Definitely, Maybe in Love(48)

"I didn't know he lived here lived here," I defended. "I feel like we're trespassing."

"No one will know you're here." She patted my arm. "We'll just tool  around for a while, check out the back of some Wrangler jeans, then  split. It'll be fun."

I exhaled, still mildly freaked, but at least Mel was excited about  something and not complaining about the weird smell coming from the back  of the bus.

Along with the dozen other passengers, we were dumped off in the middle  of what felt like an outdoor madhouse. People and animals bustled  wildly, some loners rushed about, while large groups moseyed. Mel and I  stood close together holding hands. Two city slickers.

I spied the house farther up the hill. Of all places to see, that was first on my list.

"Where should we go?" Mel asked.

"I'm feeling overwhelmed," I admitted.

"Down by the gate"-Mel gestured-"there're more maps and pamphlets. I'll  run down and grab some." That seemed like a smart idea. "Hey." She shook  my arm. "You'll be okay here?"

"Sure," I replied, nodding manically. "I'm good."

She eyed me skeptically. "Okay. I'll be back in a flash."

All alone, I felt like a refugee fresh off Ellis Island dropped on an  intersection of Times Square. The throng was a mixture of tourists,  ranch hands, and what might've been local kids from the town below.  Perhaps the Diamond W Dude Ranch was a popular hangout for teenagers.

I tried to stay out of everyone's way, settling on standing in place  like a stuffed dummy, my arms pinned at my sides. After a few minutes,  passersby started walking around me like I was a flag pole in the middle  of the opening.

During our fifteen minute bus ride, I'd thumbed through a slim guidebook  that I'd snagged when first arriving at the museum. Seemed "Diamond  Dub" (as it was affectionately known) was quite the happening place.

For the adventurous camper, there was horseback riding, cattle drives,  catch and release fishing at the trout stream, 4x4 racing, hiking,  round-ups, and skeet shooting. City folks could enjoy the hot springs,  stroll through wildflower strewn meadows, and visit a souvenir shop. At  sunset, the ranch featured hayrides, firesides of cowboy poetry, and a  square dance on Friday nights.

On a more economical note, I also read that Diamond Dub raised, broke  and bred quarter horses. Its 1,500 head of cattle and other livestock  produced beef, pork, milk and cream, many of which were shipped across  the country, and all of which provided hundreds of jobs to local  families.

"Cowboy up!" someone whooped over the crowd. People whooped back and yee-hawed in reply. I didn't understand why.

Still trying to keep my limbs intact, I pulled the guidebook from my bag  and flipped through it again, in search of any information about the  proprietors. There was nothing. I was about to toss it in my backpack,  but what I spotted on the back cover made my heart stop.

It was a picture of a sunset on the prairie, and silhouetted in the  center of the orange and gold glowing ball was a man in a cowboy hat,  down on one knee, petting a dog. Even though it was ensconced in  shadows, the profile of the cowboy was easily recognizable to me.

It was Henry.

I stared at the picture for what felt like hours, until someone bashed my shoulder.

"'Scuse me, ma'am," a dude said over his shoulder as he walked past.

Ma'am? What the snot? Seeing Henry's picture rattled me. My body felt  hot and sticky as I stood beneath the mid-morning sun, and I was  suddenly parched. Maybe someone could direct me to a drinking fountain.

I approached a guy who looked like he worked at the ranch. "Pardon me," I  said after clearing my throat. But the cowboy rushed past like a gust  of smelly farm wind, probably not even hearing me. "That went well."                       
       
           



       

I tried again with a teenage girl wearing a bright western shirt and a  frayed jean miniskirt. "I beg your pardon." She shaded her eyes from the  sun. "Can you tell me who I can speak to at the house?"

She smiled, showing a chipped front tooth. "Dunno," she said, then walked away with her friends.

What was with this place? I thought the country was supposed to be helpful and friendly.

Resolute this time, I zeroed in on the man coming straight at me. He was  carrying a saddle on one shoulder. A battered black cowboy hat sat low  on his sweaty head. He was wearing a dark T-shirt, jeans and brown  leather chaps covered with what I hoped was only mud. By the way he was  walking with long, powerful strides, I knew he was in a hurry.

"Excuse me?" I said and tapped his arm that was suspending the saddle.

He stopped walking and stood in place, staring straight ahead.

"Hellooo?" I continued, annoyed when he didn't reply. "Speak English?"

When the grimy rancher finally lowered the saddle and turned to me,  every corpuscle of blood gushed to my stomach. He lifted his index  finger, nudging the front brim of his cowboy hat up, brown eyes wide  like the centers of two sunflowers.

"What … are you doing here?" I managed to mutter, once I remembered how to use my mouth.

Henry unthawed and balanced the saddle against the side of his body.  "What am I doing here?" he said, removing his hat. "I live here."

"But she told us you didn't … I mean, she told us …  We thought you weren't here."

"I wasn't." He shifted his weight. "Who's we?"

"Mel," I replied. "She's down the uh … " I pointed toward the bus drop off like a mime. "I had no idea you were here."

Henry's eyes left me and focused past my shoulder. "I flew in late last  night." He shifted the saddle to his other side. "The guys"-he dipped  his head toward the stables-"were shorthanded this morning, so … "

I offered some kind of acknowledgment to that, then we both stared down, kicking the dusty ground.

"How long are you here?" he asked as he slapped dust off his chaps with his hat.

"Just this morning-it's for research."

His face was smudged with dirt, his hair dark from sweat. And those  eyes, just looking into them for the briefest of moments made me feel  breathless.

"I swear," I said in a lower voice, "I wouldn't have come here if I knew …  I hope you don't think-"

"I don't think anything."

I nodded, my neck sweating.

"Well," Henry said, pointing to the side, "I'd better get this back." He  smiled faintly, hoisted the saddle to his shoulder and rushed away.

Deep inside my stomach, a hamster on its wheel was running record time,  while my body remained planted in place as firmly as a redwood. After a  while, that hamster transformed itself into volcanic lava, creeping like  The Blob from the pit of my stomach up the walls of my esophagus.

"That did not just happen," I whispered. Panting aloud, I staggered out  from the center of traffic and supported myself against the side of a  split-rail fence, clutching a post. "Tell me," I gazed toward heaven,  "tell me that did not just happen." I jammed the heels of my hands into  my eyes, cringing and agonizing, remembering a distant past that I  couldn't block out: Henry covered in cranberries …  In my bedroom …  By  campfire light. Henry looking stunned when he thought I didn't love him  back.

Henry … in a cowboy hat?

"Mel," I whispered. "Melanie Gibson!" I called out as I stepped away  from the fence and spun around, scanning the area for my missing cohort.  A boy leading a pony by a rope gave me the strangest look. "Mel!" I  yelled, ignoring the stares. "Where are you?"

"Spring?"

I spun around.

Her worried eyes inspected me, then she rolled them. "Cause a scene, why don't you."

"C'mon." I pulled her arm. "We have to leave."

"No." She yanked me back. "Have you seen all the cute guys here? They're  so rugged and dirty. Melly's idea of heaven. I suddenly have an  overwhelming urge to"-she adjusted her bra-"ride a horse."

I covered my mouth with both hands, letting out a little shriek.

Mel's smirk fell. "What's your problem?"

"What was I thinking?" I said through my fingers. "What possessed me?"

She grabbed my arm. "Babe?"
                       
       
           



       
"He was here. He was standing right here."

"Who?"

"And he was all sweaty and filthy and carrying this thing on his shoulder. In a cowboy hat, Mel. A cowboy hat."

"Springer." She squared herself in front of me. "Who are you talking about?"

"Henry," I whispered. "He was here. Is here."