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“Yes, sir.” She salutes me. I know it's a joke to her, but I don’t mind it. She’s a good kid. She’d get back to her homework even if I didn’t tell her to. I turn to walk away and see Kenny walking toward me. I forgot I told him we’d take a ten-minute water break and then get back to surveying the fence.
“Kenny, sorry, man. I just got word that my buddy is sending his little sister up here to write the story for the travel magazine. We gotta get ready for her. This could be the publicity we’ve been wanting.”
“No worries, boss. I saw the three of you scurrying around over here, so I thought I’d come to see what’s going on. You want to get back to the fence?”
“Yeah–actually, I want to head over to the stable first to check on the horses. We can’t have any incidents with a reporter here.”
“Sure thing. Want me to come with you? Or get back to the fence?”
“Go back to the fence. I’ll ride Bigsby out to you when I’m finished.”
“Alright. I’ve finished that southeast corner. Everything looks good. I’ll be over on the gate side.”
Kenny jumps back on the four-wheeler, zooms off, and I walk toward the stable. I’m sure Manny has everything under control. He’s the best stable manager anyone could ask for. I want to warn him about what’s coming. Plus, I haven’t seen Bigsby all day. An afternoon ride should put him in a better mood.
Bigsby is the horse I’ve had forever–he was Lilian’s. She tamed and trained him. He loved her, and only her, for a long time. I’ve grown on him a bit, but I think that’s because he knows she’s not coming back. He doesn’t let anyone else ride him or even get near.
I fill Manny in on what’s going on with the widows’ support group and Ava. He assures me that the horses are all in good spirits and that it will be a smooth week.
Bigsby is staring at me anxiously; I can tell he’s ready to run. Manny had him saddled up already. That guy is always one step ahead of me.
“Let’s go, bud.” I give Bigsby the signal, and we’re off.
I’m almost to the gate when I see it open, and a black car with tinted windows drivesthrough. The car stops to chat with Kenny, his arms gesturing every which way. He’s giving directions to the main house. Looks like Ryder’s little sister has arrived.
3
AVA
We finally arrived after driving on bumpy, dirt roads for what felt like hours. The car slows down at a large wrought-iron gate. A giant golden plaque says, “Welcome to Whispering Meadows,” in a beautiful script. It looks very fancy. This might not be so bad after all!
A man in muddy work boots, a flannel shirt tucked into his jeans, and a big belt buckle steps up to open the gate and greets us. This must be Travis. He’s not quite what I imagined, but he has a friendly face.
“Howdy! How can I help ya?” he asks as the driver rolls down the window.
“I’ve brought you a guest, Ms….” The driver doesn’t know my name.
“Ava Flynn, from TravElegance Magazine,” I roll my window down and confidently say, hoping to make a good impression.
“Ms. Flynn, we’ve been waiting for you! I’m Kenny. Welcome! I believe Mr. Travis is up at the stable. I’ll call him and tell him you’re here. I'm sure he’ll want to meet you at the house.” He tips his big-brimmed hat at me and smiles.
“Oh, please call me Ava. So nice to meet you, Kenny. I’m looking forward to my stay here.”
“We’re glad to have ya!” he looks back at the driver. “Follow this road up to the house. It winds around a bit, but you'll get there as long as you stay on it.”
My driver thanked him and continued down the winding drive. From the looks of it, this place seems pretty nice. It’s not at all what I was expecting. There are endless fields of green in every direction, or I guess you might call them meadows. Who knows? I'm sure I’ll pick up on the correct terminology during my stay here.
Things get a bit more populated as we pull up to the house. First, we pass by what I assume is a stable. Then there are a couple of tiny little house-like things. I’m not sure what they are, to be honest. The big guest house, or what I assume is the big guest house, is gorgeous. It’s like an old log cabin but with a big sprawling porch. Four knotted pine rocking chairs are set to each side of the front door. It’s very picturesque.
No one is here to greet me as I step out of the car. It’s a little disappointing and unnerving. My driver can’t wait to get out of here. He gets out of the car and practically throws my bags at me.
“Good luck. Thanks for lunch.” He gets back in the car and speeds off, leaving a trail of dust behind him.
“Ms. Flynn? Is that you?” I hear a young girl’s voice call out from behind me.
“Yes, it is! And who are you?” I’m surprised to see a small child appear on the porch. Ok, maybe she’s not a small child. Perhaps she’s a teenager. Who knows—everyone under the age of 20 looks the same to me nowadays.
“Hi. I’m Mia. I run this ranch with my dad.”
