Dreams for Stones Page 8

  She pulled the pages out and, setting aside the cover letter, began to read.

  High in the Andes, in the verde folds

  of valleys mid montañas

  La familia Tocado lived peacefully raising

  chickens, children, y llamas

  She stopped and went back to the beginning, this time reading out loud. With growing excitement she finished the first page and then the first chapter. There were thirty pages of manuscript, and she flew through them. When she finished, she sat back, her face stretched in a wide grin.

  It was wonderful.

  Jade’s eyebrows rose in twin arcs. “You know, some places would call in the guys in the white coats for a person who mutters to herself and smiles at nothing.”

  Kathy doused the grin. “Take a look at something for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Right now?”

  Jade shrugged. “Why not? It’s a slow day.”

  Kathy knew Jade was busy, but she was too anxious to get Jade’s response to feel guilty about it. She handed over the pages.

  “This the hand-delivered manuscript?”

  “The very one.”

  Jade took the pages and swiveled her chair so her back was to Kathy. Kathy watched that back as Jade began to read. After the first two pages, Jade straightened abruptly and turned to look at Kathy. “Is it all like this?”

  “Actually, it gets better.”

  Jade’s lips twitched. “I think you’ve got a hot one, kid. But you already knew that.”

  Kathy let the feeling of delight grow and spread. She did know Grace’s story was good, but having Jade say it made it real. “Yeah. I almost blew her off, you know.”

  Jade gave her a questioning look.

  “I don’t like the person who introduced us.”

  Jade laughed. “I’d say, in this case, it’s a good thing you let your good manners get the better of you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Kathy had meant to mail the payment for the riding lesson to Alan Francini on the way to work, but she was out of stamps. And now she faced a dilemma, because she no longer owed him a simple payment for a riding lesson. She owed him a thank-you for referring Grace and Verde Mountains to her.

  Polly and Columba had looked at the manuscript and quickly agreed it was precisely the kind of book they were looking for to add to Calico’s bilingual list.

  By the end of the day, Kathy had the go-ahead to contact Grace and make an offer.

  That was the easy part, although all she’d gotten when she called Grace was an answering machine. More difficult was deciding what to do about the thank-you she owed Alan.

  That uncertainty nudged at her all afternoon. She finally decided she’d stop by his office on her way to the library. If he was still there, she’d thank him. If he wasn’t—which was the more likely scenario—she’d write a note, append it to the check, and leave it under his door.

  Once she made that decision, the nudgy voice shut up, and she was able to get back to work.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kathy didn’t arrive at DSU until after six, but she found Alan’s light still on and his door ajar. Darn. She’d been so sure she wouldn’t have to actually face him, she’d already written the note. She hesitated, trying to decide what to do.

  Coward. Wuss.

  No, she wasn’t. She could do this. No biggie. Just a few words, hand over the check, and leave. Then she’d make sure she avoided his vicinity in the future.

  She lifted her hand and hesitated before forcing herself to knock. At his “come in,” she pulled the door open, her heart beating quickly, her palms beginning to sweat.

  He was sitting tipped back in his chair, reading a manuscript, with a fierce scowl on his face.

  “That bad, huh?” she said.

  He looked up, his feet came off the desk with a thump, and he set the papers down. “Student essays.” He cocked his head, his expression questioning.

  “I forgot to pay you Saturday. For the riding lesson.” She stepped closer and held the check out to him.

  He stared at her hand for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite understand she meant for him to take it. Then he waved it away. “Keep it. You got only a partial lesson, anyway.”

  “I still got a full complement of sore muscles.” She let the hand holding the check drop to her side. She’d slide it on his desk when he wasn’t looking.

  He shrugged, giving her a slight smile. “You have to ride regularly before you get over that.”

  “Yes. Well. I only planned on one lesson.”

  “Why?” He looked as if it were inconceivable anyone could possibly be satisfied riding only once. But probably, as far as he was concerned, it was.

  “It was research.”

  “Research?”

  “I’m writing a novel. One of the characters pushed me into it.”

  “Oh. That explains it.”

  She thought his look was patronizing, and it annoyed her. “Hasn’t one of your characters ever pushed you into anything?”

  “Not lately.” His voice was suddenly flat, his face blank.

  Feeling uneasy, she spoke quickly. “Speaking of writing, I owe you for sending Grace our way. Her book is wonderful. We’re going to publish it.”

  He raised his eyebrows in apparent astonishment. “That was fast.”

  She found herself meeting his eyes. Deep brown but with a sadness in their depths that pulled at her. She shook off a feeling of sympathy. She was definitely over-interpreting, likely a result of Grace saying she thought he was lonely.

  “She hand-delivered the manuscript this morning.”

  “Sounds like Grace.” He smiled, breaking eye contact, and fiddled with a pencil.

  She liked the smile. She wondered if she could get him to do it again. “You know, Calico doesn’t pay finders fees, but I think they’d spring for dinner. How about it? A dinner. To thank you for referring Grace.” Now where had that come from, the invitation tumbling out before she could stop it? Not attraction. More like desperation. She really didn’t like the feeling of being in debt to this man.

  He sat back and examined her over steepled fingers. “You afraid of horses?”

  Was this the latest way to let a person down easy? Ignore the invitation? Annoyed, she spoke crisply. “Let’s just say I had an unhappy experience with one, and it skewed my opinion of the entire species.”

  “Must be one gem of a character to have pushed you into another encounter.”

  “Actually, Amanda’s an idiot. I’m deleting her.”

  He shook his head, looking serious, but his eyes gleamed with humor. “Not going to work.”

  Was he laughing at her? “How do you know that?”

  He gave her a knowing, superior look. “If a character’s got the cojones to push his creator into doing something the creator would never do otherwise, he’s got the cojones to hang on.”

  She shook her head, her mouth twitching without her permission into a smile, surprised to realize she was enjoying the interaction. “As far as I know, cojones are not part of Amanda’s equipment.”

  “Make you a deal,” he said, outwardly serious again. “I’ll go to dinner with you, if you come back for another riding lesson. I think you’re going to need it to handle Amanda.”

  She thought about his suggestion as she looked around his office. It was bare, as if he were only a temporary tenant. She remembered once again Grace’s diagnosis. Lonely. Pushed the thought away, still considering.

  A riding lesson to go along with dinner. What would it hurt? And he was probably right, another lesson might help. Besides, she’d enjoyed that first lesson. Had even thought she might enjoy doing it again. . . only not at TapDancer. But, after all, why not?

  “Okay. Deal. I don’t suppose you like Indian food, do you? Or Chinese. Or maybe Italian?” Really, it would have been so much better if she’d given this whole thing more thought. Spontaneity. Not all it was cracked up to be.

  “Indian would be fine,” he said, stopping
the useless spinning of her thoughts.

  “You’re sure? A lot of people don’t like it. And that’s okay. It doesn’t have to be Indian.” And why couldn’t she stop babbling?

  He, if anything, was looking more relaxed. He leaned back, his hands lying loose in his lap, watching her. “Indian’s fine.”

  “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.

  Chapter Ten

  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.