Like That Endless Cambria Sky

by Linda Seed

  “Couldn’t we just … you know … walk?” Gen said.

  Ryan scoffed. “This is a ranch. You don’t walk on a ranch when you could ride. Breanna’s right. You’ll do fine.”

  In the kitchen, Lucas, the little one, was refusing to eat his pancake because it had arrived on his plate with a bump on one side, where an extra drop of batter had fallen into the pan. Michael, who suffered no such apprehension about bumpy pancakes, asked for a second helping as Breanna slid his sack lunch into his backpack. Done with that, she calmly cut the bump off of Lucas’s pancake and instructed him to eat.

  “Ah, jeez,” Gen said miserably.

  Ryan’s mother, Sandra, bustled into the room, looking harried but efficient, shooed the boys out of the kitchen with friendly spanks on their butts, and started cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  “I’ll clean this up when I get back, Mom. You don’t have to do it,” Breanna told Sandra, planting a kiss on the older woman’s cheek.

  “Oh, now, you just get those boys off to school before they’re late,” Sandra grumped at her.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Delaney,” Gen said.

  “Is it? Seems just like every other morning to me,” Sandra said, stacking plates into the dishwasher.

  Gen smiled. She didn’t know Ryan’s mother well, but she knew her well enough to know the grumbling was just a part of the Sandra Delaney gestalt.

  “Can I help you clean up?” Gen offered.

  “What?” Sandra demanded. “Well, I think I can clean up my own kitchen! You just get on with what you came here for. Ryan, show her around the place like you should have done months ago. I swear, you’ve got no manners despite my best efforts.”

  “I would, but she’s afraid to get on a horse,” he said, some amusement in his voice.

  Gen sensed that she’d been set up—Ryan had lobbed an easy ball right toward Sandra, who was about to smash it over the net.

  “Afraid of a horse! Oh, holy … Girl, are you kidding me?” She assessed Gen, hands on her hips. “What kind of upbringing did you have, anyway, if you’re afraid of a perfectly noble, people-friendly animal like a horse?”

  “I … uh … well, I’m from Manhattan, so …”

  “That’s no excuse!” Sandra declared. “Ryan, you go and get this girl into a saddle, for God’s sake.” She inspected Gen. “Well, I guess you’re dressed all right for it. The shoes aren’t the best, but they’ll do.”

  Gen looked down at the Nikes on her feet, feeling defensive. She’d thought they would be walking. She hadn’t known special footwear would be required.

  “You heard her,” Ryan said to Gen, grinning. “We better get going, before she grounds me.”

  “Don’t think I won’t!” Sandra said.

  The horse Ryan had chosen for Gen was named Bailey. She was a chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead, and she stood there with longsuffering tolerance as Ryan saddled her for Gen.

  “Are we really sure about this?” Gen said, sizing up the mare.

  “Don’t worry. Bailey’s gentle as a kitten. She’s the one we let Lucas ride.”

  “Well … that’s reassuring, I guess.”

  He sized up Gen with his eyes, then adjusted the stirrup height.

  “I think you’re gonna need a mounting block,” he said.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said again.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gen was atop Bailey, following Ryan along a trail that led up a hill and toward God knew where. Gen had never considered how ridiculously wide a horse was. How in God’s name had five-year-old Lucas ridden this thing? It had a smell, too. While Gen had to admit that the earthy, horsey scent that wafted up toward her wasn’t entirely bad, it was, nonetheless, an aroma she was not accustomed to smelling.

  The horse seemed to tolerate her in its own world-weary way. It plodded along, jostling Gen around, seeming to barely notice her as it fixed its gaze on the rear end of Ryan’s horse and got along with the business of walking the trail. Gen was holding the reins, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing with them. Nothing, she supposed. The horse seemed to know what to do without any guidance from her.

  The morning was cool and clear, with bright sunlight streaming through the leaves of the trees that lined the trail. She could hear insects buzzing in the grass and birds communicating with one another in their unfathomable language. Ahead of her, Ryan sat atop his horse with comfort and authority. San Francisco Giants T-shirt, Levi’s, a ball cap. The T-shirt displayed his broad shoulders and tanned, muscled arms. The jeans—well, they displayed other things that were equally good. Ryan was wearing some sort of boots with a short heel that, she’d been told, fit into the stirrups in some sort of way that was supposed to be helpful. That explained Sandra’s disparaging remark about Gen’s footwear. Nikes didn’t usually come with a stirrup-friendly heel.

  “How you doing back there?” Ryan called to her in a friendly voice.

  “Okay, I guess. I … whoa!” Bailey suddenly veered to the side of the trail, lowered her head, and started munching some kind of greenery from the ground.

  Ryan raised his eyebrows at her. “You can’t let her do that.”

  “How am I letting her? How is this my choice?” Gen said. She tugged ineffectually at the reins. Bailey didn’t seem to notice.

  Ryan shifted in the saddle with a creak of leather and looked at her as though she were a student who hadn’t studied for a quiz that should have been an easy ten points. “Pull up on the reins.”

  “I am.”

  “Harder than that. Don’t jerk them, but pull up firmly. Let her know you’re in charge.”

  “Are we really sure I’m in charge?” Gen said. Bailey continued to snack on something tender and green.

  He maneuvered his horse close to Bailey, took the reins from Gen’s hand, and made some sort of noise to the horse that Gen didn’t understand, but that Bailey apparently did. Gen’s horse raised her head, looked at Ryan, and then climbed back onto the trail. He handed the reins back to Gen.

  The ease with which he handled the big animals was ridiculously hot. Gen wondered how easily he could handle her, given the chance.

  “So … um … where are we going?” she called ahead to him as they continued on the trail.

  “Oh, I’ve got an agenda. My uncle wanted you to see the creek, which is running pretty nicely right now, by the way. My mom wanted you to see the view from on top of that ridge over there.” He pointed. “Breanna wanted you to see her herb garden. And the boys just wanted to make sure I showed you the cattle.”

  “That’s a lot,” Gen said, amused. “What about your dad? Didn’t he have anything to add to your list?”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “My dad? He pretty much wanted me to show you the road back to town.”

  “Oh,” Gen said, a little bit hurt.

  Ryan chuckled. “It’s not you. It’s the whole idea. Having an artist here on the ranch. He thinks the guy’s going to be poking around, getting in the way. Plus, my dad thinks art’s about as useful as male nipples.”

  Gen guffawed. “Well, it’s not about usefulness exactly. It’s about expression.”

  Ryan shrugged. “I get that. But you try explaining it to him.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “I’d really like to hear that,” Ryan said with a grin. He made that move along noise to the horses again, and they picked up their pace slightly as they rose up the trail and crested a grassy hill.

  The creek ran through the middle of a woodsy area to the northeast of the main house. Before she could see it, Gen could hear it—the musical sound of water rushing over rocks, making its way toward the ocean.

  Ryan dispensed with the tour-guide duties with businesslike efficiency, but it was clear to Gen that he was proud of the land and its grandeur. “The creek will be kind of low in another month if the drought keeps up,” he told her as they emerged on the trail into a shady, rocky area bis
ected by the creek. “Right now, it’s running pretty good, though.”

  Bailey let out a gentle snort as Gen took in the scene. Dappled sunlight breaking through the leaves to scatter on the ground. The sound of birds twittering to each other, the humming of unnamed insects under the leaves and in the grass. And always, the gentle murmur of the water, in a white froth as it tumbled over rocks, then clear and clean as it rushed its way west.

  “Oh,” Gen said.

  “Want to get down for a bit, take a rest?” Ryan offered.

  Gen did, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back onto Bailey again without the benefit of a mounting block.

  Ryan saw her hesitation and read it correctly. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you back up there.”

  “Uh … okay.” She considered the prospect of climbing down from the mammoth animal and found it daunting. In a moment, Ryan was on the ground at Bailey’s side, coaching Gen.

  “Okay, now, throw your right leg over to this side,” he told her. “That’s right. Now take your left foot out of the stirrup and just slide on down. I got you.”

  It seemed like a long way down, but Ryan was there, and he put his hands around her waist and lowered her gently to the ground. This unexpected contact, this feeling of his hands on her, made her pale skin blush. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. She turned to him, and he was just inches away as she tipped her face up to look at him.

  God, he was tall and broad, and the way he looked at her, with a kind of gentle indulgence, made her wish he were looking at her with the same kind of animal hunger she felt, but struggled not to show.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No problem.” He stepped back, giving her room.

  “Uh … Are you going to tie the horses to a tree or something?”

  He chuckled. “Nah. These two are pretty well trained. They know not to run off.” He pulled Bailey’s lead to the front and let it drop to the ground, as he’d done with his own horse. “See how I’ve got the lead hanging straight down in front of her? When you do that, they know to stay put.”

  “That’s amazing,” Gen said.

  Ryan shrugged. “They know their manners.”

  Gen’s butt was sore, and her thighs were burning. Who’d have thought that just sitting on top of a horse would make your thighs sore? Bailey was the one who’d done all the work. Gen felt like she was walking funny as she stepped over toward the creek.

  If she was, Ryan didn’t comment on it.

  Chapter Nine

  Ryan should have felt annoyed. He should have felt irritated. This little trail ride was taking time away from all of the things he had to do. They were heading into calving season, and he needed to check the pregnant cows to see which ones might deliver soon, make sure the calving pens were clean and ready to go. He had to check his equipment, do some work with the newer hands he’d hired for the season to make sure they’d know what to do. He didn’t have time to give tours.

  But as much as he knew he should be rebelling against this thing his family had pressured him into doing, he found himself feeling relaxed and happy. It was a pretty day. He liked being out here, away from his day-to-day tasks, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. He liked taking the time to just breathe.

  And he liked being here with Gen.

  Something about seeing her outside of her native environment—out of the little black dresses and the high heels and onto the back of a horse—made him feel good. Nature agreed with her. He liked her nervousness about riding, liked the way she gamely pressed forward despite her fear and awkwardness.

  Truth was, she wasn’t bad at riding for a first-timer. He’d seen much worse. He could tell from the way she sat the horse, the way she carried herself, that she had a natural aptitude. Shame that it had never been nurtured.

  They walked together toward the creek, and Gen appraised her surroundings, looking around her and above her, before turning to Ryan. “This spot would be great for plein air painting. Look at the light.” She nodded her head in appreciation.

  “Is that the kind of painting this guy does? Landscapes, that sort of thing?”

  Gen laughed. It was a nice sound. “God, no. He does abstracts. Bold colors. Big, slashing brushstrokes. Some of them look like the paint’s been shot out of a cannon. He’d scoff at landscapes.”

  Ryan took off his hat and scratched at his head. “Why’d you bring him to Cambria, then? Seems like he could do that kind of thing anywhere.”

  “He could.” She turned to him, her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans. “But environment influences an artist’s work—even abstract work—in ways you can’t predict. Everything he experiences—sights, sounds, the argument he had with his ex-wife—it all goes into this big blender and comes out as the artwork. You want to change the artwork …”

  “You change what you put into the blender,” Ryan finished for her.

  She nodded and smiled. “Right.”

  He walked over to the creek and sat down on a big boulder. “So, are you setting out to change this guy’s artwork?”

  “Sort of.” She sat beside him. “He’s good. He’s very good. But he hasn’t had a breakthrough yet. I think he’s going to. He just needs to shake things up a bit. Put some different stuff in the blender, see what comes out.”

  Ryan considered her. He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “That’s gonna be good for you, he has his big breakthrough while he’s here.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  They sat side by side on the boulder for a while, listening to the birds and the rushing water. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead. Nearby, a dragonfly circled lazily over a still pool of water and then lowered itself to the surface.

  Gen’s hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her neck, but a few tendrils of red hair had come loose, and they curled around her face. Ryan wanted to pull her hair out of the bun and set it free.

  “So, have you talked to Lacy?” Gen asked.

  Lacy. He hadn’t been thinking about Lacy, not at all.

  “Not lately. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh.” She shrugged and avoided his gaze. “I just wondered. That time at Kate and Jackson’s party, it seemed like you really wanted to go out with her. I wondered if you’d asked her yet.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head, feeling uncomfortable.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t think she’d be amenable.”

  “Really.” The really came out as a statement of fact rather than a question.

  “I get a certain vibe from her that’s … I don’t know what it is.” He shook his head.

  “A vibe?”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of, Oh, look how cute Ryan is, I’ll try to let him down easy. That kind of vibe.”

  “Ah.”

  He peered at her. “I take it I’m not wrong.”

  She looked at him tentatively, probably trying to gauge whether her response would hurt his feelings. “No. You’re not wrong.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

  Gen was silent for a few minutes, and Ryan wondered what unfathomable thoughts were going on in her head.

  “I don’t want to talk about Lacy right now,” he said.

  He gave her the full tour—all of the sights his family had recommended, and then a few he added in himself—and had her back to the main house by late morning. She was late to open the gallery—she’d wanted to be there by ten, and it was well after that already—but she didn’t seem concerned about it. In the spring and summer, when the tourist traffic started to pick up, Gen had an assistant working with her at the gallery. When the tour hadn’t wrapped up by nine thirty, she’d called him—a guy named Alex who Ryan knew a little bit—and asked him to open for her. Ryan had offered to cut off the ride and get her back, but she’d said that Alex would be fine and that she was enjoying herself too much to quit.

  And she did seem to be enjoying herself. By the time they got back to the house, her face was pink with sun a
nd exertion, and her hair was askew in a way that he found pleasantly distracting. She was smiling, looking healthy and vibrant and pleased with the events of her day.

  The house was unusually quiet, with the boys off at school and Breanna running errands in town.

  At first Ryan had thought he would be able to avoid putting Gen through a grilling from his mother, as it looked as though no one was home. But a few minutes after they came in the door, he heard Sandra scuffing down the stairs in the fuzzy slippers she always wore inside the house, calling to him.

  “Ryan? That you?” She sounded less irritated than usual, a happy state of affairs.

  “Yeah, Mom. I’ve got Gen Porter with me. Just finished showing her around.”

  “Well, what did you think?” Sandra came to the foot of the stairs and planted her hands on her hips, addressing Gen as though in challenge.

  “Your property is gorgeous,” Gen said, her face and her voice full of enthusiasm. “I wasn’t sure about the whole idea of riding a horse—I’d never done it, and they’re really big. But Ryan taught me a few things, and I think it went okay.” Gen looked exhilarated, actually, all pretty and pink-cheeked.

  Sandra squinted at Gen in that way she had, as though she were using laser vision to X-ray someone and inspect for internal injuries. Then her face broke into a grin. “He take you on Bailey?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ryan confirmed.

  “Good. That’s about as gentle a horse as you’re likely to find. If you can’t ride Bailey, you can’t ride, period.” She nodded. “You think your artist is going to like the place?” Sandra asked.

  “I don’t see how he couldn’t. Or, wait. Yes I do. Because he’s kind of … well. Kind of socially challenged.” She looked embarrassed to have said it. “But this place, it’s lovely. It’s inspiring. It’s the perfect place to bring an artist. Even him.”

  “Is ‘socially challenged’ code for asshole?” Sandra inquired.