Page 93 of Over the Line
“That sounds wonderful.”
Twenty minutes later, they were seated in chairs around the firepit, and logs crackled and hissed. Master Michael had brought out a bag of marshmallows and several long skewers to toast them.
When Jeb, the foreman, neared on his side-by-side utility vehicle, Master Michael waved the man over. Evidently not to be left out, Chewie trotted alongside him.
Master Michael scratched behind the goat’s ears before she wandered away to forage. A few minutes later, apparently seeking a new diversion, she jumped on top of an enormous boulder. Sydney watched in fascination as Chewie looked around, bleated, walked down the far side of the rock then trotted around and did the same thing again. The rock was craggy and had to be three feet tall. “What did you feed her?” she asked.
“Shoes?” he suggested.
Laughing, she popped another marshmallow on a long, thin stick.
Jeb was telling a story about Master Michael learning to work with horses.
“Takes a lot of patience and dedication,” Jeb explained. “Establishing trust. Spending time with it, grooming it, asking nothing in return. Are you interested in this?”
“Absolutely.” Through the years, she’d done plenty of riding, but on older, gentle horses. Until now, she’d never even considered the amount of skill having a quality horse required.
After finishing her treat, she lanced another with her skewer.
“Only then can you start to get it accustomed to a harness and lead rope before moving on to a bridle and saddle. Requires consistency and repeatedly using the same cues and signals.”
She was so engrossed in Jeb’s explanation that she forgot to constantly turn the marshmallow. Seconds later, the confection burst into flames.
Frantically she pulled it out of the fire and blew on it. The outside was charred, and the inside was a gooey mess. Happy, she sank her teeth into it. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had anything that tastes better.”
After putting her metal rod down on a rock, she sat back, sipping her wine, and listening intently as Jeb told stories of Master Michael growing up on the ranch.
For a few minutes, she was transported back in time, picturing him as a kid, then a young man.
“How long have you been here?” she asked Jeb.
“A lot of years.” He nodded. “Hired by Mr. Dayton a couple of months before Michael was born. Watched his first steps. Was here when he wrecked his truck for the first time, as well as the second.”
“Enough of that,” Master Michael warned, eyes narrowed.
“And then there’s the time a horse bucked him off at a rodeo and he fell into a pile of—”
“You looking to get fired?”
“A bale of hay,” Jeb finished, sporting a wide grin. “Wouldn’t ruin your reputation in front of a pretty lady.”
Both men laughed.
An hour later, with the bag of marshmallows empty and the moon riding high in the sky, Jeb said he’d extinguish the fire if she and Michael wanted to head inside.
As he closed and locked the door behind them, Michael swept his gaze over her. “I’ve got a couple of suggestions about how we should unwind.”
“Do tell, Sir.” She moved toward him to trace her fingertip down his chest, letting it rest on his belt buckle. “Do tell…”
* * * *
Almost three weeks later, as she crested Vail pass in her trusty SUV, headed back from Utah, Sydney cranked up one of her favorite open road tunes.
Calling on all of her resolve, she’d intentionally kept up with her regular life. She ran the always-challenging mud race and had just finished guiding a four-day trip to Moab that had included climbing, hiking, and mountain biking.
But as the trip had drawn to a close, she’d had greater and greater difficulty concentrating on anything other than how soon she could return to Eagle’s Bend Ranch.
Her preoccupation with Michael and his land was starting to bother her.