The next day, Barbara remembered at least part of the previous evening; the image of a sandy-haired, handsome man in tweed sport coat, blue shirt, and striped tie sitting across from her at a restaurant table and beside her at a movie. He had smelled of just the hint of some very nice musk cologne.
She thought she liked Ken Knowland, and hoped she hadn't spoiled her chances with him. Of what? she asked herself.
Love? The thought almost made her giddy, waiting on tables in a daze the morning after her date, and yawning as she took and delivered orders for hash browns, eggs over easy, and black coffee. It was the only time she was not quick enough, and got pinched by four different sets of fingers.
Barbara's main form of relaxation during those months was to steal an hour at least once a week, drive to the Genda Ranch, and ride Becky into the mountains. All her cares, aches and pains left her soon as she was riding the sorrel mare she had come to love. Though the hour would be too short, it never failed to revitalize her.
Riding horseback had become not only good exercise to Barbara, being outdoors and breathing in fresh air, but therapy for the soul. Her love and enjoyment of riding originated in an unexplainable love she had developed for the wonderful creature.
She especially came to love Becky. While grooming her or just before mounting her, Barbara would look into the horse's eyes and become lost in the mystery and depth of their expression of intelligence and gentleness. Becky became truly a very special horse to her, and felt that the sorrel mare felt the same way about her. It was simply a mutual love that horse and rider developed for each other.
After several weeks of visiting the Gendas so she could ride Becky, Edna made a suggestion.
"You're working so hard, and time is so precious to you, Barbara. Buck and I love your visits. But at the risk of not seeing you as often as we both would like, why don't you borrow Becky and take her home with you?"
The idea excited Barbara. "That would be wonderful. I could ride her every day! But where would I keep her, in my bedroom?"
The answer to that came unexpectedly from Buck as he seemed to come awake sitting in his porch rocker. "There ought to be room in one of those hangars of yours at the airport."
Barbara accepted gladly. The next day, Moose Mondrowski helped her get Becky to her airport by driving her in a rancher friend's horse trailer. With bales of hay stacked at one far corner of the hangar where the Flying Jenny was kept, Becky had her own makeshift corral with water and feed.