Dreams for Stones (11 page)

“The Tandoor, then. You know it?”

He nodded.

“Good. How about, I meet you there. Friday
at. . . seven?”

He nodded again, and she escaped. When she
got to the library, she found she was still gripping the envelope
containing his check.

And she was smiling.

Talk about your ill-conceived impulses
. Alan ordered a beer
and drank it in quick nervous gulps, fighting the urge to walk out
of the Tandoor. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d accepted
Kathy’s invitation.

And not only that. He’d elevated the entire
interaction beyond dinner. Forcing her to agree to come for another
riding lesson.

As he’d gotten ready this evening, he’d been
tempted to call the restaurant and leave a message with the
waitress that there’d been an emergency. All that stopped him was
the knowledge it would be dishonorable.

But what the hey
, he could handle
dinner. No big deal. People ate dinner all the time. Including him.
Every day.

Then Kathy walked in. As he stood to greet
her, he caught the edge of the tablecloth, spilling what was left
of the beer down his pant leg.

Way to go, Francini.

Kathy’s eyes widened, then she walked toward
him, shaking her head, with a grin on her face that made her look
about twelve. “You sure know how to make a girl feel at ease. I’m
always knocking over drinks, but now you’ve beat me to it, I can
relax.”

“Happy to help out. But I’m going to smell
like a brewery.”

“I like beer.”

He’d felt clumsy and out of sorts when the
beer spilled, but here he was moments later almost laughing. A
surprise she could affect him that way, especially given the
constraint in their interactions up to now.

The waitress directed them to another table,
and Alan excused himself to clean up. When he returned, Kathy was
sipping a beer, and a new, full glass sat at his place.

“You’re trusting me with another one?”

“Not me. The waitress. She insisted. Said
she’d never had anyone spill two.”

“What about you. You planning to spill
that?”

“Don’t have to plan. It just happens.” She
spoke matter-of-factly but her eyes were filled with laughter.

“I know you’re just trying to make me feel
better.”

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

Pleasure curled through him like a cup of
hot coffee after chores on a cold morning. “As a matter of fact, it
is.” Odd, that spilling a beer was turning out to be the best thing
to happen to him in a while.

They negotiated what to order, but once they
made their selections, and the waitress left, silence fell between
them. Kathy was the one who eased it by asking him about the
horses.

In his relief, he probably told her more
than she wanted to know, starting with the fact Columbus brought
the first Paso Finos to the New World on his second voyage and
ending with a description of the trip he and his father took to
Puerto Rico where they’d bought several of the TapDancer
horses.

The food arrived, and as they served
themselves, Kathy continued to ask questions about the horses and
the ranch. Finally, he held up a hand. “It’s your turn to answer
some questions.”

She tore off a piece of flat bread and
cocked her head at him. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“All I know so far is you’re an editor,
you’re working on a novel with a character named Amanda, and you
don’t like horses, even though you’ve been listening with apparent
fascination while I went on and on about them.”

Kathy shook her head slightly. “You were
right about Amanda. I can’t seem to shake her. That means the horse
talk is all. . . fodder, so to speak.”

The delicate pun made him smile until he
noticed the forlorn look on her face. She started to take a bite of
food. Then she set her fork down and reached for her beer without
picking it up. “The only problem is she keeps clamming up on me.
It’s discouraging.” She looked down, her fingers making restless
patterns in the moisture on the glass.

“Most writers have trouble at one time or
another. Maybe you need to take a break. Then try again.” He didn’t
know why he was giving her advice that hadn’t worked for him,
except he wanted so badly to banish that lost look.

“Do you write?” she asked.

He was pretty sure she was asking about his
writing only as a way to distract herself. At least he hoped so.
“Sure. Memos, handouts, exams.”

She gave him a rueful smile that barely
moved her lips and didn’t make it as far as her eyes. Then she gave
herself a little shake. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interject a dreary
note in the proceedings. So, was the baby a boy or a girl?”

The switch was so abrupt and unexpected, he
had no idea what she was talking about. He raised his eyebrows in
question.

“Your sister’s baby,” she prompted, looking
amused.

“Oh. I forgot you knew about that. She had a
boy.”

“And you’re an uncle.”

“That I am.” That topic exhausted, he cast
about for the next one. Then he remembered their deal. “About your
riding lesson. Grace and Delia are coming out again tomorrow. You
can join us if you like.” He hoped she would. Much better that way.
His folks were less likely to misinterpret, get their hopes up.

She smiled. “Why not. A twofer. I get to
know Grace better and work on my Amanda research at the same
time.”

When she arrived at TapDancer on Saturday, Kathy discovered Grace
had been asked to fill in for a sick co-worker, so she and Delia
weren’t coming after all.

But that was okay. Kathy was much more
relaxed not only with Alan but with the horses this time. She
didn’t even flinch when Siesta greeted her with a nose rub. And
with her fear mostly gone, the ride was even more delightful than
the first time.

Afterward, Alan showed her how to unsaddle
and groom Siesta, then he led her to the tack room and began
explaining the various bits of harness and their functions.

“I’ll never remember it all,” Kathy said, as
he held up a tangle of straps. “That’s the nightingale. Like
Florence, right?”

He shook his head reproving her.
“Martingale. A true horsewoman would never make a mistake like
that.”

“I’m beginning to suspect Amanda’s a
dilettante.”

“I can take a hint. Enough for one day,
right? How about a hot drink before you drive back?”

She nodded, watching him replace the
martingale on its hook, marveling at how different he seemed from
their first meeting. Gone completely was the closed, superior look
that had sent her away to take out her frustration on some poor,
innocent tennis balls. Gone as well any impression of arrogance.
This new, improved Alan Francini not only knew how to laugh, he
could make her laugh.

And when something amused him, she liked the
way his face rearranged itself, smile lines fanning from his eyes
and bracketing his mouth. She found it impossible not to smile
back, a thoroughly unexpected and pleasant surprise.

Alan walked her to the house and ushered her
into the kitchen, where a woman was mixing something in a bowl. She
looked up with a smile when they came in.

Alan cleared his throat. “Mom, this is Kathy
Jamison. Kathy, my mom, Stella.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Stella put her spoon down
and extended a hand to Kathy. “You’re the one we forgot about when
Elaine called from the hospital. I’m so glad to see you’ve forgiven
us.”

Kathy shook Stella’s outstretched hand.
“Nothing to forgive. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Yes. Our first grandchild.” Stella’s voice
sounded normal, but her face was pensive. She turned away and
started stirring again.

A man walked into the kitchen. “Well, well,
this the young lady I was watching put Siesta through her paces?”
The voice was a slightly deeper version of Alan’s.

“Dad, this is Kathy Jamison.” Alan set a mug
of hot water and a tin full of tea bags in front of her. “Kathy, my
dad, Robert.”

“My, those hands are a dite chilly,” Robert
said, clasping her hand in greeting. “You should have told Alan you
were getting cold.”

“I didn’t want to stop.”

Alan’s eyebrows shot up at that, and Kathy
swallowed a giggle.

“She’s the one we rushed off and forgot last
week,” Stella said.

“I do apologize for that,” Robert said.

“No need. I think a baby trumps a riding
lesson any day.”

Robert made an indeterminate sound in
response, as he turned to accept the mug of tea Alan held out to
him.

Given Stella and Robert’s muted reactions,
Kathy wondered if the baby was all right, but it wasn’t something
she could very well ask.

Instead, she changed the subject, hoping to
smooth over the sudden discomfort she was feeling. “You have the
most beautiful house. I bet your view is amazing.”

“Come check it out,” Robert said. “You’re
about ready to join us, aren’t you, dear?”

“In a minute,” Stella said.

“It must be marvelous when it snows,” Kathy
said, following Robert into the living room.

Robert chuckled. “Sure it is. Until we have
to go out to shovel a path to the barn.”

“Oh my. . . ” Her voice trailed off as she
looked out the window at the sweep of golden grass bounded by
foothills that leaned against the navy blue flanks of the Rampart
Range. In the distance, the top of Pike’s Peak gleamed silver with
the first snow of the season.

Kathy moved slowly into the room, still
looking at the view. She chose a swivel chair and sat down, only
then beginning to notice the room itself: the warm honey tones of
the wooden floor; the maroon and gray chairs and sofas set in two
comfortable groupings; the Navajo rugs on the floor and the bright
quilts folded on the backs of the sofas, all of it overlaid with a
faint aroma of wood smoke and pine. A room in synchrony with the
grandeur framed by its windows.

“What a wonderful room.” Awe made her voice
slightly hoarse. “Do you ever get enough of it, or this view?”

“We’ve only been here ten years,” Robert
said. “But we’re not tired of it yet.”

“But. . . ” Kathy stopped because what she’d
been about to say—that it was odd for someone to start ranching
when they were middle-aged—would have been rude.

“Oh, we had a ranch before,” Stella said,
joining them and accurately interpreting Kathy’s hesitation.

“Yep. Out east of Denver,” Robert said.
“Likely you’ve been there. They call it Denver International
now.”

Kathy cocked her head, thinking about it.
“That must have been difficult.”

“Yep.” Robert chuckled. “Real hard leaving a
thousand acres of dry scrub to come here.”

Stella sat next to Robert, and Kathy found
herself the focus of the senior Francinis’ friendly attention. But
that was okay. They were pleasant people, and unlike Alan, she’d
warmed to them both immediately. Well she’d warmed to Alan too. It
had just taken longer.

“Have you been riding long?” Stella
asked.

Kathy shook her head. “This is only my third
time.” If falling off Peaches twice counted as one time.

“Oh my. Well you should feel real honored.
Alan doesn’t allow just anyone on that filly. She’s his pride and
joy.”

Kathy glanced at Alan, who leaned over to
pet Cormac. Parents. They seemed to have an ingrained universal
ability to embarrass their offspring without even trying. But Alan
threw the assumption he was embarrassed into question by glancing
up at Kathy and winking.

Completely unexpected, and if he only knew
it, devastating.

“I forgot to ask when you called. Who
recommended us?” Stella said.

With a start, Kathy refocused. “Oh, my
pencil did.”

She grinned at the look on Stella’s face.
“You know, I opened the phone book, closed my eyes and. . . ”

Stella’s face cleared. “See, Rob. I told you
a big ad would pay off.”

“What made you decide to take riding
lessons?” Robert asked.

Kathy glanced at Alan, trying to catch his
eye, tempted to wink if she did. “I needed to know something about
horses for a novel I’m writing.”

“Oh, you’re an author,” Stella said. “Did
you know Alan is an English professor?”

“As a matter of fact, I do know that. I’ll
be teaching a course at DSU in the spring.”

“You’re a professor, too?” Robert asked.

“It’s only a temporary gig. Actually, I’m an
editor. At Calico Cat Books.”

Stella frowned with her finger over her
lips. “That name. It seems familiar. Oh, I know. That’s the
publisher that does those bilingual books. We bought our grandson
one.”

“Which one did you get?” Kathy was puzzled.
Didn’t Stella say the baby born a week ago was their first
grandchild?

“The story about the little boy and girl
rescuing the grasshopper with the help of the dragonfly.”

“That’s one of my favorites.” Kathy pictured
Jade working the Japanese characters for danger, courage, and
sanctuary into the illustrations. “But I love all our
IchiMichis.”

“IchiMichi. What language is that?” Alan
asked.

“Japanese. Actually, IchiMichi is our pet
name for them. They’re stories about a brother and sister, Ichiro
and Michiko.”

“And they’re beautifully done,” Stella said,
turning to Alan. “You’ll have to ask Elaine to show it to you the
next time you’re over there. They’re mostly in English, but they
also have Japanese characters and Japanese words.” She turned back
to Kathy. “Alan has quite a collection of children’s books,
himself. We should have guessed he was going to be an English
teacher, what with all the reading he did when he was growing
up.”

“And look who’s buying a one-week-old baby
books already.” Alan was obviously teasing his mother.

Kathy was relieved. She must have completely
misread the situation in the kitchen.