Chapter 5 The Ranch
They crested the third rise in the road, the one she hadn’t dared to approach last night. There, nestled in the small valley below, was the ranch she’d seen from the highway. A wave of foolishness washed over her. She had been that close to a phone, a warm bed, and a hot meal, but her own fear had sent her retreating to her car.
Suddenly, a shape at the edge of the road caught her eye. “Oh my god,” she gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
He was by her side in an instant. “Are you alright? What is it?”
She pointed into the brush.
He followed her trembling finger. A hundred yards away, a lone coyote sat on its haunches, watching them pass with casual indifference.
“Oh, him?” he said dismissively. “He’s harmless.”
His casual tone felt like an insult, a dismissal of the terror she had felt throughout the long night. “Harmless?” she shot back, needing to justify her fear. “There were dozens of them surrounding my car last night! They were howling and…”
“Dozens?” He looked at her, puzzled. “There are only two or three pairs in this valley far as I know. Did you actually see dozens?”
“Well, no, I saw two,” she admitted, her voice smaller. “But when I got in the car, it sounded like they were everywhere. They were squealing and carrying on like they were possessed.”
“Ah,” he said, his expression softening with understanding. “That would spook anybody. Two or three can sound like a dozen, I’m not sure why.” He saw the lingering fear in her eyes. “You know, when I was a kid, their howling used to give me chills. I’d lie in bed thinking the house was surrounded and they were waiting to get me. But over time, I learned they’re mostly scavengers. They eat rodents and keep to themselves. They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”
She listened, incredulous at how easily he had understood, validated, and then dismantled her fear. As she watched the coyote trot a few yards away before stopping to look back, she saw it differently. From atop the horse, in the bright light of day, it looked lean, curious, and utterly harmless. The terror of the previous night evaporated, replaced by the blush of embarrassment. She was no longer afraid, but she wouldn't soon forget how powerful her fear had been.
They turned down the lane, which ended in the ranch yard. There was a house, a couple of smaller cabins, and some sheds. They were greeted by several nickering calls from the pens next to the barn. Even a dozen or so mares and their foals, grazing in the pasture, ambled to the fence, their curiosity drawing them closer. It was an unexpected and warm reception, a gathering of horses in every imaginable size, shape, and color. Each possessed a gaze that was at once boldly inquisitive and softly innocent, their big, brown eyes mirroring a certain untamed spirit that seemed to echo in the man guiding her toward the ranch.
"You head on inside," he suggested, pausing near the barn, "I'll get Bill settled and be along in a moment."
"Bill?" she echoed, a flicker of surprise in her voice.
A grin touched his lips. "We could call him Shakespeare, but the other horses might have a few laughs at his expense."
She dismounted, her heels catching slightly on the unfamiliar terrain. A stumble threatened, but his strong hand shot out, steadying her by the elbow. "Thank you," she murmured, a flush rising to her cheeks. "I suppose my boots aren't exactly 'cowboy boots.' They're rather silly for out here, aren't they?"
"They look great, and the jeans too," he mused, his gaze lingering for a moment. "But no, they aren't really practical for this country." He turned his face away, a hint of awkwardness coloring his tone, as if regretting the implication of his words.
"Well, then…" she offered, attempting to bridge the sudden silence. "I'll just head inside."
"Yeah," he nodded, his attention already shifting back to the horse as he led it into the shadowy depths of the barn.
She crossed the ranch yard, drawn towards the main house. It was unpretentious, bearing the marks of age and a touch of disrepair, yet stepping inside, she was enveloped in a comforting warmth. The kitchen, dining area, and living room flowed into one another, a single, open space stretching out before her. To her left, three doors promised further exploration. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, a hopeful search for a telephone. The sooner she could arrange for a tow and get her car fixed, the sooner she could be on her way. But something else was stirring within her, a growing curiosity that urged her to linger, to unravel the mysteries she sensed hidden behind his striking blue eyes. His bold gaze, when it met hers, evoked a feeling she couldn't quite articulate. It wasn't just danger, or intensity, but a form of wildness, a captivating blend of warmth and a hint of coolness, suggesting depths and secrets yet untold.
She halted her musings, a pang of guilt surfacing as she thought of Cameron, her fiancé. It had been a full night since she’d called his name in a moment of fear, wishing for his rescue. Her search for a phone in the kitchen proved fruitless. Moving into the dining area and then the living room, she found no landline. He, like most people, probably relied on a cell phone. She'd simply ask to use it when he returned.
Her attention turned to the walls, adorned with framed photos and paintings. In one corner, a large bookcase overflowed with volumes, and a nearby table was also laden with books and magazines. There was no television. The thought of a life without it struck her as profoundly lonely. And then it dawned on her: if he used a cell phone, hers might work. She retrieved it from her bag.
No signal. Perplexed, she considered the possibility that hers simply wouldn’t connect with the local service provider. She also considered that his phone might be in another room. She decided against searching further, not wishing to pry. The moment the thought formed, he appeared, the door swinging open to admit him. The two border collies scrambled in ahead of him, greeting her with the same enthusiastic fervor as before. She knelt to give them her full attention, her laughter bubbling at their devoted attention, their every stroke and word seemingly cherished. "You're such sweethearts," she cooed, scratching behind their ears. "And you are too. You're both my sweethearts." The dogs' affectionate nature reminded her of their unique bond. "Do they have names?"
"Of course," he replied, a smile playing on his lips. "Everyone names their dogs. Sam and Lucy."
"You name your dogs," she observed, "but not your horses?"
"You can call a dog's name, and they'll come," he explained simply.
"And horses?" she pressed. "They don't come when you call?"
"Not to a name," he confirmed. "Horses are… particular. Like cats, they'll come if they feel like it. If not, you've never seen a colder shoulder."
"You're teasing me, right?"
"Not in the least," he assured her.
"You're telling me none of the horses out there have names?" she asked, incredulous.
"Actually," he corrected, "only about four don't. Oops, three now that you've named Bill."
"You're not seriously going to call him Bill, are you?" she smiled.
"Why not? Bill's a good name," he returned her smile. "Unless you're set on Shakespeare, which seems a bit much for a horse."