“I'm Dahl!” she said. As our eyes met, I could see that hers were both brown and green, and they were positively dancing.
“Dahl?,” I said in surprise. “Like a kid's toy?”
Pete elbowed me in the side.
“Anna!” he hissed.
Dahl laughed and shook her head. The soft ringlets of her dark curls trembled against her forehead.
“No,” she said. “Dahl. Not Doll. Hear the difference? Mine has an 'a' in it.”
“What sort of a name is that?” I asked.
Dahl shrugged and tilting her head, gave an easy smile. She smiled as if nothing in the world could intrude on her happiness.
“Beats me,” she replied. “I didn't pick the name. My parents did.”
I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms, unsure of quite how to respond to that.
“Here,” Pete said. “Let me help you with those bags.”
“Sure,” Dahl replied, cheerfully. “Then I'd love to get a tour of this place. I can't wait to see everything.”
“Right,” I said, flatly. “Okay, well, I'm Anna. This is my brother, Pete. We grew up on this ranch and now we both run it together. Come with me. I'll show you to your room.”
I headed inside, with Dahl following right behind me. Pete was only a few steps back, carrying Dahl's bags in hand. We walked through the living room, hustled through the kitchen, and then up the back stairs. I led Dahl into the first bedroom on the left, at the very top of the stairs. I had chosen Mom's old sewing room as the guest bedroom. It was close to the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom, but far enough away from the other two bedrooms to allow for some privacy; for all parties concerned.
I stepped into the room and spun to face Dahl, gesturing around me.
“Well, here it is,” I said.
Dahl stepped over the threshold and glanced around. She gave the room an appraising stare, sweeping into each corner with those bright hazel eyes.
I had given the room a final tidying early that morning. There were fresh sea-green sheets on the bed that lay next to the window. I'd opened the window to allow for a nice cross-breeze and to flush out the remainder of the stale air. It had been quite awhile since this room had gotten used.
My eyes couldn't help but dart over to the large white cupboard next to the door. I'd cleaned it out to make room for Dahl's stuff. This room didn't have a closet, only that one cupboard and a wardrobe. It had been filled to nearly overflowing with Mom's sewing supplies, and the top of the cupboard was where Mom's sewing machine had sat. Removing these items from the room had been especially difficult. Mom had died nearly two years ago, and still I'd never been able to muster the strength to sort through all of her fabric, bobbins, and thread. Mom loved sewing more than anything else. She'd even made all of the clothes that Pete and I had worn growing up. Getting rid of Mom's sewing supplies seemed like throwing away a part of her memory. I still hadn't done it. For now, her massive collection of sewing paraphernalia had been relocated to the attic.
Dahl set her sunglasses down on top of the cupboard and then edged past me over to the bed. She climbed atop the bed and leaned over the side to peer out of the window. She rested her fingers on the sill and her eyes widened as she sat up tall, craning her neck to the side.
“Whoa” she murmured. “This place is beautiful.”
For a moment, my heart glowed. She sounded truly in awe of the ranch's beauty. Maybe Dahl wasn't going to be so bad to spend time with after all. Maybe I wasn't giving her a fair chance.
Then Dahl spun to look back at me, pointing out the window to the east.
“What are all those barrels doing in that field?” she asked.
“Rainwater collection,” I answered.
Dahl nodded seriously.
“Hmmm,” she said. “Right. That's so that you can collect water to store, in case of droughts, right?”
I shook my head up and down slowly, feeling the beginnings of irritation rising in my nerves.
“I read about that,” Dahl said. “It's better to build a comprehensive irrigation system. Something that doesn't just route water to different fields for crops, but one that stores up some of the water that it diverts.”
I attempted a smile, but I could feel that it was tight and forced on my face.
“Thank you so much, for that, Dahl. How kind of you to teach us how to run our ranch, especially with your many years of ranching experience.”
Dahl didn't seem to notice the sarcasm, instead smiling as if I'd given a genuine compliment.
Pete dropped Dahl's luggage next to the bed and then turned to me with widened eyes, giving me a pleading look.
“Oooh, hey!” Dahl chided. “Watch it guy. Those aren't cheap. I didn't exactly buy them at Macy's.”
“Oh,” Pete said. “Right, I'm sorry about that. Well, I guess me and Anna should leave you be. Give you a chance to get settled-”
“Hey!” Dahl interrupted, spinning from the window, and climbing into a cross-legged position on the bed. “What are your grazing methods? How do you ensure that you're not over-grazing, and that you're giving the field enough time to recover?”
“Ah, well I-”
“Because I've been reading a lot about sustainable grazing methods,” Dahl said. “I'd love to teach you what I know.”
Pete laughed. It was a strained and uncomfortable sort of laugh.
“How about we give you a few minutes to freshen up and get comfortable?” Pete suggested. “The bathroom is just down the hall, on the right. You'll be sharing it with me and Anna, but hey, that's ranch life. We don't have a big fancy house with a bunch of bathrooms.”
“Fine by me,” Dahl said. “I'm ready for the real ranching experience.”
“Great,” I said. “We'll see you in a bit.”
Dahl clicked her tongue twice and made her hands into little pistol shapes, pretending to shoot at both me and Pete. At the completion of this gesture, she giggled.
“Sorry,” she said. “I'm being a weirdo. I'm just so excited to be here. This is the first time that I've taken a vacation by myself, and I've always loved horses. I always wanted to live on a ranch or out in the wilderness when I was a kid. I had all the Little House on the Prairie books. I couldn't get enough of them.”
I pursed my lips and nodded briskly.
“Okay,” I said, and spinning on my heel, I left the city-slicker's room.
After Dahl had showered and changed into her “ranch clothes”, an outfit even more ridiculous than it sounded, consisting of high-waisted jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and of course, cowboy boots; we ate lunch. Then I took Dahl on a tour of the ranch. I showed her the stables, where she insisted on explaining to me how I could make better use of space. I showed her the cattle-grazing fields, currently hosting a mixture of eighteen bulls and cows. Here she told me about an article she'd read, on how to train cattle to bring themselves in at night. Down in the chicken coop, she tried to teach me the best way to check to see if an egg has already been fertilized. It didn't even help when I told her that we didn't have any roosters left on the farm. She continued to prattle on, even as I told her that our only rooster had fallen victim to a coyote weeks ago.
By the time we'd finished our tour and had made our way back to the stables, I'd decided that I didn't like her. She was arrogant, intrusive, brazen, and rude. She actually thought that she knew more than someone who lived on a ranch.
“I can not wait to get on a horse!” Dahl squealed. “Thanks for agreeing to take me out. I know that it's my first day here and everything.”
“No problem,” I muttered, sliding a saddle onto Sally. She was one of the few mares on the ranch that wasn't pregnant. The studs had done well this breeding season. I finished readying Sally for Dahl, and then started to prep one of the proud papas-to-be, for myself.
“Wow,” Dahl said, looking over the large, black horse. “This guy is massive. He's like the real life Black Beauty or something.”
“Isn't he gorgeous?” I agreed. “His name is Tim. He
's my favorite horse to ride. He can be a bit of a challenge to people he doesn't know, but he's an absolute pussycat, once you've gained his trust. He's fast too. I can do longer rides with him, than I can with any of the other horses.”
“You know,” Dahl said. “I read that when Horses have more fruit incorporated into their diets, they can ride longer, and they're just generally more energetic and in better physical shape. If all they eat is grain, then they tend to tire out easy.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment and sucked my tongue. I tried to keep control of my composure. Now this woman was going to try and tell me how to care for my horses? And why was she assuming that I didn't give fruit to my horses?
I fumed at her presumption and the intrusiveness of her statements
“Are you sure you wouldn't rather go back to the house and rest?” I asked tightly. “We can always do this another time.”
“No way!” Dahl cried, exuberantly. “I can't wait to take this baby for a spin!”
She ended this pronouncement by patting Sally lightly on the haunches.
I rolled my eyes.
“Do you need help mounting her?” I asked. “Do you know what to do?”
Dahl raised her eyebrows and blew a raspberry.
“I got this,” she replied confidently. “You obviously didn't understand me when I said that I've seen all of John Wayne's movies. I think I can manage getting up into a saddle. I've seen the king of western movies do it, probably over a thousand times.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Okay,” I said. “Go on then.”
Dahl reached up and grabbed hold of the horn. She hoisted one foot into the stirrup, and then projecting her body upwards, flung the opposite leg over Sally's back. I was more than a little pleased to see Dahl, flail for a moment as she tried to get her second foot into the stirrup. For a second there, it appeared that she would lose her balance. But in the end, she was able to regain control of her equilibrium, and sat haughtily atop the mare, preening as though the entire mounting process had been expertly executed.
“Man, I am exited about this!” Dahl crowed.
I hoisted myself onto my own horse and began to guide him towards the stable door.
“Okay,” I called back. “So hold onto the bridle, and use the pressure of your legs to tell the horse to go. Just press your thighs into her sides lightly to get her to walk.”
Dahl began to drive the mare forward, keeping the pace slow and gentle as we both exited the stable, but once we were out in the yard, Dahl sped up. The mare broke into a trot, as Dahl increased the pressure of her thighs.
“Dahl! Stop!” I called out. “Let's just go at a nice steady pace. You're new to riding. You want to be careful!”
I led my own horse into a trot and arrived at Dahl's side, just in time to watch her toss me a self-assured smirk.
“No way, Ma'am!” Dahl laughed. “I bet that I can keep up with you just fine, and I intend to get my money's worth. I want the full ranch experience!”
I found myself rolling my eyes, for what must have been the thousandth time that day. The full ranch experience. Really? If I told this fancy urban-dweller that the full ranch experience included shoveling poop and cleaning stables, I'm sure she wouldn't want any part of it.
******************************************************
The next two week's were the most irritating of my life. I had never before met someone who got so thoroughly under my skin. She rubbed me in completely the wrong direction. She bothered me, like an itch I couldn't scratch.
Dahl followed Pete and I everywhere, giving us advice we didn't ask for and getting in the way during our chores. I tried my best to keep her busy, giving her chores that didn't really need to be done, but ones I thought that she'd have fun with. While I changed the bedding for the horses, I had her brush their manes and feed them apples. While I milked the cows, I had her bring water to the calves.
Every afternoon Dahl took a ride around the ranch. As much as I hated to admit it, she really was a natural with the horses. She took easily to riding and the horses bonded quickly with her. Still, her rides were never very long. As cocky as she acted, I think she was actually a bit insecure in her riding abilities. Maybe that's why she wanted to do it so often. Maybe she was trying to overcome that anxiety.
The idea that she might be a little anxious, actually made me like her a little bit more. Even after two weeks, she hadn't gotten the hang of mounting and I had to stifle a giggle each time that she almost toppled over, caught herself, and then acted as though nothing had happened.
Dahl even began to present herself as a bit helpful. There was one afternoon when Pete took a turn escorting Dahl on her afternoon ride. I had wanted to stay behind and make use of the tomatoes that I'd finally been able to pick. This batch had taken an especially long time to ripen, or maybe that was just my impatience getting the better of me, making it appear that time was lengthening.
I stood in the kitchen slicing up the tomatoes. I was making my herb-roasted tomatoes. I sliced each of them in half and dipped them into olive oil. Then I started chopping up herbs. I needed seven different types for this recipe.
I was still chopping Rosemary, only the second herb on my list, when Pete and Dahl came stumbling into the kitchen. They were both laughing and carrying on about something.
“Hey guys,” I said from where I stood chopping next to the sink. “You guys are back early. What's going on?”
Pete and Dahl locked eyes and grinned, and then both burst into fresh peals of laughter.
I put my knife down and placed my hands on my hips.
“Seriously, guys. What is your deal?”
Dahl was took a couple of deep breathes and was able to gain a degree of control over her hysterics.
“The horses wouldn't let us ride today,” she said, and then once more joined Pete in knee-clutching, side-splitting laughter.
“What in the world does that mean?” I asked.
Pete choked down the last of his chuckles and then wiped tears from his eyes.
“Oh man,” he said. “I don't know, Anna. It was one of those things you had to be there for, I think. See, none of the horses were having it today. We took Sally out and she backed away from both me and Dahl like we had contagious diseases or something.”
“Right!” Dahl cried. “Then the next three horses we tried, did the same thing! All of them were like 'Ew! Get away from me!” and they all had these like, disgusted expressions.”
“Really, Pete?” I said. “You've lived on a ranch your entire life. You couldn't figure out how to deal with some spooked horses?”
Pete shook his head.
“I mean, obviously we could have dealt with it. But the whole thing was so funny, especially Dahl's commentary on it. She took every single horse's reaction as like a personal insult.”
“Hey!” Dahl cried. “Those horses were turning up their noses at us. Their noses and their...horse faces!”
I laughed, and Dahl caught my eye and grinned. She really did have very pretty eyes. The light was always catching in them, and highlighting the contrast between the vivid green of the outer iris, and the deep brown that grew like flames from her the edges of her pupils. She ran a hand through her jet black hair. I noticed how the dark curls accentuated the pale hue of her skin.
I turned away and began chopping herbs again. I looked down at my own tanned skin. It would never be pale and lovely like Dahl's. She looked like a delicate flower, even despite her brazen attitude. My own skin was always dark from working out in the sun. I wasn't even sure what my natural skin tone would be if it wasn't always kissed by the sun. At least my tanned complexion contrasted with my blonde hair and blue eyes in a way that I knew was quite pleasing to the eye.
“Let me help you do that,” Dahl said.
She came over to the counter and looked down at the piles of herbs splayed out.
“What are you working on?” she asked. “What can I help with?”
<
br /> I found myself surprised by her offer to help. She always seemed so self-involved. She'd never struck me as the sort of person to help cut vegetables for dinner.
“Sure,” I mumbled, without meeting her eyes. “You can help me get dinner ready. I'm just making the side dishes right now. I have a chicken baking for the main course.”
Dahl nodded seriously, scanning the counter in front of her.
I was suddenly nervous, with the heat of her body so close to my own. Her elbow brushed mine, as she reached over to grab the scallions. I gave a small twitch and my breath hitched.
What was I doing? This was the yuppie wannabe cowgirl who'd been irritating me to no end for the past two weeks. This was the woman who was so full of herself, that she felt entitled to tell me how to run my ranch. She thought that reading a few articles made her more of an expert than two people who had actually lived and worked on a ranch all of their lives.
And that ridiculous outfit of hers! Every day she wore a different set of “ranch clothes”. It was always jeans that rose so high they covered her belly button, paired with flannel, and what were probably very expensive leather cowboy boots.
Still, here I was checking her out in that gaudy eyesore of an outfit. She looked like a caricature of what city folks believed ranch folks looked like. It was as if a small child had been asked to draw a picture of a rancher, and then that drawing had come to life. But here I was noticing the way those jeans fit snugly to her curves, drawing attention to her hips and the inward slope of her flat stomach. As Dahl began to slice the pile of herbs, neatly into small bits, I hungrily eyed the way the peaks of her breasts were just barely visible. She'd left the first two buttons of her shirt unfastened.
She caught me staring then and raised her head.
I flushed and looked away.
“Yeah,” I said hurriedly. “I just need to cut about two tablespoons of each herb. Then I'm going to cover the tomatoes with the herbs and bake the tomatoes in the oven for about twenty-five minutes.”
“That sounds incredible!” Dahl gushed. “Mmmm, what does a hot tomato even taste like?”
I laughed.
“Well, you'll find out in about thirty minutes,” I said. “If we get these chopped quickly, anyway.”
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