Page 5 of High Heels & Heifers
He grabs a chair at the desk next to mine. “Looks like a high-maintenance group?”
I study the screen. “A corporate retreat. Product Developers out of San Francisco. I can picture it now. Maybe we can get ’em on a technicality like one of them exceeding the weight limit for our horses.”
It’s a last-ditch effort to get out of hobnobbing with a group of corporate managers for a week, and I know it.
Wyatt leans in, takes my laptop, and swivels it in his direction. “What are you talking about? This group looks great. Nine people. Looks to be all men. Five nights, six days, and they bought our most expensive package. Seems like a winning reservation to me.”
“City slickers.” I scoff. “You’ve never worked in Corporate America. These guys aren’t going to know a saddle horn from a doorknob. That’s the kind of people about to show up on our doorstep.”
“If anyone has the patience for city slickers, it’s you, buddy.” Wyatt taps me on the shoulder. “You spent a decade in that environment. You know how to talk golf and stocks, and you’ll have these guys charmed on day one.” Before he leaves the office, he mumbles, “Plus, they work for a fitness company. How out of shape can they be? We may not even need Emma to tag along on this ride.”
I’ve known Wyatt since we were matched as roommates in Stern Hall at Stanford. He was there to study business management, already knowing that he would move back to New Mexico after college and take over his parents’ ranch that had been in his family for over a hundred years. I didn’t know what I wanted to study when I first started at Stanford. All I knew is that I wanted to be a Vice President at aFortune500 corporation. We both reached our goals, yet here we both are, at the ranch.
“What can I help with?” Emma walks in and takes the seat that Wyatt vacated.
“Room assignments, I suppose. I’ll print out all the paperwork.”
Emma studies the list of the nine men coming to stay with us in three days. We always make sure there is time between retreats to let the horses rest, to recuperate ourselves, and then a full day to pack for being on the road for nearly six days. It’s a lot of work, but I’ve never been more satisfied at the end of each day than I am on this ranch.
“I can’t wait for the day when you’ll have your own house and our bunkhouse is built for visitors. Then, Wyatt and I can finally make this house our own without welcoming people into it every other week.” Emma sighs and leans back in her chair.
Their house is massive, but it doesn’t feel like it is when the first night of all retreats is spent here before we go out on the trails and sleep in tents underneath the stars. There are five decent sized bedrooms, and then a loft, so even though it isn’t the most convenient, we have the space.
But I get how it would be an inconvenience to Wyatt and Emma who so frequently open their house to random strangers from everywhere in the country. Wyatt shared that they are talking about starting a family. Things will change significantly for us when that happens.
“Sorry to break it to you, Luca, but you’re going to have to bunk up with someone on night one. It’s the only way everyone will have a warm bed to land on.”
“I figured that much.”
It’s not unusual that I have to share my bedroom for these larger retreats, which is another reason I can’t wait until my house is complete. I bring in an air mattress, throw it in the corner, and it’s the best night of sleep the retreat attendee will get, because it’s on the ground from the first day onward.
“Here.” Emma hands me the paper that just printed. “Here are room assignments. And everyone can suck it up, because it’s a team-building event, and I refuse to take room requests.”
I look through the stack that Emma handed me.
“And voila. I just filed all of their medical information and waivers.” Emma smiles as she does a final click on her computer before closing it.
“This place couldn’t run without you, Emma,” I say, leaning back in my chair and resting my head against my arms.
“No truer words, Luca. No truer words.” Emma organizes the pile of papers on the desk and ruffles my hair before she leaves the office.
Jack
I’m scanning through emails onmy phone, waiting for the luggage to drop. My team members’ status reports are rolling in, and I need to make sure the project is on track before I hop on the back of a horse and commune with nature for a week. My contacts blur a little and I blink several times against the dry air, which was the first thing I noticed when we stepped off the plane at Albuquerque’s airport. The arid climate also sucked all the moisture from my skin, so I hope there is lotion easily accessible in my bag. Having lived near the coast for my entire life, my skin is accustom’d to constant humidity.
Eddie saunters over, pulling his carry-on. “The others are heading out to meet the van. You okay? Your eyes look a bit red.”
I smile and drop my phone to my side, swinging it idly by the rhinestone ring on the back. “They’re just adjusting. Contacts don’t do so well with sudden humidity changes. No worries though; I’ve got drops in my suitcase.”
Beyond Eddie, my boss leads the way outside, and the other directors on my team cut me annoyed glances before following. It’s still hard for me to believe no one else checked a bag. Where could they possibly be hiding the gear they would need for this excursion?
Eddie gives a quite dramatic eyeroll and slumps his weight into one hip. “So, while we’re waiting, why don’t you...spill the beans... on how you came up with this whole trip. Oh, wait, hold that thought.” He smirks. “My eyeballs are floating.I’ll be right back.” He shoves a book he was holding into my hands and dashes toward the men’s room.
There are three dozen tabs marking the pages. I flip it over to read the cover—1001 Purely Southern Sayings. When I flip to the first tab, both the sayings he just laid on me are highlighted. I shake my head. This ought to be rich.
A few minutes later, Eddie comes jogging back in my direction and he holds his hands out for the book.
“I’m not sure I should give this back,” I say, quirking one eyebrow.
