past. And besides—no one can own the land. People come and go. The land goes on forever. We only borrow the use of it for a while.” His lips twisted and the smile became wry. “Hopefully, we leave it in as good condition as we found it.”
“Yeah…right.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Allwe can do is try.”
The road twisted and turned and became a dirt track, then twisted and turned and dipped and climbed some more, seemingly forever. Around them the plant life began to change, trees appearing now in the spaces between rocks, tall, gray-green pines of some kind—like nothing she’d ever seen in the lush forests of upstate New York. She was sure Sage would know what they were,but she didn’t ask; her mouth was too dry for conversation.
They had left all signs of human habitation far behind when the pickup bumped to a stop. Sage nodded toward the window on his side and said, “That’s it over there—Sam’s place.”
Abby leaned toward him and bent down to see what he was talking about…and was somehow closer to him than she realized, until she felt the heat andcaught the scent of his body, unlike anything she’d ever known before. She couldn’t place it, but if she closed her eyes she could see green grass and tall pine trees and soft brown earth, and feel the warmth of sunshine on her cheeks…
“See it? In those trees, the red tile roof…”
Her breath caught, and she opened her eyes and struggled to bring the vista beyond the window into focus.“Yes—okay, I see it.” Her heart was racing, her voice airless and small.
“It’s okay,” Sage said softly.
She jerked toward his voice and found his eyes so close they seemed to eclipse everything else; his eyes became her world, black as night, but warm as summer. Somehow, she managed to whisper, “What?”
“To be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” she lied.
“Then why are youshaking?”
“I’m not.” She sat back abruptly, and from that safer distance, glared at him. “I’m a little nervous, okay? I already told you that. No big deal.”
“That’s right.” He smiled in his enigmatic way and the truck moved forward.
A little farther on, the road turned sharply to the left, dipped down a bank, crossed a creek with several inches of water running swiftly over arocky bed, threaded through a willow thicket, then angled up the other side. And now, across a landscape strewn with boulders and bristling with those wild-looking pine trees and rampant gray-green shrubs, she could see, stretching away to steep mountain slopes, lush green meadows where dark cattle rested in the shade of huge old trees.
She let out her breath slowly, silently, not wantinghim to know.
The road became a T-intersection at the meadow fence. Ahead and a little to the right, Abby could see a cluster of trees and buildings.
“What’s that?” She pointed. “Who lives there?”
“I do,” Sage replied. “That’s the original June Ranch. The house is the original adobe. Sam’s place is this way. We call it the hacienda.”
As he said that he turned left, and theroad, though still dirt, was now smooth and wide. It meandered between towering evergreen trees and some others she didn’t know the names of—poplars, maybe? In patches of sunshine between clusters of trees were beds of roses and irises in full bloom. Those, at least, she knew.
They passed a long building of white-painted stucco with a red tile roof, and Abby caught her breath.
Sagethrew her an amused look and said, “Garage.” She gave a low whistle, and he chuckled.
Then, around a last stand of trees, suddenly there it was—the hacienda, sprawling across the top of a hill like a sentinel keeping watch over the valley far below. The drive became an open area paved with flagstone, with wide curving flagstone steps leading up to a set of massive double doors, arched andcarved from heavy wood, stained dark.
As the pickup truck pulled to a stop below the steps, two dogs came from somewhere to
“Yeah…right.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Allwe can do is try.”
The road twisted and turned and became a dirt track, then twisted and turned and dipped and climbed some more, seemingly forever. Around them the plant life began to change, trees appearing now in the spaces between rocks, tall, gray-green pines of some kind—like nothing she’d ever seen in the lush forests of upstate New York. She was sure Sage would know what they were,but she didn’t ask; her mouth was too dry for conversation.
They had left all signs of human habitation far behind when the pickup bumped to a stop. Sage nodded toward the window on his side and said, “That’s it over there—Sam’s place.”
Abby leaned toward him and bent down to see what he was talking about…and was somehow closer to him than she realized, until she felt the heat andcaught the scent of his body, unlike anything she’d ever known before. She couldn’t place it, but if she closed her eyes she could see green grass and tall pine trees and soft brown earth, and feel the warmth of sunshine on her cheeks…
“See it? In those trees, the red tile roof…”
Her breath caught, and she opened her eyes and struggled to bring the vista beyond the window into focus.“Yes—okay, I see it.” Her heart was racing, her voice airless and small.
“It’s okay,” Sage said softly.
She jerked toward his voice and found his eyes so close they seemed to eclipse everything else; his eyes became her world, black as night, but warm as summer. Somehow, she managed to whisper, “What?”
“To be scared.”
“I’m not scared,” she lied.
“Then why are youshaking?”
“I’m not.” She sat back abruptly, and from that safer distance, glared at him. “I’m a little nervous, okay? I already told you that. No big deal.”
“That’s right.” He smiled in his enigmatic way and the truck moved forward.
A little farther on, the road turned sharply to the left, dipped down a bank, crossed a creek with several inches of water running swiftly over arocky bed, threaded through a willow thicket, then angled up the other side. And now, across a landscape strewn with boulders and bristling with those wild-looking pine trees and rampant gray-green shrubs, she could see, stretching away to steep mountain slopes, lush green meadows where dark cattle rested in the shade of huge old trees.
She let out her breath slowly, silently, not wantinghim to know.
The road became a T-intersection at the meadow fence. Ahead and a little to the right, Abby could see a cluster of trees and buildings.
“What’s that?” She pointed. “Who lives there?”
“I do,” Sage replied. “That’s the original June Ranch. The house is the original adobe. Sam’s place is this way. We call it the hacienda.”
As he said that he turned left, and theroad, though still dirt, was now smooth and wide. It meandered between towering evergreen trees and some others she didn’t know the names of—poplars, maybe? In patches of sunshine between clusters of trees were beds of roses and irises in full bloom. Those, at least, she knew.
They passed a long building of white-painted stucco with a red tile roof, and Abby caught her breath.
Sagethrew her an amused look and said, “Garage.” She gave a low whistle, and he chuckled.
Then, around a last stand of trees, suddenly there it was—the hacienda, sprawling across the top of a hill like a sentinel keeping watch over the valley far below. The drive became an open area paved with flagstone, with wide curving flagstone steps leading up to a set of massive double doors, arched andcarved from heavy wood, stained dark.
As the pickup truck pulled to a stop below the steps, two dogs came from somewhere to
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