Aspen in Moonlight Page 6

  She finished her apple and granola bar, which she enjoyed eating in alternating bites, and poured the last of the coffee into the stainless-steel lid that served as a cup. The air was warmer now that the sun was up. Jays, chickadees, and some other birds she didn’t recognize began singing loudly around her. A sharp crack, the sound of a breaking branch, pulled her out of her thoughts, and her heart skipped a beat. She put a hand on the bear-spray canister as she turned her head slowly toward the direction from where the sound had come.

  Three mule deer, a young buck and two does, stood frozen nearby staring at her, their big ears alert, bodies tense and unmoving. They seemed as surprised to see her as she was them.

  “Good morning,” Melissa said quietly. She was relieved and felt a little embarrassed for thinking that a bear might have been sneaking up on her.

  The buck’s ears twitched, and he snorted in reply. He spun on his back legs and sprang back into the safety of the trees with the two does following closely behind. Melissa laughed.

  “Hope you have a nice day, too.”

  She drank the last of the coffee, brushed the crumbs from the front of her fleece, and headed back to the cabin. It was time to take a shower and get to work.

  When Melissa arrived at the lodge for her meeting with Betty, the office door was closed and had a note taped to it. The common room was empty except for a young couple seated at a table talking and looking at brochures. When they saw her go over to the door and read the note, they told her that Betty had been gone for about a half hour, but that she said she’d be back by one thirty.

  Melissa was glad to know that Betty hadn’t forgotten about their appointment, and she went out to the porch to wait. Sitting in one of the rocking chairs, she watched the hummingbirds dart and hover around the baskets of flowers. She checked her phone and saw she had a few messages, mostly from Beth and her mother. She replied to them quickly, saying everything was great and that she’d write more later, blaming her lack of correspondence on the spotty internet connection.

  A dusty old blue Ford pickup came down the road and pulled up. Betty, her gray hair smoothly combed and pulled back in a ponytail and wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots, slid out of the tall four-wheel-drive truck. She walked briskly up the stairs.

  “I’m so sorry I kept you waiting. I went to check on my bees, and it took a little longer than I thought.”

  “You keep bees?”

  “I do. It’s kind of a hobby, but they’re really good for the pasture, too. I put the boxes out in one of the pastures away from the buildings.”

  “And you get honey from them, I assume.”

  “Of course.” Betty looked at Melissa like she’d be crazy to consider otherwise. “We rob the bees in the early summer. In a good year, we get some in the fall, too. I like the early honey the best, though. The fall honey is a little bit bitter for my taste. But some people like it better.”

  “I had no idea. I thought honey was honey.” Melissa considered what Betty had said. “I understand that the bees pollinate flowers, but how do they help the grass in a pasture?”

  “We’re an all-organic operation and have clover mixed in with the grass—”

  “And the clover fixes nitrogen in the soil.”

  “Yes, exactly. The bees love the clover and the clover feeds the grass. You must be a gardener,” Betty said, squinting at her.

  “I am, and I don’t use pesticides. I like the bugs,” Melissa said. “I take that back. I could really do without the fire ants that are all over the South.”

  “We don’t have those here, thank goodness. I’ve read about them in farming and ranching magazines, though. They sound like nasty critters.”

  “They are.” Melissa noticed a honeybee crawling across the top of Betty’s shoulder, headed toward her neck. She pointed at it. “Oh! There’s a bee on you!”

  Betty looked at the bee calmly, raising a weatherworn finger to it. The bee kept on walking, right on to the tip of her finger. Smiling at it, she held it up to a petunia in a hanging basket. The bee flew over to it and disappeared into the throat of the flower.

  “He’ll find his way back to the hive when he’s done here. You know, they can forage up to four miles away from the hive. Amazing little things they are.” Betty smiled at the bee like it was a child.

  “Wow. I can’t believe it didn’t sting you.”

  “They only sting if they feel threatened. My husband says I’m a bee charmer,” Betty said with a soft laugh and then pointed to Melissa’s bulging messenger bag. “Let’s go in and have a look at those old photos, shall we?”

  Sitting beside Betty at one of the tables in the common room, Melissa opened the photo album to the pictures that her great-grandmother had taken, pointing out the ones labeled as Buckhorn Creek Ranch. As they studied the pictures together, Betty seemed to look at her as much as at the photos.

  “I bet you’re a good teacher.”

  “What makes you say that, Betty?”

  “You talk with your hands.” Betty smiled at her in the same way she smiled at the bee on the porch. “And you’re very, I don’t know…expressive, passionate. You explain what you’re talking about, but you don’t make me feel dumb.”

  “You’re not dumb.” Melissa was shocked that Betty might think that about herself.

  “I never went to college.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Some of the smartest people I know didn’t go to college, and some of the dumbest did. They know a lot of things about a specific topic, but they don’t have a lot of life experience or common sense. There are different kinds of intelligence, you know?”

  “I think I do.” Betty smiled and adjusted her reading glasses on the bridge of her nose, squinting at the next photo. “I think this one was taken at the ranch. See this building here? That’s the lodge we’re in right now. The office was added on in the 50s, when my parents expanded the guest-ranch business.”

  Melissa was delighted by Betty’s response, taking notes as she flipped through the photo album and talked. Betty recognized several buildings, identifying the ones still on the property and others that weren’t. She knew the lake with the big trees and boulders, calling it Little Bear Lake, and said it was on the ranch.

  “What was your great-grandmother’s name?” Betty peered at Melissa over the rim of her glasses.

  “Evelyn Llewellyn.”

  Betty looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard or come across that name.”

  When Melissa showed her the page with the missing photos labeled “Ursula,” Betty became quiet and didn’t say anything immediately.

  “That is strange, isn’t it?” Betty said after a moment.

  “It is. I’m assuming it’s the artist. I mean, how many Ursula Bergens could have been here at that time? I’m very curious as to why it’s missing, and it makes me wonder even more about Ursula. I know I’ve never met her, but I figure it’s okay if I call her by her first name. I’m really beginning to wonder what she looked like. I’d like to have a face to put to a name.”

  “Speaking of faces.” Betty flipped back a few pages. “Some of the faces in these photos I recognize from my family photos. See this fellow here, on the tall black horse in the back? He’s also in that photo over there by the fireplace. Don’t know who he is, though.”

  Melissa stood and walked over to inspect the framed photo of a group of wranglers wearing chaps and big hats. They were leaning on a wooden fence, a corral, it looked like, with the blurred shapes of horses in the background. She agreed that the man on the black horse in her photo was the same man standing near the edge of the group holding a lariat in one hand.

  “What a strange coincidence that I’d make reservations here not even knowing that it was connected to my great-grandmother.” Melissa rubbed her index finger contemplatively across her lower lip.

  When she turned around, Betty had taken off her reading glasses and was holding them in both hands gazing at her
with the same intensity she had witnessed the day when she checked in to the ranch. The wrinkles in the furrow of Betty’s brow deepened.

  “I’m not a big believer in coincidence, Melissa. I’ve come to think that things happen for a reason, even if it takes you a while to figure out the reason.”

  Melissa nodded but didn’t immediately reply. In truth, she wasn’t sure how she felt about coincidence versus destiny, or if she even believed in fate.

  “That’s an interesting idea,” Melissa said, walking back to the table. She took the prints of Ursula’s paintings from her bag and laid them out on the table, explaining how she had inherited them and that she hoped she could find out where they were painted and perhaps even discover some other paintings by her while she was staying in Buckhorn.

  Betty put her reading glasses back on and inhaled sharply when she looked at the painting of the woman in the clearing with the bear peering out at her from the trees.

  “Yes, that one is interesting, isn’t it? It’s different from the others, almost like an illustration of a story.”

  “It is very interesting.”

  “I loved all of them as a child, but I really loved this one,” Melissa said fondly. “I know it’s silly, but I used to make up stories about it, and I pretended I was there with them. They were kind of like my childhood imaginary friends.”

  Betty looked at Melissa sideways, then glanced at the other two. “These are very nice paintings, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah. She was a good painter, and I think she deserves a place in art history. I don’t want her to completely disappear. It happens to artists all the time, especially women artists.”

  Betty tapped a finger on the river picture. “I might know where that place is.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. If it’s the place I’m thinking of.”

  “Can I go there? Can I drive or hike? That would be amazing.”

  “Well, you can’t drive there, but our half-day trail ride goes past it.” Betty moved her glasses down the bridge of her nose and grinned.

  “Oh, God, I haven’t been on a horse in twenty years!”

  “That’s all right. Many of our customers have never been on a horse. And we cater to those folks. We have calm, sure-footed, and levelheaded horses just for them.” Betty laughed. “Well, for you.”

  Melissa looked at the photo. She’d love to see the place that might have inspired the painting. Perhaps she could even take a photograph and have “then and now” images for comparison. The answer seemed obvious.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Good. Go by the livery, or call, to make a reservation. It’s a popular ride, and we offer it every day now during peak tourist season.”

  Melissa put her hand on Betty’s arm. “Thank you so much, Betty. This feels like a good start. If you think of anything else, please let me know, even if you think it’s insignificant.”

  “I’m glad to help, dear.” Betty patted her hand. She folded her readers and tucked them into her shirt pocket. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to do some work in the office.”

  Melissa thanked her again for her time, packed her things, and then headed out to her car. As she stepped off the porch a hummingbird chattered, zipping past her on its way to chase off a rival at the feeder. She looked out toward the barns below, where cars parked in front of them and people seemed to be gathering. From her vantage point on the stairs she could see horses saddled but wearing halters instead of bridles. They stood in the paddock eating hay contentedly and swishing their tails against the flies, waiting for the next trail ride. Before she went back to her cabin, she’d stop by the livery and see about signing up for that ride.

  As Sula pulled open the filing-cabinet drawer, the phone on her desk rang.

  “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Sula immediately recognized the voice as Betty’s. She was an old and close friend of the family, more like an aunt than a friend, really, but it was unusual for her to call in the middle of a workday.

  “I’m at the office.” Sula tucked her phone between her cheek and shoulder, putting the folder in her hand into the open cabinet drawer and pushing it closed. “Is everything okay?”

  “Are you by yourself?”

  “Yes. What’s up?” Why was Betty calling her? Sula sat down in her desk chair and grabbed a honey candy from the bowl on her desk, removing the yellow cellophane wrapper quietly before popping it into her mouth.

  “I’ve got a guest at the ranch, an art historian, college professor from Georgia. She has some paintings by your great-grandmother and is here for the summer hoping to find out more about her. She’s doing research, she said, and she’s looking for more of her paintings.”

  “Whoa. Slow down. Someone has some of my great-grandmother’s paintings?”

  “Yes. Three of them.”

  “Really? What kind?” Sula’s parents had several of her paintings, as did she and her cousins. One of them was in her office, in fact. She spun around in her chair and looked at the small watercolor painting of rocks and a waterfall hanging on the wall.

  “Two landscapes and…” Betty paused. “A woman and a bear in the forest.”

  Sula inhaled reflexively, nearly swallowing the candy. She wasn’t aware that anyone outside of her family had any of her great-grandmother’s paintings, and her family preferred it that way.

  “Sula, you still there?”

  Sula coughed. “Yeah. I’m still here. I’m just surprised.”

  “I know,” Betty said with a short laugh. “That’s why I called.”

  “You said she teaches in Georgia. How did they get there?”

  “She grew up here, in Colorado. Her family still lives here.”

  “That makes some sense.”

  “You ought to talk to her, Sula.”

  “Mmm, I don’t know, Betty. What makes you so sure?”

  “I’ve got a feeling about her.”

  “You and those damn feelings.”

  “You know they’re usually right.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”

  “All that’s kind of personal. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not telling you to kick the skeletons out of the closet, Sula. I’m just saying that she strikes me as someone with an honest question. She’s not looking to make money. She’s really connected to those paintings personally. Her great-grandmother used to come here back in the 20s and 30s, it looks like. I think she’s got a real connection to this place and to our families.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Good. I’ll take that to mean that I can tell her to drop by your office sometime soon to discuss it. Her name is Melissa Warren, by the way.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Betty.” Sula tried to sound firm and resolute. She really hated it when Betty told her what to do. “Betty? Betty?”

  Sula looked at the phone. The call had ended. Sula wanted to tell Betty no. No, she did not want to talk to some stranger about her family. But she was also very curious, and Betty had a track record of being right. Sula rolled the yellow cellophane candy wrapper between her fingers into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket under her desk.

  If Betty thought she should do something, she probably should.

  Chapter Seven

  Melissa had almost forgotten what it was like to ride a horse. The elevated perspective from the back of the gray gelding, with its commanding point of view, gave Melissa a rather appealing sense of power. Looking out across the meadow, she imagined herself not as a tourist on a dude-ranch horse, but a pioneer deciding where she’d build the cabin on her homestead. In her momentary fantasy, the future lay in front of her as she guided her steady mount in the direction she wanted to go.

  Melissa was well aware that the historic fantasy playing out in her head didn’t match her reality. In the second-to-last position in a line of horses and riders, she wasn’t doing much directing at all. Tucker, her very mellow steed, seemed fine with plod
ding along behind the horse directly in front of him. The only person behind her was Kerry, the livery manager she’d met when she checked in to the ranch. A confident and no doubt skilled rider, she was mounted on a muscular and lively bay mare.

  Melissa twisted around to face Kerry, or “the wrangler,” as she thought of her. She really dressed the part. In addition to the standard straw hat, boots, jeans, belt, and large buckle, she wore a tailored gray-and-white striped long-sleeved shirt with pearl snaps.

  “Wouldn’t you rather be up front instead of in the back? It’s kind of dusty here.”

  “Once we get off the path and up into the trees, it won’t be so bad,” Kerry said in a reassuring tone.

  “I didn’t mean that as a complaint,” Melissa said quickly. She didn’t want to come across as some whiny tourist. “More of an observation.”

  “I prefer this spot. I can keep an eye on everyone from back here.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that—you put the most experienced person in the rear.”

  “With these wrinkles comes wisdom.” Kerry pointed to the fine crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. She lifted her hat, tucking a stray strand of her long blond hair behind one ear before resettling it on her head. “There’s an old cowboy expression—if you’re riding ahead of the herd, turn around now and again and make sure it’s still behind you. You have to turn around a lot when you’re leading a trail ride. You spend most of the time talking to whoever’s behind you. This is a whole lot more comfortable, even with the heel dust.”

  Melissa looked ahead. The group consisted of two couples and two families with kids. Leading the pack was their guide, a bright-eyed young woman named Ashley, whom Melissa had guessed was a college student working a summer job. Sure enough, she was twisted in the saddle, one hand holding the reins above the saddle horn and the other propped on the rump of her brown-and-white horse, talking to the kids behind her.