From the Boots Up (9 page)

She went into the office, flipped the light switch,
and found the paper on her dad’s desk that was his list of supplies. She added
a couple of things to it and placed it on his keyboard, where he’d be sure to
see it in the morning.

Done, she turned the light off and shut the door
behind her. She heard the scrape of footsteps in the dirt.

“Hey,” Gina said from the dark. “I thought that was
you.”

“Yep. A woman’s work, you know. Never done.” Her
voice sounded steady, thankfully. “Did you need to use the phone or something?”

“Nope. I was actually admiring the stars. And
thinking about that Dixie Chicks song, ‘Wide Open Spaces’.”

Meg thought she saw her grin, and caught a flash of
her teeth. “Love the Chicks. So you’re out watching the stars and. . .?”

“And I found the best place to do that is on the hood
of my car,” Gina added.

“So you’re out here in the parking lot sitting on
your car, looking at stars. A likely story. I think you’re trying to crack an
antelope trafficking ring.”

She laughed, warm and rich, and Meg wanted to bottle
that sound, and keep it on a shelf in her bedroom.

“Definitely can’t put one over on you,” Gina said.
“So far, no evidence of trafficking. But the stars are awesome. One of my least
favorite things about L.A. is the light pollution. And the air pollution. And
the traffic.”

“That’s three least favorite things.” Her eyes had
adjusted, and she could just make out Gina’s features.

“One. Three. Close enough. So since you’re here,
what’s the craziest thing that’s happened at the Diamond Rock?”

“On or off the record?”

“Both.”

Meg hesitated. So many sparks were shooting up and
down her spine that she was surprised she wasn’t glowing. Was it really a good
idea to talk with Gina, out here in the dark under a star-filled sky? No. Hell,
no. “I’ll tell you, but only if I get to ask some questions, too.” Oops.

“Deal.”

She thought fast. How to mitigate the damage she had
just inflicted on her psyche? Ah. Go somewhere that would remind her to stay
professional. “Might as well get comfortable. There’s a bench outside the
office.”

“And there’s the hood of my car.”

Shit.

“I don’t get to see starry skies like this very
often. Cut a girl a break?”

Damn. “Okay.”

She waited for Gina to get on the hood of her Pathfinder
first, watched her lean back against the windshield, and knew she was in some
serious trouble as she put her boot on the bumper and climbed up next to her.

But she’d never let it show.

And she didn’t, but when she reluctantly slid off the
Pathfinder’s hood an hour later, she wished for the millionth time that Gina
wasn’t a guest and that she wasn’t the reporter assigned to come out here. Why,
Meg thought as she went to her rooms, can’t she be Forest Service? Or BLM? Or
anybody else?

And as she lay on her bed staring into the dark, she
realized she still didn’t know whether Gina was into women or whether she was
involved with anyone. Those were the kinds of questions that were unprofessional,
so she hadn’t asked, and Gina hadn’t asked her, either. No, she’d kept the
conversation to the ranch and local culture and Meg had asked her why she’d
chosen journalism and the kinds of stories she’d done.

Professional.

Polite.

But a little deeper, maybe, because it felt like the
kind of conversation you might have with someone before you asked them out for
coffee. Then dinner. Even though Gina hadn’t said anything that could overtly
be considered flirtatious, hadn’t pried into her personal life, hadn’t
mentioned a boyfriend, girlfriend, or even an ex.

In spite of that, it still felt like a pre-date
audition.

Meg groaned and rolled over. Would it be weird to ask
her out after the story was published? Maybe that was safest, because
journalists, too, had to deal with ethical codes when they were writing
stories. She caught herself. How stupid was that, to call someone up in Los
Angeles and invite her out for coffee? There were a lot of miles between
Wyoming and the West Coast. And the distance wasn’t just geographic.

Hot shot journalist.

Loner rancher.

That was a distance all its own.

So she’d do professional for three more days, and
then nurse this damn crush until it faded and she’d start school in August and
she’d get too busy to remember it. She fell asleep, fortified with fresh
resolve.

“
S
o have you
had a chance to talk to Gina
one-on-one?”

Meg looked over at Alice, the glass of tea she held
hovering at her lips, and hoped nothing showed on her face. “For the story?”
And when had Alice gotten on a first-name basis with her?

“And whatever else.”

“A little bit.” She drained the glass and walked it
to the dishwashing room.

“She’s good people,” Alice said as she opened the
industrial-sized bread oven to check her rolls when Meg returned.

She shrugged and waited for Alice to close the oven
door before she moved past her. “So you think she’ll do a good story on the
ranch?”

“I know she will.” She opened the oven beneath the
burners and the aroma of roasted pork wafted into the heat of the kitchen. “Has
she given you her phone number?”

Meg stopped breathing. “Um.” She started breathing
again. “No.”

“Remind her.” Alice looked over at her. “For
follow-up.”

“I figured she’s got the ranch line, so she’d call
us,” she managed.

“Honey, you have got to learn how to network better.
She’s a good contact for the ranch.”

She hoped her sigh of relief wasn’t audible. “Then
dad’s probably got it.”

“Cover your bases. Get her number.”

“I’ll check with dad.”

“She’s also a good connection for you. So you should
have her number, too.”

Meg laughed nervously. “You sound like you’re trying
to set us up or something.”

She gave Meg a mischievous little smile. “And would
that be a bad thing?”

Busted. Her neck blazed with the flush she knew was
spreading to her face. Shit. She dropped her gaze to the floor, glad she and
Alice were the only ones in the kitchen.

“Sweetie, I’ve practically watched you grow up. I saw
this one coming a mile away.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No. So don’t worry.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. How the hell
did Alice always figure this shit out? “It’s just a crush. It’ll go away.”

“Or you could get her number and see where it goes.”

“She’s a guest.”

Alice gave her a “so what” shrug.

“And she’s the reporter that dad worked hard to get
here.”

“And?”

“No fraternization.”

“Oh, for—” Alice stared at her. “There’s
fraternization and then there’s genuine attraction. You, my dear, are clearly
in the throes of the latter.”

“It’s still complicated.”

“Because of your dad? Because of coming out? Because
she’ll be leaving in a couple of days?”

Meg nodded. “All of the above. And because of what
she’s doing here.”

“Ah. It would look improper in terms of the story.”

“Something like that. Journalistic ethics.”

“You’re not the subject of the story. She might quote
you and she’ll probably mention you, but the gist of this story comes from your
dad and her own impressions of the ranch.”

“I’m just trying to be professional.”

Alice gave her a hug. “And you are. You have been the
whole time she’s been here. So has she. And there’s nothing wrong with waiting until
she leaves to follow up.”

“I don’t even know if she’s single or even if she’s
gay,” Meg said against Alice’s shoulder.

“Well, I understand why you haven’t asked. That’s
very professional of you.” She released her and squeezed her shoulders. “All
the more reason to get her number before she leaves.” She gave her another
mischievous smile. “And it’s yes to both those questions.”

Meg stared. “How—”

“It’s how you ask certain questions.”

“Is that part of your art of diplomacy?”

Alice didn’t answer. She instead kissed her on the
forehead.

“Are you sure?” she asked, hopeful.

She gave her a “you’re questioning the Kitchen
Queen?” look.

“All right, all right.”

“Get her phone number,” Alice said.

“Maybe.” But Alice’s information put a whole other
layer onto her crush.

She smiled. “Think about it. In the meantime, what
kind of birthday cake would you like?”

“Whatever you decide to make will be awesome,” she
said, but the last thing on her mind was her birthday.

She studied her face for a few moments. “It’ll be all
right.”

“If you say so.”

“I know so. Now go entertain your fan base. I hear
Samantha Forster thinks you’re quite the cowgirl.”

She smiled. “She thinks everybody here is a cowboy or
cowgirl.” She turned to go then caught herself. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Meg left through the back door and headed for the
office. She needed to check in with her dad and then help get an afternoon
trail ride group together. Anything to not think about the fact that Alice had
totally busted her about Gina. And found out that Gina was available. She
stopped. Had Alice told Gina anything about her? She started walking again. No,
she wouldn’t do that. Instead, she passed some information on to Meg, and it
was up to her to do something with it. Too bad she was a coward about things
like this.

M
eg settled
onto a log near the bonfire
that evening. A few minutes later, Marjorie joined her.

“I love it here,” she said.

Meg smiled at her. “I’m so glad. Hopefully we’ll see
you again.”

“Count on it.”

“Tell all your friends.”

“I just might.” She sighed contentedly and stared
into the flames. A few of the other guests greeted her and Meg as they found
places to sit or stand. A few carried cups of hot drinks. Meg yawned and
stretched her legs out. Long day, she thought. But not long enough because the
day after tomorrow was Friday, and Gina’s last day. She thought again about
what Alice had told her in the kitchen earlier and it made her heart pound a
little faster.

“Hi,” Marjorie said to someone in greeting.

“Spare any room?”

Meg snapped to attention and Gina smiled at her.

“Of course.” Marjorie moved to her left, closer to
Meg, and Gina sat down to Marjorie’s right. “How’s the story coming?” she asked
Gina.

“Just about done.”

“Hi, Gina!” Samantha skipped up to her. “Did Meg tell
you what we did after dinner?”

Gina glanced over at Meg, then back to Samantha. “No,
she didn’t. But I just got here. What cool things did you do?”

She leaned in, like she was sharing a secret. “She
took us snipe hunting,” she said, eyes wide.

“She did?” Gina’s jaw twitched with suppressed
laughter. “Did you catch any?”

“No, but we heard a couple.”

Marjorie looked at Meg, puzzled, and Meg mouthed
“later” to her.

“What did they sound like?” Gina asked.

Samantha hesitated, thinking. “They kind of grunted.”
She made a noise that was half-snort, half-grunt and Marjorie laughed.

“That’s pretty good,” Meg said, keeping a straight
face. “Do you think you know what they look like?”

“Bigger than a jackalope, but smaller than a coyote,”
she said, with a certainty that only a little girl’s imagination could provide.

“I’ll bet you’re right. Did you get a picture of
any?” Gina asked.

“No. It was too dark. But I’ll draw you one
tomorrow.”

“That would be cool.”

“Hi, Marjorie,” Samantha said. Then she went up to
Meg, a little shy. “Thanks for taking us.”

“You bet. You’ll be a cowgirl in no time.”

She smiled, gave Meg’s legs a quick hug, and ran to
the other side of the fire, where her mom stood.

“Looks like somebody’s got a crush on you,” Marjorie
teased.

“I’d have to agree.” Gina leaned forward a little so
she could better see Meg, and Meg wished Marjorie was talking about Gina.

“She just likes cowgirls.”

“I think she likes one in particular,” Marjorie said.
“And it’s easy to see why.”

Meg shrugged. “I’m just me.”

“And a fine me it is,” she said with a smile. “So
what is a snipe?”

Gina caught Meg’s eye and they both laughed.

“It’s a joke,” Meg said. “Something you do with
newcomers or kids. You take them out snipe hunting and get ’em to believe that
there’s an animal out there and maybe they can catch it if they try.”

“My brothers told me snipe were birds,” Gina said. “I
was all proud when I showed them a picture in a birder book of an actual snipe.
They told me that these were different snipe, and they looked like quail but
they had teeth.”

Marjorie laughed. “Oh, my.”

“But you can’t tell anyone,” Meg said. “Because the
kids always have fun when we do a snipe hunt.”

“Oh, my,” she said again, still chuckling. “I’m glad
I found this out.”

“Definitely,” Gina said. “So if anyone tries to take
you on one, you can tell them that you caught a snipe in Wyoming once, but you
let it go for the next hunt.”

“You know, my dad told me not to take you on any
snipe hunts,” Meg said to her. “Guess he figured you might be a little green.”

Gina raised her eyebrows. “I’ll have you know, I’ve
done my fair share of snipe-hunting.”

“Is that really something you should admit?” Marjorie
asked, an innocent expression on her face.

She laughed. “Let me rephrase. My first snipe hunt
was the joke on me. Then I, of course, instigated many of the follow-ups.”

“So you’re an instigator,” Meg said, glad Marjorie
was there as sort of a conversational foil.

Gina gave her a quick smile, like the first one she’d
ever directed at Meg, in the parking lot of the feed store. “Depends on the
situation.”