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“What the hell is all of that?”
He crouched and pulled open a silver-and-purple sequined pouch. “The secret to anti-aging, sweetheart,” he said before pulling out a series of ornate bottles. “Cleanser—both oil- and water-based, of course, exfoliant, essence, toner, moisturizer, eye cream, and miracle serum. Which I have to ration since I can’t afford it anymore.”
“You brought your entire skin care regime out camping with you?” I asked, incredulous.
He laughed. “Oh honey, no. This is just my AM products. This,” he said, holding up another equally sequined bag, “is for my PM products. I didn’t bother with my noon spritzer or biweekly hair masque.”
I shook my head disbelievingly. “Did you bring anything that would be actually useful for camping?”
“Of course,” he said, indignant. “I’ve roughed it before, if you know what I mean,” he added with an eyebrow wiggle.
He unzipped another saddlebag and began to pull out several stuff sacks. “Tent, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, pillow, ground cover, insect netting. Norma hooked me up.”
“We’re only out here for one night. Maybe two.”
“That’s why I pared everything down!” he protested.
I gave him a dubious look, not bothering to point out my small bedroll that had everything I needed tucked inside.
“Are you telling me you don’t want to share whatever meat-based deliciousness Norma packed for us?” he asked, brandishing another soft-sided cooler.
I thought of the perfectly adequate bag of sandwiches and the carrot sticks I had tucked in my saddlebag. Then I watched as Richard began to unpack two tinfoil-wrapped steaks, a couple of potatoes, and two ears of corn. I broke when he then pulled out a bottle of wine. “Norma sent wine?” I choked out.
“Of course she did. It’s not a picnic without wine,” he said with a roll of his eyes.
Not once had Norma packed any kind of spread like that for me. It was impractical, cumbersome, and unnecessary. A part of me wondered if I should be suspicious about her motives, but then I watched Richard pull out a Tupperware container of banana pudding, I decided I didn’t care. My mouth watered.
“Let’s get the horses taken care of and camp set up. Then we can focus on dinner.” We set about work in silence—or at least, I was silent. Richard was back to talking nonstop. First, he chatted with his horse, then gave a surprisingly creative litany of insults to the tent as he attempted to wrestle it into shape, and finally dove into a long and hilarious story about learning how to build and light a fire from his friend’s dad’s groundskeeper’s nephew, who was apparently from Norway and quite good in bed.
To my shock, I didn’t mind it as much as I would have expected to. In fact, I didn’t mind it at all. The man was entertaining as fuck.
Finally, with the fire going and the food cooked and eaten and the last of the wine in our cups, he settled down, and we sat watching the sunset streak the sky into a million shades of reds and oranges.
“It’s gorgeous,” Richard said. I could hear the awe in his voice. I felt a surge of pride. “I can see why you like it out here,” he added.
“There’s no place else in the world I’d rather be,” I told him.
“Have you ever been to the Maldives? They’re pretty impressive, just sayin’. Especially if you get a bungalow over the water with a full staff included.”
I chuckled. Not for the first time, I thought Richard was more like Oscar than he’d ever admit, especially since Oscar was probably enjoying the second week of his Maldives vacation right about then, and it was yet another reminder of how different his life was from mine. But with the light dying and the night settling around us like a blanket, I couldn’t help but focus on the things Richard and I had in common. One in particular I’d been turning over in my mind since our conversation the day before.
“You were wrong,” I finally said, “about me not knowing what it’s like to have a difficult father.”
I kept my gaze on the fire, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see his head snap up as he looked my way. As a rule, I generally didn’t like to talk too much about myself, but I felt like I owed it to Richard. He’d done good today—real good. I’d underestimated him. Again.
I grabbed a twig and started to break it into smaller and smaller pieces, throwing each into the flames as I talked. “I grew up down in Texas. My dad was a rancher, just like his dad before him. Never occurred to me that I’d grow up to be anything but. Except my dad had a certain way he saw my life going, and it wasn’t one I was particularly interested in.”
