Chapter Seven
Wednesday dawned as the next day inevitably does.
For some reason that reality of passing time hit me hard this morning. We had eight weeks here and one of those was already gone. That meant I only had seven more weeks to dodge Rodrigo’s offer of a horseback ride.
But it was also seven weeks of my life. It was time to do something I wanted to do.
All I had to do was figure out what that was.
I took possession of the shower before the other two got up. Years of having to get up early to milk the small dairy herd we’d kept were finally paying off.
I took my clothes into the small closet that served as the shower, then stood underneath a strong spray. They had good water pressure in Texas.
Traveling around the country made me notice things like that. There’d been one, somewhat rundown, place in Georgia that could barely produce a trickle, in spite of all the lakes and ponds the area sprouted.
Hair washed, body cleaned and clad, I emerged from the shower. The aroma of coffee from the kitchen enticed me in that direction, so I tossed my night clothes on my bed in the back and headed to the kitchen. Diane was already up, a steaming mug in one hand, a steamy novel in the other.
“How can you read that trash?” I asked.
Diane shrugged and kept reading.
Must be a good one. Every once in a while I thought about picking up a romance novel, but I didn’t want to read about something I’d never have again.
No, I’d rather read about something that happened a long time ago.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
I looked at the car schedule. Today was blank. I quickly scribbled my name, even though I had no idea where I would go. Anyplace out of here would be good.
I poured myself a cup of coffee .
Diane was in the shower, and Liz was doing yoga on a mat outside the RV when Rodrigo called.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Hello.”
“I was wondering if I could entice you with coffee sometime today. There’s a lovely place not far from your RV park. Not only do they have good espresso, but their sweet rolls are the best in the county.”
“I’m not sure. We may have things planned.”
The blank calendar taunted me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rodrigo said. “I was thinking if we had coffee first, then it would be easier for you to come to the ranch and go riding.”
He had it backwards. Sitting on a horse and talking about the ranch around us would be so much easier than staring across a table at him trying to think of something to say.
“No, that’s not it at all,” I said. “I’ve been really busy.”
“I understand. There must be a lot of work to do around an RV.”
Was there a little bit of sarcasm in his voice?
“It’s amazing how many little things break,” I told him. “Driving on highways that need repair—all that bouncing—it tends to wear connections and cheap fittings down.”
“Yes, of course.”
No mistaking it. He thought I was putting him on.
Even I knew I wasn’t being entirely truthful.
It was time to pull up my big girl panties and go riding. I’d made the petition to St. Jude; everything should be just fine. No danger of falling into this man’s arms or developing a sudden urge to read bodice rippers.
“How about Friday for the ride?” I asked, checking the car schedule before I answered. Liz was already scheduled in the afternoon, but she could paint in the park. I needed to get this ride done and dusted.
“That would work for me,” he said. “I can’t wait to get you up on Star of Arabia. You’ll be amazed at the feeling.”
“I’m sure.” I thought of all the aching muscles I was going to have once I got off the horse. It had been over six months since I’d climbed on one of the beasts. Thinking about it made me realize how much I’d been missing it.
“Thank you for agreeing,” Rodrigo said. “I’ve been looking forward to you saying yes. ”
I decided not to ask why.
We made arrangements and ended the call.
“Who was that?” Diane asked as she emerged from the back looking ready to start her day.
“No one important,” I said, not ready to discuss my upcoming ride until I had to.
She wasn’t happy with the answer, but must have decided to let it go, because she remained silent.
Liz came in the door and walked straight to the car schedule.
“Where are you going?” she asked me.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Then let me have the car. I have a wonderful idea for a painting.”
I shook my head. “Not happening. And I also need it on Friday.”
“I’m already on the schedule for Friday.” Liz had her mat rolled up under one arm, and both fists pressed into her hips.
There was no way around it. I was going to have to tell them why I needed the car.
“It’s your fault. You’re the ones who dared me.”
“You’re going riding?” Diane asked.
“Really?” Liz added.
I nodded. “I need the car to get there.”
“He could come get you,” Diane said.
I almost threw up at the thought of being in a car with that man. It would be almost as bad as the coffee shop, except I could look at the scenery while trying to come up with something to say.
“No. That’s not happening,” I said.
“I could take you on the scooter,” she said.
“The way they drive here? In those big honkin’ trucks? Are you out of your mind?”
Liz started laughing.
“What!” I glared at her.
“If you could see yourself right now. The expression on your face is exactly like Mom’s when she was whipping up a good mad at one of us.”
“As long as everyone understands that I’m taking the car on Friday, and it’s your fault,” I said, pointing a finger at my yoga-practicing sister, “I don’t give a rat’s ass what I look like.”
Diane started laughing too.
I eyed both of them.
Then I couldn’t help myself.
I flopped back on the couch and lost it .
By the time we all recovered, whatever tension there’d been had evaporated, like the air clearing after a full-blown thunderstorm on the plains.
“Do I get the car?” I asked.
“Yes,” they said simultaneously.
“Good.” I picked up my purse and phone, and beat it out of the RV before they changed their minds.
~ ~ ~
I treated myself at a bookstore, picking up a magazine devoted to weaving which I read while indulging in a second, solitary cup of coffee. Scrolling through my phone, I found a local fiber store that promised more than the typical skeins of colorful yarn and a few packages of roving for spinning.
It had been a long time since I’d found a store that had a good supply of yarns for weaving, as well as a knowledgeable staff. While the loom I’d brought with me was on the small side, it was perfect for my relative beginner status. It would also be the right size if I ever found a fiber arts group like Genna had suggested.
In my heart of hearts, though, I wanted to graduate to a floor loom. It didn’t have to be huge, just big enough to weave a sizeable cloth piece. I’d seen a video about a woman who’d created her own wedding dress from the wool of a particular sheep, including preparing, spinning, weaving, and sewing her creation.
I didn’t have that kind of ambition, but the loom and weaving gave me peace I didn’t find anywhere else.
Punching the directions into the phone’s GPS, I drove to the store.
The place turned out to be everything I love in a fiber store. Not only was there yarn of every possible color and weight, but there were large spools of roving for spinners, beautifully crafted equipment for all types of fiber arts, and a colorful array of yarn designed for weaving.
I was in the earthly version of my particular heaven.
There were even several types of looms, including a small floor model.
“Can I help you with something?” asked a slim woman with her gray hair cut short in a practical style. Her voice was softly Southern without being sugary enough to bring on diabetes just by listening to her.
“I’m only looking,” I said.
“That’s fine,” she said. “Many of us look for a long time before we find the loom that will be the right companion for the hours we want to spend with it. With the price tag on some of these, it’s harder than choosing a husband.”
Her dry sense of humor took me aback for a second, then I grinned.
“Do you have questions on any of them?” she asked with her own smile. “I wouldn’t want you winding up with the wrong man.”
“Already have that merit badge,” I said.
“I’m sorry, but I understand. I have one of those too.”
Bonding complete, I began to ask questions about some of the models that seemed slightly advanced from the one I had now. The woman, who introduced herself as Donna, answered every question I had with infinite patience.
At the end, I couldn’t help myself. I touched the floor model, trying to avoid looking at the price tag.
“Everyone dreams of that,” Donna said. “But it’s not practical for most people. It takes up a chunk of space.”
I nodded. If I were going back to the ranch house, I’d be able to take over one of the old bedrooms.
But Patrick was there now with his family, and it was my fondest wish that he take over running the family ranch. Megan was invested in her husband’s sugar beet farm, and Liz’s son, Stephan, was an East Coast artist.
No, it was up to my family, as it always had been. Much as I griped about Michael, he’d been a steadfast rancher. We’d kept it going and made a good profit until the end.
“How long are you going to be around?” Donna asked.
I’d told her we were on a year-long road trip.
“Roughly six more weeks,” I said.
“I’ll give you a list of classes. We’d love to have you join us. It’s a good group.”
I took the paper she handed me and scanned it. One class jumped out: weaving lace.
“Is this very difficult?” I asked.
“It can be a little tricky to set up, but once you have the pattern in your head, it gets to be like everything else: meditative. But you need to pay attention at some level.”
“I’ll have to think about it. I’d love to be able to make lace.” Somewhere—if Michael hadn’t gotten his hands on it—was a stash of old Irish lace that had made its way across the Atlantic and the bulk of the country intact .
I needed to find it and get it to Megan.
Come to think of it, I should make a proper job of it. Clean out that old house so Patrick could really make it his.
Then, I could step off onto the rest of my solitary adventure with a lighter load.