A Writer’s Dream
&
A Cowboy’s Heart
by
Victoria Calaway
A Writer's Dream & A Cowboy's Heart
Copyright 2011 Victoria Calaway
Published by Books of Desire Publishing
Smashwords Edition
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Chapter One
Marla Davis sat in front of her computer, staring at the blank screen, wondering how long this was going to continue. She’d never had such a problem writing! She’d lost count at the number of times she had printed what she had written, then crushed the paper into a ball to toss in the now over-flowing waste basket, disgusted with it upon seeing it in print. Just as many times, she’d cleared the screen and started over. Annoyed, she got up and walked out the door, stopping almost immediately to look around the wooded area surrounding the cabin of her mountain home, and at the mountains beyond. She took a deep breath and let it out heavily and then stepped off the porch.
She had worn a path down the mountainside over time because of her frequent visits to her only friends and neighbors, Lucille and Henry Jamison. She took the steep path, careful not to slip on loose rocks. When the ground finally leveled off, her strides quickened as she crossed the Jamison’s back yard.
Stepping up on to the back porch, a scent of apple pie caused her to smile. Lucille was the best cook she had ever known, and she baked something for dessert every day. The majority of the time she baked numerous pies, allowed them to cool, then wrapped them to place in the freezer. Marla suspected that was what she was doing today.
“Something smells great, Lucille!” Marla called out as she reached to open the screen door. It had become customary for Marla to not bother with knocking if the door was open, knowing she would be welcome in Lucille’s kitchen.
“Thank you, dear!” Lucille greeted Marla with a smile. “Henry will be coming in shortly. Have a seat and we’ll have a piece of fresh pie.”
“I’d love some, thank you.” She pulled a heavy chair from the table that sat in a corner of the homey kitchen and took a seat.
“How’s the book coming?” Lucille asked, pouring coffee into a mug and setting it in front of Marla, along with a small pitcher of fresh cream, then a piece of fresh apple pie, still warm from the oven.
“It isn’t,” she answered, her tone unhappy. “I don’t know what‘s wrong with me.” She poured a generous amount of cream into her coffee.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. I think it’s because you’ve been on that mountain too long. Marla, you can’t keep yourself shut away forever. It’s been four years. Don’t you think that’s long enough?”
Four years has been a long time, Marla agreed silently. Even so, she had not been all that lonely. She had filled the time writing books, visiting Lucille and Henry when she needed company, or treating them to dinner and a movie when she needed a night out. Now, the one thing she loved most in the world was probably lost. She ate her pie in silence, washing it down with coffee. She held her empty mug with both hands and stared into space. Lucille let her think. She’d grown accustomed to her young friend’s moods. Finally, Marla set the cup down and sighed heavily.
“Maybe my talent was temporary,” she remarked. “Maybe I’ve just lost it.”
“Marla Davis, I don’t believe that just came out of your mouth!” Lucille looked at Marla with creased brows. “You have writer’s block. You know it, and I know it. And I don’t even write!”
Marla smiled. Here comes the motherly lecture, she thought.
“Now, you listen. Writers like you don’t just lose talent. You need an inspiration to get you started again. Get off this mountain and find what you need. Larry Impala,” she spat the name out as if merely speaking it left a bad taste in her mouth, “was a low life snake. But that doesn’t mean every man on this planet is. No one else can break your heart if you don’t let them.”
“I didn’t let him, Lucille.” Her tone was quiet. “I didn’t ask him to lie to me, you know.” Marla’s thoughts grew heavy.
Larry Impala had been Marla’s promotional manager for three years. They’d traveled together almost constantly. Although she knew very little of his past, she thought she knew the inner person quite well. She’d trusted him completely. He’d never mentioned a family, nor if he’d been married before, and she’d naturally assumed he was as alone in the world as she.
They had been on a book signing tour of the southeast for several days, the highlight being the success at the Montgomery Mall in Montgomery, Alabama. The bookstore actually sold out of books, but Larry never traveled without a supply. He’d provided an additional two hundred books, sparking happiness for the people who’d still stood in line for hours, only to be informed of the store’s inadequate supply of the bestseller. Larry made sure no one went home empty handed.
Happy with the turnout, he’d offered Marla dinner in his suite, celebrating with a bottle of fine champagne.
Marla had fallen in love with Larry within the first year of knowing him. His warm, dazzling smile of perfect teeth, deep set hazel eyes, raven black hair which he kept clean cut, and a personality that had even older women blushing in his presence, captured her heart all too soon. Unsure of how to deal with her feelings, she had remained silent, just happy to be near him. Until that night in Montgomery.
After their meal, they’d relaxed in the sitting area on a small sofa, finishing the bottle of bubbly. Larry had taken her hand, looked at her intently, and confessed his love for her. It had been the last thing she had expected. Then his proposal of marriage had brought happy tears to her eyes, a smile to her lips, and her own confession of love came with her acceptance to become his wife.
Marla had ended up in his bed, giving herself to a man for the first time, only to wake up alone the next morning. All that had been left for her had been a note taped to the mirror of the dresser. A note she would never forget.
Marla,
While it’s supposed to be an honor to be a woman’s first lover, I wasn’t really happy with you in bed. I don’t want to be your teacher. Consider this my resignation as well. I can’t work for someone I slept with and not enjoyed. I’ll give my wife another try.
Larry
She shivered at the thought. He’d been her first love, her first lover, and he’d shot her down like a cold-hearted enemy, all in the space of ten hours time. A wife…one thing he’d never bothered to mention…and she often wondered if perhaps that had been a lie to get rid of her. If so, it had worked.
Since then, she had been in her mountain cabin, licking her wounds and trying to heal.
In the four years she had been isolated, she’d written three additional books, and now she was stuck for a new story.
Lucille’s voice snapped her back to the present. “What’s the old saying? ‘Write what you know.’ Can’t you think of anything to go into a book?”
“I’ve exhausted everything, Lucille. I’ve been at it for weeks.” Her expression revealed how disheartened she had become. “If I wrote formula novels, I’d be writing a novel a month.” She sighed again.
“I think you need a break. A vacation. Get away for a week or so, maybe even a month, if that’s what it takes. You don’t have to stay in one place. Travel, see things. Take notes. Isn’t that what you said you’d done before?”
“Yes.” She had a feeling Lucille was finally going to win this one. She was making too much sense when Marla’s frustrations at her writer’s block were too high.
“So what’s stopping you? Fear of meeting someone? Surely, you’re not planning to live your life alone!”
“I haven’t given it much thought. I write.”
“And you live alone. You need a husband and children. Now there’s a host of stories!”
Marla grinned. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m wife and mother material. I used to dream about that when I was a teen, just like any normal young woman, but I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m pretty set in my life now, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” Lucille retaliated with a firm tone. “Set with your life at fifty, maybe. At your age, not at all.”
“I’m not going husband hunting.”
“Fine. Go story hunting, then.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Henry Jamison walked into the kitchen from outside, wiping his hands on a big bandana handkerchief. He reached behind him to catch the screen door before it slammed. “Think about what?”
“About getting away for awhile,” Lucille supplied. “She needs a vacation and won’t admit it.” She poured a cup of coffee and set it on the table, and Henry sat down and raised the cup toward his lips
“I take it you still have no story started?” He blew into the cup, then took a sip.
Marla shook her head. “No.”
“So you’re going to give it some thought? Taking a vacation, I mean.”
“I’ll think about it.” She got up and put her cup, pie plate and fork in the sink. “I promise, I will think about it.” She wondered how many times she was going to have to repeat that in order to be left alone about it.
She started out the door, but Lucille’s voice stopped her momentarily. “Come back for supper, dear. You know we’d love to have you.”
Marla turned her head and smiled. “Thank you. I’d love to.”
She went out and made her way back up the steep trail. Rather than going back into her cabin, she walked along another trail, which came to an end at a stream. The stream flowed from between rocks and bubbled down the mountainside, feeding the lake below on the Jamison’s property. She sat down at the base of a tree, picked up some pebbles, and plunked them into the water, one at a time.
She was appalled that her mind had been a blank for so long. This morning, she’d cleaned her small cabin thoroughly, sat down to write, only to get up and do her laundry, then sat down again in front of the computer. When she continued to draw a blank, another attempt to find something to do failed, resulting in the trip down the mountainside to Lucille’s kitchen.
Marla knew Lucille meant well. However, it hadn’t helped her dilemma. She was no closer to a new story than she had been weeks ago. She didn’t see how getting away would help if she wasn’t inclined to go.
The crack of a twig caught her attention, and she turned her head in the direction of the sound. Henry came walking toward her, causing her to smile.
He was all country, she mused. He wore faded, denim overalls everyday of his life over a white, cotton t-shirt. Worn boots revealed his feet took as much wear and tear as he did. His skin was weathered and bronze from all the outdoor work he did. His eyes were as dark as onyx, his nose wide from his Cherokee heritage, and his crooked smile revealed slightly uneven teeth.
“Hi, Henry,” she greeted.
“Hi, again.” He sat down beside her on the hard ground, curled his legs Indian-style, and picked up a twig near his foot. He started to break it into tiny pieces, tossing one piece at a time into the water, watching it float down-stream and out of sight. “You OK?”
“I’m fine. Honest.“ She plunked another pebble into the water. “Do you think Lucille is right?”
“About taking a vacation?”
Marla nodded.
“Maybe. What’s important is how you feel about going. I think you’ve been trying too hard, and as long as you’re cooped up in that cabin, you’ll continue to have problems. Whether you get away or not is up to you. I remember how devastated you were when you came back here four years ago. You’ve had plenty of time to get over that. Surely, you don’t still carry that around?”
“No. Sometimes it feels like it was a hundred years ago. You know, like an old memory barely there?”
“Yes, I know how that is.”
“The thing is, I don’t want anything like that happening to me again. I’d loved Larry in silence for two years. Then, in one fell swoop, he said he loved me, wanted to marry me, and then abandoned me, crushing my heart like it was dirt. “ She sighed heavily. “I couldn’t take that again, Henry.”
“No one says you have to, or will. You’re a smart girl, Marla. If you want to get away from here and do so as a business trip, you can handle that. Go out there, find what you need to inspire another book, and come back to write it. But I do think that if you want to write, you are going to have to get off this mountain and find what it is you need to inspire you. You aren’t finding it here anymore.” He tossed the rest of the twig into the stream, then rose to his feet “Think about what you want to do. You don’t have to be in a hurry.”
“I guess not.” Her shoulders sagged.
He started down the mountain. “See you at supper,” he said over his shoulder.
“Henry?”
He turned to look at her.
“Tell Lucille not to cook. We’ll go into Blue Ridge for dinner and a movie. My treat.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll tell her. Thanks! It’ll be fun!”
Once Henry was out of sight, she rose and hurried to her cabin. At the front door, she paused to look around at the interior. No one would believe it was the same house she’d found five years ago.
When she’d first seen the little cabin, as she’d driven through the North Georgia Mountains toward South Carolina for a book signing, she thought it would be the perfect place for coming to write. She’d turned around immediately to stop at the Jamison’s to inquire, discovering they owned the little log house nestled up in the woods. It was small, but she had been certain it would be just the right size for her.
Henry had explained that it would need a great deal of work to be good enough for a rental, and he didn’t have the kind of money it would take to renovate it. There was no electricity, no running water, not even a bathroom. Even so, Marla had wanted to see it. At the sight of the place up close, she’d realized Henry was right, but she also decided it had a great deal of promise. The house was made of logs, still sturdy and seemingly termite free, including the interior walls. The floors were hardwood, and she’d known that sanding them down and varnishing would produce a beautiful effect.
“I really do want it,” she had told him. “I’ll do the remodeling in exchange for the rent.”
“If you’re going to put that much money into it, why don’t you just buy the place? We have no need for it, really. It’s just sitting here, wasting away,” he’d replied.
Marla had been thrilled. Because she still worked a full time job as a construction company secretary, and her writing was just taking off, she asked if he would consider payments.
“Of course. After all, we’ll know where you’ll live!” His crooked grin was infectious, and Marla had beamed with happiness.
Since her parents had passed away, she hadn’t really had a home she called her own. They’d been killed in an automobile accident when she was only seventeen. She’d gone to live with her grandmother to finish her last year in high school, then to secretarial training. About a month before her completion of school, her grandmother suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving Marla alone in the world.
The house her grandmother occupied had been a rental, but she had managed to hang on to it by finding a job that paid enough to skim by on. She spent her free time alone with a pen and paper, inventing a fictional world in which to escape. Once she saved enough money, she bought an inexpensive manual typewriter and began to put her stories down in a more professional manner. Before she realized it, she’d completed a full-length novel. It took some courage, and a lot of chewing on her lip, to finally look for a publisher to whom to send it. With a deep breath and a kiss for luck on the large envelope, she had put it in the mail. Six months later, she had a check and a contract in her hand, and tears of ultimate happiness in her eyes. She’d invested in a computer, determined that she would make it as a writer.
She’d paid Henry part of that check, and a few days later she’d started cleaning the place. She’d known it was going to take a lot of money for the renovations, so she would have to put a great deal of effort into the book she was then writing in order to have it accepted. Because she had wanted to stay there on the weekends to write, she put bare necessities into the cabin first. She’d obtained a loan from the bank to finish paying for the cabin and mountain and all the renovations
She kept a supply of pens and paper, writing in long hand on the weekend, then took it with her to put it into the computer once she was back home.
A year later, she had another contract and another advance check, and she was in heaven. That check had repaid a big chunk of the loan.
The interior walls were sanded and coated with a clear varnish, as were the floors, where as the ceilings had drywall installed and painted white. Electricity had been run in, new light fixtures and outlets installed, and also water by way of a pump at the stream flowing nearby. A bathroom and plumbing were added next, then the kitchen remodeled with a new sink, cabinets, and a small pantry. Connections for a washer and dryer were installed in the kitchen. A garage had been constructed at the side of the house off the kitchen to protect her car from the harsh North Georgia weather. She’d wanted a porch for evenings in which to relax and enjoy the view of the surrounding mountains. Sanding and sealer on the outside logs kept the wood from rotting with weather and time. Finally, she’d had the driveway paved with cement mixed with rocks so she could get up and down the mountainside in wet or icy weather. She’d had to keep her job and stay in town during the week, but she’d known she was on her way.
When her books hit the best seller’s list and royalties started coming in, Marla thought it was awesome. She never would have believed it could happen to her. Most of the time she felt as if she lived a dream and hoped she wouldn’t wake up any time soon. Each check paid for something for her new home, and a little at a time, Marla had it charming and cozy, and most importantly, paid for.
The living room contained a sofa and chair in azure blue with mauve and white flowers, a white, fake bear skin rug lay in front of the fireplace, a coffee table, end tables with scented oil lamps to accent the room, and pictures on the walls were soft Thomas Kincaid paintings. The kitchen contained a new stove and refrigerator, a small square table of wood and white tile, four chairs, a small microwave on a stand, and a new washer and dryer. The bedroom had a queen-sized, four-poster oak bed, a dresser with mirror, and a nightstand with a lamp and clock. Because she was seldom there at the beginning, she had chosen silk plants to accent her new home, hung here and there on hooks set into the ceiling, and artificial trees in a few corners.
When her next book was accepted, she’d moved in to make her cabin her permanent home, careful with her money so that she could pay her few bills, and write to her heart’s content.
Because her writing had taken off, and she seemed to be doing well financially, she needed someone to help promote her books, thus giving her more free time to write. She’d asked her publisher to recommend someone, and Larry Impala had come into the picture.
Marla sighed heavily, snapping herself back to the present. That was over a long time ago, she reminded herself. Lucille was right. One broken heart didn’t mean the whole world was out to get her. She had practically become a recluse because of her pain, and that wasn’t a healthy way to live. The only time she ever left her cabin was for groceries and writing supplies, food for her outdoor bird and squirrel feeders, and a trip with Lucille and Henry for dinner and a movie, perhaps every month or two. Otherwise, she had been right there, alone.
Marla entered her cabin and sat on the sofa. Copies of her published books sat on the coffee table between bookends of un-carved stone found on her mountain. She had liked the looks of the rocks, causing her to take them in, wash them, and coat them with a clear polyurethane finish. She reached over and pulled one of the books out of the display, placed it on her lap, and ran her hand over the cover.
Henry was right. She did want to write, and what she needed wasn’t here any more. She would have to find it elsewhere. What she needed to look for evaded her, but she knew it was at the edge of her mind. It simply wouldn’t surface.
The night out in Blue Ridge had been enjoyable. They’d seen a new comedy movie, and afterwards had a late dinner at a local truck stop. But however pleasant she’d found the night out to be, the evening had done nothing to calm the inner turmoil Marla felt about her writing.
Now, mid-morning, she sat by the stream once again, plunking small pebbles into the water. Her eyes followed the stream’s path as it flowed down the mountain to the Jamison’s small lake, which bordered the pasture where Henry’s cattle munched contentedly on grass. A couple of old horses walked amongst the cows, ones Henry had taken and put out to pasture, now too old to be ridden.
It’d be nice to have a horse to ride, she thought, realizing just how much land there was to enjoy. She’d learned to ride when she was a teen, taking lessons at a local stable when she was fourteen.
She sprang to her feet. A multitude of ideas raced through her mind. That was it! She could write a book about a ranch owner!
Marla took off in a hard run, not caring that she risked falling and breaking her neck! She didn’t stop until she burst into Lucille’s kitchen.
“I’ve got it, Lucille! I’ve got it!” She beamed with exuberant happiness.
“Goodness, child! Calm down!” Lucille grabbed a glass, poured cold water into it, and gave it to Marla. “Drink this.”
Marla gulped the water, still beaming. “I know what I can write about! Horses!”
“Horses? I didn’t know you knew anything about horses.”
“I took riding lessons when my mom and dad were still alive. I just remembered that.”
“That’s great, dear. What else did you learn? Did they teach you about training them, diseases, overall care?”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “They taught me to brush the horse down after riding, not to give them water without cooling them down first, and give them feed while brushing.”
“And?” Lucille queried.
Marla’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”
Lucille smiled warmly. “Now that you have the idea, you do what you have to do to write the book. You go learn about horses.”
“I don’t know of any stables around here. Everyone raises cattle. I don’t want to write another book on cattle farmers.”
“Tennessee has plenty of horses, even Kentucky. I’m sure there are places in Georgia, if you look in the right place. It shouldn’t be difficult, dear.”
“Thanks, Lucille,” she said dismally. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
“Now, wait a minute!” Lucille grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her over to the table. “Sit down.”
Marla did as she was told, like an obedient child.
“You have just decided what to write about in your new book. That’s the best thing you’ve done for yourself in weeks. Don’t squash the notion before you give it your best shot. You’re no quitter, Marla. You’re developing a fear of leaving home! That’s a very serious problem. If you don’t overcome it, you’re in trouble.”
She hadn’t thought of that. She only knew she was happy here and didn’t feel the need for more. Looking at it from Lucille’s point of view made a difference.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I never realized that. Talk about a smack between the eyes!”
“I’m sorry, dear. You know I love you as if you’re my own daughter. I just want you to be happy and normal. Becoming a recluse is not normal.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed, her tone resigned. “I guess that leaves me no choice.”
Lucille gave Marla’s hand a firm pat. “You’ll be fine. Besides, maybe you’ll run into Mr. Right this time out. If not, you’ll at least come back with some great ideas for your new book. Maybe even two or three books!”
“I won’t be looking for any Mr. Right. Mr. Wrong, either, for that matter.”
Lucille laughed and hugged Marla. “Want some help packing?”
“Thanks, but I can handle it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave. I have some things in my fridge that I need to clean out, and there are a few things you and Henry could use so they won’t spoil. I’ll bring them down.”
“Thank you, dear. That would be fine.”
By mid-afternoon, Marla had cleaned out her refrigerator, packed what Lucille could use, and then had packed enough clothes for two weeks. She’d decided on mostly jeans and shirts, a couple of pairs of sneakers, and a good pair of boots. She also packed a few casual dress things, nightgowns, underwear, and socks. She packed only one black dress and heels in case there came an occasion for dinner somewhere nice. She hadn’t worn make up except for her few trips into Blue Ridge, but now she felt it best to take a makeup bag. She may as well look her best in order to feel her best at what she was hoping to accomplish.
She had no idea what awaited her out there in the world, but she hoped that whatever venture she encountered, it would be something to enrich her life for the better.
Chapter Two
As soon as Marla dropped off the box of refrigerated goods to Lucille, said good-bye to her and then to Henry, she hurried to her car and drove away before she could give it a second thought. If she had thought about it further, she’d have driven back up the driveway and said to forget it.
Now, a few hours later, she traveled south on Interstate 85. Her stomach rumbled and clinched, reminding her that she had not eaten all day.
At the next exit, marked Exit 47, Newnan/Shenandoah, she took the off-ramp, and made a right when she caught sight of a gas station in that direction.
After pulling in and filling the tank, she went inside to pay for her purchase. Curiosity got the best of her, causing her to ask the clerk, “By any chance, is there a place around here that raises horses or teaches riding lessons?”
The clerk smiled. “Sure! They advertise in the paper all the time.” She indicated a rack by a window. “They’re fifty-cents.”
Marla walked over to get a paper from the stack, and then asked, “What about hotels and restaurants?”
“Both in either direction on this highway. Closest ones are to the right of here, about a block.”
“Thank you.” Marla gave her some cash, took her change, and then went back to her car.
The clerk had been right. Two minutes away, she found the restaurant, and next door was a hotel. Deciding to eat first, she turned into the restaurant parking lot.
Two hours later, Marla had eaten, checked into the hotel, taken a luxuriously long shower, and now lay face down on the bed, comfortable in a caftan of black silk, looking through the local newspaper for ads. She found a large display ad announcing a horse show at the Coweta County Fairgrounds, piquing her interest. The display ad pictured a girl in Western-wear on the back of a beautiful black horse reared up on its hindquarters. The girl had one hand on the reins, the other held her cowboy hat high in the air, and she smiled brilliantly, giving the impression that the wild side of the horse gave her a thrill. The announcement stated some barrel racing stunts, roping, and a display of trail riding.
Marla captured her bottom lip between her teeth. She decided to go see this event, if for nothing else but making notes on what they did. Perhaps she would find the owner of the horses, or at least the sponsor of the events, who in turn might direct her to the owner. She folded the paper, sat up to reach for the phone, and called the front desk for directions to the fairgrounds.
An hour later, dressed in dark blue denims, boots, and a light blue cotton blouse, Marla made her way through the gate and toward bleacher-type seats that had been set up around a corral of sorts. She carried a steno pad and two pens, her purse hung from her shoulder by the strap.
A few yards away, two figures stood in the door of a huge barn, a male and a female, talking to each other, causing Marla to wonder if perhaps they might know something about the show. The man was tall, slender but muscular looking, and from what she could tell in the distance, would be quite good-looking. The woman wore a beige western hat over waist length black hair, which had been pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck. She wore a western shirt, faded denim jeans, and boots. Perhaps a rider, Marla assumed.
She knew that after the show, there would be people left to load horses into the trailers she saw parked around the barn, which would give her a chance to find someone who appeared to be in charge. She’d then ask about the possibility of visiting their place for notes.
Taking a seat on the bleachers, she made sure she didn’t face the sun, for it was going to be a warm day in spite of it being spring. Georgia rarely had much spring weather, she mused, for one week could find snow on the ground, and the next would find temperatures had jumped to eighty degrees. This year had been no different, but at least there was a cool breeze to keep it pleasant.
People filled the bleachers over the next half hour, and Marla flipped open the cover of the steno pad, propped it on her knees, and pulled a pen from her purse. She glanced at the person who sat down beside her, noticing immediately that she was the woman who had been standing in the door of the barn, talking to a man.
“Hello,” Marla greeted her with a smile. “I saw you at the barn earlier. Are you part of the show?”
The woman, in her late twenties Marla guessed, looked at her with big, dark brown eyes, and smiled warmly. “Not with the show, but my boyfriend runs the ranch where these horses are trained. I work there as Administrative Assistant.”
Marla’s heart filled with hope. She held out her hand. “I’m Marla Davis.”
The woman shook her hand cordially. “I’m Teresa Babrac. Nice to meet you.” She looked at her with creased brows. “Did you say Marla Davis? That name rings a bell for some reason. Have we met before?”
“No.” She smiled. “I’m a writer. Maybe you’ve read my books?”
Teresa sat up straight. “Oh, my God!” She studied Marla’s face for a moment. “It is you! I have a copy of every book you’ve ever written! I swear! I really do!” She traced an imaginary X on her chest with the forefinger of her left hand and held up her right hand.
Marla laughed softly. “I’m flattered!”
“So, what are you doing here? I mean, are you just passing through, staying, or having a book signing?”
“I’m looking for a place to teach me about horses. Not everything, mind you, but enough for a book I want to write.”
Teresa’s eyes lit up. “Are you serious?”
“Very. I know how to ride, but that’s about it. I can’t very well write a book based on someone who raises horses without knowing what I’m writing. I have to learn enough to sound realistic.”
“John could teach you, and I know he wouldn’t mind at all.” When Marla looked quizzical, Teresa went on to explain, “John is my boyfriend. John Grey. He runs the Circle G Ranch for his brother, Terry. They’re both excellent ranchers, and you could learn a great deal.”
“That would be wonderful, but you have to realize, I couldn’t learn everything in just a day or two. I’m looking to hang around at least two weeks, possibly as long as a month. It might be an imposition for that long, don’t you think?”
“Of course not. If you wish, I’ll introduce you to John, and we can ask him.”
“Great! Thank you so much!”
“No problem. Come on.”
When Teresa stood, Marla rose, and the two walked together toward the barn where she had seen Teresa earlier. Just as they reached the door, a horse and rider burst through the doorway, causing the two women to step aside. Close behind, were several other horses and riders, almost like a stampede toward the corral. They both watched for a moment, then Teresa nudged Marla’s arm.
“Come on,” she urged, then stepped through the doorway.
Marla followed, and then stopped to let her eyes adjust to the dimmer interior of the barn. When she could focus, she hurried to catch up with Teresa, who had managed to get halfway across the dirt floor.
John Grey looked up from his chore of saddling a horse, smiling when he saw Teresa striding toward him. “I thought you were going to watch the show.”
“I am. There’s someone I want you to meet.” She turned toward Marla. “Marla Davis, this is John Grey.” They shook hands cordially, then Teresa went on to explain what Marla needed and why.
“A writer! Imagine that! Welcome to Newnan.”
Marla smiled. “Thank you.”
John finished tightening the girth around the horse he had put the saddle on, and then turned to Marla. “I don’t see that it would pose a problem for you to be at the ranch. No harm in looking around, making notes.” He indicated the steno pad she still held in her hand. “How long did you say you’d need?”
“A couple of weeks, no more than a month.”
“Do you have a place to stay?”
Marla smiled. “I’m staying at a hotel. It’ll be fine.”
Teresa looked aghast. “A hotel! For a month? That’s way too expensive! I have a two-bedroom apartment. My roommate recently got married and moved out. You can share with me while you’re here.”
Marla’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I couldn’t! You’ve been too generous already. That’s such an imposition, and you don’t even know me!”
“Unless you’re a kleptomaniac or some kind of night stalker, I don’t see a problem. Do you?”
Marla looked at John as if needing reassurance, received a smile, then she looked back at Teresa. Marla caught her bottom lip with her teeth as she gave it some thought. “Tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll stay at the hotel for another day or two so that you and I can get acquainted, then we’ll decide. Fair enough? And just so you know, I’m not a kleptomaniac, nor a night stalker.”
“I didn’t think you were!” Teresa laughed.
“Sounds good to me,” John offered.
“Fair enough,” Teresa added. “Now, let’s go watch the show, and afterwards, I’ll give you directions to the ranch. We start the day at five every morning.”
Marla groaned. “I haven’t been out of bed at that time since high school, and even then, I had to drag myself out.”
Teresa laughed. “It won’t be so bad once you get started.”
“I can hardly wait,” she remarked with a laugh.
Marla made a great deal of notes during the show. She noted how the horses stepped over logs during the trail riding demonstration, how they were quick on the turn in barrel racing, and the speed in which they could start and stop at a given moment. Of course, she knew the riders were also knowledgeable of their tasks, which she admired greatly, but she also knew it took a great deal of patience and effort to train these gorgeous animals.
As they were leaving, Marla walking with Teresa toward the exit gate, they stopped, so that Marla could write down directions to the ranch. Teresa’s attention was diverted, and when she gave an exuberant wave, Marla turned without thinking to look in the direction in which Teresa waved.
The man who waved back caught Marla completely off-guard. His looks alone made her heart do funny things, and her mouth fell slightly open at the shock of such a devastatingly good-looking man. She would guess him to be well over six feet tall, dark hair peeked from the edges of a black western hat, and she wondered what color his eyes were. He had a very neatly groomed mustache and a beard that had been trimmed to follow the shape of his jaw. His legs were long and lean under skin hugging jeans, his waist trim. He wore a checked blue western shirt, his shoulders broad and muscular.
“Oh, Lord!” she breathed, barely a whisper. When she realized he was looking at her, and how she had reacted to his looks alone, she jerked herself mentally and turned back around to Teresa. For some reason she couldn’t explain, the look he gave made her body react in a way it never had before, and she didn’t like it at all. She didn’t like the nervousness, or the sudden heat that seemed to flow in her blood. She looked at the notes in her hand. “I’ll use these and take a ride out there now so I won’t be lost in the darkness that early in the morning.”
“Good idea. You can’t miss it, though. Just look for the huge gate and archway on the right. Remember, after you turn on Highway 16, you’ll find Gordon Road is the first right just across the bridge that crosses the interstate. Once you turn onto Gordon Road, it’s about a mile out.”
“Thank you. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
Marla refused to look back to see if the man was still there. Instead, she walked forward, through the gate, and went to her car. Dismissing him entirely would be easy, she decided, even though she had no idea what his connection with Teresa might be. She wouldn’t ask, either. Of that she was absolutely certain. She reminded herself that she was here on business, and there would be nothing to deter that. Nothing whatsoever.
Marla dragged herself out of bed at 3:30 AM on Friday morning, with a groan, several yawns, and a long stretch.
“I have already learned one thing,” she murmured. “I hate getting up this early.” Chuckling at herself, she headed for the shower.
Having found the driveway to the Circle G Ranch the previous day without difficulty, Marla drove slowly in the dark when she felt sure she was nearing the place, hoping her headlights would be sufficient to allow her to find it again.
To her surprise, spotlights shone on the entrance of the arched design of ironwork of horses on each side of the name of the ranch. The gates were open, and Marla turned in. Rather than turning around as she had done the day before, she now followed the winding drive.
The massive house came into view as she drove over a rise, ablaze with lights. The sight took her breath away. The two-story antebellum mansion, much like those she’d seen in historical movies, shone a brilliant white broken only by black shutters at the windows. Tall columns supported the high porch roof, the porch itself constructed of polished brick, and a massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, brightly lighting the entire front of the house. Short street lights, spaced about five feet apart, traced a path her car followed to a small circular patch of grass, in the center of which stood a life-size white marble statue of a horse. Warm yellow light poured out of the windows in a cheery welcome.
She pulled to a stop on the circular drive and parked behind a sporty SUV. As she started to get out of the car, she saw Teresa come from the house, smiling as she waved.
“I see you found it!” she called across the short distance.
“No problem at all,” Marla acknowledged, as she strolled along the walkway. She couldn’t help noticing the colorful flowers that lined each side, and the lights that softly lit the way to the porch.
Once Marla reached the doorway where Teresa still stood, Teresa reached out a hand and took Marla’s wrist. “Come in! We’re about to have breakfast.” She gave Marla’s arm a tug, pulling Marla inside.
“Breakfast? I didn’t expect to be fed, although nothing was open this early.”
“Everybody here gets breakfast. Come on! I’m starved!”