House of the Blue Sea (20 page)

“What’s that delightful American expression? ‘Go big or go home’. I believe it suits the occasion.”

“But how you proceed should suit her as well as you.”

“I haven’t known her long, but I’d say I know this much about Ms. Lyall, that a grand gesture would please her more than you think.” Mark placed his hand over the left side of his chest. “There’s a woman of passion under that quiet, Canadian exterior.”

“Oh please, enough with the drama.” Paul stood and pointed a finger at Mark, “If this goes sideways, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

***

W
ith few towns or other established areas in the East Cape region, the research had been easy enough. He still wasn’t certain he had the right place, since the web site showed a Mexican national as the owner and head trainer, but Alejandro Torres had spent many years in America, only returning to Mexico five years ago. He raised Azteca horses and specialized in a discipline called western dressage at his facility south of La Ribera. Mark was familiar with dressage but not the cowboy version of it. Somehow he’d imagined Sandra doing something more traditional, and less western.

The road was quiet as he rolled through Los Barriles. He’d gotten an early start, unable to return to sleep after waking at six. Sandra had been gone for two days and he was feeling anxious about what he might discover at Rancho Azteca. The horse trainer was about Mark’s age, good looking, successful, and quite a catch for someone with an interest in horses. He’d been hoping to find some bandy-legged old cowboy on the website, and a bio for a Mrs. Torres. It wasn’t Mark’s style, putting himself in awkward situations, but he knew he’d only pace his beach house until Sandra returned and then struggle to find a way to ask her about Alejandro anyway. Better to face it head on and get it over with. He was prepared for possible rejection at the end of this journey. 

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, Mark pulled onto the dirt road indicated by his GPS. The sign at the turn read “Rancho Azteca 3 km”. His hands were moist on the steering wheel and he had to take deep breaths to keep his stomach from climbing into his chest. He stopped after two kilometres and stared ahead at the road, the engine purring in the quiet desert. He was tempted to turn around. Why was he putting himself through this? For what?
Go back to your life, Jeffery
,
and let this woman to her own
. Five minutes went by, then ten, and still he sat and stared at the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear shift. He didn’t want to turn back and yet he couldn’t drive forward. What if she were on some kind of romantic getaway with this Alejandro? What if he walked into the middle of something desperately uncomfortable? How to extricate himself in that event?

Mark put the car in gear and turned the wheel sharply to the left, the passenger’s side tires climbing the sandy berm on the side of the road as he made his u-turn. He stopped the car a few hundred feet back the way he’d come and banged his hand on the steering wheel. “Damn it, Jeffery. Don’t be such a bloody coward!” He pulled another u-turn and set off on the final kilometre to Rancho Azteca.

T
he sun had been up for an hour when Sandra led La Tormenta from the paddock. She was a solidly-built grey mare, still dark and dappled at seven years old, and Sandra’s favourite mount at the ranch. The past two days had been grounding, helping Sandra reconnect with that inner peace she’d come to value so highly. When she’d called, Alejandro was quick to welcome her to the ranch for a few days, fitting her in between clinics.

Rancho Azteca had two main streams of business, breeding fabulous horses and offering riding and horsemanship clinics. Almost ten years earlier, Sandra had seen Alejandro give a western dressage demonstration at an equine expo, and when she saw his brochure pinned to a board in La Paz she could hardly believe her good fortune. That was during her second visit to Baja and she’d managed to grab the last spot in one of his clinics that year. She’d returned for a week each of the last two years and this year’s stay was scheduled for mid-March. Alejandro was a gifted horseman and an even more gifted teacher. His clinics were small, just eight students, each paired with one of his Azteca horses. He would work with each person individually as well as conduct group sessions and, no matter what the level of the student, each one took something away from six days under his guidance.

The year before was the first time Sandra had come to the ranch outside of a scheduled clinic. She’d registered for a February session and, at the end of the six days, Alejandro invited her to return for some one-on-one coaching. It had been a rewarding experience that she’d hoped to repeat and she was feeling fortunate to be sandwiched into his busy winter schedule this year, especially at a time when she needed a place to regroup.

La Tormenta raised her head and nickered and Sandra looked up to see Alejandro walking toward the barn, his white cowboy hat dangling from his hand. He was not a tall man, but he walked with authority, giving the impression of a much larger person. This was one of the keys to communicating successfully with horses, projecting a larger self than your physical size when you needed to. He smiled as he approached, his teeth bright against his brown skin and dark moustache. Sandra had thought him handsome when she first met him and as she got to know the inner workings of the man, he only became more attractive.

“Buenas días, Sandra. You are out earlier even than yesterday.” He walked up to La Tormenta and stroked her shoulder. The mare turned her head toward him, curving her elegant neck around her trainer.

Sandra continued grooming the grey horse. “She loves to be brushed so I thought I’d give her a little more spa time before our morning lesson.”

“And this in addition to the thorough grooming she will no doubt have after the ride?”

“Of course.”

Alejandro chuckled as he continued to caress the mare. “
Suerte chica
. You are a lucky girl, Tormenta. You will gleam like the sun by the time señora leaves us.” He turned to Sandra. “She is still for sale you know. And she likes you, which is very important to me.”

Sandra continued to brush the mare’s legs from her crouched position. “I know she is. I saw her listed on your website. But it’s a very long ride home.”

Alejandro laughed, a deep sound that seemed to come from his very core. “Not to worry on that account. I have
muchos amigos
who would be happy to deliver her to Alberta for you. She does not enjoy the heat so she would like it in Canada.”

“I’m betting she doesn’t like the cold either, at least not the kind of cold we get. Poor girl would be looking south at the first sign of Canadian winter.” Sandra rubbed Tormenta’s neck as she stood up. “Wouldn’t you, beautiful?”

“For the first winter, perhaps, but they are extremely adaptable, our equine friends, and you need a mount of your own. It has been how many years?”

“I put my old gelding down five years ago.”

“Then it is time. Think about it. I will give you a very, very good price.” Alejandro looked at his watch. “See you in the arena in twenty minutes?”

He placed his hat on his head and disappeared around the side of the barn, a deep nicker greeting him. That would be Caliente no doubt, his Andalusian stallion. They had a relationship like no other man-horse team that Sandra had seen and she loved to watch the two of them work. It was Caliente who had travelled around North America with Alejandro, giving demonstrations in liberty work and western dressage. She hoped she’d have a chance to see him work with the big, black horse while she was here. This afternoon they were planning a beach ride. Maybe Alejandro would ride him then.

She laid the saddle blanket on Tormenta’s back, followed by the western saddle. It was so much lighter than the one she had at home. She’d have to ask Alejandro where he got it. At fifteen hands, Tormenta wasn’t a tall horse, but it would still be a heave to throw her own thirty-five pounds of leather, fibreglass and silver onto the horse’s back. This saddle didn’t weigh more than twenty-five.

Bridle adjusted, hands gloved, helmet on head, Sandra led Tormenta from the hitching rail to the outdoor riding ring. Rancho Azteca had a small covered arena for when the weather was hot, but this morning it was pleasant even in the sun. The outdoor arena was edged with a rustic-looking post and rail fence, the desert providing the perfect sandy footing. She checked her cinch one more time before putting her left foot in the brass-clad stirrup and mounting. That first moment of sliding into the saddle, the smoothness of the leather against the back of her jeans, felt like coming home. Sandra settled into the deep seat and picked up her reins, the rawhide and leather poppers hanging down below Tormenta’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and let the mingled scents of leather, horse and desert embrace her.

***

A
bsorbed in her lesson, Sandra didn’t notice the man standing ringside until Alejandro was quiet for an unusual amount of time. He often paused his instruction to give students the opportunity to feel the work they were doing without interruption, but this pause seemed extraordinarily long. She brought Tormenta down to a walk before looking around the arena. He was by the gate at the far end, talking to a man in khakis and a white shirt. The man didn’t look like someone here to ride; maybe he was lost. As Sandra rode closer, recognition set in.
No. It can’t be. Not here.
Alejandro turned and smiled, waving her over. Yes, it was definitely Mark.

“Sandra, a friend has come in search of you.” Alejandro was smiling but confusion showed in his eyes.

“I see that. What a surprise.” She looked at Mark, forcing a pleasant expression on her face.

“Good morning. Paul mentioned you were down here doing cowboy dressage, something I’d not heard of, and my curiosity got the better of me,” Mark said, his eyes going from Sandra to Alejandro and back again.

Sandra couldn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. Why would he do this? Showing up at Mar Azul nearly every day was one thing but following her down here without an invite. What the hell? 

“Don’t let me interrupt your ride. I won’t be a bother,” Mark said.

You have already interrupted and you’re absolutely a bother
, Sandra wanted to shout at him.

Alejandro seemed to sense the awkwardness and spoke. “Well, back to work then, Sandra. You have thirty minutes yet to ride.”

As she rode away she heard Mark’s voice but didn’t catch the words. She turned her head to look at him. “Pardon me?”

“I said, lovely horse!”

“Yes, she certainly is.” Sandra lay her hand on Tormenta’s neck, hoping the smoothness and warmth would settle her jangled nerves.

***

S
he’d tried to remain focused on the balance of the lesson but was distracted, and the horse felt it. The latter part of the ride had been a sharp contrast to the first. She removed the halter from Tormenta’s head and watched her walk away to join the herd. The mare paused and pawed at the earth but decided against a roll, Sandra’s vigorous post-ride grooming enough to remove the need.

Sandra walked toward the barn to put away her gear and as she rounded the corner, there was Mark, leaning against the hitching rail. “Howdy, cowgirl.” He gave a slow wave.

“Howdy yourself, city slicker. Nice ranch attire.”

Mark looked down at his clothing. “Yes, I can see now that a white shirt was perhaps not the best choice.”

“Not to worry. It won’t be white for long.”

“I did bring a spare of a darker colour.”

“So you’re planning on staying, then?” Sandra heard the tension in her own voice.

“Well ... I ... no, of course not. But your cowboy friend did invite me to stay for lunch. I hope—”

“Yes, Alejandro is a true gentleman. Excuse me. I need to put my things away.” Sandra pulled her saddle from where it rested on the hitching rail and stalked into the barn.

M
ark stood alone on the verandah of the ranch house surveying the setup of Rancho Azteca. The house was surrounded by horses, the split rail fences dividing the property into paddocks for the various groupings. The group closest to Mark appeared to be youngsters, their skinny necks and gangly legs reminding him of adolescent boys. There were five of them. The black one was determined to get a game going while the other four looked ready for a nap in the sun. He would trot into the group swinging his head in the air and then rear in front of one of the sunbathers. The other horse would flatten his ears, not joining in the game. The little black would then trot away only to return to his friends and nip one of his herd mates on the cheek.

Mark heard the screen door behind him. “He is a trouble-maker my Caballero, always trying to stir things up.” It was Alejandro.

“He certainly is. I wish I had his energy. I feel more like the other four, just wanting an afternoon nap.”

“Ah, but he has just one year and the zest for life we all do as boys. When he has to work he will appreciate his rest time.” Alejandro set down a basket of tortillas and a steaming bowl of some kind of meat. “
Tacos de carne
. I hope you are not a vegetarian.”

“No, not at all.”

“It is a simple meal but I am on my own here so we will have to manage. Have a seat.” Alejandro smiled at Mark, his perfect, white teeth lighting up in his dark face. Mark half expected a star-shaped glint at the corner of his mouth like you see when the cartoon hero smiles. And then there was that Mexican accent—all Ricardo Montalbán. No doubt most of Alejandro’s students were women.

“Am I late?” Sandra came around the corner from behind the house.

“Not at all.” Alejandro pulled out a chair for her. “Your timing is perfecto. As the Americans say ... dig in.” He made a flourish with his hands over the food on the table. “Ay! I am a terrible host. I have brought you nothing to drink.
Para la bebida
there is wine, cerveza, iced tea, and water, of course. Sandra, can I get you something?”