Page 4 of A Mile of Ocean

“I’m not. I’m realistic enough to know they aren’t out here because they love horses. They came out here every week to get out of class.”

“You’re such a cynic. Their teacher says otherwise. Not only is she hot, but she also knows her stuff.”

His brow suddenly arched in interest. “How hot?”

“Hot by Trent standards. She’s a newcomer, started teaching in January. She’s the only one who volunteered to take on the program when no one else wanted to sponsor the 4-H group this semester. Otherwise, it would’ve ended practically before it began. Go talk to her and reassure her that the program will continue, that the kids will have our support next fall when they enter eighth grade.”

“Why can’t you do it? I need to check the pump at the northernmost well.”

“This isn’t the northernmost well. You’re just daydreaming again. Besides, I’ll take care of that. What she wants right now is to thank all of us personally. At this very moment, our grandparents are talking her ear off. You know how that will go. They’re all for encouraging the younger kids to take an interest in horses and cattle. They want them to put down their phones and get off the internet. And when Duchess wants something, Granddad backs her up one hundred percent.”

It was his grandparents’ most frequent speech—the younger generation spent too much time on their phones or in front of a computer screen. They needed more fresh air. Realizing he had no choice in the matter, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to spend a few minutes talking to the teacher. And it would make his grandmother happy.

But he wouldn’t give in quite so easily. Trent scowled at his sister. “You’re enjoying making me do this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely. What gave it away? Now, go out there and make the Rio Verde proud. Community spirit and all that.”

“You mean go make Duchess proud,” Trent said.

“Same thing. That will likely get you a homemade apple pie tonight. You know you’re her favorite. You have her wrapped around your little finger.”

“Get real. You’re her favorite, actually both of their favorites.” Trent shook his head, done with the bickering. He clucked his tongue to give Phoenix a little bump on the sides to get him moving. The two trotted off down the trail toward the paddocks, where they kept the foals.

In the distance, he spotted his self-sufficient grandparents leaning on the railing and gesturing toward the group of preteens. His grandmother still wore her long, brown hair in a ponytail, slightly tinged with gray strands. Although she was tenyears younger than his grandfather, she could still rope a horse if the situation required it. At seventy-seven, Duchess could ride with the best of the ranch hands. She was the backbone of the ranch, possessing a stubborn streak a mile wide, and was not easily intimidated. While his grandmother could still keep long hours, Trent noticed that his granddad had slowed down quite a bit, especially over the last six months.

He continued listening to Barrett Callum, the ever-present pipe dangling from his mouth, go on about the horses. His steady banter meant he hadn’t lost his propensity for gab. The man could talk your ear off about his two favorite subjects—horses and cattle—while smoke circled his head from the pipe that hung from his mouth. And today, it seemed his captive audience was the teacher.

The closer Trent got, the more he realized she didn’t look like any teacher he’d ever had. She looked like an exotic Irish fairy devoid of the mythical wings, the stuff of Hollywood lore and legends. Standing no taller than five-three, she had red hair, an angelic face like a porcelain doll, and a cluster of freckles across the bridge of her nose. The wind whipped her long, copper-colored hair, flying about her head like a fiery halo. She had the grayest eyes, the color of silvery sage that grew wild on the hillside.

He dismounted Phoenix with practiced ease and walked toward the group, his grandfather still chatting about the newest foals like a proud father in the nursery waiting room. As he approached, his grandfather’s voice drifted over the breeze, extolling the virtues of his black stallion, Zorro, hitting all the high points about raising Quarter Horses.

His grandmother sent him a wink, but not before the teacher paused in response to one of Barrett’s comments, her gaze meeting Trent’s, both with a curious intensity.

Savannah noted his dark blond hair and bronzed skin, which spoke to an outdoorsy life, not one sitting behind a desk. Something about his steel blue eyes set him apart from the typical cowboy. “This must be your grandson I’ve heard so much about.”

“Trenton Callum,” Barrett said. “Meet Savannah Quinn. She teaches seventh grade at Ocean Street Academy. With any luck, these kids here today could be the future of ranching tomorrow.”

“Ms. Quinn,” Trent began, tipping his hat in greeting before stretching out his hand in welcome. “I’ve heard good things about your 4-H project.”

She took his hand firmly, her smile warm and welcoming. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally, Mr. Callum. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me. You should know the children are always excited about coming out here.”

“Please call me Trent,” he replied, glancing at the group of enthusiastic kids nearby. Each child appeared in awe of their month-old colt named Trinity, a stunning buckskin Andalusian.

“I’ve been sharing the letters the kids wrote your grandparents about how much it means to them to get to know the horses. They’ve written down how much they enjoy coming out here every week. They get positively stoked about getting to visit the ranch.”

Duchess smiled at her grandson, picking up the subject and explaining it in detail. “Since the California Agricultural Department put a ban on raising livestock because of the bird flu epidemic, they haven’t been able to raise goats or lambs on their own. Coming here was the saving grace they needed to salvage the 4-H program.”

“Thanks to your grandmother,” Savannah added. “The school district is deeply grateful, as am I. And you can see the enthusiasm of my students with your own eyes. They love getting to meet your horses.”

“I’m glad we could be a part of it,” Trent said tactfully. “If you need anything else, just let one of us know. We’re happy to help the kids.”

Savannah smiled. “I’ve asked Tate several times and was just telling your grandparents how great it would be if one of you would be willing to show up at school and talk to the class. Tate keeps insisting you’re the one to do that. It would be great if you could tell them everything you know about raising Quarter Horses and cattle in person.”

Trent caught the amused look on his grandfather’s face, the twinkle in Barrett’s eyes.

“Plenty of material to talk about,” Barrett added in support of the idea. “Your grandmother has often suggested that very thing. These kids are motivated to return to the 4-H program again next year. I think it’s fine when this age gets interested in ranching, particularly horses. We have plenty of videos of Zorro and Confetti Queen taking first place in jumping when they were yearlings. You could show them that.”

Savannah arched a brow. “Confetti Queen?”

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