“Why would it make you nervous?” His perception of her amused her. It was so rare that she could see herself from that perspective. She never really understood why people were so fascinated, nor why he would be frightened of her,
“Don't want to say the wrong thing, ma'am. Might make you angry.”
And then she laughed suddenly, as they rode through a clearing. The light was beautiful on the hills, and in the distance they could see a coyote. “You really made me mad when you wouldn't talk to me this morning,” she admitted with a grin, and he glanced at her cautiously. He had no idea whether or not to relax with her, if she was real, and could be trusted. “I thought you hated me or something.”
“Why would I hate you? The whole damn ranch wants to know you. Bought your CD's, want autographs. Someone's got a video of you somewhere. They told us not to say anything to you, not to ask questions, not to bother you. I figured it was just better not to talk at all. Didn't want to bug you. The others make such damn fools of themselves. I tried to get them to let someone else be your wrangler. I'm not much of a talker.” He was so honest with her that in spite of her earlier assessment of him, she actually liked him. And he was surprisingly clean and well-spoken for a cowboy. “I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings.” He brought it down to such real emotions, she started to say he hadn't, but he had, that was the whole point. It hurt her that he wouldn't talk to her. It was something new for Tanya. “I figured it'd be more restful for you if I kept my mouth shut.”
“Well, make a little noise from time to time just so I know you're breathing,” she said with a lopsided grin, and he guffawed.
“Someone like you, the whole world must chew your ear off. I couldn't believe how crazy they all got before you got here. Must be hard on you,” he said matter-of-factly, getting right to the heart of the matter, and she nodded.
“It is,” she said softly, able to be honest with him, out in the middle of nowhere, as they loped toward the mountains across a field of wildflowers. It was like seeking truth, or finding nirvana. There was something about the place that touched her deeply. She had come here to amuse her stepchildren originally, and then her friends, but instead she was finding something she had lost from her soul a long time ago, a kind of peace she had long since forgotten. “All those people grabbing at you, taking something from you, taking something away from you, it's as though they suck out your spirit and they don't even know it, but they do… sometimes I think that one day it will kill me, or they will.” The nightmare of John Lennon being murdered by a fan was vivid for all famous people who had mobs of fans as she did. But there were other nightmares as well, just as lethal in the long run, though less obvious than the gun that had killed him. “It's a crazy life where I come from,” she said thoughtfully, “it didn't used to be in the beginning. But it got that way. And I don't think it's ever going to change now.”
“You ought to buy a place here,” he said, looking straight ahead toward the Tetons, “a lot of people like you come here, to get away, to hide for a while, get their spirit back. They come here, or go to Montana, Colorado, same idea. You could go back to Texas.” He smiled at her and she groaned.
“I think I've outgrown that,” she confessed, and he laughed. His laughter was a fresh, easy sound that suited him perfectly and made her smile in answer.
“I think I outgrew Texas a long time ago too. Too hot, too dusty, too empty. That's why I came here. This suits me better,” he said as she looked around them and nodded. It was easy to see why. Who wouldn't it have suited?
“Do you live here all year long?” she asked. This was much better than the morning. Even if she never saw him again, at least now they were human beings. He knew something about her, and she knew something about him. She thought maybe she'd write a song about him. The Silent Cowboy.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said.
“What's it like?” She was thinking of the song now.
“Cold.” He smiled and glanced at her sideways again. She was so beautiful, she scared him. It was easier not to see her. “We get twenty feet of snow sometimes. We send the horses south in October. Can't get around except by snowplow.”
“It must be lonely,” she said thoughtfully, trying to picture it. It was light-years away from Bel Air, recording studios, movies, concerts. Twenty feet of snow… one solitary man… and a snowplow.
“I like it,” he said. “I keep busy. I get a lot of time to read, and think. I write some,” and then he smiled cautiously and glanced at her, “listen to music.”
“Don't tell me you listen to me while you're sitting here in twenty feet of snow all winter.” The very idea of it was so foreign to her that it amazed her and she loved it.
“Sometimes,” he confessed. “I listen to other things too. Country western. I used to like jazz but I don't listen to it much anymore. Beethoven, Mozart.” The man was intriguing to her. She had definitely misjudged him. She wanted to ask him if he was married, if he had a family, out of curiosity, not out of any interest in him, but that seemed too personal, and she sensed that he would have been offended. He was careful to set boundaries and stay well behind them. And then, before she could ask him anything else about his life there, they rejoined the others. Hartley and Mary Stuart were chatting easily, and the doctors were still busy dismembering remembered patients, enchanted with their discussions. It was a surprisingly congenial group, and they were all sorry when their trail ride ended. It was four o'clock by then, and they were free to go to the swimming pool, go hiking, or play tennis. But they were all exhausted and Zoe looked it. Tanya had been noticing since the day before that Zoe was paler than she had been in college. Her already fair skin seemed to have gotten even whiter.
The medical couple from Chicago went for a walk to look at wildflowers, and Hartley walked the three women back to their cabin, and they were all startled to see a little boy there. He was just sitting there, and when Mary Stuart saw him, she had a visceral reaction. He was about six years old, and he seemed to be waiting for someone.
“Hi,” Tanya said easily. “Did you ride today?”
“Yup,” he said, pushing a red cowboy hat back on his head. He was wearing little black cowboy boots with red bulls on them, and little blue jeans and a denim jacket. “My horse's name is Rusty.”
“And what's your name?” Zoe asked as she sat down beside him on the deck, grateful to sit down for a moment. The altitude made her breathless.
“Benjamin,” he said formally. “My mommy's having a baby, so she can't ride horses.” He was more than willing to share the information, and Zoe and Tanya exchanged a smile. Mary Stuart was standing a little distance away, talking to Hartley, but she was frowning and didn't know it. But Tanya had seen it, and she knew why even if Mary Stuart didn't. The boy looked so much like her son Todd at the same age that it made your heart ache. Tanya wondered if Mary Stuart saw it, but she didn't want to say anything to Zoe, for fear Mary Stuart would hear it. And the odd thing was that the child kept staring at Mary Stuart as though he knew her. It was eerie.