without the radio, listening to the sounds of early evening, birds calling, the fall wind whistling through the trees, on which the leaves were already beginning to turn.
She parked next to the barn and checked the mailbox. There was nothing but ads and the electric bill, and these she set down on the kitchen counter. Chachi sat up on his rear legs, his white paws held up; begging was the only trick the Jack Russell had ever mastered. Rose praised him, threw him the dog cookie he expected, and changed into riding breeches.
She checked on Winky, then buckled a bareback pad on Max and walked him down the dirt road toward the open prairie behind her house. The air smelled of sage and distant weather. She could hear the faint sound of a motorcycle, which made her wonder where her son was, if he’d broken any new bones this week, and when she’d see him again. Eager to stretch his legs, Max snorted, and Rose could feel the restrained prance in his gait. Winky whinnied at being left behind, but Rose didn’t want to pony the nervous mare alongside the gelding today. She extended the trot, taking in deep breaths, smelling the earth as it turned up beneath his hooves, a perfume as complex, insistent, and deeply New Mexico as incense. Her thigh muscles unknotted themselves, and her calves hung
loosely, gripping his barrel. A magpie shot by her shoulder, then another, scolding the first. Rose could smell rain coming, feel that subtle dampness penetrating her shirt collar, and see the almost imperceptible change of color in the sky. She strained her ears and thought she heard thunder. Moments later, to the east, she caught a glimpse of lightning arcing toward the earth. Farther north, on Pop’s ranch, she could sit for hours watching a storm roll in. It was the best show in town. The horses would mill about, then turn frisky as colts when the first fat drops began to fall on their backs. Later, if the rain was heavy, instead of standing miserably in the downpour, they could have the shelter of the barn. Once she got Winky moved up there and settled in, she’d feel better. Rose intended to keep a hand in the mare’s pregnancy, but Winky needed the kind of super- vision her father’s wrangler was famous for providing. If any poten- tial problems arose, Shep would spot them. At the ranch Rose was convinced everything would go right with the foaling.
Austin hadn’t said yes or no to her vacation request. She wondered if he’d woken up yet, felt his pocket for his keys, and then realized they’d once again been taken from him by the women he paid to keep his clinic running. For an educated man, the vet wasn’t terribly smart. Rose toyed with the crazy idea that if he could just move past the alcohol, Austin could maybe find comfort in regular life, rides like these, the passage of days, having sober, ordinary conversations with a woman who was named Rose Ann instead of Leah. She imagined explaining all this to Lily, who would sit there listening to all her reasons and then systematically shoot holes in every one. Lily ran on cold-blooded logic. Pop often remarked that she thought like a man, which probably meant that Rose thought like a woman, inferior for sure. Oh, the hell with all of it! Lily wasn’t here, and Rose could always drive up to the ranch for the weekend. There was nothing keeping her here. Trailer Winky, bring Max along for the ride, and throw Chachi in the passenger seat.
She leaned her body forward, shortening her reins the way she’d learned as a child. Beneath her she could feel Max’s flanks trembling with anticipation, awaiting her leg cue. The moment she grazed his right side with her heel, he exploded into a riotous canter. Smiling, Rose let him blast along for a few strides. He was aging, and would run out of gas soon enough, But, oh , she thought, such a willing animal . Rose felt her whole body relax and slacken, her lungs soar open so that the clean breath of all that rain-washed air seeped into
She parked next to the barn and checked the mailbox. There was nothing but ads and the electric bill, and these she set down on the kitchen counter. Chachi sat up on his rear legs, his white paws held up; begging was the only trick the Jack Russell had ever mastered. Rose praised him, threw him the dog cookie he expected, and changed into riding breeches.
She checked on Winky, then buckled a bareback pad on Max and walked him down the dirt road toward the open prairie behind her house. The air smelled of sage and distant weather. She could hear the faint sound of a motorcycle, which made her wonder where her son was, if he’d broken any new bones this week, and when she’d see him again. Eager to stretch his legs, Max snorted, and Rose could feel the restrained prance in his gait. Winky whinnied at being left behind, but Rose didn’t want to pony the nervous mare alongside the gelding today. She extended the trot, taking in deep breaths, smelling the earth as it turned up beneath his hooves, a perfume as complex, insistent, and deeply New Mexico as incense. Her thigh muscles unknotted themselves, and her calves hung
loosely, gripping his barrel. A magpie shot by her shoulder, then another, scolding the first. Rose could smell rain coming, feel that subtle dampness penetrating her shirt collar, and see the almost imperceptible change of color in the sky. She strained her ears and thought she heard thunder. Moments later, to the east, she caught a glimpse of lightning arcing toward the earth. Farther north, on Pop’s ranch, she could sit for hours watching a storm roll in. It was the best show in town. The horses would mill about, then turn frisky as colts when the first fat drops began to fall on their backs. Later, if the rain was heavy, instead of standing miserably in the downpour, they could have the shelter of the barn. Once she got Winky moved up there and settled in, she’d feel better. Rose intended to keep a hand in the mare’s pregnancy, but Winky needed the kind of super- vision her father’s wrangler was famous for providing. If any poten- tial problems arose, Shep would spot them. At the ranch Rose was convinced everything would go right with the foaling.
Austin hadn’t said yes or no to her vacation request. She wondered if he’d woken up yet, felt his pocket for his keys, and then realized they’d once again been taken from him by the women he paid to keep his clinic running. For an educated man, the vet wasn’t terribly smart. Rose toyed with the crazy idea that if he could just move past the alcohol, Austin could maybe find comfort in regular life, rides like these, the passage of days, having sober, ordinary conversations with a woman who was named Rose Ann instead of Leah. She imagined explaining all this to Lily, who would sit there listening to all her reasons and then systematically shoot holes in every one. Lily ran on cold-blooded logic. Pop often remarked that she thought like a man, which probably meant that Rose thought like a woman, inferior for sure. Oh, the hell with all of it! Lily wasn’t here, and Rose could always drive up to the ranch for the weekend. There was nothing keeping her here. Trailer Winky, bring Max along for the ride, and throw Chachi in the passenger seat.
She leaned her body forward, shortening her reins the way she’d learned as a child. Beneath her she could feel Max’s flanks trembling with anticipation, awaiting her leg cue. The moment she grazed his right side with her heel, he exploded into a riotous canter. Smiling, Rose let him blast along for a few strides. He was aging, and would run out of gas soon enough, But, oh , she thought, such a willing animal . Rose felt her whole body relax and slacken, her lungs soar open so that the clean breath of all that rain-washed air seeped into
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