Chapter Thirteen
Star nuzzled me as I placed the saddle blanket on her back.
“I know, sweetie,” I told her, slipping her another carrot from my pocket. “You deserve a soft, bright blanket with silver decorations and long streamers attached to the corners.”
The horse nodded her head as if to agree with me.
“It’s a good thing you don’t own that horse,” Rodrigo said. “You would spoil her to death.”
“She deserves it. She’s a princess, aren’t you, girl?” I patted her again, then walked to where the saddle was stored and picked it up.
I almost didn’t recognize myself. I hadn’t cooed at anyone or anything since my kids were babies. Stranger still, I was comfortable doing it around Rodrigo. He kidded me, but he did it with gentleness.
As soon as we were saddled up, he led the way out of the barn. There was a large saddle bag on his horse where he’d stowed the picnic lunch Antonia had prepared.
A housekeeper and cook was someone I could sincerely get used to having around, in spite of my desire to live alone. Maybe someone who came in once a week?
The size of Liz’s house barely made it worth it.
We rode through a different section of the property. Rodrigo had told me there was a gate with access to a nature preserve. It was a good time of year for birds and even some wildlife. We’d need to be on the lookout for black bears. In recent years, they’d migrated up from Mexico and were repopulating the southern part of the state after being hunted to extinction a few centuries ago.
The morning sun was warm on the back of my new blouse, but not hot. I’d worn my least rundown hat, knowing how my face burned in too much sun. As we rode, I was lulled to contentment by the soft thud of the horse’s hooves on the packed soil, the jangle of the bit, and the chirps of birds warning of our travel through their territory.
Rodrigo sat in his saddle well, the mark of an experienced horseman. Watching him ride made me feel good. I didn’t know how else to explain it. Being out here in nature, with a good horse beneath me and his companionship was as perfect as it got in my world.
Michael and I had never been easy like this. There was always an agenda, something to do. In high school, he’d soaked up everything he could from the ag kids headed to Bozeman or Dillan, knowing his parents would never send him to college. On the day before graduation, he proposed to me, but didn’t get around to marrying me until my dad had agreed to take him on as an assistant ranch manager. In between, he’d worked at every ranch he could, except his parents’. That ranch was being taken over by his oldest brother, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Until I started spending time with Rodrigo, I hadn’t realized how tightly wound Michael had been all his life.
Rodrigo dismounted and opened the gate to the preserve so I could ride through, before closing the gate and getting back on his own horse.
“There’s a clearing by a stream about a mile that way. I thought it would be a good place for lunch.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said, giving him a smile.
He nodded and once again led the way.
The trees were closer and the grass taller without grazing cattle to mow it down. Here and there I could see where deer had been browsing on branches. A little bit of a breeze flowed through this stretch, fluttering the leaves. A bright yellow butterfly danced around me for a while before taking off.
All my worries, which were small at this point, drifted away.
The landscape opened up, and we were able to ride side by side.
“What do you think of chickens?” he asked.
“They lay eggs, they make a lot of noise, and they’re dirty,” I replied.
He chuckled.
“That’s exactly my opinion. When we were children, one of us had to gather eggs in the morning. We rotated duty. Sometimes I bribed my youngest sister to take my turn. I’d rather do anything than deal with those birds.”
“What were the other chores?”
“Feeding the goats, helping Mamá make school lunches, putting food and water out for the cats and dogs, scattering corn for the chickens.”
“Life on a ranch,” I said. “Every day … So you didn’t mind feeding the chickens?”
“No. It was cleaner. You never know what you’ll find under a hen. And some of them get really vicious when you’re poking around their nest. ”
“Yep. We had them too, for a while. Michael didn’t like them, so when they died off, we didn’t replace them.”
“That’s what I did too,” Rodrigo said.
“So why are you thinking about them now?”
“Juan thinks we should diversify.”
I nodded. Beef could be an iffy business.
“But he’s not thinking about a small operation, no. Not my son. He wants an entire field set aside for the birds. He’s talking about a moving hen house.”
“A what?”
“The chicken coop is mobile, so it can be moved. Juan wants to reseed an entire field with organic and native grasses, then move the coop twice a week. He says it keeps the chickens from destroying the area around their hen house, and gives them a richer diet of bugs and what have you. Well-fed chickens produce better eggs, at least according to Juan.”
“Interesting. And it’s true. They do scratch the area around their coop down to nothing.” I thought about the whole concept. It made total sense to me, but it was still going to involve someone going out and getting eggs.
“I sent Juan to the best school I could, and he’s always reading and attending conferences. He’s convinced this is the way to go.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I gave him a field and told him he can do with it what he wants. The only thing he has to remember is I’m not going to go out and collect the damn eggs!” Rodrigo’s laugh echoed around us.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
“You are so easy to talk with,” he said. “No one else would understand.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of ranching friends,” I said, but nonetheless, I was pleased with his compliment.
A few minutes later we reached a lovely meadow by the edge of a rushing stream. Rodrigo unpacked our lunch, which included a large blanket for our feast. Like the enchiladas Antonia had prepared, the sandwiches looked luscious. Rodrigo explained they were tortas, cold Mexican lunch food. They contained ham, cheese, mortadella, salt cod, sardine in tomato sauce, refried beans, lettuce, tomato, avocado, pickled jalape?os, and chipotle peppers served on a roll with three lumps on the top, that he informed me was called a talera.
“She held back the spice on yours, cara,” he said as he handed me one .
“I’ll be sure to thank her.” Going from the bland food of Ireland to the hot spice of Mexico was taking some adjustment. I bit in.
“Amazing,” I said when I’d finished chewing. “Just the right amount of spice. So flavorful.” I took another bite.
Rodrigo nodded and ate some of his own sandwich.
Conversation was light as we talked. I told him a bit about the museum, which he’d been to several times, although I edited out the part about the pudgy goddess.
After we were sated and the debris cleaned up, we lay on the blanket and looked up at the big expanse of sky. Butterflies and dragonflies skittered this way and that, while a large bumblebee examined the field around us for any flowering plants.
“What was your wife like?” I asked.
Rodrigo was quiet for a few moments.
“She was a nice woman.” He sighed. “This is difficult. Normally, I leave it at that, but I want to be honest with you. It’s important.” He turned his head to look at me. “Like I said, I’ve never felt this easy with a woman, and I want to honor that.”
Looking back up at the sky, he continued. “When I was younger, getting to the end of high school, I fell in love with an Anglo girl. She returned my feelings. I took her to the prom and to one of my sister’s quinceaneras, in spite of my parents’ disapproval. My parents were old-fashioned, very against mixed marriages. They were proud Mexicans with a long heritage in this country and didn’t want their blood line ‘polluted.’”
Another glance. “Latinos can be just as bigoted as anyone else.”
“I know how that feels,” I said. “All our boyfriends were examined to see if their level of Irishness and Catholicism were up to snuff.”
Rodrigo chuckled.
Then he surprised me by grasping my hand before returning his gaze to the sky.
“The girl’s parents weren’t thrilled either. She went off to college; I stayed home to get a crash course in running our ranch. Eventually, the pressure became too much, and we broke it off.
“My parents threw lots of what they thought were appropriate girls at me for the next few years, but I was too angry to consider them. Finally, my father told me I’d better get on with it. I was kinder to the next woman, and the one after that attracted me enough that I thought we could make it work.”
“That’s sad,” I said. At the same time, I realized my story wasn’t that much different.
“It was the old way,” he said. “We had a good marriage, and I always honored my vows. I’ve let my children choose their spouses without interference, even though neither my siblings nor my in-laws approved. They seem happy for the most part, although one of my children and her husband have split recently.”
He rolled over to face me and released my hand.
“And here I am again with another Anglo woman.” He ran a finger down my cheek.
“An old Anglo woman,” I pointed out.
“Still beautiful,” he said.
The moment was getting dangerous, but I wasn’t sure which direction I wanted it to go in.
“I like you, Kathleen O’Sullivan,” he said. “I like you a lot.”
“And I like you too, but …”
“Yes. It’s impossible. For different reasons.” He stared at me. “But I’m not going to let you go without kissing you. Is that all right with you?”
I didn’t know what the right answer was for either one of us.
Did I want him to kiss me?
“Yes,” I said.
His lips pressed against mine. Was it his lips that were unfamiliar or being kissed at all?
My body, not as dead as I’d thought it was, responded, and I moved my lips against his, exploring, tasting. Our lips parted, but that was as far as it went.
After a few short moments, he lifted his head and nodded. “Gracias.” He cleared his throat and pushed himself to sitting.
It seemed like that was all there was going to be.
Was it the kiss or me he found unsatisfactory?
“I want more,” he said. “But that would be irresponsible and not respectful of you. Thank you for giving me that memory.”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”
Once again, we stared at each other. I relished the feelings that flowed between us, emotions I hadn’t felt for a long time.
But he was right. This was simply a brief moment in time. We weren’t going to be together long enough for love to truly bloom.