Danielle Steel - The Ranch

Zoe's horse was a paint mare, and she looked spirited, but Liz had promised she was friendly, and Zoe looked surprisingly comfortable in the saddle. And Mary Stuart was riding a palomino. Big Max was a tall black horse with a long mane and tail, and as he shied a little in the corral, Tanya wondered if he was as sleepy as Liz had promised. She had no intention of battling a wild horse all over these mountains. But Liz explained as she walked by that he'd be fine once he got out, he was corral-shy. The head of the corral was being very attentive to Tanya. Far more so than Gordon, who was busy with the three other guests he'd been assigned, a middle-aged couple from Chicago who introduced themselves as Dr. Smith and Dr. Wyman, but appeared to be married. They even looked alike, which amused Tanya and she said something to Zoe. And then there was a man alone. He looked to be about fifty-five, and Mary Stuart kept staring at him, she could swear she knew him. He was tall and spare and had a mane of gray hair, and sharp blue eyes that examined the entire group with interest. He was a good-looking man and even Tanya couldn't help noticing he had distinguished features. She could see that he had noticed her too, and he smiled when he realized who she was, but he didn't approach her. And he seemed equally interested in the others. And it was only once they were on their way that Mary Stuart sidled up to Tanya on her horse and whispered to her.

“Do you know who that is?” She had finally figured it out. She'd seen him once before, but here he looked different. But Tanya didn't know him. She glanced again and shook her head in answer. “It's Hartley Bowman.” It took a minute to register and then Tanya nodded with interest, forcing herself not to glance over her shoulder.

“The writer?” she whispered instead, and Mary Stuart nodded. He currently had two books on the bestseller list, one hard cover and one soft. And he had had a highly respected career. “Is he married?” she asked her friend from New York, and Mary Stuart rolled her eyes at her. She was hopeless.

“Widowed,” Mary Stuart supplied, she remembered reading that his wife had died of breast cancer a year or two before. It had been in Time magazine or Newsweek . And as a writer, he was extremely respected. He looked interesting too, and Mary Stuart would have liked to talk to him, but she didn't want to be like the people who pestered Tanya.

Mary Stuart and Tanya rode on side by side for a while, and Zoe had already begun chatting with the two physicians from Chicago. Tanya was right. Doctors always seemed to hang out together. They were both oncologists, and the wife had heard of Zoe's work and her clinic. And they were chatting animatedly as the horses made their way slowly across the valley. There were fields full of blue and yellow flowers all around them, and the snow-capped mountains were looming high above them.

“It's incredible, isn't it?” Mary Stuart heard a voice next to her and jumped as Tanya rode ahead toward the wrangler. Big Max had tired of moving at a snail's pace, and she had given him his head for a few minutes, which left Mary Stuart alone, but not for long. Hartley Bowman had joined her. “Have you been here before?” he asked casually, as though they were old acquaintances, but the atmosphere at the ranch was very informal.

“No, I haven't,” she said quietly, “it's lovely.” And she couldn't help glancing at him as he rode along beside her. He was very nice-looking. He had a clean, tweedy look to him. He had lovely hands, she noticed as he held the reins, and a riding style that told her he rode English. She mentioned it to him and he laughed.

“I always feel a little odd in Western saddles. I ride in Connecticut,” he volunteered, and she nodded. “Are you from the West Coast?” He was intrigued by her, and the group she was traveling with. He had recognized Tanya immediately and wondered how Mary Stuart fitted into the entourage, but he didn't want to ask her.

“I'm from New York,” she said. “I just came out for two weeks.”

“So did I,” he said, looking very much at ease with her, as he smiled. “I come every year. My wife and I used to love it. This is the first time I've come back since she died.” Mary Stuart suspected it was hard for him, but he didn't say it. But she imagined that, having been there with someone before, it had to be lonely for him. “A lot of people come here from the East. It's really worth the trip. I come here for the mountains,” he confessed, glancing at them. In truth, they all did, even those who didn't know it. The others thought they came for the horses. “There's something very healing about them. I wasn't going to come again, and I didn't last year, but I found I just couldn't stay away. I needed to be here.” He said it pensively, as though surprised at himself for coming. “I normally prefer the ocean, but there's something magical about Wyoming, and these mountains.” She understood exactly what he meant. Ever since the day before, she had begun to feel it. It was part of why Jackson Hole had become so popular in recent years. It was like being drawn to Mecca.

“It's funny you should say that,” she confessed to him, feeling surprisingly comfortable with him, considering the fact that they were strangers. But he was so open. “I've felt it too. I felt it yesterday when we arrived. It's as though the mountains are waiting for you here… as though you can tell your troubles to them, and they're waiting to embrace you.” She was afraid it would sound silly to him, but he knew just what she meant as he nodded.

“It must be difficult for your friend,” he said gently. “I was watching the people in the dining room, they were transformed the moment she arrived, and without even meaning to, they became completely foolish. She doesn't get a moment without people reacting to her, wanting to be with her, taking her picture, trying to be a part of her aura.” It was an interesting analysis, but it was true, and it intrigued Mary Stuart that he saw it so clearly.

“It must be difficult for anyone who's well-known,” she said, not wanting to tell him that she had recognized him and read his last six books and loved them. She didn't want to appear starstruck. After being close to Tanya for all these years, she knew just how annoying it could be.

“It has its disadvantages.” And then he looked at Mary Stuart with a smile. He had understood perfectly that she knew him. “But I'm not in those leagues. Few are. There are probably only a handful of people in the world who have to put up with what she does. She seems to be very gracious about it.”

“She is,” Mary Stuart said staunchly.

“Do you work with her?” He didn't want to pry, but he wondered if the two women constantly at her side were her assistants.

“We were college roommates,” Mary Stuart explained with a smile.

“And you're still friends? How amazing. Now, there's a story,” and then he quickly explained himself before he could alarm her, “for a book, not the tabloids,” he specified, and they both laughed.

“Thank you. She gets such a rough break all the time. It's so unfair.”

“You stop being human to them the moment you're a star. You no longer matter, you become human garbage,” he said sadly, and Mary Stuart nodded.

“She calls it ‘life as an object.’ She says you become a thing, and anything they do to you then is allowed. She's put up with a lot. I don't know how she does it.”

“She must be strong,” and then he smiled at Mary Stuart, admiring her impeccable good looks. He loved her style, but he wouldn't have dared tell her. “She's fortunate to have good friends.”

“We're lucky to have her.” Mary Stuart smiled again. “It was really serendipity that we came here. It all kind of happened at the last minute.”