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“Saint! Can’t stay away from the place?”
“We’re here for the food. Mike, Pete, this is Emily Porter.”
Without missing a beat, she smiled at them and held out her hand to shake. “Thank you so much for saving my house last week. I was right on the edge of that canyon fire.”
Her continued praise completely disarmed them, and for five minutes comfortable conversation took place, catching them off guard. A cool floral scent emanated from her, and they both admitted later that they held their breath to keep from taking it in, afraid Paul would notice they were lusting after her and get pissed off at them.
“Are you guys eating?” she asked, nodding toward the station.
“We are,” Mike said.
“We’ll save you seats,” Paul said.
They turned to get in line.
“Yikes. I can see the attraction,” Mike said, pulling at the crotch of his pants.
“Danny might be jealous,” Pete said, throwing him a polishing cloth. “Imight be jealous.”
They laughed, watching the couple, Paul’s arm across her shoulder.
After breakfast, Paul and Emily parted ways for a couple of hours. “I’ll pick you up at two. I talked to my cousin’s wife, and they’re going to wait for us at the trailhead at three, so that will give us plenty of time.” At her car, he kissed her on the lips again, the reluctance to let her go growing exponentially.
Back at the cabin, he’d left the gate open, and Faith’s truck was parked by the barn, so he pulled in next to her.
“Hey, Doctor, I didn’t expect you today.”
She came out wearing her leather apron, wiping her hand on a towel. “When I was here last, I noticed Gloria had an infected fly bite. I needed some ointment to dress it. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t see your truck, so I thought it would be okay.”
“It’s fine.”
“I’m sorry about the dinner debacle.”
Laughing, he told her it was fine. “I enjoyed the leftovers.”
“Headed to Escondido today?”
“I am,” he replied. “Have a nice Sunday, Doctor.”
She let the formality go; after all, it would be easier to be cordial without the familiarity.
That afternoon when he went to Emily’s to pick her up, he remembered the horses.
“Do you ride?”
“I do. I love to. Why?”
“I have horses. My place came with two mares and a donkey.”
“Really? How lucky! I’d love that. I didn’t tell you that I loved your place. It feels like an old cowboy cabin.”
“It really is,” he said. “It used to be the bunkhouse for the firehouse a hundred years ago. There are names and dates carved into some of the logs.”
“Why would they even need a firehouse here? I thought this population was recent.”
“There used to be an olive oil bottling plant up the road. It was all olive grove. There are ruins of cabins where the workers lived dotted all over the area. And there were ranches here, too.”
They got into his truck for the drive down the mountain.
