From the Boots Up (8 page)

“Lucky, hell,” she scoffed. “I got lucky with this
assignment.”

She had no response for that, but Gina appeared not
to notice.

“Can you give me a few minutes before we talk?” She
held the camera up. “I’d like to put this away for a bit.”

“Yeah.”

“At the paddock okay?”

She nodded. Wherever Gina wanted to meet, she
would’ve gone. Seattle? Sure. North Dakota? No problem.

“Excellent. See you there.”

She tried not to watch Gina walk away, but she failed.
Completely. With a mighty effort, she directed her steps to the office to check
in with her dad. Twenty minutes later, she exited with Dammit and Moonshine,
one of the other cattle dogs, at her heels as she walked toward the paddock.

She found Gina talking to Jackson and Davey. Crushes
were like viruses, Meg decided, as she jerked her eyes from Gina’s face to her
notebook. She felt hot then cold then sweaty then giddy then almost nauseated.
Gina looked at her and smiled. It sent chills from her hat to her boots.

“Hey, Horse Whisperer,” Jackson teased. He stood a
lanky six-two and the only time Meg saw him without his cowboy hat was at
meals. He wore his sandy brown hair short and he never went unshaven. He had
been married once, but his “damn gypsy cowboy life” ended that.

Davey gave her a nod.

Gina continued to look at her, an expression in her eyes
like she knew something Meg didn’t and she might let her in on it. Meg’s heart
skidded around her chest.

“Got a few minutes?” Gina asked her.

“Yep. These guys telling you the truth?”

“Define ‘truth’,” Jackson drawled, pulling on his
chin.

“No worries,” Gina said. “I’ll make shit up, too.”
She grinned and Meg’s throat went dry.

Davey laughed. “I think you’ll fit in just fine
around here.” He slyly appraised her before he tipped his ball cap. “Got some
stuff to do. If you need anything, let me know.” He headed toward the lodge.

“You seen your dad?” Jackson asked.

“Last I remember, he stood about this high—”
Meg held her hand up marking a space about four inches over the crown of her
hat, “and he was wearing—”

Jackson snorted. “Smart-ass.” To Gina he said, “Let
one of us know if you need anything. Tell you a few more stories, too, if you
want.” He grinned and touched the brim of his hat before he walked away.

“Better than being a dumb-ass, I’d guess,” Gina said
as she wrote something in her notebook. She finished and closed it. “Things
always this busy?” She asked as she slid the notebook and pen into one of her
back pockets.

“No. It’s busy now because it’s summer and that’s the
best time for guests. Not all years start this well, though. And winters aren’t
so friendly.” She pushed the brim of her hat back a bit. “During winters, my
dad, Alice, and maybe six or seven hands live here. I’m here between semesters,
usually, and for at least part of the summer. Depends if I have a class.”

“Colorado State?” Gina watched her.

“Yeah. Good guess.”

“Not really. You were wearing a CSU T-shirt the night
I got here.”

“Oh.” She remembered what Marjorie had said about
journalists and observation.

“When do you graduate?”

“December.”

Gina smiled. “Congrats. Then what?”

“I want to go to vet school and they have a good one.
I’m hoping to get in.”

“Impressive.” She leaned her back against the paddock
fence and Meg struggled to keep her gaze on her face, and not on how well her
well-worn blue tee fit her, or how her jeans hugged her waist and hips.

“I’m applying this fall,” Meg said. “Then we’ll see
who’ll have me.”

“I don’t think you need to worry.”

“It’s really competitive.”

Gina shrugged. “You have a way with animals.” She
gestured at the dogs, all four, lolling in the dirt near Meg’s feet. “Speaking
of which, I know those two—” she pointed at Dammit and Bugoff, “but what
about the other two?”

“That’s Moonshine—he’s a little slow on the
uptake. And that’s his sister Booger. She’s a bit lazy. Dammit and Bugoff are
the best of the bunch for actual herding.”

Gina chuckled. “How the hell did they end up with
their names?”

Meg smiled. “Guests. When Dammit was a puppy, he peed
on this guy’s shoes when he left them outside his door. Dammit figured whatever’s
outside is his. Besides, ‘Dammit’ sounded better than ‘fucking hell’ for a dog’s
name. Which is what the guy actually said.”

Gina laughed and the sound settled like sunlight in
Meg’s chest as she gestured at Bugoff. “And one summer, this woman from England
was here. Her favorite thing to say was ‘bugger off’!” She did a passable
imitation of an English accent and was rewarded with Gina’s chuckle.

Meg continued, “She didn’t care much for dogs and she
was always saying ‘bugger off’ to Bugoff and it stuck. Moonshine got his name
because a kid from Alabama thought it was cool. And Booger. . .well, she really
liked this little girl from Pennsylvania and she kept wiping her face on the
girl’s pants. The girl would laugh and laugh and say ‘boogers’.” She shrugged.
“Plus, they definitely don’t sound like the horse’s names, so nobody gets
confused.”

“Practical.” She smiled. “And your name?”

She paused.

“Off the record,” Gina said.

“After my grandmother. My dad’s mom. Her name was
Margaret. But that’s not really me, so my dad started calling me Meg soon after
I was born. That stuck, too.”

“A family name. On the record, now. What abut the
ranch? How far back does the Diamond Rock go?”

These were questions she could handle, since guests
often asked them. She moved next to Gina so she, too, could lean against the
fence. She looked out over the paddock. “My dad’s grandfather Joseph. He came
here in 1890 from North Carolina when he was eighteen and built the lodge. We’ve
updated since then, obviously.” She smiled. “But we do have an outhouse, if you
want the full 1890 experience.”

“I might. How could I tell people I’d been on a
Wyoming ranch and I didn’t use an outhouse a time or two?” She turned so she could
look out over the paddock, though she kept her gaze on Meg. “Then what?”

“My grandfather Thomas—my dad’s dad—added
the motel part where you’re staying. That was 1954. He had this crazy idea that
people would go for a western dude ranch experience. His neighbors thought he
was nuts. But what do you know? He was a visionary.”

“Did he start taking customers back in the fifties?”

“The early sixties were better, as word got out, but the
fifties weren’t bad. Pop culture cowboys made people want to see if that was
for real. Which, of course, it pretty much isn’t, but a lot of times, people
liked the real thing, too.”

“And your dad continued the ranching and guest
aspect.”

Meg nodded. “My dad was born in the original lodge in
1953. I was born in Laramie.” She stopped, gazing at the horses.

“You’re fourth generation. That’s amazing.” Gina’s
tone softened. “My mom’s parents immigrated from Italy. They started in New
York City but hated it and went all the way to California, where my family’s been
ever since.”

“Wow.” She turned her head to look at her.

“Yep. Californians all, now.”

“That’s okay. I won’t hold it against you.”

She laughed. “I’ll try to move beyond any city
slicker stereotypes you might have.”

“Hey, my mom was born in Louisville, Kentucky, then
spent a good part of her life in Atlanta. So I won’t hold the city slicker
thing against you, either.”

“Thank you.”

“And my mom doesn’t live here anymore. She’s back in
Kentucky. Off the record, I think my dad and I drove her crazy.”

“That or the winters here. So I take it you don’t have
any siblings.”

She stared out across the paddock. “I did. An older
brother. He died three months after he was born. My folks didn’t want to try
again for a while after that. But then I came along.”

“I’m sorry,” Gina said quietly. “I didn’t realize
that would end up being such a personal question.” She put her hand on Meg’s
arm and everything in the world faded and the only thing she knew was the
warmth of Gina’s palm.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “It was a few years
before I was born. My parents don’t talk about it much but he’s buried here.
His name was Thomas, too. After my grandfather.” She hoped Gina would leave her
hand there, and she did for a bit but then pulled it away, though she seemed to
let her fingers linger gently on her skin. Or maybe she imagined that.

“What does your mom do?”

“She’s re-married to a guy who owns very expensive
horses. She grew up on a horse farm and her family still raises horses, so they
ran in similar circles. Some of her husband’s horses have run the Derby.”

“That explains the horse whisperer in you. You’ve got
horses on both sides of the family.” She studied her face and Meg allowed
herself a brief, luxurious swim in her eyes.

“Yeah. Seems that way. What about you?” she asked, though
she didn’t expect Gina to answer, since she was here to extract information,
not the other way around. To her surprise, she did.

“Mostly Italian, except for the poor souls who marry
in. Loud, big family. Two brothers and three sisters. I grew up in Sacramento
and moved to L.A. for school at USC. I majored in journalism and graduated two
years ago.”

“You must be good,” Meg said, “to write for the
Times
already.”

Gina raised an eyebrow. “Careful with the flattery,”
she said, a layer of teasing in her voice. “I might like it.”

Meg swallowed. Hard. “And would that be a bad thing?”
Oh, hell. Did she actually say that?

“Nope.” Gina grinned.

“I’ll remember that.”

“I hope so.”

Oh, no. Here she went, digging another hole. “So what’s
on your agenda for tomorrow?” she deflected.

A thoughtful expression entered Gina’s eyes. “A
little of this. A little of that. More of you, I hope.”

Meg stared at her.

“I like your stories,” she said smoothly. She pushed
away from the fence. “Thanks for talking. Hope we’ll do it again. On and off
the record.” She raised her eyebrows in a question.

She nodded, trying not to look as if she was staring,
though she was.

“See you at dinner.” She left Meg with one of her
enigmatic little smiles and Meg watched her walk away, not sure what just
happened on the one hand and not sure if anything actually did on the other.

She chewed her lip. And then caught herself. Yes, she
had a crush. Okay, maybe a serious attraction. But that was no excuse for not
maintaining a professional demeanor. Especially since she’d just ragged on
Davey. She thought back on the conversation and relaxed a little. She hadn’t
been flirting. At least not consciously. Maybe a little toward the end, but
nothing at all like what Davey pulled.

Meg stared down at the dogs, who were engaged in the
important canine pursuit of wrestling in the dirt. She glanced at the office,
across the parking area. What the hell was she thinking? Guests were
off-limits.

But what about after Gina left the ranch?

Dumb idea. Gina would go back to California and that
would be the end of it. She turned and rested her head against the wooden rail
of the paddock, warm and dry on her skin. There was no way that anything would
happen between them. Even if Gina was interested—and Meg had no evidence
she was—there was just no way it could happen.

But damn, Gina moved her.

Meg sighed and went to the lodge. She had to find a
way to let this go.

Damn.

Six

A
full house
at the Diamond Rock meant
little room to do any kind of fraternizing other than a quick howdy, which was
a good thing, Meg decided, because she was too busy to let Gina really distract
her. Though all Meg had to do was see her, and she got distracted.

Or thought even more about her.

She needed to be even busier.

Especially since Gina caught both Stan and Meg on
Tuesday for a thirty-minute sit-down. Much to Meg’s relief, her crush didn’t
show. She hoped. At least Stan seemed pleased after Gina left.

“That’s my girl,” he said to her. “Thanks, hon.”

“I told you it would be all right.” She’d replied, and
then she left to work an afternoon trail ride. Before she knew it, the Tuesday
bonfire was winding down and guests were straggling to their rooms, Wyoming
nightfall as company.

“I’ve got this, Meg. Go on and have some down time.”
Jackson gave her a nod as he worked on putting the fire out.

“Thanks.” She left the pit area and walked around the
dining hall to the parking area. The lights were off at the office, so her dad
was done for the evening, too. She glanced at the second level of the motel, at
what she knew was the door to room five. A light was on behind the room’s
window. Maybe Gina was writing, and that’s why she’d left the fire early.

She stared at the window a few more seconds, thinking
that Gina would be gone come Friday, which definitely put a damper on her
birthday. Shit, she’d been so busy, she’d forgotten her birthday until just now.
Maybe she could get Gina to stay an extra night and have a piece of cake. Oh,
my God. How lame did
that
sound? How
old was she? Ten?

Maybe she could ask for her phone number, since she’d
probably do follow-up for her story. No, that might be too obvious. Gina had
the ranch phone number, and that’s what she’d call. She didn’t even have a good
excuse to get her number.

Why did she keep trying to make a story where there
wasn’t one?

She had forgotten to check something at the office
and started walking toward it, past the cars lined up in the designated parking
area. She recognized the shape of Gina’s Pathfinder, and it made her think
about last Wednesday, and about a woman who wasn’t afraid to get her jeans
dirty.