Page 45 of Tattered and Torn

“Oh, shut up!” Krista says.

We continue our hike, stopping now and then to peer into the lake. The water is pristine, so clear we can see all kinds of wildlife in the water—frogs, fish, geese, even turtles. When we encounter a snake slithering through the grass, the three L.A. women screech their heads off.

“Is it poisonous?” Andrea asks.

“No,” John says. “It’s just a grass snake. It’s harmless.”

“You’re sure?” she repeats, looking rather horrified.

John sighs heavily. “I’m sure.”

I do my best to ignore them. I’m more interested in enjoying the stunning scenery and the mountain peaks in the distance. I’m struck by how breathtaking it is out here. No wonder Hannah didn’t want to return to Chicago after finishing her graduate studies. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay.

When we complete our circuit around the lake, we each drink another water bottle to hydrate for the return trip. We also take turns peeing in the woods. I find that harder to do than expected. I’m sure it’s a piece of cake for John. That thought makes me smile.

While we’re waiting on Andrea to return from her potty break, I sit on the picnic table top and take a few minutes to enjoy the lake view. It’s quiet up here—at least it is when the trio is silent. It’s peaceful and relaxing. I’d like to come up here again sometime soon, but without all the commotion.

John comes to stand beside me. As usual, he positions himself so I can’t see the left side of his face. The fact he feels the need to do that saddens me. I was hoping, because of our budding friendship, he would trust me by now. At least trust me enough to let down his guard and be himself, at least around me.

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

“About what?” His question catches me off guard. I’m thinking a lot of things at the moment—some I don’t mind telling him, and other things I want to keep to myself. Like how I spend way too much time thinking about him.

“For starters,” he says, “what do you think about horseback riding? It’s easier than you expected, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I think that’s because your horses are really well trained.”

He nods. “They are. They’re very reliable. They have to be or we’d get our asses sued.”

I laugh. “Good point.”

“What do you think about the view?” He turns slightly to face me, so he can see my expression.

I gaze out at the mountains in the distance. “It’s breathtaking.”

He smiles, as if he’s relieved I feel that way. “It is.” Then he grins and lowers his voice. “And what do you think about the company?”

I know he’s referring to our lively trio, but that’s not how I want to interpret his question. “I like it a lot.”

He meets my gaze out of the corner of his eye, holding it for a long silent moment as if he’s trying to read between the lines.

I don’t want any ambiguity or confusion, so I make my meaning clear. I lay my hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great guide. I’ve enjoyed this trek far more than I thought I would, and it’s because of you. Thanks for inviting me along.” Then I climb off the picnic table. It’s time to go.

Andrea comes trudging out of the trees. “Peeing outdoors is gross,” she says. Her scowl sends her two friends into peals of laughter.

After we make sure camp is tidy, we mount our horses and start on the return journey. John leads the way, followed by the L.A. trio, and I take up the rear. I guess that’s what I get for being the sensible one.

* * *

We’re all tired and cranky—well, except for John—when we return to the barn around three o’clock, right on time. Nora is waiting for us. She and John start to unsaddle the horses so they can let them in the pasture to rest and cool down.

“I need a shower,” Brittany says. “And a nap.” She checks the time. “What’s on the menu for dinner this evening, Gabrielle? Please say it’s something good.”

I do my best to hide the fact that my butt and thighs are killing me. I also desperately need a shower and a change of clothes. Still, the food must go on.

Mentally, I tally the groceries I have on hand and how much time we have. It’ll have to be something I can whip up pretty quickly. We still have plenty of chicken breasts, potatoes, and broccoli left. “Grilled chicken breasts with lemon dill sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, and steamed broccoli,” I say, hoping that will meet with her approval.

“Hmph,” she says, shrugging. “That sounds good.”

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