The Ranch

“I think I've outgrown that,” she confessed, and he laughed. His laughter was a fresh, easy sound that suited him perfectly and made her smile in answer.

“I think I outgrew Texas a long time ago too. Too hot, too dusty, too empty. That's why I came here. This suits me better,” he said as she looked around them and nodded. It was easy to see why. Who wouldn't it have suited?

“Do you live here all year long?” she asked. This was much better than the morning. Even if she never saw him again, at least now they were human beings. He knew something about her, and she knew something about him. She thought maybe she'd write a song about him. The Silent Cowboy.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said.

“What's it like?” She was thinking of the song now.

“Cold.” He smiled and glanced at her sideways again. She was so beautiful, she scared him. It was easier not to see her. “We get twenty feet of snow sometimes. We send the horses south in October. Can't get around except by snowplow.”

“It must be lonely,” she said thoughtfully, trying to picture it. It was light-years away from Bel Air, recording studios, movies, concerts. Twenty feet of snow… one solitary man… and a snowplow.

“I like it,” he said. “I keep busy. I get a lot of time to read, and think. I write some,” and then he smiled cautiously and glanced at her, “listen to music.”

“Don't tell me you listen to me while you're sitting here in twenty feet of snow all winter.” The very idea of it was so foreign to her that it amazed her and she loved it.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “I listen to other things too. Country western. I used to like jazz but I don't listen to it much anymore. Beethoven, Mozart.” The man was intriguing to her. She had definitely misjudged him. She wanted to ask him if he was married, if he had a family, out of curiosity, not out of any interest in him, but that seemed too personal, and she sensed that he would have been offended. He was careful to set boundaries and stay well behind them. And then, before she could ask him anything else about his life there, they rejoined the others. Hartley and Mary Stuart were chatting easily, and the doctors were still busy dismembering remembered patients, enchanted with their discussions. It was a surprisingly congenial group, and they were all sorry when their trail ride ended. It was four o'clock by then, and they were free to go to the swimming pool, go hiking, or play tennis. But they were all exhausted and Zoe looked it. Tanya had been noticing since the day before that Zoe was paler than she had been in college. Her already fair skin seemed to have gotten even whiter.

The medical couple from Chicago went for a walk to look at wildflowers, and Hartley walked the three women back to their cabin, and they were all startled to see a little boy there. He was just sitting there, and when Mary Stuart saw him, she had a visceral reaction. He was about six years old, and he seemed to be waiting for someone.

“Hi,” Tanya said easily. “Did you ride today?”

“Yup,” he said, pushing a red cowboy hat back on his head. He was wearing little black cowboy boots with red bulls on them, and little blue jeans and a denim jacket. “My horse's name is Rusty.”

“And what's your name?” Zoe asked as she sat down beside him on the deck, grateful to sit down for a moment. The altitude made her breathless.

“Benjamin,” he said formally. “My mommy's having a baby, so she can't ride horses.” He was more than willing to share the information, and Zoe and Tanya exchanged a smile. Mary Stuart was standing a little distance away, talking to Hartley, but she was frowning and didn't know it. But Tanya had seen it, and she knew why even if Mary Stuart didn't. The boy looked so much like her son Todd at the same age that it made your heart ache. Tanya wondered if Mary Stuart saw it, but she didn't want to say anything to Zoe, for fear Mary Stuart would hear it. And the odd thing was that the child kept staring at Mary Stuart as though he knew her. It was eerie.

“My aunt looks just like you,” he offered finally, fascinated by Mary Stuart, although she was the only one of the group who hadn't spoken to him, and didn't want to. She didn't go out of her way to avoid him, but she didn't enter into conversation with him either. She had sensed, more than seen, the resemblance. And Hartley saw something in her eyes that made him wonder.

“Do you have children?” he asked. He had noticed the wedding band on her hand that afternoon, but from things she'd said about deciding where to spend the summer, and the impression he'd gotten that she was alone, he wasn't exactly clear on her marital status. And neither was Mary Stuart.

“Yes, I do…” she answered vaguely in answer to his question about whether she had children. “A daughter… I… and a son, who died,” she said awkwardly, and he could see the pain in her eyes and didn't pursue it. She turned away from the boy then, and walked into the cabin with Hartley. She didn't want to see the child a moment longer.