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“Not with my legs. There were Vikings who were so tall they couldn’t find horses large enough to ride.”
When the hand approached carrying the bridle, Santos introduced him as Jesus. “He’ll find you a horse if I’m busy elsewhere.”
Jesus nodded politely, opened the corral gate and slipped the bridle on the bay. He led the horse to where Libby sat on the rail. She leaned over to grab the horse’s mane and swung her leg over his back. She took the reins and urged the bay away from the rail to circle the corral.
“Ella es muy bonita,” Jesus whispered.
Santos nodded. When she came back to him, he lay down his crutches and pulled himself up to the top rail. “I’m going to get on behind you.”
“Can he carry us both?”
“What do you weigh, a hundred pounds?”
She scoffed. “I haven’t weighed that little since I was in seventh grade. I’m thin because I’m so tall, but I’m not light.”
“He won’t even notice.” He also grabbed for the bay’s mane and swung his right leg over his back, got settled and wrapped his arms around Libby’s waist. “If you can handle the corral, I trust you to ride a little farther. Just follow the trail in the dirt. Open the gate, Jesus.”
The bay went through the gate and right where she wanted him to go. “This is really fun. Do you ride out with the hands and brand the cattle, or whatever you do in Spain to mark them as yours?”
“Hernando Cortes took the practice of branding cattle into the New World, a fact I learned in school, and no one else has ever asked. I haven’t ridden with the men since my teens. A foreman runs the ranch, and I don’t interfere. I come here to practice before a fight. It would be ridiculous to wave a cape on the beach.”
“I don’t know. It would work in the story about the Blue Teapot boat. A matador could be practicing on the beach, hear a pretty girl in a boat calling for help, swim out to rescue her and use his cape for a sail.”
He pulled her back against his chest. “Now you have a whole story. Or maybe the matador has numerous adventures, and the Blue Teapot is only one.”
“A series? Why not?” She lowered her voice to a suggestive whisper. “We’re all alone. Is it possible to make love on horseback?”
He smothered a delighted chuckle in her hair. “Yes, but I haven’t done it, and this isn’t the day to try.”
She laughed with him. “It was just a question, not a request.”
“Fine, but now I won’t be able to get it out of my mind.”
She leaned forward to ruffle her mount’s mane. “Maybe we could practice later without the horse.”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “Do you really like it here?”
“This is a beautiful ranch. Who wouldn’t love it?”
“It’s not too rustic for you?”
“Not if you’re here.” It was difficult to imagine Ann Santillan lounging on the front porch, but she wouldn’t remind him of her by inquiring about the model’s habits. They rode in a wide circle around the house and vegetable garden and returned to the corral, where Jesus waited for them.
“Thank you, Santos. I’d almost forgotten how much fun riding is.”
“You’re my guest, and I want you to be entertained.”
With Jesus holding the bay’s reins, she climbed onto the top rail and jumped down out of the corral. Santos took care to move more slowly. “What’s next? Do you have horseshoes to toss?” she asked.
“Over by the bunkhouse, but I leave them for the men. Let’s go out on the front porch and work on the book. I brought my laptop. I tried writing about my life for a whole hour once and gave up. I doubt I’ll be able to do any better now.”
He’d left the laptop on the table by the front door and Libby carried it outside and removed it from the canvas case. “Do you want to talk and have me type, or would you rather do both?”
“It would help if you’d type. First, I need to get my thoughts in some sort of order. I didn’t know my mother, and her parents left here after she died, so I’ve no memory of them either. I could have Cazares trace them. If they’re still alive, they might have photos of her, and she was my father’s first love.”
“Mrs. Lujan is such a sweet woman, I’ll bet she kept in touch with them. Shall I ask her to join us?”
He debated a long moment. “I suppose whatever she’ll contribute can’t be any worse than what I already know.”
