a trail ride or take jumping or rodeo stunt lessons. Boarding was offered for guests who brought their own horses. In addition, according to the inn’s rave reviews, food was a draw. Twenty of the inn’s acres were dedicated to organically farmed and fresh-picked heirloom vegetables, which enhanced the inn’s four-star Forbes rating.
As I browsed the various drop-down menus, I landed on how I might entice an inn employee to talk to me. I didn’t have to be at the shop until eleven on Sunday, and, as it just so happened, the Equestrian Inn offered sunrise rides to guests as well as non-guests—the inn’s way of enticing new customers.
As my fingers tripped across the keys to set my reservation, Fiona flitted to my side. “What are you doing?”
“Sleuthing.”
* * *
At five a.m., I ate a quick bite and fed Pixie. At five thirty, Fiona and I arrived at the Equestrian Inn. Its staff was perky and accommodating. The trail guide, a pretty young woman named Bianca, complimented my riding outfit, a thrown-together mash-up of jeans, T-shirt, asymmetric sheepskin jacket, straw cowboy hat, and my favorite Western-style boots made of full-quill ostrich. I hoped they wouldn’t get ruined. The itinerary didn’t mention whether we’d have to get off the horses and walk through any grassy areas.
“How many of us are there?” I asked, matching Bianca’s perkiness.
“Six.” She swapped out my sunhat with a helmet. “For protection,” she said, and then fitted me with a pinto horse named Paint.
“Paint is a good boy,” Bianca said. “He won’t give you any trouble. You’re a newbie, right?”
My boot selection must have given me away. “I’ve done some riding,” I said. I wasn’t lying. I had. As a girl. At a stable. Around a rink. Within a month, I was bored with doing circles, so I quit.
Using a mounting block, I climbed onto Paint and slotted my boots into the stirrups. He snorted and crooked his head to peer at me. I patted his neck, assuring him I’d follow his lead. Fiona fluttered in front of his eyes and blew him a kiss. Paint raised his chin in greeting.
“Do you lead the night rides?” I asked Bianca.
“Some of them,” she said.
“How about last Wednesday?”
“Yep. That was my gig.”
“Then you met my friend Emily Watkins.”
Bianca pursed her lips. “Possibly.”
“You don’t remember? She’s about yea high.” I held up a hand. “Long hair.” I almost blurted that she had prominent buckteeth but stopped. That wouldn’t sound nice. “Toothy smile.”
“Sounds familiar, but I can’t be sure. We had over twenty on that ride, and honestly I don’t memorize the names and faces of all my riders.” Bianca tapped the side of her head. “I’m not a facts and figures gal. I don’t keep much unneeded data in here. It interferes with my ability to recall what’s on the trails and keep the horses in line. Okay, let’s go.” She took hold of Paint’s reins and led me to where other riders were already seated on their horses. She climbed onto a beautiful black steed and, for a brief while, gave us a refresher course on stopping and steering our horses.
Minutes later, we were off. Bianca kicked her horse to get started. The other horses followed.
A few yards ahead, Bianca twisted on her saddle. “The trail ride will last an hour and a half. During that time, I’ll give you all sorts of details about the flora and fauna of the area, and I’ll answer questions.”
We rode for a few minutes longer, and Bianca twisted on her saddle again. “If you’re new to the area, you might not know this, but Carmel Valley and the surrounding areas are not known for sunrises. We’re known for our sunsets.”
As we rode, I drank in the sounds of the sea gulls and caught the fresh scent of morning. Incredible. Fiona was having the time of her life riding on top of a real live horse. Occasionally she reminded me that she would have a better time on a fairy horse because it would move faster. I chuckled and bent over to whisper. “I’ll promise you a fast ride on a horse at a future date.” When I was a girl, although I hadn’t enjoyed riding in the rink, whenever we had broken into a cantor or a gallop, I had laughed gleefully, the same kind of laugh I’d let out when I’d taken a ride in a souped-up Corvette around Laguna Seca, a nearby speedway. I liked to go fast.
For a half