I come up to the turn for 68 and notice a new sign. Well, new to me. It could have been there for years for all I know. The sign says “Broken Ridge Ranch” with an arrow pointing the way. Perfect, hopefully this place is easy to find, so I can get in, get out, and find the relaxing solitude I’m desperately craving.
It’s a 15-minute drive from the turn to Broken Ridge Ranch. The highway has clearly been modernized to accommodate the heavy flow of residential traffic since the last time I was here. There’s at least four new lanes to make it safe for vehicles to turn. As I pull up to the main entrance of this seemingly large residential development, an eerie feeling flows through my body and my mind registers what my body already knows.I’ve been here before.A chill races down my spine when I recall his words,“I can’t do this…with you.”
The entrance is framed by large stone pillars made of river rock and surrounded by perfect landscaping. Tall grasses, lavender, and rosemary are all growing together, wild, and yet everything is perfectly in its place. It feels a bit more like something you’d stumble across in the French country rather than the central valley.
I follow the four-lane road into the neighborhood, following the signs for the sales office. After I pass through a grove of trees, on the left hand side of the road is an empty residential street, but it’s what sits on the left side of the mouth of the street that blows me away.Theboulder is still cracked right down the middle, but now with an iron sign drilled right into the flat face of granite.Broken Ridge Ranch.
I have a moment of panic, there’s no way this ishisdoing, though. Allthis. I continue on Ridge Lane and pass signs noting amenities: stables, an archery range, orchards, vegetable gardens, and the gym/pool. It’s such a smart concept for a neighborhood. This piece of land is just secluded enough to be peaceful and wild, and yet, all the activities have been brought to you. It’s a neighborhood and a tailor-made lifestyle all rolled into one.
I don’t think I have anything to worry about. This is clearly the product of a skilled and experienced developer with the backing of some major corporate builder funds. I breathe a little easier as I finally approach the sales office, complete with a neighborhood cafe attached.Again, such a smart concept.
The only parking spot available is front and center so I snag it. Looking at the office and cafe, I’m still a bit blown away by how nice everything is. The sales office/cafe building has an exterior composed entirely of gray stone with tall, black, iron-framed windows gracing the front and sides, all flanked with massive exterior shutters in sage green. It’s all very provincial, even the top of the building is topped with a small clock tower.
I exit my car and step on to the decomposed granite pathway that leads to the office entrance. The sales office door is a massive iron window panel that sits on a swivel to allow people in or out. I push it open and am immediately met with a 5’9” supermodel with a perky butt and big lips. She doesn’t even need to tell me her name, I know it’s Tori. Tori’s got on her sky high Louboutins, a chocolate brown, leather pencil skirt, and a crisp white blouse tucked in. Her long blonde hair rolls down her back in perfectly styled waves, of course.Welcome back to California.
“Hi there,” Tori says cheerfully with her blinding white smile. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Britain. You were expecting me.” She tilts her head and once I see the look of confusion start to pass her face, I quickly correct myself. “Sorry, I mean, I’m London. London Scott. You have the keys to my rental at Spearhead?”
Her perfectly poised and chipper demeanor returns instantly. “Yes! London. I’ll get the keys for you, but first…”Oh, boy, “what brings you to our little corner of the world? Your assistant said you were coming in from D.C., right?” I groan inwardly. What is so hard about leaving a key under a mat? I mean, really?
“Well, I actually grew up around here, which feels like another lifetime ago now, but um, I’m back to take care of some personal business,” I say in my best, “trying hard to be polite” voice.Now go get the keys so I can leave.
“How long has it been since you were last here?”So we’re doing this now. Okay, great. Just great.
“It’s been 17 years,” I say, not wanting to give anything more. Ishouldjust say “none of your damn business,” but my manners and people-pleasing personality won’t let me, so I’m stuck.
“Oh my gosh! What?! Did you leave when you were like 5?!” Tori exclaims, attempting to win me over for some reason I truly don’t understand. Like a predator buttering up their prey for slaughter, and I realize she terrifies me slightly.
“Ha!” A laugh bursts from me. “No, I left when I was 18. I’m sure you can do the math.” I pause briefly not waiting to see how that comment plays out, and say “Do you think you could grab-”
I’m cut off by her screech. “Wait, so that means you’ve never seen Broken Ridge Ranch before?!”
“That’s not entirely true,” I say barely above a whisper.
“What was that?”
“Um, nothing. This is truly something.” I say then wave my hand around in the general vicinity to indicate everything here.
“Well you’re in luck!” I somehow get the feeling her idea of luck, and mine, don’t match. “I’m going to give you the VIP, personal tour myself!”Oh no.
“Oh, that’s not necessary!” I say in my most placating tone. “I really should be getting on my–”
I’m cut off, again, with “Nope! I won’t take no for an answer.” It’s then that I realizethisis why she wouldn’t just leave the key under the mat. She needs to make her sales pitch. I decide to give in once it’s clear that the more I prolong this argument, the longer I’ll be here.
“Well in that case, let’s get this show on the road then, yeah?” I respond with a fake smile plastered on my face. I’m hoping my voice didn’t just betray me, revealing I share none of her same enthusiasm.
“Let me go get the keys to the golf cart and we’ll be on our way!”
“Sounds perfect,” I force out.Perfect, perfect, perfect.Tori turns and heads down the hallway leading to the back of the space where two doors sit on either side. The left door has been cracked open since I came in, which is where Tori heads to. A shuffling of papers and a gentle sounding thud come from the office, followed by a low male voice that hisses out “shit.” I laugh to myself imagining he’s just as terrified of Tori as I am.
Once Tori enters the office, she closes the door behind her, and I can hear the faintest sound of a muffled conversation. Since I’m now being held hostage, I look around the room that looks nothing like a sales office. The space looks more like a set from a Nancy Meyers movie. The only tell that it’s not is the marketing materials hung against the German schmear, stone walls. That and the iPads displaying floor plans, laid out neatly on the huge Restoration Hardware, raw-oak table. The floors are wide plank, white oak, and all the lighting is reminiscent of something you’d see in a French chateau.
Tori pops back out of the office, holding up the keys like she’s baiting a puppy with a treat. “I’ve got them!”
“Great,” I say, fake smile in place. And it's then that I mentally prepare myself to lose all the remaining hours of daylighthere. Instead of being in bed, with a pizza, and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s,like I wanted.
SIX
