Dery. Tony told me your office was in here.” Sarah stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “I thought I’d come out and see my horse.”
David walked with her through the barn to the shelter and paddock her horse was in. “He settled right in. Most do.” He rested a forearm on the top of one wooden rail and tipped his hat back. “You planning a long visit?”
Who’s planning any part of this? I’m flying by the seat of my pants, hoping none of you turn out to be serial killers. Sarah looked over her shoulder at the entrance to see if Tony had followed her. Of course, he hadn’t. “Not sure yet.”
David followed her gaze before meeting her eyes and said, “He’s not as bad as people say.”
Okay, that’s somewhat reassuring and a bit cryptic. I wish I’d brought my notebook with me. I could use that line.
“What do they say?”
David looked surprised. “You don’t know?”
Sarah shrugged. “Should I?”
He scratched his square chin as he considered her question. “I doubt it would help.”
Not only do Texans speak slowly, they also apparently talk in code.
They both turned their attention to the horse before them. Sarah decided to find her answers through less direct questions. “David, how long have you worked here?”
“Nearly five years.”
“That’s a long time. You must know Tony pretty well.”
“I understand him.”
That’s more than I can say, so here goes: “He said I could stay until I cement my plans for my drive back to Rhode Island. Do you think I should?”
David didn’t answer at first. Then he said quietly, “Sometimes the only way you can determine a good choice from a bad one is by how much you like the person you see in the mirror the next day.”
Not really sure that helped.
She let his words echo through her again. Do I like who I am? Not my nose. Not my expensive highlights. Me. Just me.
“Like” might be too strong of a word.
I thought I would be more.
Matter more.
Which led to a life-guiding question.
Who do I want to see in the mirror tomorrow?
Someone who made her way no matter the obstacles, here or somewhere else in Texas. Success requires perseverance. Mountain climbers don’t let a little rain stop them. Men went to the moon with less technology than I have in my phone.
I can do this.
I can find my story.
Tony stood next to the small nightstand where Sarah had left her spiral notebook. Would she have left it out if she had something to hide? Normally, he would never consider reading the private writings of anyone—mostly because doing so required a certain amount of interest on his part, which he hadn’t felt about anything in a long time.
But that book held the answers he needed.
Is Sarah taking notes on how I run the ranch? Is she working for a news rag? Why is she here?
He flipped the purple cover open and his jaw went slack with surprise as he read the first page.
Day One
This is what life is about: seeing new places, meeting new people, grabbing life by the . . . and squeezing until it coughs up a story worth telling.
Writers do not fear words.
Balls.
Balls.
Balls.
Big balls.
Hairy balls.
Bald balls?
A question was written in the side margin: Do some men shave their balls?
Tony stopped, shook his head and reread the first entry. A grin spread across his face as he did. He picked up the notebook and flipped to the second page.
House:
Shouldn’t use Tony’s in the book. Porch is nice, but inside is too barren. Too cold. No one would believe that someone doesn’t at least have a television. Don’t want people to think hero is boring or out of touch. Visit neighboring homes for inspiration.
Tony stopped. He’d been right that she was taking notes on his place, but not in the way that he’d thought. He wasn’t sure he liked what she thought his home said about him. Boring? Out of touch?
He read the next entry:
Characters:
Need a better name than Tony Carlton.
David walked with her through the barn to the shelter and paddock her horse was in. “He settled right in. Most do.” He rested a forearm on the top of one wooden rail and tipped his hat back. “You planning a long visit?”
Who’s planning any part of this? I’m flying by the seat of my pants, hoping none of you turn out to be serial killers. Sarah looked over her shoulder at the entrance to see if Tony had followed her. Of course, he hadn’t. “Not sure yet.”
David followed her gaze before meeting her eyes and said, “He’s not as bad as people say.”
Okay, that’s somewhat reassuring and a bit cryptic. I wish I’d brought my notebook with me. I could use that line.
“What do they say?”
David looked surprised. “You don’t know?”
Sarah shrugged. “Should I?”
He scratched his square chin as he considered her question. “I doubt it would help.”
Not only do Texans speak slowly, they also apparently talk in code.
They both turned their attention to the horse before them. Sarah decided to find her answers through less direct questions. “David, how long have you worked here?”
“Nearly five years.”
“That’s a long time. You must know Tony pretty well.”
“I understand him.”
That’s more than I can say, so here goes: “He said I could stay until I cement my plans for my drive back to Rhode Island. Do you think I should?”
David didn’t answer at first. Then he said quietly, “Sometimes the only way you can determine a good choice from a bad one is by how much you like the person you see in the mirror the next day.”
Not really sure that helped.
She let his words echo through her again. Do I like who I am? Not my nose. Not my expensive highlights. Me. Just me.
“Like” might be too strong of a word.
I thought I would be more.
Matter more.
Which led to a life-guiding question.
Who do I want to see in the mirror tomorrow?
Someone who made her way no matter the obstacles, here or somewhere else in Texas. Success requires perseverance. Mountain climbers don’t let a little rain stop them. Men went to the moon with less technology than I have in my phone.
I can do this.
I can find my story.
Tony stood next to the small nightstand where Sarah had left her spiral notebook. Would she have left it out if she had something to hide? Normally, he would never consider reading the private writings of anyone—mostly because doing so required a certain amount of interest on his part, which he hadn’t felt about anything in a long time.
But that book held the answers he needed.
Is Sarah taking notes on how I run the ranch? Is she working for a news rag? Why is she here?
He flipped the purple cover open and his jaw went slack with surprise as he read the first page.
Day One
This is what life is about: seeing new places, meeting new people, grabbing life by the . . . and squeezing until it coughs up a story worth telling.
Writers do not fear words.
Balls.
Balls.
Balls.
Big balls.
Hairy balls.
Bald balls?
A question was written in the side margin: Do some men shave their balls?
Tony stopped, shook his head and reread the first entry. A grin spread across his face as he did. He picked up the notebook and flipped to the second page.
House:
Shouldn’t use Tony’s in the book. Porch is nice, but inside is too barren. Too cold. No one would believe that someone doesn’t at least have a television. Don’t want people to think hero is boring or out of touch. Visit neighboring homes for inspiration.
Tony stopped. He’d been right that she was taking notes on his place, but not in the way that he’d thought. He wasn’t sure he liked what she thought his home said about him. Boring? Out of touch?
He read the next entry:
Characters:
Need a better name than Tony Carlton.
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