A Rush of Wings Page 5

  She replaced the botanical guide, then wandered into the dining room and noted the long table set with plates, white stoneware on wood. An extra table leaned against the wall, and shelves held stacks of dishes, glasses, and mugs to accommodate many more guests than were currently at the ranch. This room also was unadorned, everything serviceable, bare. This morning it seemed bleak. It cried out for some artistic touch, even a simple centerpiece.

  Glancing around the room, she saw what she needed. Taking with her a glass water pitcher and knife from the shelves, she went outside. The air was chilled, raising the flesh on her arms and legs, in spite yesterday’s heat. How could it be so cold in July? But that was something else to file in her memory about her new environment at that elevation.

  Shivering, Noelle filled the bottom fourth of the pitcher with small stones and water from the creek. The smell of the juniper grew pungent as she sliced the tender branches and stood them in the pitcher. She carefully added thorny stalks of wild roses, then went in and set the pitcher in the center of the table, turning it one way, then edging it back just a little.

  “That’s nice,” Rick said behind her.

  She spun, her heart leaping like a rabbit to her throat.

  “Sorry I startled you.”

  She drew a sharp breath. “It’s okay.” But it took some time for the jolt to pass.

  Marta bustled past with the coffee cake. She stopped and eyed the floral arrangement. “What’s all this?”

  “Flowers.” Rick took the cake from her with a soothing glance.

  Marta raised her eyebrows, then went back to the kitchen.

  Noelle knew that look. Her cheeks heated. What was she thinking? She was a guest, not a resident. “I should have asked.”

  Rick set the coffeecake on the table. “Marta’s … practical. She thinks a water pitcher is for water.” He slid out her chair, but before she sat, Noelle took the four hundred dollars from her pocket and held it out to him. “I meant to give you this yesterday. I didn’t want to leave it on the desk.”

  He took the bills with just a hint of surprise, then tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sorry I forgot. But you didn’t ask.”

  He shrugged. “I knew where to find you.” He eased the chair in as she sat.

  Marta returned with coffee and fruit wedges, then made a third trip, returning with sizzling sausages and hard-boiled eggs. The family from Michigan, two stout adults and three preadolescent kids, followed the steaming platter to the table. They’d used their kitchen last night, but they must have preferred Marta’s breakfast to their own—with good reason.

  Rick seated the mother beside Noelle and greeted the kids by name. For all his reserved temperament, he was a warm host.

  “I’m Shelby.” The woman held out her hand, soft and short-fingered.

  Noelle squeezed and released it. “Noelle.”

  “Up here alone, are you?”

  Noelle nodded. Would her business be discussed at every meal?

  “I dream of slipping away alone.” Two deep dimples appeared in Shelby’s cheeks when she smiled. “But this crew wouldn’t survive if I did.”

  Marta came to stand at the end of the table, and Noelle guessed they wouldn’t be waiting for the Pathfinders or honeymoon couple. The food was hot and ready. She flicked her eyes up to Marta, who seemed to have put the flower arrangement from her mind. Her face was serene as she stood, head bowed, while Rick prayed.

  “‘Happy the man who fears the Lord, who finds great delight in his commands.’ Lord, you are the source of all joy. Bless this day and this food for our nourishment. Amen.”

  Noelle kept her hands in her lap and did not stare. This was obviously a ritual he would repeat each time they ate. When he finished, the kids grabbed for the coffee cake, scolded by their mother but not dissuaded from grabbing the pieces with their hands and plopping them on their plates. Noelle took the platter from Shelby and helped herself with the server from the other side. The cake was still warm and she smelled its lemony sweetness.

  “Coffee?” Marta held the pot above Noelle’s cup.

  “Thank you.” Noelle took a bite of cake. It was moist and light and the tiny gray poppy seeds crunched in its softness. She savored it silently. Why did everything taste better here—even with the children shoving whole sausages into their mouths and mashing their boiled eggs? Everything seemed more vibrant, more real. She added cream to her coffee and glanced at Rick.

  His features were regular, not the sort to turn heads wherever he went, not like Morgan’s, not like … She shuddered away from another image, forced her mind back to Rick. He moved with controlled mastery, and his forearms, bared beneath the loosely rolled denim sleeves, were lean-sinewed like the horse he had ridden yesterday, his hands calloused but clean. He dug his fork into the cake with a determined stroke.

  “Room all right?” He met her glance for a moment.

  “Yes, it’s fine.” She had slept well enough.

  “Too bad you didn’t get a cabin.” Shelby patted her hand. “They’re so cozy. We had a fire last night.”

  “We popped popcorn in a weird black box on a handle.” The oldest boy looked exactly like his mother, though more thickly freckled.

  “And Sean dropped it in the fire.” His younger brother was a smaller copy with thick freckles across his nose.

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “Boys.” Shelby’s husband had a high, thin voice.

  “Well, he did.”

  “Did not.”

  Shelby rolled her eyes as though Noelle knew how it was. In truth, she knew no such thing. She thanked Marta for warming her coffee, then sliced into her boiled egg and lightly salted the slice. She had wondered if Marta would join them, but except to replenish the coffee, she stayed in the kitchen. Noelle had never given thought to it at home. That’s where the servants belonged. Why, here, did it seem strange?

  Everything seemed strange. She felt drunk with possibilities. She was free, independent, alone. It was deliciously heady. The reasons that made such a step impossible for Shelby might be different, but it was no less a step for Noelle. Never again would she be trapped. Never would she allow anyone power over her. She was not invincible, but now she would be shrewd.

  Shelby’s family filled the room with noise: questions, bickering, laughter, and excuses from Shelby. Noelle was glad they were there. It would be uncomfortable to sit at the table alone with Rick. He responded pleasantly enough to anything directed his way but didn’t seem to generate conversation. She thought of her father, though there was very little to connect them. William St. Claire was the epitome of class and culture, and Rick seemed … unconcerned with either. Two different worlds, though maybe the same type of man packaged differently. With the exception of religion.

  Noelle looked at Shelby’s husband. His head was round as a bowling ball, the dark hair thinning on top to reveal a sheen. Even shaved he bore a five o’clock shadow, and his nose was a small round bulb. He was shaped like an inverted spark plug, but Noelle guessed when he took to the mountain on his bicycle he was tougher than he looked.

  When they were nearly finished eating, Morgan came in, collapsed into a chair with a groan, and reached for the coffee carafe Marta had left on the table her last trip through.

  Rick slid it closer. “Morning.”

  Morgan nodded. His eyes were heavy, one cheek still creased from whatever he had lain on, no doubt without moving. His night at Roaring Boar must have been quite entertaining.

  “Well …” Shelby seemed to take that as her cue. “I guess we’ll be off for the day. Taking the bike trail, you know.” She nudged Noelle’s arm.

  Why did the woman assume Noelle knew and understood all her thoughts and duties? Noelle smiled politely as Shelby gathered her chicks and herded them from the room, then turned back to Rick. “I’d like to ride this morning. Is there a procedure?”

  The corners of his mouth deepened, though she
wasn’t sure what amused him. “Greenhorn or equestrian?”

  She wasn’t altogether sure what he meant by greenhorn, but equestrian certainly fit, and she answered accordingly.

  “Then the procedure is you sign my waiver and I get you saddled and show you the boundaries. The ranch borders the national forest, and it’s easy to get lost up in there. If you ride well enough to go on your own, you’ll still have to stay within the area I show you.” He tossed down his napkin and stood.

  Noelle followed him out of the room with a last glance back. If Morgan realized he was alone, it didn’t matter. His forehead rested on his palm, supported by his elbow to the table. His other hand clutched the cup of coffee he had yet to drink, and his eyes were closed.

  They went first to the office, where Rick put her rent payment into his cashbox, then took a clipboard from the wall. It was a standard liability waiver, which Noelle knew meant very little in case of accident. Anything could be challenged, and personal injury suits were almost always settled out of court. But she would not be getting injured. She signed her name.

  In the barn, Rick saddled a bay mare and a buckskin gelding. The buckskin appeared to be the only non-quarter horse he owned. “You’ve ridden a lot?”

  “I’m competition trained.” She didn’t tell him her equestrian training had ended at age fourteen and she’d ridden only sporadically since. It wasn’t something one forgot.

  He gave no indication her declaration had impressed him anyway as he held the head of the mare for her to mount. She took up the reins, prepared to extinguish his doubts.

  Again that sideways smile. “She won’t respond that way. She’s trained Western.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hold both reins together.” He adjusted them in her hands. “That’s why they’re tied like that.”

  “I see.”

  Rick looked her over, adjusted the stirrup, then mounted the buckskin. Swinging the horse’s head around, he clicked his tongue. Noelle experimented with the reins until she felt the mare’s ready response. It was different but not difficult to adjust. Her training in all other aspects was complete. He’d see that for himself.

  The pale gold grass of the meadow rasped under the hooves. On either side, the slopes up to the rocky crags were wooded and carpeted with spongy kinnikinnick and wild roses, both plants she recognized from the mountain botanical guide. The quiet seemed to swallow her as they passed under the trees.

  Her senses heightened. The hooves softly crunched the rusty pine needles, releasing their scent. She could almost feel the pristine secrets of the wood opening to her. Wisdom and knowledge. If she stayed to listen, what would she learn?

  Rick turned in the saddle. “There’s no fence dividing the national forest and the ranch, so keep to this side of the stream.” He indicated the larger stream to her left, and she nodded. They came out of the trees and skirted the fenced pasture, which held an inner corral. She guessed that was a training corral, and no animals were inside it.

  But in the pasture itself were the roan stallion, Destiny, and two others, one red like the colt and one black. They tossed their heads and ran, manes and tails like banners. Their wild abandon touched an ache inside her. What would it be like to ride the roan, to feel his strength and spirit?

  “Do you think that colt would carry me?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “I’m a capable rider. I’ve had extensive training.”

  “I doubt you’ve ridden an unbroken colt with a will of his own.”

  “There’s always a first time.” She smiled, but it had as much effect on Rick as on the crags above him.

  “Sorry.” He turned away from the pasture. Across the meadow they climbed back into the trees more steeply than before. “I want you to stay away from that high ground up there. The shale on the slope is unstable.”

  Noelle eyed the ridge he indicated with disappointment. It would afford the perfect view of the whole valley below. He was certainly of rules and restrictions, but she merely nodded and followed him back out to the meadow.

  She surveyed the long draw down to the ranch. It was shaped like a shallow U with the creek down the center and the grasses rich on either side. The house at its base faced squarely up to them, and she wondered who had placed it so capably.

  “Come on.” Rick urged his horse and they cantered down.

  She resisted the urge to kick in her heels and challenge him. Now that she’d had a look, she wouldn’t jeopardize her chances to ride the ranch alone. She reined in at the yard. “Do I pass?”

  “As long as you follow directions.”

  She held herself straight in the saddle. Follow directions. Oh yes, sir. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to follow directions. She brought the horse around and headed back into the trees. The white-barked ones were aspen, she now knew, and their notched leaf stems were what made the vibrant green leaves tremble in the breeze. Quaking aspen, they were called, and they were beautiful.

  She wished she had brought her art supplies, then Noelle recalled seeing a section in the general store that might have something she could use. With a sketchpad and pencil—or even better, paints—she could capture the beauty of this place. She looked down toward the ranch house. Rick was no longer in sight.

  If she skirted the house along the creek, she could ride down the gravel road to town. Rick had said not to cross into the national park property. She was neither crossing that stream he’d pointed out nor climbing the high ground he’d forbidden. She was only riding to town.

  First, she tied the horse behind the house, snuck up to her room, and took another bill from her pouch. Then she rode down and reached Juniper Falls without incident, crossing the highway the greatest challenge. But the horse was even-tempered and steady. She tied it outside the general store and went inside. The same man was behind the counter.

  He smiled. “Guess you found a place to stay.”

  “Yes. Thank you for your help.”

  “Rick know you’ve got that mare down here?”

  She hesitated before shaking her head. She had hoped no one would notice.

  “Can I get you something?”

  “I’ll just look.” She turned for the shelves that held sketchbooks other art supplies. It was actually a good selection in several media. She knelt and opened a wooden case that held a portable easel, watercolors, brushes, and heavy-weight stiff rag paper. Not the quality she was used to, but sufficient. She could add to the set as needed. She also chose a sketchpad and pencils and brought it all to the counter.

  “Find what you need?”

  “A good start, anyway.”

  “We get quite a few artists up here. That’s why I stock that stuff.”

  So she wasn’t alone in her reactions. Such natural beauty cried out to be captured.

  “I can order things from my supplier as well. Let me know if you want something specific.”

  “I’d look at a catalogue, certainly.” This was better than she’d hoped. “But this’ll do for now.” She paid for the items and thanked him. At the door, she turned. “If I walk next time, could the mare be our secret?”

  He picked up the cigarette from the tray and drew in the smoke, then smiled. “He won’t hear it from me. But he might from the rest of the town.”

  She could only hope not. With the wooden case under one arm, she walked the horse across the highway, then mounted and rode up to the ranch. She left the animal in the holding pen beside the stable and went inside. Up in her room, she set the art supplies on the table and rubbed her inner thighs, surprised to feel sore. But then, it had been a long while since she’d been on horseback. Keeping her legs straight, she bent and lowered her palms to the floor, then sank her chest to her knees.

  The stretch of hamstrings and calves felt good as she reached behind her legs and worked that final pull. She let her upper body hang, then slowly drew her arms up over her head. She reached high, then swung down to the side and around. She bent her knees to plié, then
did a series of jazz moves and spun.

  She smiled grimly at the small oval mirror above the bureau, quite a change from the glass wall in the studio. She tucked her toes between the logs of the wall at about the height of a bar and stretched both legs again. She should establish a routine, yet the thought vied with her current rebellion. No routine, then, but she would exercise—when she felt like it.

  CHAPTER

  5

  The next morning, Noelle stood on the porch and gazed at the serene beauty of the rosy crags against the cerulean sky. Birdsong floated on the breeze. On the meadow a horse whinnied, and the air was pungent with pine and sage. In that moment, she experienced morning anew, as though everywhere else time passed, but here it was created. She’d been right to come. She hadn’t planned it—reacted only—but she’d done exactly what she needed to.

  “Enjoying the quiet?” Morgan joined her at the porch rail.

  “Yes.”

  He looked better than he had the previous morning, but she’d seen nothing of him the rest of that day. Maybe he’d slept it through. He said, “You don’t mind solitude.”

  “I like it.”

  “I prefer people.” He leaned his forearms on the rail.

  “Any people?”

  He shrugged. “I have a broad tolerance.”

  She laughed softly. “I see.” And she had seen it in the way he interacted either with her or the group. Age and gender were no barriers for someone like Morgan.

  He eyed her. “You have a nice laugh, Noelle.”

  And that was her signal. She reached for the wooden case she had set on the porch.

  He was quicker and lifted it himself. “Heading off again?”

  She nodded.

  “Want some company?”

  “I work better alone.”

  “Work?”

  “Paint.” She indicated the box he held. “Watercolors, paper, and easel.”

  “Aha. So you’re an artist.”

  “I’m schooled in art.” She shrugged.

  “And here I thought you were a spy.”

  She laughed again, but concern flickered. Why would he think that, even jokingly? Did he wonder about her? Did they all?