Николас Спаркс - The Longest Ride

“We all make mistakes,” he said. “How many languages do you speak?”

“Four,” she answered, pushing up the brim of her hat in the same way he did. “But that includes English.”

“I speak one, including English.”

She smiled, liking his comment, liking him. “I don’t know how much good it will do me. Unless I end up working at a museum in Europe.”

“Do you want to do that?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Right now, I’d be willing to work anywhere.”

He was quiet when she finished, absorbing what she’d said to him. “Listening to you makes me wish I had been more serious about school. I wasn’t a bad student, but I wasn’t brilliant, either. I didn’t work very hard at it. But now, I can’t help thinking that I should have gone to college.”

“I’d think it’s a lot safer than riding bulls.”

Though she meant it as a joke, he didn’t smile. “You’re absolutely right.”

After leaving the clearing by the river, Luke took her on a leisurely tour of the rest of the ranch, their conversation wandering from one subject to the next, Dog always roaming in their vicinity. They rode between the Christmas trees and skirted past the beehives, and he led her through the rolling pastureland used by the cattle. They talked about everything from the kind of music they liked to their favorite movies to Sophia’s impressions of North Carolina. She told him about her sisters and what it was like to grow up in a city, and also about life on the cloistered campus at Wake. Though their worlds were entirely different, she was surprised to discover that he seemed to find her world just as fascinating as she found his.

Later, when she had gained a bit more confidence in the saddle, she brought Demon to a trot and eventually to a canter. Luke rode beside her the whole time, ready to grab her if she was about to fall, telling her when she was leaning too far forward or back and reminding her to keep the reins loose. She hated trotting, but when the horse cantered, she found it easier to adjust to the steady, rolling rhythm. They rode from one fence to the next and back again, four or five times, moving a little faster with every lap. Feeling a little more sure of herself, Sophia tapped Demon and urged him to go even faster. Luke was caught unawares and it took a few seconds for him to catch up, and as they raced beside each other, she reveled in the feel of the wind in her face, the experience terrifying and exhilarating. On the way back, she urged Demon to go even faster, and when they finally brought the horses to a halt a few minutes later, she started to laugh, the surge of adrenaline and fear spilling out of her.

When the giddy waves of laughter eventually passed, they slowly made their way back to the stables. The horses were still breathing hard and sweating, and after Luke removed the saddles, she helped him brush them down. She fed Demon an apple, already feeling the first twinges of soreness in her legs but not caring in the slightest. She’d ridden a horse – actually ridden! – and in a burst of pride and satisfaction, she looped her arm through Luke’s as they strolled back to the house.

They walked leisurely, neither of them needing to talk. Sophia replayed the events of the day in her head, glad that she’d come. From what she could tell, Luke shared her sense of peace and contentment as well.

As they neared the house, Dog darted ahead toward the water bowl on the porch; he lapped at it between pants, then collapsed onto his belly.

“He’s tired,” she said, startled at the sound of her own voice.

“He’ll be fine. He follows me when I ride out every morning.” He took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his brow. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a beer.”

“Sounds great.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he promised, and headed into the house.

As he walked away, she studied him, trying to make sense of her undeniable attraction to him. Who could make sense of any of this? She was still trying to figure it out when he emerged with a pair of ice cold bottles.

He twisted off a cap and handed her a bottle, their fingers brushing slightly. He motioned to the rockers.

She took a seat and leaned back with a sigh, her hat tilting forward. She’d almost forgotten that she’d been wearing it. She took it off, setting it in her lap before taking a sip. The beer was icy and refreshing.

“You rode really well,” he said.

“You mean I rode well for a beginner. I’m not ready for the rodeo yet, but it was fun.”

“You have naturally good balance,” he observed.

But Sophia wasn’t listening. Instead she was staring past him at the little cow that had appeared from around the corner of his house. It seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in them. “I think one of your cows got loose.” She pointed. “A little one.”

He followed her gaze, his expression turning to fond recognition. “That’s Mudbath. I don’t know how she does it, but she ends up here a couple of times a week. There’s got to be a gap in the fencing somewhere, but I haven’t found it yet.”

“She likes you.”

“She adores me,” he said. “Last March, we had a wet, cold streak and she got trapped in the mud. I spent hours trying to pull her out and I had to bottle-feed her for a few days. Ever since then, she’s been coming around here regularly.”

“That’s sweet,” she said, trying not to stare at him but finding it hard to avoid. “You have an interesting life here.”

He took off his hat and combed his fingers through his hair before taking another sip. When he spoke, his voice lost some of the customary reserve she’d grown used to. “Can I tell you something?” A long moment passed before he continued. “And I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.”

“What is it?”

“You make it seem a lot more interesting than it really is.”

“What are you talking about?”

He began to pick at the label on his bottle, peeling the paper back with his thumb, and she had the impression that he wasn’t so much searching for the answer as waiting for it to come to him before he turned to face her. “I think you’re just about the most interesting girl I’ve ever met.”

She wanted to say something, anything, but she felt as if she were drowning in those blue eyes, her words seeming to dry up. Instead, she watched as he leaned toward her, hesitating for an instant. His head tilted slightly, and the next thing she knew, she was tilting her head, too, their faces growing closer.

It wasn’t long, it wasn’t heated, but as soon as their lips came together, she knew with sudden certainty that nothing had ever felt so easy and so right, the perfect ending to an unimaginably perfect afternoon.

8

Ira

Where am I?

I wonder this for only a moment before I shift in the seat, pain providing me with an answer. It is a waterfall, white hot, as my arm and shoulder explode. My head feels like splintered glass, and my chest has begun to throb as if something heavy has just been lifted off me.

Overnight, the car has become an igloo. The snow on the windshield has begun to glow, which means that sunrise has come. It is Sunday morning, February 6, 2011, and according to the watch face that I have to squint to make out, it is 7:20 a.m. Last night, sunset occurred at 5:50 p.m., and I’d been driving in the darkness for an hour before I went off the highway. I have been here for over twelve hours, and though I am still alive, there is a moment when I feel nothing but terror.

I have felt this kind of terror before. Strangers would not know this by looking at me. As I worked at the shop, customers were often surprised to learn that I had been in the war. I never mentioned it; and only once did I talk to Ruth about what happened to me. We never spoke of it again. Back then, Greensboro was not the city it would eventually become – in many ways, it was still a small town, and many of the people I’d known growing up were aware that I’d been wounded while fighting in Europe. And yet they, like me, had little desire to discuss the war after it ended. For some, the memories were simply too unbearable; for others, the future simply held more interest than the past.