“I know the feeling,” Mark responded. “She and I are happy to bring up the rear.”
Alejandro patted Caliente’s shoulder. “And this boy was a bit sore last week so I will also take it easy. You go on ahead Sandra, I will ride back here with Mark. Tormenta is never reluctant to leave her friends for a bit of fun.”
They continued to the water’s edge and turned left, away from the houses that could be seen in the other direction. The horses expectantly broke into a slow trot, ears forward, energy up. “Take a bit more rein and sit deep in your saddle. She will stay in a nice jog once you get her there,” Alejandro said to Mark. As Mark brought the rein toward his abdomen he felt the horse’s back rise beneath him, her neck arched, and she slowed into a smooth, easy, two-beat gait.
“Bueno!” Alejandro was smiling, matching Mark’s speed on his own horse. “Caliente is not quite so keen to go at a slow pace but it is good exercise for him. We all need to learn to keep ourselves in check from time to time.”
Tormenta was trotting fast, putting distance between her and her companions. Sandra raised her arm in the air and called, “See you at the end of the beach!” With that she pushed Tormenta up into a canter. She sat easily in the saddle, her body moving with the rhythm of the mare, Tormenta’s dark grey mane blowing in the wind. When she was a hundred yards down the beach, Sandra rose from her seat, leaned forward and found another gear. Divets of wet sand flew from the mare’s hooves as she galloped away.
Alejandro said something in Spanish that Mark couldn’t quite make out.
“Sorry?” Mark asked.
Alejandro turned to him and said in English with more volume, “She is quite a woman.”
“Right. Yes. She certainly is.” Mark’s eyes went back to Sandra. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
Tormenta was drifting right, into the breakers, the water spraying up around her as she continued to gallop. Some of the waves were just foam running up the beach, others a foot or more of water, and the horse’s gait became more animated whenever the water went as high as her knees.
“Should she be out in the waves?” Mark asked as they jogged along.
“Well, as long as they stay that size she is fine. Tormenta has done this many times before. But ... that one,” Alejandro pointed out further into the sea, “could be a problem.”
Mark followed Alejandro’s gaze and saw a large wave, at least a foot taller than the others, rolling toward the beach. When it reached Tormenta, the mare’s legs were washed from under her and both horse and rider disappeared into the surf. Alejandro’s black stallion responded instantly to his cues and they were galloping away from Mark toward the spot where Sandra had gone down. Tranquilo continued to jog along, not fussed by the urgency of her companion. “Damn it,” Mark said to himself as he squeezed the horse’s sides to ask her for more speed. “All right girl, help me out here. We can’t hang back and let Don Juan do all the rescuing.” Tranquilo broke into a rolling canter that Mark found surprisingly easy to sit. No wonder it was required that everyone ride one of Alejandro’s horses when they came to the ranch.
Sandra was standing now, holding Tormenta’s reins, wiping her face with the other hand. And then Alejandro was there, sliding to a stop and vaulting off his horse. For Christ’s sake, it’s like a scene out of a Hollywood romance. As Mark and Tranquilo cantered toward the others, he could hear Sandra`s voice and her laughter. At least she wasn`t hurt.
Mark spoke as he rode up. “You do realize that not every activity has to involve a plunge in the sea?”
Sandra smiled at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “Yes, smart-ass, I do.”
Both woman and horse were soaked, and he couldn’t help but notice how Sandra’s clothes clung to her body.
“You didn’t happen to bring that spare shirt with you, did you?” Sandra asked.
“No, I’m afraid not, but I’d be happy to give you this one,” he said, completely serious.
“I’m kidding. I’m fine. It’s the sand more than the wet.” She shook one arm and then the other, followed by each leg. “My clothes are filled with it.”
They had moved up out of the water and Alejandro was inspecting the mare, running his hands down each of her legs. “She seems fine,” he said. “I will take her for a little jog to make sure.” Alejandro passed Caliente’s reins to Sandra and trotted off down the beach with Tormenta.
“As you see, he’s more concerned about the horse than the rider.” Sandra chuckled.
“Does that bother you?” Mark asked.
“No, of course not. He can see that I’m fine, and his horses are his most prized possessions; well, unless you count wife and children as possessions.”
Mark looked to where Alejandro was trotting with Tormenta. “So, he’s married?”
Sandra was still shaking her legs, trying to get the sand to fall out of her jeans. “Very. Martina is in Cabo, visiting her sister.”
“Why do you say very?”
“They’re just one of those couples that’s more like one person than two. Know what I mean?”
Mark found himself wishing he did.
***
The return ride was quiet, each rider caught up in his or her own thoughts. Mark brought up the rear again, Tranquilo content to walk more slowly than the others. Every now and then she would break into a jog to bridge the gap. Mark reached forward and ran his hand over the hair on the mare’s neck. It was smooth and warm on the surface with the muscles tight underneath, the black mane sliding forward and back on its red-brown backdrop. He’d never ridden a horse just for pleasure; there had always been a purpose, a goal—and horses could be the most difficult creatures when you were working on a schedule.
Sandra and Tormenta were ahead of him on the trail. She was still soaking wet, her bright orange t-shirt showing through the light denim of her outer layer. He couldn’t imagine riding a horse in wet, sandy jeans, but she didn’t seem to mind, remaining cheerful and amused since her dive into the sea. Finding out that Alejandro was married had given Mark some relief, but he still wasn’t sure if Sandra wanted him here. The frostiness that met him when he first arrived seemed to have melted some, but she continued to be distant, like she’d placed some kind of invisible shield between them. It had been that way since they’d met, at least off and on, but now the barrier seemed more intentional.
They reached the dirt road that would take them the final mile to the ranch and Alejandro fell back beside Sandra. “Mark!” he called. “Come and ride with us, amigo.” Mark tapped Tranquilo’s sides with his heels and she moved up into a jog. He caught up to the others and slipped into the space next to Alejandro.
“You are enjoying my precious girl?” Alejandro asked Mark, looking at the bay mare.
“She’s lovely. I was just thinking how I’d never had the pleasure of this kind of ride before. And, truly, if all of my movie horses had been as easy as this one, I wouldn’t have needed the stunt doubles so often.” He glanced at Sandra. Her lips pressed together with the corners turned up slightly.
“Ah yes, she is a favourite of my more novice students. Often they will request her when they register for a clinic. If only I had half a dozen exactly like her.”
“I rode her the first year I came,” Sandra said, “and then I met Tormenta.” She patted the mare’s shoulder.
“Sandra prefers a less predictable ride,” Alejandro said.
“Like an unplanned swim, you mean?” Sandra chuckled. “She brought that on herself you know. I didn’t ask her to move out into the waves.”
“I am certain you didn’t. She has a little of the devil in her, from her sire.” Alejandro looked to Mark. “My other stallion can be troublesome, always full of mischief. Even at twenty-two he is a handful.”
“But incredibly gorgeous,” Sandra said.
“Yes, that as well. If only he didn’t know it.”
“I’ve known many an actor like that, far too aware of their own good looks to be manage
able,” Mark said.
“So, Mark, tell me about your work. I am not a watcher of movies or television—there are always too many horses to tend or train—so I apologize if I should have recognized you.” Alejandro reined in the dark stallion, trying to stay in step with Tranquilo’s steady gait.
“I’m not exactly a household name, at least not in America. I’m more often recognized in Britain.”
“For movies or for television?” Alejandro asked.
“Some of both, more movies in recent years.”
“Is that why you are in Mexico? Are you making a movie? If you require any horses ...” Alejandro offered his blinding smile.
“You would be the first one I’d recommend, but no, I’m here taking some time off. I’ll be starting on a new project very soon.”
Sandra stopped Tormenta to allow the others to catch up. “So it’s done then? You liked the script and it’s all settled?”
“Well no, not quite yet, but I’m expecting the script to arrive in the next couple of days. They’ve been doing some rewrites. It sounds very promising.”
“And you will go to England when it is done?” Alejandro asked.
“No, to Los Angeles, at least to start. I’m not certain where they’re planning to do the filming. Somewhere in the mid-west.”
“Sounds exciting, but I do not envy a travelling life. I had my share for twenty years and I am happy to stay home now.” Alejandro stroked Caliente’s neck as his eyes rested on the horizon. “I will not leave.”
“Ever?” Sandra asked. “Not even for a vacation?”
“Vacaciones? Now what would I possibly want a vacation from? All the years I travelled I only desired to be back in Mexico, settled on land of my own. Now here I am, so there is no need to go anywhere else.”
“And you have no wish to travel, to see places you haven’t been?” Sandra asked.
Alejandro closed his eyes, his body moving with the motion of the horse. “You must only stop concerning yourself with what you are missing elsewhere to appreciate what is here and now.” Alejandro opened his eyes and smiled as Rancho Azteca came into view.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The warm water felt luxurious streaming down her face and through her hair, washing away the salt and sand from her unplanned swim. There was sand in every nook and cranny of her body—between her toes, in her ears, under her fingernails, and in places that made her chuckle as she watched the tiny grains swirl around the drain in the red tile floor.
In the end it had been a fun afternoon and, despite her initial resistance, she had enjoyed Mark’s company. Why did he have to be so charming at times? It was easier to keep him at arm’s length when he was tossing chairs or going on about his celebrity life, so foreign to her own. He’d actually offered her his shirt, and it seemed he meant it. And now Alejandro had invited him for dinner and to stay over—damn his over-developed sense of hospitality! Mark would have been on his merry way this afternoon and Sandra could have continued with her ranch retreat. But, then again, he had been rather dashing astride the big bay mare, wearing that pair of borrowed Wranglers. What was it with movie stars that they could wear clothes so well? She spent hours trying on umpteen styles and sizes of jeans before finding a pair that looked half decent on her 49-year-old butt, and Mark looked like that in a random pair of jeans Alejandro had around the place. And, on top of that, he’d sat a horse rather well. She was feeling a bit guilty about her comments at lunch, mocking his riding ability and need for stunt doubles. But, so what, he could wear a pair of jeans and sit a horse, he was still not her type and she was still not interested in getting involved with him. Was that why he was here? The sailing, the art show, Pablo’s could all be chocked up to diversions from his troubles but driving down here to seek her out, that seemed something quite different.
***
“Again, you must excuse my lack of expertise in the kitchen. The barbecue is the only cooking appliance I am well acquainted with and so, tonight, we have steak with grilled vegetables and potatoes. However, to make up for my limited culinary skills, to accompany our meal ...” Alejandro pulled a bottle from behind his back and set it on the table with a flourish, “el vino tinto from my personal cellar.”
Mark picked up the bottle and read the label. “Temecula. I don’t know this area.”
“It is a small valley southeast of Los Angeles. Many of its wines are only available locally, but I have a good friend there who is a sommelier, and he makes shipping arrangements for what he considers the best of Temecula. I am fortunate to have such a friend, and tonight, I share my good fortune.” Alejandro gave a slight bow. “And now, how would you like your steaks prepared? It is organic beef from a neighboring ranch. They raise the Corriente cattle.”
“And is there a best way to eat this organic Corriente?” Mark asked.
“With a fork and a knife is my preference.” Alejandro responded with a straight face.
“Well yes, of course, but what I meant was—”
Alejandro’s smile danced in his eyes before lighting up his face. “Perdón, amigo, I am only having some entertainment at your expense. In my opinion, it is a shame to cook the Corriente too much and so I prefer it cooked to medium rare, at most. But, if you don’t like your meat a little bloody, then I can certainly leave it on the grill longer, and will not be offended. I will simply feel sad for you to miss out on the full experience.”
“Medium rare is good for me,” Sandra cut in. “Leaning slightly toward the rare.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll have the same,” Mark said.
“Enjoy some wine while I start the steaks. Perhaps Mark, you can open it? I apologize I did not allow it time to breathe. When Martina is not here to remind me ...” Alejandro shrugged and flashed a smile before turning and heading around the corner of the house.
“Is he always so ... animated?” Mark asked, still looking at the spot where Alejandro had disappeared.
“You know, he isn’t, but then this is a role I’ve not seen him in. Martina and her helper usually deal with the meals and serving. And with the horses, he is much more ...” Sandra searched for the word, “serene, I guess. He has this quietness around the students and horses, but a quietness filled with strength. He’s a remarkable person.”
“Paul said you were scheduled to come here next month, for a clinic or something.”
So he had been asking Paul questions. She’d assumed that’s how he’d found her. “Right, I was. I am. I’m coming back in mid-March to take a week-long session.”
“I was surprised you didn’t stay to attend more of the art show. I saw Pascual yesterday and he was disappointed to hear you’d gone away.”
“Yes, well, I felt like doing some riding and Alejandro had this one small window.” And, I was trying to get away from you, as it happens. “It was good of him to fit me in, especially without Martina here to help. He wasn’t anticipating two guests.”
“I hadn’t intended to stay the night. He seemed genuine with his invitation. Was I wrong to accept?”
“Alejandro is very genuine. If he invited you, he wanted to, and he’s accustomed to having guests. I’m just feeling responsible for his extra workload, since I’m guessing you wouldn’t be here if I weren’t.” Sandra meant it more like a question than a statement.
Mark’s cheeks flushed with colour. “I suppose I’d best get this wine breathing before our host returns to find it still suffocating in there.” He stood and picked up the corkscrew, winding it into the top of the bottle. It was a simple tool, a t-shape with the bottom end a screw and a solid silver bar across it for pulling. With it fully screwed into the cork, Mark grabbed it with his right hand and held the bottle down with his left. His hands were broad, almost working hands, which struck Sandra as odd given his line of work. But then an actor probably had to get his hands dirty from time to time, depending on the role. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and a simple, silver-banded watch was on his left wrist, standing out brightly against tanned sk
in. He pulled on the corkscrew, the cork not wanting to leave its home, and the muscles in his hand and forearm flexed with the effort.
“You have a better method maybe?” His words came out strained.
Sandra didn’t respond, not understanding the question.
“You just looked like you might be sorting out another way of getting the job done.”
“Only a different kind of corkscrew, one of the little guys with the pull-down arms.” She motioned with her hands. “This type must have been developed for men to show off their strength.”
“Well it’s not working in my case.” Mark adjusted the bottle and pulled on the cork again. He gave one final tug, extracting the cork from its secure position. “Ah! There, you confounded thing!”
Sandra clapped her hands. “Well done, Sir Mark. You have saved the day.”
“Wine, m’lady?” Mark extended the bottle toward her glass. “It will breathe all the better out of this vitreous prison.”
He was smiling at her, with his eyes as much as his lips. His hair was lying in curls at his forehead giving him a boyish, vulnerable appearance. She met his gaze and felt pulled into those eyes the camera loved to show in close-up. “Yes ... please.”
***
Despite Alejandro’s professed lack of culinary skills, dinner was delicious: steak grilled to perfection, potatoes seasoned in a blend of spices he’d not divulge, and a mix of winter vegetables that tasted fresh from the garden.
“You sell yourself short, Alejandro. Your cooking skills rival your horsemanship,” Sandra said before putting the final bite of steak in her mouth.
“Well, thank you.” Alejandro gave a gracious nod of his head. “I do my best.”
“And the wine ... I don’t know what to say about that; simply ... perfect.” Sandra picked up her glass.
“Perhaps I will let Martina lead the next clinic and I will prepare the meals.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Sandra laughed. “I think Martina is still master of the kitchen.”
“You are correct, but she is also a very good horsewoman. Many people do not know this because she is chained to the stove when a clinic is running.”
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