Chapter 3
Staring out of the open window, Whitney drank in the sight of nature. Her elbows rested on a smooth-hewn wooden sill. Eyes darted from one attraction to the next. Strewn before her clustered seven other lodges of identical size to her own, each stolidly built with logs, emitting a rustic, old country aura. To the left, underneath puffy white clouds, yellowish-green fields were fenced in, with horses of varying coats and sizes roaming the paddocks. Over the right stood the main building, where the reception, dining hall, and most of the activities were organized. It concealed a stable range and what looked like practice grounds. Mountains strung themselves up in the distance, and the ground curved downwards into a v shaped basin, where a river burbled into a tranquil lake. Several pathways twisted and turned into beautiful, flower-choked trails. Fresh air, the cleanest Whitney had inhaled in years, soothed her lungs.
The whole environment felt alien to Whitney. Seeing pictures in the flesh, smelling, tasting and absorbing the sounds confused and delighted her. She took in everything like a child at the fair for the first time, not knowing what to look at, but wanting to comprehend everything at once.
Tia loitered outside her cabin with Sandra and Gracie, and she gestured to the horses in the fields, and to the lone ranch-hand sat astride a dappled gray. He didn’t seem to be doing anything other than observing the animals. Alex and Natalie remained in their lodges for now, taking the time to rest up after their long trip. Sleeping in the car did something nasty to their muscles, so an actual bed resembled heaven. Faith already looked to be wandering around, taking the opportunity to snap pictures.
Although they did stop twice partway through the journey to eat at roadside diners, the drag of travel hung on all of them greatly. Something with the vast, sprawling visage of the country before Whitney made her understand for a brief, intense moment, how people could be healed and blessed by the sight of nature.
The beauty of it struck her in the heart. This was more than the constant thrum of cars in the background – replaced now by cicada calls and the grunts of the farm animals behind. Even the dust smelled different.
Tearing her eyes away from the window, Whitney finished up storing her items in the lodge. Small, it boasted a shower unit, a tiny kitchen bar with a two-ringed hob, an indoors lavatory, sitting room and bedroom. Somehow, it all fit together snug and perfect, aesthetically pleasing despite the modest proportions offered. Picture frames decorated the log walls, all cradling delicate paintings of the ranch, from the animals to the fields and the mountains. Whitney flumped on the bed, back sighing in relief as she stretched.
For better or for worse, the ranch would be her new home for the week, and the female colleagues her main companions. Whether it resembled an ideal holiday retreat or a prison detainment camp remained another matter. Whitney ran through the potential sources of trouble in her mind. Sandra, Gracie and Alex hovered high on her threat list, Natalie and Tia moderate, Faith low.
She ran over the week’s schedule, handed to all of them when they entered reception to register their presence, before dismissal and the promise to return in three hours’ time for their introduction. Ranch hands would come knocking just in case any of them fell asleep. They also had the option to eat breakfast in the dining hall, which Whitney took up to grab some orange juice and two slices of buttered toast.
Natalie insisted on doing the arrangements, obviously wanting to emphasize that she was the leader of the group, and a few ranch hands then led them to their lodges. Alex didn’t bother clashing with Natalie, letting her do the work. Whitney reflected a little while longer before rolling off the bed with the intention of examining her distributed clothing for the week. Whitney didn’t feel sure about the selection of clothes assigned by Outback Bandits when she rifled through the sports bag they were stuffed in. There were two dresses, three lots of jeans, hiking boots, knee boots, three tunics and three blouses. Nothing here would help her to stand out, which disappointed her – since she wanted Jack Brook to notice. The nightclothes, however, did stand out – but Whitney didn’t plan to exactly parade herself in them. She had a little more dignity than that. She took out a small leather bracelet, and placed it on with a shrug.
She lay back on the bed. Anticipation snaked through her, keeping her mind alert. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Two hours and twenty minutes to go.
She called her mother to announce the safe arrival. Aniyah wished her luck with the ranch, before saying she needed to go back to work as she was on her break. Whitney tested the Wi-Fi connection on her phone – strong – and flicked over her Facebook, though most of the posts held nothing significant.
Then, bored, not knowing what else to do, Whitney wriggled into a pair of light blue jeans, a white blouse and the hiking boots, leaving the confines of the cabin to go for a walk.
Outside, she squinted against the morning sun, mind whirring as it slid through the options offered. She spotted Faith wandering nearby the horse fields, still taking pictures, and figured the horses would be a good place to start. The fence remained in plain sight of the ranch, so she would at least not risk getting lost. Gravel crunched under her boots as she strolled. Remnants of dust spiraled around her ankles. She waved to Tia, Sandra and Gracie, who gestured for her to come over, and shook her head.
“Later! Taking a walk!”
“Okay!” Tia screeched back. “Don’t get trampled!”
“Will try not to!”
In the meanwhile, let’s add “being trampled by stampeding horses to the list of things that can go wrong.” Whitney grinned inwardly, tucking hands in her pockets. The fresh air gave a bounce to her stride. She reached the fence within a few moments, seeing that it reached up to her shoulders. She counted twelve horses scattered in the fields. Most were grazing, manes hanging loose from their necks. The ranch-hand sat motionless on his horse, as if in a trance. Faith, located two field lengths to the right, gave Whitney a tentative wave. She waved back, then headed left. She saw another ranch-hand, also inside the field, petting a small black horse.
For an October day, the sun beat on her, delivering an odd mix of warm heat and cold air. She eventually stopped walking, leaned against a gap in the fence, and settled on watching the horses.
She supposed this was something people did, rather like bird watching. She expected to get bored fast, just watching them chew and walk, but instead, found the act of observing them relaxing.
Time ambled by. Whitney observed most of the horses preferred grouping up in small social circles of twos and threes. One horse, pawing the ground with a hoof, appeared agitated. Solid brown in color, with a long, amber mane, it towered at least three hands above the others. She scrutinized the gargantuan horse, wondering if it was planning to charge or start something with any of the others. It then began trotting towards the fence, and hesitated when spotting Whitney. Its ears flicked back, then twirled forward in interest.
Nervousness blossomed. Whitney kept very still, not wanting to cause any sudden movements to startle the horse. The horse’s nostrils flared as if sniffing the air.
Like an ole western standoff, Whitney thought, anxious. The male horse lifted one foreleg and stepped forward. The slow, careful stepping persisted until the horse hovered mere feet away from the fence, in striking distance.
Now what? I stay? I back off? Whitney opted to do nothing, letting the horse choose the next action, fervently hoping it was just curious. Big beastie. Best not alarm him.
The horse inched closer to the fence.
Help. What do I do! I’ve never actually been this close to a horse. Jesus, it’s huge! Whitney contained the panic, staying resolutely still as the horse reached across the barrier to place his muzzle on Whitney’s hair. He took several, audible whiffs, then did something that felt remarkably like… well, chewing.
Whitney let her mouth hang open as he persisted with tugging at the wiry bun on her head. “Excuse me? That ain’t a damn donut, horse.” Whitney raised an eyebrow as her trepidation faded into bemusement. “Sorry – don’t think you be finding it tasty.”
The horse didn’t mind. He blew with his lips, moving to touch her ear.
“Jesus! That tickles!” Whitney ducked in reflex. The horse, clearly having no innate sense of personal space, bowed down to continue chewing her hair.
Whitney ripped at the ground, tearing some of the scraggly grass out. “Please! Horse! Chew on this. My hair would like to remain on my head.” Straightening my palm, right? She held up her palm with the tufts of grass. The horse snuffled along until locating the grass, and gulped it out of her hand. He made the burr sound again, and Whitney tentatively patted his long cheek.
“Well. Guess this is something. Either you like me or you think I taste good. And how big are you? The others seem so tiny…”
“He’s the biggest horse on the ranch.”
A yelp jumped out of Whitney’s mouth. She turned sideways to face the ranch-hand that had been with the dark horse, standing next to her, having apparently squirmed his way through the fence gap. On his head, a curved hat sat on heavy sunglasses. He also had a suspiciously thick black beard. Whitney twitched unimpressed eyebrows at the pale-skinned man.
“Are you wearing a disguise?”
“What? No. I know I probably look quite a sight, but it’s still early in the morning yet.” The man smiled with perfectly white teeth. He held out a hand. “I’m Bob. Bob… Stevenson.” His voice came out as a soft, cultured baritone, lacking the typical country bumpkin accent.
“Right. I’m, uh, Whitney Robinson. I’m with the ladies for the company trip.” They shook hands. His palm brushed hers, rough with callouses. She liked the feel of it.
“Gotta tell you, Miss Robinson. You surprise me.”
“Eh?” Whitney huffed annoyance when the horse began chewing on her hair again. “What is with you? Quit that!”
Bob fished out four white cubes from a bag in his coat pocket. “Give Graham Cracker some of these. Loves ‘em. He might leave your hair alone, then.”
“Oh God, yes please.” Whitney snatched the sugar cubes, holding them up to the horse. He slurped them out of her palm, and let her pet him some more. “You seriously call him Graham Cracker? What kinda name is that?”
“One a five year old girl thought was a good idea at the time. I actually think she wanted to call him ‘Great Huge Fire Cracker Horsie,’ but we compromised with his current moniker.”
Whitney snorted. “That’s brilliant! ‘Spose Graham Cracker suits him. Really not sure why he likes eating my hair, though.”
Bob shrugged, grinning. “That’s partly why I’m surprised. You see, since you’re new to the ranch, there’s a few things you don’t yet know about it. For example, this horse hates everyone – except me. And that’s because I’m an incredibly charming individual.”
“That so? I’ll take your word for it. You do have them pretty white teeth.” Did I just say that?
Bob showed them off at the mention. “White as new-born baby teeth.”
“You may be misinformed. New-born babies don’t have teeth.”
“Eh. Details.” Bob flicked his wrist. “Toddler teeth, then.”
Whitney laughed. Graham Cracker let out a whinny. “What you said ‘bout the horse, though, he seems pretty friendly to me. No hate there.” She stroked under Graham Cracker’s chin. He tilted his head eagerly, wanting more scratches, and she obliged.
“Yeah, well, I can’t really explain why. He’s always been a devil like that. There he is, being evil as usual. Then here you are, minding your own business, and he suddenly decides he would really like to meet you. Complete beeline, like you got a magnet in one of them pockets. Got me curious enough to wonder who the pretty lady that captivated my horse is.”
Whitney grinned at the implied compliment. “Guess he sees something in me. Other than my hair.”
“Hmm.” Bob inspected the two of them, expression unfathomable behind his glasses and beard. “Guess he does.”
“Don’t tell him I’m useless with horses, though. Never been to a ranch. Never ever seen a horse up close.”
Bob’s jaw dropped. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, or breathe. “Y-you’re serious? Lady, at this point, you’re bonding with a horse trained experts have difficulty with. You’re telling me you never rode before?”
“Nope.”
“Well.” Bob collected himself together. “Lucky you’re all getting training. All city people, I take it?”
“Eh. Some of ‘em know their way around the animals. I just plan to look like I know what I’m doing without freaking out.”
“That’s usually the best way to go about things. As long as you look supremely confident on the outside, no one will know that on the inside, there’s a panic frenzy going on.”
Whitney found Bob strange, but pleasing to talk to. Not wanting him to run off, she engaged in a different topic. In the background, she saw Faith approaching, camera shielding her face – drawn to Graham Cracker’s antics.
“How long you been working at this ranch for, then? You look content to be here.” Whitney studied Bob’s features more intently. Not much peeked out of the face bush that covered his more prominent features. She figured him to be some kind of country hillbilly, not well versed in personal grooming. The accent really seemed out of place, however. It suggested a good education, and time spent in the city.
“Most of my life,” Bob admitted. “It’s the kind of job that consumes a lot of the empty hours in our lives. Often I’ll be up before sunrise and attending to duties – if we need to collect in the grazing horses for winter or for riding, I’ll be out herding them in with a few other hands. Good time to go for a ride too, before the daily activities kick into action.”
“Pre-dawn rides? Almost sounds romantic. And dangerous. Of the neck-breaking variety.” Graham Cracker stopped bothering Whitney at last, instead pressing his bulk against the fence, tipping his head down to start grazing. His tail swished at a fly.
“It’s happened before,” Bob said with an impish smirk. “Which is why it’s better to pick open trails and spaces. Or to use flashlights. We’re old-style, but not that old-style.”
“Okay. Gotta say, it seems like a well maintained ranch. It’s actually emptier than I expected. I thought there would be more staff, more day visitors.”
“We get them. But you know, this is a fairly isolated patch of land. You won’t find much for miles around. There’s a western themed town around three miles off. The ranch is responsible for stocking it. We have a hot stone massage parlor, but people aren’t going to drive for hours for something they can get in the city anyway. So what it does mean, is that the ones who do come are more interested in adventure than others.”
“Or more interested in the fact it’s owned by a billionaire who seems to be on the bachelor list,” Whitney said absently. She inwardly started kicking herself at the slip of tongue. I’m not usually this flippant!
Bob sighed. “That, too. You could say that’s an even better reason to live in the middle of nowhere if he plans to remain a bachelor.”
Whitney couldn’t help herself – she burst out into laughter. “Awh, jeepers, that’s true. I mean if I wanted to avoid people I’d probably live somewhere like here as well. Opening it to the public though opens risk to that. It draws unwanted attention.”
“No one should be denied the chance for beauty,” Bob said softly. “And this kind of landscape – this lifestyle – I think it’s astounding. I uh, think it’s great that people from all over the world get a chance to experience something like this at least once in their lives. You know, we have exchange students who work here in the summer or for their internships. People from Europe in particular. Some come here for extended working holidays over the course of a year or more.”
Whitney nodded, impressed. She imagined being younger, scouring through pictures of nature, pointing at cities in Europe and getting excited at the idea of visiting them. Experiencing something refreshing and new.
Recalling that fluttering, youthful notion of bright horizons sent a quiet melancholy inside her, one she couldn’t explain. “It’s a great idea. People who wanna see the world and dip into different ways of life – keeping something like this available to them is the best gift for many to have. Twelve or more years ago, I woulda killed to be an exchange student for something like this.”
“Twelve years ago? Why not now?” Bob brushed at his chin. “I’m genuinely curious.”
“Life got in the way. Duty.” Whitney gave a defeated shrug. “Guess those dreams slipped away. ‘Bout the time I stopped believing magic was real.”
“There’s a quote I know about magic for that.”
“There’s a quote for everything,” Whitney shot back, smiling.
“Yes – it was by a famous children’s author in England. ‘Those who don’t believe in magic, will never find it.’ I find it to be true. It’s like – you have a dream. If you lose it, you forget sometimes you can dream at all.”
“Hmm.” Whitney didn’t know what to say. Her automatic reaction would be to snap a response, something to contradict it. Except, for some reason, his words made a strange, tingling sense in some deep, lightless part of her. “You’re a strange one, Bob. But I like you. Can… see what you mean with that as well. Don’t really give myself over to dreams nowadays. Who was this author?”
“Roald Dahl. If you want, I can lend you some books for later. They’re a bit worn, but I had them since I was a kid. Would be nice to let someone else glance at them too.”
“Sure. I’d like that.”
“Awesome. Shake on it.”
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Whitney shook hands again with Bob. She glanced sideways, to see Faith ogling through her camera at Graham Cracker. “You can come closer if you want, Faith.”
The woman jumped, almost dropping her camera, then froze like a rabbit caught in headlights. “Oh, um! I wasn’t trying to spy on you. I promise!”
“Come over here, kid!” Bob waved at her, until she breached the gap between them. “You want a good picture of Graham Cracker, right?”
Faith nodded, not daring to speak.
“Well. I’ll budge him a little way off, you sit or balance your camera on the fence, and you can get a few good shots of him. How ‘bout it?”
A smile shyly crept onto Faith’s lips. “Yeah. Okay. So…?”
“One moment.” Bob gave a scraping bow to Whitney. “If you excuse me, my lady…”
Whitney solemnly patted him on the shoulder. “Do what you must, noble ranch hand. Do it for the picture.”
Bob planted an expression of fake suffering on his face and squeezed through the fence, and with some coaxing and manual steering, got the massive horse to take some tiny, reluctant steps away. Faith balanced her camera as he held Graham Cracker still, taking different shots at different angles. “Can Whitney join the shoot?” Faith pulled herself away from the lens view. “She’s wearing company clothing. It’s part of my assignment.”
“Sure. He likes her. Come on, Whitney! Get your ass through the fence, come on, girl.”
“Don’t call me over like I’m a hoss!” Whitney flared indignantly. “Gonna regret this…” She awkwardly clambered over the fence, taking much longer than Bob. When across, she walked up to Graham Cracker and Bob. Much to Faith and Bob’s entertainment, Graham Cracker targeted Whitney’s hair again, burring in pleasure when she scratched him all along his neck. The horse had the strength and bulk to send Whitney flying like a rag-doll, but he acted extra gentle and careful with his motions – as if acutely aware of his own power.
Faith snapped a lot of pictures, laughing at the more compromising images. Whitney laughed as well with Bob, once overcoming her nervousness, with true, uncontrollable belly laughter. She almost regretted having to head back to her lodge some time later, to prepare for the induction. Bob, Faith and Whitney all needed to attend it.
It sounded odd, and a little sad to her, that a couple of hours with a horse and two eccentric humans was more fun than anything she had experienced in months, with the drudgery and grind of her home city, and detachment of her home life.
At the same time, it lit in her a hope that this trip might end up as magical as the environment it dwelled in. Maybe it really did link with the country air and the shape of a different part of the world.
Maybe without the stress of city fumes, hectic lifestyles and the roar of traffic, there could be peace. And maybe, if Whitney cherished that peace, she could transfer it to others, like her mother and father. The notion felt silly and illogical, but it gave her something else to smile about as she headed to her cabin with Faith. Bob had patted her on the shoulder, promising to see her later and help out if she found herself struggling with ranch activities.
Might take up that offer. Especially if Natalie rubs it in how amazing she is. She had waved him goodbye, and then Faith. Inside, Whitney peered through her window to see Faith almost skipping into her cabin.
Yes, Whitney thought. This can be a blessing.