Summer at Mustang Ridge (23 page)

“You sure do.”

“So . . . still friends?”

Suddenly, a day that had been seriously circling the drain got a whole lot better. He blew out a long, slow breath. “Friends and more, if you’ll still have me.”

“That depends. Got any Pixy Stix?”

“I might.” He paused, his pulse thudding in his veins as his body started to catch on that things between them might be okay, after all. The relief was huge, the pressure in his chest back down to a throb of need. “So, what do you say, my sweet, smart, and oh, so forgiving Shelby? Will you come home with me and fool around by the glow of my light saber wall lamp?”

Her teeth flashed. “There’s a metaphor there, and it’s not a good one. And yes, I’ll come home and fool around with you . . . but only if you promise not to freak yourself out again if the sex is transcendent tonight and my kid does something cute tomorrow.” She sighed theatrically. “Those are our burdens to bear.”

A few minutes ago, he would’ve said it’d be a long time before he laughed again. Now he proved that wrong. “From now on, I’ll do my best not to channel Brutus on a grain high.”

“I’d appreciate it. Right now, though, I’d appreciate it even more if you’d kiss me.”

“I can do that.” He wrapped his arms around her and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was as much relief as passion, though there was plenty of that, too. Heat sparked and grew, and his body hardened almost instantly, recognizing hers as if they’d been lovers for months rather than just a day. “You amaze me,” he said against her lips. “More and more each day.”

When the kiss eased to an arms-intertwined embrace, she sighed against his shoulder and nestled close. “I didn’t want this to be over. Not yet.”

He kissed her hair and held her tight. “It isn’t. It won’t be, not until you want it to be.” Or, rather, not until the end of the summer, when they both went back to their real lives.

•   •   •

The next morning, it was still pitch-black out when Shelby woke to the sound of the cabin door opening. Banishing sudden thoughts of grizzlies and coyotes—hello, door latch requiring opposable thumbs—she sat up in bed and reached for her flashlight. “Lizzie? Is that you?”

Before she could click on her light, another came to life with a double flash, then stayed on, showing her daughter’s pink hoodie and camping-out sweats. Her ponytail had gone lopsided, and her eyes were wide.

Shelby sat all the way up and clicked on the bedside light. “Hey, Dizzy Girl. You ready to spend a few hours in a real bed?”

But Lizzie came over and tugged on her arm, motioning
come on, come on, come on!

Her head started to clear and her instincts did an
uh-oh
. “Is something wrong?”

“P-princess had her b-baby.”

“Oh!” That was all she could get out, such an insignificant word that failed utterly to capture the upswelling rush of emotions.

“Come see. P-p-please?”

The last word had more than a bit of Roger Rabbit in it, but that wasn’t what had Shelby choking up. “Oh, baby. You’re really talking.”

Lizzie sucked in a breath and her face went stricken. “Don’t c-cry, Mommy. I wanted to b-b-before. I j-just couldn’t.” Tears flooded her eyes, and one drop tracked down. “I’m sorry.”

Shelby’s own tears cut loose, fat and scalding, and not willing to be held back any longer. She wasn’t afraid of scaring Lizzie now, though. She was only afraid of not getting this right.

Pulling the little girl into her arms, she hugged her fiercely. “No, baby, don’t be sorry,” she said into the soft brown hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right, you hear me? You’re so brave. So, so brave.”

“I’m s-s-s-s . . . I can’t talk right.”

Shelby’s heart clutched at the ragged grief, the guilt and fear in those stumbling words. “Yes, you can. You just need some practice, that’s all.”

Lizzie hesitated. “I guess.”

Realizing that she needed more than just “it’ll be fine,” especially when things hadn’t been fine for a long time, Shelby eased back and waited until her daughter met her eyes. Then, channeling every shred of Zen calm she’d managed to come up with over the past few years, she said, “Elizabeth Michelle Brewster, you’ve beaten SM. Do you really think you can’t deal with a tiny little stutter?”

It took a few seconds, but then the narrow shoulders straightened and the gleam came back into her eyes. “I c-can do it.”

“Of course you can. You can do anything.” The waterworks started up again—or maybe they hadn’t really stopped—and her voice broke. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. And I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

It had been years since she’d heard that, years since it had felt real. She wouldn’t start bawling, she told herself. She just wouldn’t.

Letting out a watery breath, she said, “Come on. Let’s go see the foal, and you can tell me all about watching it be born.”

She threw on a fleece and jeans while Lizzie waited impatiently, doing a little
hurry up, hurry up
dance that made Shelby’s heart sing. “I’m hurrying!” she said, laughing, and jammed her feet in her boots. “Okay, let’s go!”

“Whee!” The noise that came out of Lizzie as she bounced down the cabin steps sounded like one of the “I’m free!” squeals that Lucky liked to make when he and Sassy were turned out into the bigger paddock to play. And, like the foal, Lizzie scampered off away from her mother, then curved back around to grab her hand and tug her toward the barn. “Come on, come on. Sh-she’s already n-n-nursing!”

Tightening her fingers and letting Lizzie pull her into a jog, Shelby smiled so wide that her cheeks ached and her heart sang a happy, happy song. Because no matter what had happened in the past or would happen in the future, she had gotten this part right.

A
few days later, Shelby watched the airport shuttle bump up the driveway, splashing a little in the winding down of a rain shower, and shook her head. “How is it Saturday already?”

The week had passed in a blur of cooking, word games, horses, and stealing time with Foster, and if she wasn’t sure where the days had gone, she didn’t mind. Not just because the guests—a group of execs from a big drug company who seemed to have missed the point of team building—had been particularly demanding, but because the weather looked like it was going to clear up after all, and it was time to ride.

When the bus finally disappeared, she glanced over at her daughter. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to— Lizzie?”

Her prodigal was already halfway to the barn, wearing the helmet cover that looked like a straw Stetson, and swaggering a little with her thumbs hooked in her front pockets.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Grinning, Shelby followed.

Foster already had Brutus on the cross ties, slicking him over with a soft brush. He looked up when she came in, and gave her a long, slow grin. “Hey there, Mama Bear.”

Her blood heated and her pulse kicked up a notch, but she gave back as good as she got, letting her eyes run over him and linger until his gaze went smoky. “Hey.”

Things had been great between them since the prior Saturday’s near flameout. He’d made time to show Lizzie how to work with Lucky on halter training and basic skills like picking up his feet on command and keeping his teeth to himself, while also arranging things so he and Shelby could be together for some adult fun. Today, though, he’d surprised her by suggesting that the three of them ride out together.

“Is Loco ready?” she asked archly.

“You wish.” He flicked her hat down over her eyes. “Groom your own critter, lady.”

Lizzie’s giggle was music to her ears.

Shelby moved down the aisle and laughed to discover that Loco was already brushed smooth, his tack neatly organized by his stall door. “I was kidding.”

Foster shrugged good-naturedly. “It’s my day off.”

She looked in on Princess and her filly, a petite redhead who was utterly gorgeous and knew it. “How’s our little girl doing?”

“A-plus. As for the gremlin . . .” He rolled his eyes in the direction of Sassy’s paddock, where Lucky was snoozing in a patch of sunlight, looking deceivingly angelic. “He figured out how to dump out his mama’s water buckets last night. Oh, joy.”

They traded quips and comments as they finished getting the three horses—or, rather, two horses and one small gray pony with a Napoleon complex—ready for the ride. Foster ran a last check of all the tack, just in case, and nodded his approval. “Let’s mount up and move on. Last one out is a rotten egg.”

As Lizzie hustled Peppermint out, Foster used Brutus’s body as a blockade so he’d be second in line. Shelby groaned in mock protest and called, “You two seem to be forgetting which one of us has lunch in her saddlebags!”

They mounted up and set off, and she filled her lungs as they broke free of the buildings and started up the gentle incline leading to the main trail. The rain had quit, leaving the ground wet but the air crystal clear. The horse’s hooves made sucking noises in the soft soil, counterpointed by the creak of leather and the jingle of their bits. In the distance, a rainbow arched from one mountain to the next, its colors deep and vivid against the whitening clouds.

Shelby stood in her stirrups, wanting to get that much closer to the spectacle. “Lizzie, look! A rainbow!”

Her daughter’s face split in a wide smile, and she held up two fingers of her free hand.

Sure enough a second rainbow echoed the first, fainter, but uninterrupted.

Foster rode close so his knee bumped against Shelby’s. “I’d say that’s a sign of good things to come.”

“I like your thinking.” Gesturing to Peppermint, who was striding out in a nearly running walk that had him well in front of the horses, she said, “Are they okay?”

“He won’t get much farther ahead than that. If she’s not worried, then I’m not. And honestly, she’s probably safer in front of Brutus than behind him.”

And Lizzie didn’t seem worried at all. She sat straight and tall in the saddle, craning from side to side as if afraid she was going to miss something. The oversize straw hat made her look a bit like a satellite dish, but Shelby kept that one to herself. She was getting to know her daughter all over again, and had learned to watch the teasing.

Switching her attention to her mount, she said, “What do you think, Loco? You happy to be out of the arena?” She patted his neck and got a soft snort in return.

Brutus, on the other hand, was tossing his head and jigging in quick, mincing steps that were designed to jar his rider as much as possible. Foster just rolled his eyes. “And here I thought he could use a light day after working hard all week to keep the dysfunctional drug execs in line. Clearly, I should’ve run some of the oats out of him before doing the family trail ride thing.”

Shelby grinned. “Watch out or you’ll lose your bachelor cred. Family trail ride, indeed.”

“Okay, how about ‘trail ride with my two favorite ladies’?”

“That’ll work.” She liked that they could joke about it, liked that it hadn’t stayed a sore spot, liked . . . Okay, fine. She liked just about everything about him, which added a sparkling magic to being at Mustang Ridge with Lizzie.

In so many ways, she had made the right choice, coming here.

Peppermint reached the flat section at the top of the ridge, stopped, and turned back to wait for them without any obvious input from Lizzie, who was still in radar mode. Brutus gave a little crow hop and shook his head, annoyed at being beaten by the little squirt, but he settled when Foster reined him in beside the pony. Shelby pulled up on the other side of Lizzie, far enough away so Peppermint wouldn’t feel hemmed in, and they stood for a moment, looking out across the wide bowls that fell away on either side of the ridge.

The rainbows were gone and the clouds overhead were breaking up and letting dusty rays of sun shine through, turning the fields into patchworks of dark and light.

Shelby let out a happy sigh. “It’s gorgeous.”

Foster met her eyes, and his voice dropped a notch when he said, “It sure is.”

Brutus laid back his ears and faked a nip in Peppermint’s direction, and the pony made a face and squealed without moving his feet an inch.

Shelby laughed. “I think that’s our cue to stop gawking and get moving.”

“That, or run Brutus here up and down the hill a dozen times and get out some of the ya-yas,” Foster said drily.

“I vote we all take a run down the hill—or at least a decent jog. So . . . where to, trail boss?”

“That’s up to Lizzie. What do you say, kid? You want to ride into the backcountry and have lunch at this really cool lake where you can sometimes see wild mustangs, or do you want to head to the next ranch over and check out their buffalo and ostriches? Which, by the way, are also really cool.”

The big straw hat ducked a little, but then she looked up at him and said, “The l-lake, please. I’d l-like to see the mustangs.”

Shelby had more or less stopped tearing up at the sound of her daughter’s voice, but she didn’t try to stop the grin, or the warmth that ran through her when Foster met her eyes over Lizzie’s head. He’d been the one to point out that it was time to stop with the yes-no copouts and start asking questions that required actual answers.

Progress
.

“Then the lake it is. I can’t promise you mustangs, but thanks to Gran and your mom, we’ll get a rocking picnic either way.” He reined Brutus around and pointed to a narrow trail that snaked down the ridge. “That’s the one. You and Peppermint can lead on.”

With the sun beaming down on Shelby, her cowboy at her side and her kid leading the way astride a fat gray pony, she could only let her head fall back and laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Foster asked.

“I’m happy, that’s all. Really, really happy.”

He nudged Brutus over, leaned in, and kissed her, quickly but thoroughly. “Me, too.” Then he straightened up in his saddle and gave Loco a playful slap on his rump. “Okay, you two, stop dawdling. Let’s ride!”

They rode for most of the day, going slowly to account for Lizzie’s inexperience and Peppermint’s height challenge, but still covering a good amount of ground out to the lake. There weren’t any mustangs at the watering hole, but they saw a pair of eagles and a rangy coyote while they ate thick turkey, bacon, and sourdough sandwiches with homemade half-sour pickles. On the way back, they saw the dust trail of a distant band of mustangs, rounding out Lizzie’s day. It was a long one, though, and by the time the three-boulder landmark came into sight, her straw radar dish was bobbing tiredly in time with Peppermint’s steps.

The horses had all been lagging for a bit—even Brutus had gone flat-footed—but they picked it up as they started down the hill for home. As the ranch came into view, though, Shelby frowned at an unusual commotion in the parking area. “What’s going on down there?”

Foster tipped back his hat and frowned. “Please tell me we don’t have a bachelor party booked for this week.”

“No, it’s the NeverEver package, all newbies, four big families, and some couples. Why a bachelor party?”

“Because it looks like somebody brought a party bus.”

“Is that what that is?”

“Or maybe an RV. Something . . . Uh-oh.” Brutus’s head came up, as if his rider had just clamped on, and Foster’s voice dropped an octave. “Dang it, I think that’s the
Rambling Rose
.”

•   •   •

When they reached the barn, Foster waved Shelby off toward the main house. “Lizzie and I can see to the horses if you want to go make sure Gran is okay and Krista isn’t homicidal yet.”

Gratitude washed through her. “I owe you one.”

“Just doing what I can to help out without getting in the line of fire.”

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

“Sorry. Rose is a bit on the scary side.”

This coming from a guy who called an eight-inch scar a love tap. “Oh, great.”

“You can take her. And Gran could probably use the backup. Krista does her best, but . . .”

“Rose is her mom.”

“Bingo.” He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Go get ’em, Mama Bear.”

Out in the parking area, the huge RV dwarfed Krista’s big dually truck. The size of school bus plus a little, it was a deep, sparkling bronze color with white and purple waves streaking the sides. And, sure enough, R
AMBLING
R
OSE
was painted above the waves. The open cargo hold was half-full of big pink plastic bins and several more were stacked outside, along with a few pieces of matched luggage, suggesting that Krista’s parents had started unpacking, but then stalled.

Shelby wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Telling herself to give Rose the benefit of the doubt despite the stories she’d heard, she headed up the stairs and through the front door. She hadn’t gotten more than two steps down the hallway leading to the kitchen when she heard raised voices.

“Well, for goodness’ sake, Barbara,” said a woman in an “I’m trying to be reasonable” tone. “This is how they do it in Paris.”

“Oh, poosh. You’ve never been outside North America.” That was Gran’s voice, clipped. “And my way is fine.”

“Is that what you’re going for here? Just ‘fine’? No, of course not. Let me show you again. You just—”

“Mom, you must be exhausted.” That was Krista, sounding harried. “How about we—”

“Oh, no,” Rose trilled. “Eddie drove the last leg so I’d be all rested and ready to hit the ground running!”

Shelby hesitated and gave serious thought to hiding out in the barn, instead, but then took a big breath and stepped into the kitchen doorway. Her stomach dropped at the sight of two plastic bins in the far corner, one of them open to reveal expensive copper pans. Gran and Krista stood on one side of the butcher-block counter, facing off against a formidable, steel-haired woman who looked like the Nurse Ratched version of Krista, with a little Julia Child thrown in around the edges. A couple of inches taller and wider than her daughter, Rose was wearing a red-edged white apron and a matching toque that made her tower over the other two. And it didn’t take a body-language expert to see that if there wasn’t already a problem, there would be soon.

Here goes nothing.
Stepping through the door, Shelby said brightly, “Hey, guys, I’m back. Want me to get started on the cookies for tonight?”

Rose looked over, then blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

“The sous chef.”

She took an obvious glance down. “I thought you were due any day.”

Moving to stand right next to Gran, Shelby said, “That’s Bertie. I’m her fill-in, Shelby.”

“You can’t be.”

“Excuse me?”

Rose turned on Krista. “You didn’t tell me you’d hired another cook.”

“Um. Yeah, I did.”

“Don’t be silly. Well, anyway. I’m sure it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sherry.”