilton, Montana.
In all her years as a nurse she’d never ridden in an ambulance. It was a sobering experience, one she didn’t want to repeat anytime soon. For one thing, looking up at someone from that awkward angle, seeing his nose hairs and other things lurking within was no fun.
Harry wanted to ride with her in the ambulance but was told it was against the rules. He took one of the ranch’s vehicles and followed the ambulance to Hamilton and by the time he found a place to park, Cherisse had already been carted inside the emergency room and been put in a curtained-off examination room, where a nurse had come and taken her blood pressure and jotted down her various complaints. Now she lay on her back looking at the ceiling.
When Harry drew the curtain aside and strode in and she saw his deeply furrowed brow she gave a short laugh. “Stop worrying about me, Harry. I’m fine. This isn’t exactly my idea of a romantic weekend, though. And I hope Slowpoke didn’t come to any harm, poor baby. He must have really been spooked to take off like that!”
Harry grabbed a tall stool that was sitting in the corner of the room and set it next to Cherisse’s exam table. After sitting, he grasped her hand in his. “I’m sure Slowpoke knows the way home. How’re you feeling?”
“I’ll be sore in the morning, but I’m doing okay right now. My back and my ankle are a little sore but otherwise I feel fine.”
“No one has examined you yet?” asked Harry, turning to glance at the entrance to the cubicle. “Maybe I ought to go light a fire under somebody.”
Cherisse held on tightly to him. “See that?” she said, indicating her ability to hold on to him with such strength. “That means I don’t have any nerve damage, which speaks well to my not having any damage to my spine. A nurse has been in. I’m waiting on the doctor. Stay with me, Harry, and tell me how gorgeous I am.”
Harry laughed softly. Her hair was damp from melted snow but, resilient hair that it was, it hadn’t lost its waves. But somewhere between the ranch and here she’d lost the black tie she’d used to put it in a ponytail. It was a loose halo about her head on the pillow now. He gently ran a finger along her jawline. “You’re breathtaking.”
“She’s definitely a sight for sore eyes,” said a male voice from the open curtain.
A dark-skinned man in his early thirties with black hair and brown eyes came into the exam room and shoved his hand into Harry’s. “Dr. Mehta,” he said in a British accented voice. “When they told me there was a black woman in exam room three I didn’t believe them. I’ve been here for two years and I’ve never seen anyone who looks like me. I’m from India.” He smiled, showing perfect white teeth in his brown face. “Hello, Ms. Washington.”
Cherisse didn’t know what to think about this gleeful human being’s delight at seeing her and Harry. Shouldn’t he be examining her? “Dr. Mehta,” she acknowledged.
After his introduction he immediately dropped Harry’s hand and turned his attention to Cherisse. “Fell off a horse, did you?” He examined her eyes with a penlight. “Looks good. How does your head feel?”
“No pain. I think my new Stetson protected it when I fell.”
“Love those Stetsons,” said Dr. Mehta cheerfully. “Although I recommend a helmet the next time you go riding.”
“There won’t be a next time,” Harry said.
“Now, now, one must get back on the horse,” admonished the good doctor. “Isn’t that the old saying?” He put on his stethoscope. “Deep breaths, please, Ms. Washington.”
Cherisse breathed deeply while he listened to her lungs and then her heart. She knew to remain silent while he was listening but as soon as he finished, she said, “Is it true, I’m the only black patient you’ve seen since you’ve been here?”
“Oh, yes, the population of black and brown people is practically zero in this area.”
“Well, what kind of reception have you gotten?” Harry asked.
“Mostly the people are perfectly nice,” said Dr. Mehta. “Although there was the incident of someone writing the ‘N’ word on my car with spray paint. And I haven’t been able to get a date since I’ve been here.”
Cherisse didn’t know why that should be. He was a good-looking guy. Kind of reminded her of a Bollywood actor.
“I suppose Montana is still very remote,” Cherisse said. “It shouldn’t be surprising that this area is predominately white, but I thought that at least ten percent of the people would be of other races.”
Dr. Mehta laughed. “Yes, that’s what I thought before coming here. America as a melting pot, you know? Then I got here and learned I was the only black bean in the pot.”
“Gave you a shock, huh?” said Harry, warming up to the guy even though he was spending an inordinate amount of time holding Cherisse’s hand when he wasn’t even taking her pulse.
“I’m still in shock. I sometimes fly to New York City on weekends, where I have friends and relatives, just to get my perspective back.” He once again gave all of his attention to his patient. “You complained about your right ankle hurting, as well?”
“Yes,” said Cherisse.
Dr. Mehta went to the end of the examination table and gingerly removed Cherisse’s boot and sock and then ran his hand all over her foot, gently twisting it this way and that way, making sure her ankle had normal range of motion. “Nothing’s broken,” he said after a few minutes of this. “But I do believe you have a minor sprain. I’ll wrap in for you and prescribe a mild painkiller, unless you’ve got extra-strength Tylenol at home.”
“I always carry a bottle in my purse,” Cherisse said.
“Then you can use that,” said Dr. Mehta. “When you get home, take a long hot bath, really soak. It may ward off some of the soreness you’re going to have tomorrow, it may not. But it won’t hurt. If you suddenly start having double vision, nausea, or a headache that won’t go away, come back and see me. Your injuries may be more serious than I’m judging they are right now. But I truly don’t believe you have anything to worry about.”
The doctor was still holding Cherisse’s foot in his hand as he delivered his diagnosis.
Harry cleared his throat. “You said something about wrapping her ankle.”
“Ah, yes,” said Dr. Mehta, smiling foolishly at Cherisse and gently putting her foot down on the exam table. Humming, he went to the supply cabinet located next to the sink in the nine-by-nine-foot room.
After he had all the supplies—Ace bandages, scissors and the metal clamps that would hold the Ace bandage together once he had it wrapped around Cherisse’s ankle—he returned and began applying the bandage.
Harry stood aside with his arms akimbo, not cracking a smile. Cherisse turned her head to smile at him while Dr. Mehta was humming and wrapping her ankle.
Harry smiled back and his heart thudded in his chest. He blamed himself. He should never have let her get on that horse. Sure, she had insisted, saying that even though it had been years since she’d been on a horse, she wasn’t a novice and was looking forward to the trail ride. Still, he should have shown more circumspection. It was okay to risk his own neck on a strange animal, but not hers!
When Dr.
Mehta finished wrapping Cherisse’s ankle he asked her to get off the table. He wanted to know if her ankle hurt when she put weight on it.
She did, and it did.
Harry saw her wince in pain, and yet, heard her say, “It’s not so bad,” as she hobbled around the exam room.
Dr. Mehta had obviously not been convinced, either, because he said, “What are you, a martyr? Sit down. And you’re not walking out of here. You will get into a wheelchair. So don’t give the nurse any problems when she comes for you. Stay off that ankle for at least twenty-four hours. Let your husband carry you. He’s a big guy.” With this he smiled nervously at Harry.
Harry picked Cherisse up and put her back on the exam table. “You heard the doctor.” Then he offered Dr. Mehta his hand. “Thanks, Doctor.”
Dr. Mehta heartily shook Harry’s hand. Then he smiled at Cherisse. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Washington.”
“And you, as well, Doctor,” said Cherisse with a warm smile.
Dr. Mehta blushed and beat a hasty retreat.
In his absence, Harry said, “Now that you’re done flirting with the doctor I want to say how sorry I am that I let you get on that horse.”
Cherisse was in the process of trying to put her sock back on, but stopped to stare at Harry. Harry stepped forward and took over putting the sock on while she found the appropriate words with which to lash out at him, he was sure. Her lovely eyes were narrowed to slits, and she was breathing erratically, all signs she was irritated with him.
After Harry had put the sock on he gestured to her foot with the boot. “The sock was hard enough to get back on, forget the boot,” she said. Then, she grabbed him and kissed him with all the passion she could muster. Harry thoroughly enjoyed that kiss.
That is until Cherisse pushed him away and said, “Harry Payne, you didn’t let me get on Slowpoke, it was my choice! I’ve been taking responsibility for my own actions for quite some time now.”