Even though thoughts of Garrett filled every inch of her mind, body, and soul, she pushed them aside and headed into the den. Taking a deep breath, she took a stack of magazines, plopped them on the mahogany desk with glass top, and then snuggled into the burgundy leather chair. "Here we go, kids." Most magazines were tossed to the floor near the garbage can, but the May issue had a sticky note attached to it.
"Camp for City Kids," the article read. With her legs dangling over the arm of the chair, Caitlin read every word, her interest growing by the second. She read out loud and underlined a few passages. The phone rang but she ignored it. She turned toward the desk, the magazine now resting on the desk top. "This is interesting," she said, tapping the magazine. Her gaze turned upwards as she bit her lower lip in thought. "This could work." Without any hesitation she packed a picnic lunch, took the article, and raced over to Garrett's place, the Second Chance Ranch.
The ranch was nestled on thousands of acres surrounded by towering hills. The white mansion with colonial pillars and black shutters stood against the autumnal trees and offered a picture-postcard setting.
Standing on the red brick porch transported Caitlin back to the 1900's when this house was first built. Throughout the years, extensions were added on both sides, bringing a den and a kitchen. When Garrett bought the place twenty some years ago, he took painstaking measures to bring it back to its rich heritage and beauty.
She knocked on the centrally located door that was surrounded by symmetrical windows and then went inside. One step inside and the warmth and energy permeated her. Nothing had changed except the smell. Instead of perfume and fresh flowers it now smelled of pine and the outdoors. Hardwood floors led to the circular staircase with hand-carved mahogany rail. Arched doorways and floral wallpaper added to the historical ambience of his home. Everything in the house seemed warm and inviting. Even the antiques that filled the house told the stories of the people who once used them. Her favorite was the floor model victrola in a golden oak polish that sat in the corner of the dining room. She sneaked a peek to see if a record sat on the turntable, curious if Garrett ever listened, but today there was nothing.
"Garrett, are you here?" When he didn't answer she went to the barn. His strong, yet gentle hands rubbed down one of the horses. She watched a few minutes, astounded by him and his ways with horses. They understood what he wanted and he had never to speak. "Hey, you," she said, with rosy cheeks and twinkling green eyes.