Page 55 of Saddle Up, City Girl
I laughed and squeezed his hand. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“What are we going to do about this?” His tone was playful, but the mood in the truck felt heavier. “You’re leaving the ranch soon and going hundreds of miles away from me. I’m going to miss you.”
“Maybe we could visit each other?” I suggested tentatively, unsure if he was serious about wanting to continue our relationship after I left the ranch. “If you’d be willing to come to New York, I’d love to show you around.”
“I’d like that,” he said. “I’m not really sure what my plans are this winter, but I could try to arrange a visit to New York.”
“It’s okay if you can’t,” I said quickly. “I know you have Gigi to visit and the ranch to look after. You’re a busy guy.” Just because he was going to miss me didn’t mean he wanted to fly across the country to see me. I felt silly for suggesting it.
“Hey.” He waited until I looked over at him. “It’s not that I don’t want to visit you. I’d love to come to New York, if I can. If not, I’d love to call and write you letters.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Letters?”
He laughed, looking sheepish. “Is letter writing dead? I don’t know. There’s something about a letter that feels more special than an email.”
“You can make me a mixed tape, too,” I teased.
“Got it. Mixed tapes and letter writing. Totally old school.”
We were pulling into the parking lot of The Eternal Springs Spa, and to my dismay, it didn’t look very impressive.
“Is this where we’re swimming?” I asked as we got out of the Suburban.
“You should have seen this place before my friend Luke Daltry purchased it,” he said. “I wish I could renovate Silver Sage the way he fixed up this place. He ripped down and redesigned the deck and put in a cold plunge pool and saunas. It’s pretty amazing.”
From the outside, the spa’s main building wasn’t anything more than a humble concrete house. It certainly didn’t look amazing, but I tried to be diplomatic. “I had no idea what to expect.”
“It’s rustic,” he said. “Don’t expect it to be like what you’d find at a Manhattan spa.”
We stepped inside the office reception area, which was nothing like its exterior. The floors were natural oak stained in a light color and the walls were a soft, pale shade of green. The sitting area contained two modern sofas covered in a white tweedy material, flanked by tree stumps fashioned into side tables. Soft lighting from several lamps cast a meditative glow around the room, enhanced by the tinkling sound of a large Japanese fountain in the corner.
I ran my finger over the smooth leaf of a jade plant. “Wow. This is lovely.”
“You wouldn’t believe how dark and dingy it was in here before,” he said. “Luke turned the place around. Some folks in town complained that it had lost its former charm, which I guess was true if you found mold and mildew charming.”
Luke poked his head out of his office behind the reception desk. I recognized him as the man who tried to shield me from the fight at The Mangy Marmot.
“Hey, buddy!” He bounded toward Matthew with Golden Retriever energy, clasping him in a bro hug. His place may have been classy, but Luke dressed Wyoming casual—blue jeans and a navy blue t-shirt advertising the hot springs. The only things setting him apart sartorially from the other men I’d seen in Three Rivers were the leather bracelet on his wrist and the Birkenstock sandals on his feet.
“Good to see you,” Matthew said. “This is my friend, Lauren Wagonblast. You two met at The Marmot.”
Luke smiled warmly and shook my hand, exposing a single-line tattoo of a moose head on the inside of his arm. “Welcome to the hot springs, Lauren.”
I shook his hand, which dwarfed mine. “Great to see you again under better circumstances.”
“That was just a normal Friday night in Three Rivers.” Luke reached for two fluffy white towels that were stacked on a shelf. “I reserved pool number seven for you. You’re welcome to use the changing rooms down that hallway. Feel free to stay as long as you’d like.” He pointed to a large basket with a lid. “You can drop the towels and robes in here before you go.”
“Thanks,” Matthew said. “We really appreciate it.”
“I hope you enjoy the springs,” he said. “You’ve got them to yourselves this evening.”
Matthew and I went into separate changing stalls to put on our suits. When I’d stripped down, I looked into the mirror, trying to see myself through fresh eyes. What was I thinking, baring all this middle-aged skin?
The tiny room’s fluorescent lighting revealed spider veins on my thighs and cellulite on my backside. I’d be relying on underwire and lycra to hide the effects of gravity and breastfeeding on my boobs. With a sigh of resignation, I wrestled myself into my bathing suit’s one-shoulder strap. The results weren’t bad if I threw my shoulders back and kept my stomach sucked in, but who wanted to walk around holding their breath? I relaxed my muscles and decided to stop trying so damn hard. It was exhausting.
Matthew, already wearing his swim trunks and t-shirt, let out an appreciative wolf whistle that did wonders for my ego. “She’s got legs…” he sang, “…she knows how to use them.”
It was an old ZZ Top song that probably only our generation would remember.
