The Wish. Diane PershingЧитать онлайн книгу.
bruises. She might even have appeared graceful. Well, probably not. Or perhaps, to be kind, as graceful as she could be, which was not very. And Rance hadn’t seemed fazed by her weight, gave no outward sign of having developed a hernia or back spasms. Yay for our side.
She picked up the book, hurried behind the counter, and picked up the receiver. “Dr. Albright? I’ve got it.” She listened to the retired professor’s pleased response then said, “Yes, the third edition…Well, thanks, I’m so glad I could be of help.” She felt a huge grin split her face as the elderly man went on about how long it had taken him to locate the tome, and what a treasure Gerri’s shop was, and how grateful he was that the young woman had decided to settle here in town, filling a void in the community.
Last week, there had been nothing like this response. Gerri hadn’t found the book by the time she’d slipped off the ladder, and poor Dr. Albright had been left on hold for quite a while, while she tended to her wounds.
“Yes, I’ll hold it for you till tomorrow. Just ask for it at the cash register.”
Rance watched her, an expression of amused affection—the way you looked at a pet—on his face. When she hung up, he said, “You’re terrific, you know that?”
She wrinkled her nose, felt her face coloring again. “No I’m not.”
“No, really, you’re such a, I don’t know, a giving person. It makes you so happy to help others, your face glows with it.”
“Enough,” she said, waving his compliments away, and loving them at the same time.
He walked to her side of the counter, reached behind her, and yanked at her ponytail. “If I had a sister, I’d want her to be just like you. Well, I have to head out. See you,” he said and headed for the door.
As her inner mind was repeating the sister remark, most definitely at the top of the all time kiss-of-death-to-a-future-relationship remarks, she asked, “Where to?” careful not to let her disappointment show.
“Gotta go meet a plane.”
“Oh?” She already knew the answer to her next question. “Who’s coming in?”
“Marla Connelly,” he said with a cat-who-got-the-cream grin.
“The model?”
“Yup. I met her in New York last week. She’s looking to buy some property for a ranch. I’ve offered to show her around town a bit.” He raised his eyebrows in a Groucho Marx way, indicating his plans would go a bit further than just showing the lovely, sophisticated woman around town.
A wrench of jealousy hit her gut, just as it had last week. But…wasn’t everything supposed to be different? Hadn’t she been granted the chance to do it right this time?
Wait, she reminded herself. The ball—No, she amended quickly, not “the ball.” She really needed to stop using fairy-tale vocabulary. The charity dinner dance a week from now, that was what she was supposed to do right. It was there that Rance would finally see what had been under his nose all along. Lovely, sophisticated Princess Gerri.
“Well, go on then,” she said, accompanying him to the door. “See you soon.”
Through the glass she watched him walk away until he was out of sight. Pleased with herself at having at least avoided injury, Gerri turned around and nearly fell across a carton of books that were still waiting to be shelved. Whoops, she said silently as she righted herself against the counter. Lesson number one—you can go back in time, but if you’re a klutz, you’re a klutz, magic or no magic. Good luck with that one, she thought sardonically, as she carefully steered her way around the carton. It would take more than a miracle to make her graceful.
SATURDAY: The morning was magic. Ruffy was in fine, frisky shape today as they cantered toward the hills where the sun was just making an appearance, casting all kinds of lovely colors over the distant Sierra Nevadas and the plains below. Gerri was full of hope this morning, having slept well—no pain from bruises that weren’t there, no ankle twinges, no aspirin or ice necessary. Last week she hadn’t been able to ride, but today she could. She was wondering if Des would be joining her, as he often did in the morning, when the sound of horse’s hooves behind her told her that the man himself was making an appearance. She slowed Ruffy down to a slow trot and waited for him to catch up with her.
“Hi,” she said as he joined her.
He nodded his greeting. A man of few words, was her friend Des. The laconic, solitary rancher who never said more than what was absolutely necessary. She liked that about him, especially as he never seemed to mind her chatter.
He trotted easily beside her. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” she said, inhaling a deep lungful of cool morning air.
“Uh-huh.”
“Race you to the tree!” She took off before he answered, knowing that her mount didn’t have a chance against his sleek black gelding, but going for it nevertheless. Within moments, he’d caught up to her and passed her, but kept just ahead of her instead of racing off into the distance, as he most certainly was capable of doing.
They ran the horses for fifteen minutes or so, until Des pulled up at a grove of cottonwood trees, the tallest of which leaned over the edge of a babbling creek. She’d come to think of it as their tree and had since the day months before when she’d dismounted here to adjust her stirrups and he’d ridden by, stopped and asked if he could help. She’d accepted gratefully because, back then, this whole horse thing had been new to her.
Born and raised in New York City into a family of academics and intellectuals, Gerri’s only previous experience with equines had been to watch mounted police during parades and to observe the aging, overworked animals that pulled carriages around Central Park. But she’d always been fascinated by the beasts—their sturdy musculature, the grace of their necks—and had vowed to have her own one day. And to learn to be a good rider.
After eighteen months in the Reno area, Gerri had bought Ruffy and boarded her at Des’s place, which had been recommended to her by the horse’s previous owner. She’d taken a few lessons and was now, if she said so herself, not bad, and getting better.
Thanks to Des. In his quiet way, he’d helped her learn how to saddle her own horse, how to watch out for tree roots and the occasional snake as she rode, how to water and brush her mount at the end of the ride. He hadn’t had to do all that, she knew it, and thought he must be a very kind person to have taken the awkward city slicker under his wing.
“Whoa!” she said now, pulling up next to him. She was as out of breath as Ruffy must be, but happy. “That was fabulous!”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, “getting better and better,” he added, just the hint of smile on his usually stoic face. Beneath his well-worn cowboy hat, she observed, not for the first time, his startling blue eyes and the lines radiating out from them, formed by years in the sun. Black hair and blue eyes. Black Irish coloring, he’d told her once, in a rare moment of talking about himself. His people had come to America during the potato famine and had led a hardscrabble life. He’d bought his ranch about five years earlier. It was small, but he worked hard, and she had a sense that he, too, was fulfilling a lifelong dream of having a place—even an identity—of his own.
She was naturally curious about his personal life. He wasn’t married, she knew, and lived alone. But there was an air of privacy about him that didn’t invite personal questions, so she hung back from prying. Once in a while, like when he stared at the mountain range to the east, she got a sense of loneliness, even a shadow of sadness, in the man. But mostly he seemed comfortable in his solitary existence. Except he seemed to enjoy her company when they rode together, which was once or twice a week in the mornings.
For the first time in her adult life, Gerri felt comfortable with a man. Consequently, when she was with him, her behavior was relaxed, not forced. He had the gift of making her feel good about herself, accepted her for what and who she was. All her life, Gerri had tended to say whatever was on her mind; as she had a really busy mind, poor Des