House of the Blue Sea (24 page)

“No, not at all. It’s a good night for storytelling and it gives me some insight on what makes Sandra Lyall tick.” Mark raised his glass before taking a drink.

“Is that something you’ve been trying to sort out?” The wine was making her bold.

A corner of Mark’s mouth lifted into a lop-sided smile. “I suppose I have.”

“Now I’m nervous.”

“Oh don’t be, I have no devious intentions.”

“Well, that’s good to know. So just what are your intentions then?” She was surprised by her own question and felt her face warming. She’d always been plagued by lips easily loosened by a bit of alcohol.

Mark seemed even more surprised. “Well ... I ... simply ... was curious about this western dressage Paul said you were doing down here.”

“I see. And that’s what brought you to Rancho Azteca, curiosity?”

“Partially,” Mark paused, “and I wanted to invite you to dinner.”

“Of course, dinner.”

“And ... I ... enjoy your company. I’ve been enjoying your company.” And then the words came tumbling out like stones down a hill. “I went to see you the morning you went away and Paul didn’t seem to know how long you’d be gone or just where you were and I suddenly felt a little ... lost.” He reached his hand across the table placing it on hers. “I like you very much, Sandra Lyall, and I want to know you better.”

B
ack in his chinos and white shirt, Mark walked across the yard to the verandah of the main house where Sandra and Alejandro were already seated at the breakfast table. “Good morning,” he called as he approached.

“Buenos días. I see you are none the worse for wear despite the extra bottle of wine I left you,” said Alejandro.

“Well I don’t know about that. I slept rather late.” He draped the pair of jeans he was carrying across the back of an empty chair. “Thank you for the loan.”

“I was just thinking yesterday how unfair it is that I spend days searching for jeans that fit well and you can throw on a borrowed pair and look like ... well ... like you did.” Sandra’s cheeks reddened at her own words.

Mark grinned. “Well, thank you.”

Alejandro was watching them, his eyes going to one face and then the other. “Sit, sit.” Once Mark was seated Alejandro asked, “So, what did my guests get up to in the late hours of last night?” He was leaning forward, eyebrows raised.

“Just enjoying the wine, and the evening. And we took carrots to the girls,” Sandra answered quickly.

Mark remembered the warmth of her hand under his and that she hadn’t pulled it away as he’d half expected, but allowed it to rest there for a few moments. He was disappointed when she then announced it was time for bed, but she had taken his arm when he offered it on their way back to the bunkhouse.

Alejandro’s smile seeped into his features. “I see. It was a lovely evening indeed.” He looked directly at Mark, his dark eyes dancing.

“I suppose it was.” The words came out stiff.

Alejandro laughed and pulled a cover from the plate in the middle of the table. “A specialty from my days north of the border ... pancakes and sausages, or here in Mexico,
los tortitas y salchichas
.”

***

S
andra was tightening the cinch on her saddle as Mark walked up. “All set it looks like,” he said.

She turned as he approached, her expression a sharp contrast to yesterday’s cool reception. “Almost—just need to get my bridle.” She patted La Tormenta’s neck and went into the barn. He watched her as she walked away, her slim body filling out her bootcut Wranglers.
Well, the jeans were certainly worth the extra shopping time
. She was an attractive woman, he’d noticed before, but this morning she seemed alight, and he wasn’t sure if it was coming from her or from him. When he’d first looked out his window this morning he’d seen her on her yoga mat, sitting with legs crossed, eyes closed facing the rising sun. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail but one strand was free and wisped across the cheek that faced his direction. Her head was tilted back and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. He wondered what she was thinking, about the source of her smile.

Sandra stepped back into the sunlight from the dark of the barn. “And you? You’re ready to travel?”

“Alas, she can’t wait to see the back of me.” Mark hung his head in mock despair.

“Always performing.” Sandra arranged the bridle in her hands.

“I’m hoping Alejandro will invite me to one more meal, after you ride, and before I hit the road.”

“Alejandro will keep inviting you until you say no, so unless you’d like to stay another night, and perhaps right through his upcoming clinic, you’ll have to stop him.” Sandra held the bridle to Tormenta’s face and the mare opened her mouth, willingly taking the bit.

“I should get back, although ... I’d like to stay.” He waited for Sandra to respond. She continued to focus on the horse and the adjustments to the bridle. “But, there’s likely a script waiting for me and an eager agent awaiting my response.”

Sandra turned toward him. “Well that’s worth heading back for. Isn’t it?”

Right here, right now, it didn’t seem so. “Yes, of course.”

***

M
ark sat on a folding chair next to the arena, a glass of lemonade in his hand. The sun and wind were to his back, keeping his eyes shaded and the dust from drifting into his face. The day was already warm and Tormenta’s chest and flanks were growing dark with sweat as she worked. The mare was incredible to watch as Sandra put her through her paces under Alejandro’s guidance. One moment she was jogging nearly in place with an elevated stride, and the next extending down the side of the arena, her elegant forelegs stretching out ahead of her as she seemed to float the length of the rail. Sandra seemed in another world, one of horse and him—Alejandro. Yesterday, Mark would have been jealous, but now that he understood their relationship and her admiration of the man, he envied her. It had been a long time since he’d looked up to someone that way.

When he was first on the stage after drama school, he’d worked with an actor then in his fifties, an actor who had spent his career on the London stage. His performances were captivating to the point where Mark was always at risk of losing himself in Robert’s work and forgetting his own lines. And Robert had taken him under his wing in those early years, becoming a mentor, coach and dear friend. He wondered if he was still acting, or even alive. Surely he’d have heard if Robert had died. They’d fallen out of touch many years ago. He realized he missed his old friend.

Sandra loped past in front of him, her body rocking with the rhythm of the horse’s stride. Her face shone with the slight perspiration of her efforts and, despite the intensity of her expression, a smile played on her lips. Alejandro spoke and Sandra slowed her pace and walked into the centre of the ring to talk with him. He placed one hand on the small of her back and the other on her knee, adjusting the position of each ever so slightly before looking up at her and speaking. She smiled down at him and laughed. Her laugh—it wasn’t its physical sound as much as its genuine nature. Alejandro was gesturing and talking animatedly, acting out some movement he was no doubt asking her to perform. She laughed again. He wished he could stir a similar combination of admiration and amusement. So far he’d mostly had to settle for tolerance.

Sandra and Tormenta jogged off and Alejandro remained quiet and still, just watching. She pushed the horse into an easy lope and then loped a tight circle. Alejandro nodded. She continued down the arena, this time taking the horse into such a tight arc that the mare’s front legs seemed to be loping a circle around the rears, her rear hooves hopping a tiny pattern in the sand. Sandra let out a whoop when she finished the circle, pushing the horse into a longer stride toward Alejandro who was grinning and clapping.
“Maravilloso
! Very well done!” Alejandro called.

She loped past him, stroking Tormenta’s neck and then turned the horse toward Mark. She rode up with an ear-to-ear grin and stopped right in front of him, a cloud of dust rising from under the horse’s hooves. “Did you see that?” she asked, breathless.

“I did indeed, and I take it that manoeuvre calls for a certain amount of celebration?”

“Absolutely! I’ve only been trying to pull it off since I started coming here.” She rubbed Tormenta’s neck. “She’s known how to do it all along, of course.”

A streak of dust lay across one cheek where she’d wiped a gloved hand and her freckles were more pronounced with the increased heat of her face. Her hair was mostly tucked underneath her helmet but a few rogue wisps curled in front of her ears. She seemed almost child-like in her moment of accomplishment and Mark found himself wanting to take her in his arms and swing her around, sharing in her joy. Instead, he stood, and reached his hand up toward her. “Well, congratulations then. Even from my perspective as a complete neophyte, it looked impressive.”

She shook his hand, grinning all the while. “Thank you.” She started to ride away but then turned her head back to him. “Staying for lunch?”

***

A
s Mark drove north toward San Leandro, the images of the previous twenty-eight hours replayed in his mind like a movie. Lunch had been a festive affair after Sandra’s successful riding lesson, and Alejandro was glowing right along with his jubilant student. It would have been easy to stay on but the invitation hadn’t come. Sandra had mentioned a final “quiet” afternoon on the ranch and a chance to spend more time with Tormenta, and Alejandro was also not quick to invite, perhaps beginning to mentally prepare for his wife’s return and the group expected in two days. But Mark was happy that Sandra had warmed to him since his arrival yesterday; that in itself had been worth the journey.

The dry landscape rolled by on each side, the hills hiding the Sea of Cortez just a few miles to the east and the Pacific Ocean thirty to the west. He smiled as he recognized a cardón cactus, its multiple pillars extending up from a thick base and flowers beginning to appear on the upper stems. His thoughts returned to the view of Sandra’s back, riding ahead of him on her grey mare, her body swaying with Tormenta’s long stride. Maybe that was what drew him, how she always seemed to be easily moving forward, not in a hurry but with purpose and grace. His path through life seemed much more irregular, with his speed varying from a standstill to warp and back again. Being with her seemed to moderate the tempo. A month ago he would have thought that boring, but something was shifting.

He spotted riders on the hill, moving a herd of cattle in front of them. The dust rose up around the herd and the cloud blended with smaller dust clouds created by each of the horses. He wondered if they were some of Alejandro’s organic Corriente. It had been so easy to stay longer than he’d planned and so difficult to leave, but she would be back tomorrow, and he’d find a reason to drop by Mar Azul. His new script should be arriving and he could pop by to share the good news with Paul ... and maybe bump into Sandra and buy her a drink.

The road opened up into a long straight stretch and Mark pressed his foot to the accelerator. The car surged ahead and the wind pulled at his hair, whipping it around his face. The ever-present sun was pleasant this afternoon, its warmth resting like a hat on his head—and then it appeared, on his right, beyond the scraggly desert shrubs, the sparkling pale blue of the sea. He chuckled out loud as he thought of Sandra’s plunge into the waves the day before and her jovial response. From what he’d seen, the only thing that seemed to ripple her calm surface was him. What he couldn’t quite make out was whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

A
lejandro was working a young horse in the arena as Sandra approached on Tormenta. “I’m going to ride up the hill a short way. I won’t go far,” she called to him.

He rode over at an easy jog, the buckskin’s chest and neck soaked with sweat. “This one has worked hard and would benefit from a little time on the trail. May we join you? There is still enough sun to go to the sea.”

Sandra looked to the west, the sun already beginning its descent toward the hills.

“Okay, so perhaps it will be a little dark by the time we return,” Alejandro said, “but I know the way very well, even in the dark.”

“You’re on.” She patted Tormenta’s neck. “What do you think, girl? Have you got another hour in you?”

“That mare will be going long after you and I have had enough of this day. I should have named her for a soldier instead of a storm.”

Alejandro opened the gate from astride, moved his horse through, and then pulled the gate closed behind him. “
Muy buena chica
,” he said with enthusiasm to his horse. “You are my best student.”

“And who is this one?” Sandra asked. “She’s lovely.”

“This is a daughter of Caliente and La Belleza. She is just four. La Mantequilla
—
she was the colour of butter when she was born. She has grown darker since then.”

“I love her colour, and that incredible head of hair.”

Alejandro caressed the horse’s shoulder. “Yes, she has the colour of her dam, her sire’s beautiful mane, and the intelligence of both. This one is special.” He continued to gaze at the top of the black mane. “Well, shall we see how she likes the big water?”

“She’s never been to the beach?”

“Not yet!” Alejandro put Mantequilla into a lope, the mare’s stride animated and rolling. Tormenta’s ears flashed forward and then back to Sandra, awaiting direction. She didn’t have to wait long, as Sandra gave the cue to follow the buckskin along the cactus-lined trail to Cortez.

***

T
he air was almost still when they reached the water, just a suggestion of a breeze carrying the scent of seaweed ashore. The waves were smaller than they had been the day prior, and they rolled in rhythmically, their thump and whoosh interspersed with near quiet. They rode at the edge of the surf, Alejandro’s mare stepping higher each time the leading edge of the froth threatened to touch her hooves. Tormenta and Sandra jogged next to them on the sea side, the grey mare content to move at a slow pace, the water splashing up from under her feet whenever a wave came far enough up the beach. Sandra couldn’t help smiling: the warm air, the smell of the sea, the sun low in the sky, and the power of the animal beneath her. One of life’s perfect moments. The kind you want to put in a jar and take home for a cold winter’s night. She drew the soft sea air into her nostrils and closed her eyes as Tormenta slowed to a walk.