Chapter 15
HOLLY
“Based on the forms you filled out, we’ve assigned each of you a horse for the time you’re at the ranch,” explains a young woman in full cowboy attire. Five of us stand huddled by the gate in a mix of excitement and trepidation.
“We didn’t fill out any forms,” I whisper to Anna. Obviously, I’m in the trepidation camp.
“Zoe probably did that for us when she booked the trip. I can’t wait to see who they give me.” She comes onto her tiptoes, to get a better look at the seven horses tied to the corral fence posts. Anna is, clearly, in the excitement camp.
“Why seven?” I do a quick assessment of the group assembled. No one from the van from hell is here.
“I thought we were scheduled for a private trail ride,” Anna muses.
“Me too.” I thrust up my hand. “Excuse me.” All eyes turn on me. A horse whinnies. “We were booked for a private ride?” My voice tilts into a question as I motion between Anna and me.
“Unfortunately, we’re short-staffed this morning and had to combine our two private parties. We promise to make it up to you with a gourmet campfire breakfast.” She thrusts her arm in a howdy-ho gesture. “There’ll be plenty of tasty vittles.”
“This is not what Zoe planned,” Anna grouses. “At least our ride wasn’t canceled. Which horse do you think is yours?”
“With my luck, that one.” I point at the largest horse. He’s black and, while absolutely beautiful, he’s also the only one who hasn’t stopped jittering.
“Relax,” Anna says. “They won’t put you on him. Probably that one.” She points at a hairy beast the size of a large dog.
“That is so not funny.” I cross my arms over my chest. My legs would drag on the ground on that thing. Not to mention, even I know the reputation ponies have of being evil.
Anna smirks. “At least you won’t have far to fall.”
“Still not funny.”
“I hope they put me on that one. She’s gorgeous.” Anna points at a chestnut who, I can’t help noticing, matches Anna’s hair. Read: Instagram-worthy photo.
Before I have the opportunity to say the wrong thing, again, and escalate a half-friendly exchange into another Anna-Holly, post-Greece moment, my name is called, and I’m led to a medium-sized dark brown horse with a wide white stripe down his face.
Rex, I’m assured, is a “schoolmaster,” a solid, safe horse I’ll just love.
He eyeballs me with the weariness of an old man who’s had to tolerate many annoying non-riders in his career.
“You’ll take care of me?” I whisper as I give him a pat on the neck before being instructed to mount. Once I’m on board, Rex turns his head and nudges the toe of my loaner boot as though saying, “I’ve got you.”
Anna gives a little clap when she’s paired with her equine twin. I resist the urge to scold her for taking a selfie before mounting. She’s holding up the group. Did you orchestrate that, Zoe? Nah, not even you have that kind of pull. Do you?
An hour later, our guide announces that we’re almost at the breakfast spot. We’ll be joining another group since they’re short-staffed, he explains.
Anna whips around to look at me. “More people?”
“It’ll be fine,” I say, if only to reassure myself that it will indeed be fine, and that it’s no big deal Zoe’s plans have been tampered with again, a second before our guide takes a left turn out of the forest into a breathtaking meadow.
“This is definitely your handiwork, though,” I say under my breath to Zoe.
He leads us to where an old-fashioned covered wagon is parked next to a not so old-fashioned jeep. Adirondack chairs circle a log firepit. A couple of picnic benches sit off to the side along with a massive grill that’s seen better days.
Better days or not, that grill is turning out a fabulous breakfast. My stomach growls at the scents of bacon, sausages, and eggs.
“Welcome.” A stout woman with an apron waves at us. “Park your rides over there by Brody and come eat. There are plenty of fixin’s.”
At the mention of “Brody,” Anna shifts in the saddle, adjusting her crop top and hair.
What are the chances it’s the same Cowboy Brody who fell head over spurs for Anna?
We ride to where a cluster of horses are tied to a post. I dismount with the elegance of a drunk giraffe and watch Anna as she casually throws her right leg over the saddle and hops to the ground. Her red boots and top flash with the brilliance of a cardinal in flight.
I’m not the only one staring at her.
And she knows it.
She tugs at her crop top again, adjusting the hem above her abs with a wiggle of her shoulders, thrusting out her chest.
I roll my eyes at the same moment Anna looks my way.
“What?” she asks with a twinge of annoyance, flipping her hair over a bare shoulder.
“I’m sorry, did I roll my eyes out loud?” I shake my head and lead my horse to the hitching pole. Not that Brody would offer to help me. He’s got the blinders of a racehorse. And the speed of one as he makes his way around Rex and me, and straight to Anna.
“Brody,” she all but purrs.
“Well, I’ll be. Anna Fisk.” He whistles. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
That must have been one heck of a hookup.
“For god’s sake,” I grumble. Rex gives my shoulder a nudge and I pat his neck.
Not that I can completely blame her. Brody could be the poster boy for hot cowboys in his tight Levi’s that show off every rippling muscle in his thighs, and the T-shirt that strains over biceps and pecs that don’t come from a gym.
I turn back to Rex, fussing with his bridle until my face stops flushing. “Geez, Z, he looks even better than he did back then. It’s going to be impossible to keep Anna focused,” I whisper into the horse’s neck.
With the help of our guide, Matthew, I get Rex settled and make my way to the coffee. As much as I want to eat, that will have to wait until after Zoe’s letter. I happily accept a tin mug, though, and savor the strong liquid. At home, I’d already be three cups into my day.
After a quick refill, I take a second mug for Anna and tilt my head for her to follow. It’s time.
Anna gets the urn from the saddlebag the hosts generously provided once we explained the purpose of our visit, and trails after me, but not before flashing Brody another promising smile. This time, though, I don’t have Zoe to help keep Anna in check. Not that it helped much last time.
We find a couple of empty chairs close enough to feel the heat of the bonfire but far enough away for a bit of privacy.
“Ready?” I ask, staring at the envelope I retrieved from my jeans pocket. Sorry, Zoe, I think, smoothing the crease from where I folded it in half.
“No. But go ahead.” Anna settles the urn on the ground between her boots and thanks me for the coffee I give her.
My hands are jittery as I remove the stationery. Four pages, front and back.
“At this rate we’ll be reading a novel by the time we’re done with the trips,” Anna drawls.
The corner of my mouth tries to turn into a smile, but I can’t rally one. How is there still so much she needs to tell us?
I clear my throat and begin reading.
“‘Hello, gals. How was the breakfast ride? I’m assuming it’s probably the first time you’ve both been on a horse since our last vacation there. Are you sore? You will be tomorrow. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more time to recuperate and enjoy the ranch. Or the cowboys, Anna. Wink-wink.’”
“She knew you well,” I say, glancing at Anna, whose eyes are locked on Brody. “Anna,” I reprimand.
She unlatches from the hot cowboy, flinging her attention back to the letter. “She did.”
Her agreement is a sharp reminder that she and Zoe shared a closer relationship these last few years.
“Why haven’t you ever settled down?” I blurt the question, the first personal one I’ve asked, and it surprises both of us.
In Cabo, Anna had peppered me with questions, but I’d deflected them, unwilling to allow her an inch closer to my personal life than I needed to.
But I’m suddenly intensely curious because, once upon a time, I knew Anna better than Zoe had.
Regardless of my issues with Anna, there’s no denying she’s a catch. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny. And, let’s face it, she comes from music royalty. Despite her cavalier attitude toward dating, Anna had a romantic streak that made mine look like a preschool crush.
Anna’s hand goes to her necklace, twisting it the way she always does when a question cuts too close. She shoots another quick look at Brody with yet another flip of the hair. “Never found the right cowboy,” she says with a brittle laugh.
And right there, a flash of an Anna I don’t recognize. Could Zoe have been right?
“Never mind,” I put my curiosity on the back burner and return my attention to the letter.
“‘I’ve never told anyone this, but I wanted to study art history in college. My dream was to work in a museum, restoring antiquities. Don’t get me wrong, I loved being a therapist and helping others, but it’s not what I imagined I’d become.
“‘Remember when we went to the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena and you couldn’t understand why or how I could sit for so long staring at, as Anna called it, “a slab of wood”? My dad used to take us to the Norton. You know he’s a collector.
The first time I saw that wood manuscript cover I was transfixed.
It’s hard to explain why, among all the magnificent pieces in the museum, this one item spoke to me, but it did.
And I’d ask to go back just to sit and stare at it for hours on end.
“‘The Prajnaparamita, or “Perfection of Wisdom Sutra” manuscript expounds the doctrine of emptiness, the insubstantial nature of life’s experiences. I felt as though it had been written for me, for the emptiness I felt and the hollowness of my life. It’s not a feeling you can explain to anyone without raising the alarm that you’re a suicide risk.
I wasn’t at that time. Not really, at least. Even at my lowest, it was not something I was brave enough to go through with.
I couldn’t do that to my parents. They’d already suffered enough.
After that night in college, I know this now. ’”
“How sad,” Anna says, taking the words from me.
“‘It was when I met you two that my life took on meaning again. I no longer felt like the empty vessel I’d become.’”
Anna and I both look at the urn and I suspect we’re thinking the same thing.
In just over a week, it will be an empty vessel, devoid of what’s left of our friend.
Anna covers her mouth to keep from crying.
In my peripheral vision, I see Brody. He’s been watching us—watching Anna, specifically—and takes a step toward us.
I shoot him a warning glance. We have to get through this letter.
We have to get through what Zoe brought us here to do.
He lifts his palms and backs off.
“Okay to continue?” I ask Anna.
“Yeah.” She dries her eyes.
“‘For most of my life I followed the path I thought would somehow make up for the fact that I was the one who lived. It was only with you two that I ever felt like I had a right to be me. And our trips were the freest I’d felt since I was a little girl. I want—no, I need—you both to find a way to release what you’re afraid to show the world about yourselves.
You allowed me to be myself—now it’s your turn.
That’s one request. My second request: find a spot like that magical place from our first visit, someplace by a waterfall or stream if possible, someplace where you can see the mountains.
And there, release some of my ashes so that I can forever be free.
Bonus points if there’s elk nearby. Don’t forget me. Kisses and hugs, Z.’”
“Drink,” Anna and I whisper at the same time.
I look around the clearing and the groups of people scattered about enjoying their breakfast. I listen to the hum of conversation, to laughter, to the whinny of a horse and the rustle of leaves in the trees. What I don’t hear is the roar of a waterfall or the gurgle of a stream.
“We can’t just wander off. We’ll get lost. We’ll never be able to find that spot.” I look around in desperation. I’m not even sure I’d find my way back to the ranch on my own.
“We won’t find it, but I know who will.” Anna stretches her legs and, sure enough, the red boots work just like a red cape, drawing the bull straight to us.
Brody’s grin is as broad as a billboard as he saunters over.