Once Tempted (12 page)

“Mom told me she came here because her friend blindfolded her and stuck her in front of a map of California—after spinning her around a couple of times. You know, kind of like the game pin the tail on the donkey. Pretty amazing, huh?”

“Pretty strange. Why would I want to go out with someone who makes life plans based on a party game? Was she blitzed or is she just flaky?” From the covert study he’d been conducting he already knew she didn’t drink much and wielded a laserlike focus on whatever task was assigned her. But there was no need to admit that to his sister.

“You did hear she lost her husband, right?” There was just enough censure in her tone to make him wince.

Christ. He couldn’t imagine what losing her husband had been like for her, but he very much doubted Tess would want his pity. “Sorry, Quinn, you can lay off the
guilt trip. No way am I going to be your sacrificial lamb. I like my life just fine as it is.”

“Yeah, you’re obviously happy. Come on, Ward, you do nothing but brood and scowl at spreadsheets—”

“Maybe because I’m trying to make this place profitable, despite the growing number of adopted animals on the premises—”

Quinn was on a roll and talked right over him. “And ever since Erica dumped you, when you do decide to date a woman, your internal timer begins ticking at ‘Hello.’ Two weeks, max, and then the poor thing is given what I’m guessing is a flawless speech about how you’re not ready for a deeper commitment, blah, blah, blah. It’s not healthy, Ward.”

He paused, his hand flat against Ion’s gray-and-black-patterned saddle blanket, and grinned. “That was good, Quinn. Unfortunately, you lack Mom’s subtlety. You’re going to have to refine that spiel if you don’t want Reid in stitches when you try it on him.”

When she rolled her eyes in exasperation, he grinned. “Have I told you recently how cute you look when you’ve been trounced by your betters?” he asked, knowing it would make her do a slow burn. “You remind me of that Chihuahua you fostered, all bulgy-eyed and wiggly.” Oh, yeah. This last would keep her seething for a good half hour. “ ’Fraid you’ll have to drop the topic of my love life, kid. It’s showtime.”

W
ITH THE HELP
of Jim and Mitchell, two of the wranglers, they got the guests mounted on their assigned horses, checked the length of their stirrups, and adjusted the cinches with an on-time departure. Since Quinn, Ward, and Jim were taking the group out, they made sure to memorize names as they chatted with the guests and got them settled in their saddles. And when they introduced themselves, Quinn and Ward stuck to first names only so as to maintain a casual and easy atmosphere during the trail ride. Often guests became distracted upon hearing “Knowles” attached to their names. Visions of cozying up to one of them in the hopes of getting a perk or VIP treatment obscured the view they should be concentrating on: the landscape they were riding through.

They headed out at an easy walk, following the tractor tracks along the fence line, allowing the guests to grow accustomed to the horses beneath them. In the lower pastures, sheep and newborn lambs dotted the rolling fields. Adjacent to them were the quarter horses the Knowleses trained. In addition to the trail horses reserved for the guests, Ward’s family had another twenty they were bringing along. Some would be kept as
cutting horses; the rest sold as pleasure or competition horses. When Ward and the other riders approached, both sheep and equines meandered toward the fence, their curiosity roused by the passing horses.

Ward rode next to a couple visiting from Kentucky. Madlon and Kirk Glenn were spending two weeks touring the northern part of the state. They’d started their trip in San Francisco, visiting museums and taking in the sights, before renting a car to tour the Napa and Sonoma vineyards. They were wrapping up their California trip at Silver Creek. Since both husband and wife seemed genuinely taken with the ranch, Ward was happy to field their questions. Acting as ranch historian as well as riding instructor was part and parcel of leading a trail ride.

“What kind of sheep are these?” Kirk asked him.

“The breed’s called Lincoln.”

“So they’re from England? From the look of them I’d have guessed Jamaica,” Madlon said.

Ward laughed. “They do look like Rastafarians, don’t they? Those dreadlocks they’re wearing? When we sheer them later they’ll produce a superior quality wool. There are a fair number of artisanal spinners in the region. The blanket underneath your saddle?” He pointed his gloved finger at the black, gray, and red–striped pad extending beyond the fender and the saddle skirt. “It’s woven from Silver Creek’s sheep by Clover Stiles. She owns The Fold, a yarn store in Acacia. She also knits sweaters, scarves, ponchos, and the like using our wool.”

“How wonderful. And the horses?” Madlon pointed to a group grazing by the fence. “That silver one’s a beauty.”

“Yeah, that he is. That’s Bilbao. We’re training him to be a cutting horse. He’s three, so he’ll be filling out a little more through the chest and withers, but do you see how he’s a little smaller than Rascal, the chestnut grazing
next to him? Both Rascal and Bilbao are quarter horses, but cutting horses generally have a smaller build. Rascal’s more a pleasure horse, like Aladdin and Ion, the horses you and Glenn are riding.”

“This is so interesting. May I ask another question?”

“Sure.” He was more than happy to talk about the ranch and its mission, especially if it kept his thoughts from wandering in the direction of a certain New Yorker. He wondered why she’d never once asked to come out on a trail ride—

Madlon’s voice broke into his musings. “It’s kind of funny, but I just happened to notice that all the trail horses are males—”

Her husband’s laughter cut off the rest of question, but Ward had gotten the gist of it. “Shame on you, Pug, for checking out other guys’ equipment!”

Madlon blushed at her husband’s teasing. “I noticed, that’s all. It stuck out.”

Her husband whooped again.

Ward fought a grin. “You’re right, all our trail horses are geldings. We’ve found the rides go better with single sex horses, especially as we often have novice riders. Mares are great. They’re actually harder workers—”

“Of course they are. That applies to females of
all
species,” Madlon said.

“True. But when a mare goes into heat she sometimes gets a little tetchy and even gelded horses get distracted—” And just like that, an image of Tess and her huge dark eyes, saucy ponytail, and exquisite curves popped into his mind. He had no doubt she would do her best to clock—or geld—him if he were foolish enough to ask if she was in heat. And no, he wasn’t usually what Quinn would call a chauvinist jerk; he just wanted to have a reason for the inconvenient attraction plaguing him. Pheromones could explain it.

Kirk clucked at Ion, who’d stopped to swipe a dried
nettle, one of his favorite treats. “So how long has the ranch been operating?”

“The Knowleses have been raising quarter horses and cattle since 1915. The sheep and the pear orchard you see over there”—he extended his arm across the tracks to the rows of pear trees lining the other side; in two months’ time their branches would be covered in delicate white blossoms—“are the newest introductions. They’re part of an ongoing effort to diversify Silver Creek’s land use. All the farming and ranching done here is organic and sustainable.”

“It’s wonderful.” Madlon patted Aladdin’s gray neck as if congratulating him for being part of such a wonderful enterprise. “And when did the Knowleses decide to open Silver Creek to paying guests?”

“Thirty-three years ago.” Three years before he was born. “Daniel and Adele Knowles, the current owners, recognized that they had to take the ranch in a new direction. It was their decision to decrease the number of cattle in order to make the ranch sustainable. They were some of the first ranchers in the area to switch to grass feeding. But to afford those changes they also realized they needed a steady revenue. You’re it,” he said, flashing a smile.

“Happy to be of service,” Kirk said. “So far this is money well spent.”

“In the beginning, Adele and Daniel had help from Lucy Knowles, Daniel’s sister. But then she married, and she and her husband Peter decided to buy an inn in Maryland, where Peter’s from. Now they’re opening a second in South Carolina, near Aiken.”

“Might be worth a visit on our next vacation, right, Kirk?” Madlon glanced around again at the lambs lying on the short-cropped field and gave a happy sigh. “I paint. Do you think I could come back here in the afternoon
with my sketchbook? I’ll be careful not to disturb the babies.”

“Pug’s a really good artist. I’ve been trying to encourage her to set up a website and sell her works online,” Kirk said.

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Ward replied. “So, ‘Pug.’ That’s an unusual nickname.”

Madlon laughed cheerfully. “Isn’t it? My brother gave it to me when I was little. It stuck.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t look like a pug. But that’s a funny coincidence. I was telling my sister earlier how much she reminded me of a Chihuahua. She, too, may find herself with a canine nickname.”

“Beware the wrath of an aggrieved sister. My brother ended up with a lot of frogs in his bed. Lots of them,” Madlon said.

Ward grinned and tipped his hat. “Duly warned.”

They’d reached the wooden gate that led to the higher pastures. The leader, Ward shifted in his saddle to check on the other riders behind. Quinn, astride her black Appaloosa, Domino, was in the middle of the pack, talking to a young couple from Oakland. When she saw him turn in his saddle, she gave a thumbs-up sign. Imagining how she’d retaliate if he began calling her Chi-chi, Ward grinned, then let his gaze travel to the last riders. Taking up the rear, Jim gave a casual wave. The riders he was supervising were doing fine, too.

Turning back to his own group, he said, “I’ll open the gate. After everyone passes through it, we can pick up a trot. About three-quarters of a mile further on, we’ll start loping. You all ready for a quicker pace?”

Karen and Hope, a mother and daughter who were visiting from Oregon, their weekend stay a Valentine’s present Hope had arranged for her mother, nodded in unison, Karen adding, “Ready as we’ll ever be. But boy am I looking forward to the hot stone massage later this
afternoon.” Karen was riding Brocco and was probably the greenest of the group. But she looked game and athletic.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. Brocco’s a smooth ride.”

Ward squeezed his legs around Rio’s girth and the seven-year-old gelding moved into an easy ground-skimming trot, his muscled neck curved in a delicate arch and his black mane rising and falling in time to the two-beat gait. They passed the upper pastures where the Angus cattle roamed, the herd smaller now that the pregnant cows had been moved closer to the barns for calving season.

The terrain grew hillier. The open, brownish gray fields were topped by a soft gray sky but ahead, about a mile farther, the grassy meadows met a dark line of tall cypress that marked the beginning of the state preserve. The trails that wound throughout the forest offered hours of riding.

Ward closed his hand on his reins and raised his arm. The horses, all well-trained or “made,” slowed to a walk behind him. Once again, he shifted in his saddle but this time addressed the entire group. “All right, folks, you ready to enjoy a nice, easy lope for this next stretch?”

Excited answers of “Yes” and “You betcha” floated on the breeze. He looked over at the woman named Corinne who was riding Gomez. The man next to her, astride Miro, was Allen. “They’ll take good care of you,” he assured them. “These two have been riding the trails all their lives. They know their job.”

“I can tell Gomez is a good horse. He’s been slowing down whenever I ask,” Corinne said.

“Don’t worry about me, but Silver Creek’s chef had better be prepared for some seriously hungry guests,” Allen added.

“Jeff Sullivan, the restaurant’s chef, likes nothing better than guests with serious appetites. And the ranch is serving a high tea this afternoon.” Tess would be volunteering her services then. He might have to check on how she was faring. It would get her back up, but riling her was a lot of fun. He wondered whether she even owned a pair of jeans. Tess Casari in snug jeans would be a sight to behold.

“Okay, let’s ride.” He closed his legs and opened his left hand slightly, relaxing his grip on the reins. Rio surged forward into a fluid lope. Behind him came the rich snorts as the other horses also picked up speed. The air was soon filled with the pounding of hooves on the hard earth, the jangling of metal bits and the creaking of leather, some of the best music in the world.

A ray of sunlight pierced the cloud cover and landed on a ribbon of silver that meandered its way down the fir-topped mountain and then over the open land. It was the creek for which his family’s ranch was named. As Ward drew the cool air deep into his lungs, he knew he was about the luckiest man alive to have a job that allowed him to work the land he loved.

Women came and women went but this love remained.