Page 11 of Hidden Memories

“Friends call me Santi.”

His hand envelops mine; tattoos wrap around my pale skin; his calluses scrape delightfully against my palm.

“Katinka. You can call me Kat.”

Our handshake should naturally come to an end, but Santi gives me a few more shakes than most people would, all the while staring into my eyes like he’s trying to figure me out. Like he can read my mind.

When he lets go, he wanders over to the tree where his horse has now gone back to grazing.

“Kat, let’s determine who needs this tree more. What brings you here every weekend?”

I sling my backpack off my shoulders. “I’m an art student and I’m using these landscapes in my project.”

He raises his eyebrows as if impressed, and damn does that feel nice.

“You any good?” he asks.

It bothers me that the first answer that comes to mind is no. Maybe I’m decent. I suppose Santi can decide for himself. I take out my sketch pad, open it to last week’s work.

He examines the page, carefully, not at all the cursory glance I expected.

“Damn. That’s…” Santi stares for a while then takes it out of my hands and turns the pad to the left, to the right. “You did this all with… is that paint?”

“It’s oil pastels. They’re kind of like fancy crayons.”

He flips to the page behind and soaks in another piece with a faint smile. My heart comes alive with his approval.

“This was when the Bird’s Eyes were there?” He points to the exact spot where the purple flowers were weeksago.

His gaze flicks up to mine, and his expression is different now. Like I’ve impressed him. Like he’s… intrigued with more than whatever it was he focused on before.

I nod. “You know your flowers.”

I had to search for their name myself a few weeks back.

“My mom…” Santi coughs as though he was going to say something else but couldn’t. Or didn’t want to.

I take my sketch pad back. “So why do you come here on weekdays?”

He stares at me for a moment as if contemplating how much truth to give.

Santi lifts his beer and points it at his horse. “Hector likes the grass in the shade. Best spot around.”

I guess he didn’t want to give me much, but there’s a story behind his eyes. It’s fair enough he doesn’t want to tell me why he’s here. I’m not telling this stranger my life story either.

Hector is bareback, bridle off, and it only seems fair we should settle in and I give Ares the same freedom, so I work off his girth. “Hector? That’s Greek.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah…” I take off Ares’ bridle and reins. “This is Ares.”

Santi lets out a long, sharp whistle. “Fancy.”

He eyes my saddle now standing on its end on the grass and focuses on the helmet I’ve thrown down, considering it.

I glance to the other side of the tree where he’s left his very worn saddle. This guy could probably ride circles around me, and apart from his Stetson, the rest of the tack seems like it walked straight off a cattle drive.

Suddenly, I’m insecure about all my flashy brand-name gear.

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