Winter at Mustang Ridge (7 page)

She glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. “Impressive.”

“It will be. They’re in the middle of a massive survey right now, analyzing which interventions have had the biggest positive impacts. Based on those results, they’ll tweak the next set of projects for maximum effect. Even if they don’t hit all the big goals, they’re changing lives.”

“I can’t believe you gave up Africa for Three Ridges.”

“Life happens. Things change. Speaking of which . . .” He backed off and ruffled the fur on the dog’s upturned head. “You should probably get this guy home, so he can start getting used to his new life. I snagged a collar for him out of our Lost and Found.” He turned away to buckle the blue nylon strap in place.

In other words, end of discussion. Jenny stuck her hands in her pockets and rocked on her heels. “Sorry for being nosy. Like I said, occupational hazard. You can quiz me back if you want.”

The lines around his mouth eased up, like he’d been expecting an interrogation. “That sounds fair . . . But how about over dinner? Friday night? Pick you up at eight?”

A sizzle of surprised pleasure was followed by an inner happy dance. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He moved closer, turning the happy-happy into a serious case of butterflies at the thought that he was going to kiss her. He lifted a hand, touched her cheek, lingered there . . . and then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Guess I should walk you out.”

Torn between frustration at the
kissus interruptus
and amusement at his unexpected flair, she clipped her lead on to the dog’s collar. “Guess you should. This guy has a family to meet.” And, come Friday, she had a date.

W
hen Jenny got home, she found her parents and grandparents gathered in the front room, lined up behind the couch like they were just waiting to throw confetti and yell “Surprise!”

Given the way the dog was pressed up against her leg, suddenly tense and worried, she really hoped that wasn’t the plan. He had handled the car ride just fine, but when they hit the parking lot and she opened the door, he had flattened out on the backseat and started shaking. She had coaxed him up the stairs and through the door, but had a feeling she was pushing it.

She had him on a short leash, so she wasn’t afraid of him bolting and hurting himself. But she really wanted this to go well.

“Easy, guys,” she warned. “He’s a little wigged out.”

Gran, bless her, stepped forward and crouched down, becoming very small and nonthreatening. “Who could blame him after what he’s been through? Poor boy. But, oh, aren’t you a handsome fellow?”

The goldie gave a low whine, but stayed put, leaning against Jenny. The pressure was kind of nice, making her feel like she was his protector, his safe place. Granted, she was the only thing around that was even slightly familiar, but still.

Going down beside the dog, she edged around so the others could see him, saying softly, “Nothing to worry about here, buddy. They just want to get to know you.” Even her mom was smiling, standing there next to her dad, and Big Skye might’ve been giving one of his
goldens aren’t ranch dogs
scowls, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.

“Turn me around,” an unexpected voice said suddenly. “I can’t see him!”

Jenny’s jaw dropped. “Krista? What are you doing back— Oh!” She grinned when her dad reached over to an end table and reversed an open laptop, and she saw her sister on the screen. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself. Who have you got there?”

“Don’t you recognize him? Imagine him wearing five pounds of matted fur and wishing he could jump in the truck with you and Junior.”

“Wow, he looks great! What did Nick say about his ribs?”

Hoping the sudden heat in her face was of the invisible variety, Jenny played it cool. “We’re supposed to keep him leashed or confined for the next week or so, then gradually increase his exercise, etcetera. Otherwise he looks good. His blood work is fine and he’s heartworm negative.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I’d say he dodged a few bullets. You here to chime in on names?”

“You betcha!”

All eyes went to the dog, who had come out to stand in front of Jenny with the leash slack and his tail doing a hesitant back-and-forth as the sisters chatted. Now, he cocked his head, eyes a little worried, as if to say
Do you like me? Am I being a good boy?

Jenny heard the words in a goofy, hopeful voice. “I was thinking maybe we could call him Rusty Too,” she said. “R2 for short.”

Krista gave a
meh
shrug. “I think he deserves his very own name. Weasley?”

“Because a
Harry Potter
reference is more original than naming him after Rusty?”

“Hello, R2-D2?”

Their dad put in, “If we’re going for
Star Wars
references, how about Chewie?”

“Gimpy?” Big Skye suggested. “Stumpy?”

“If he was a she, we could’ve called her Biscuit,” Gran said wistfully. “Or Cinnamon.”

“What about Emeril?” said their mom.

“Or Drop-off?” Big Skye added unhelpfully.

“Mack, for the truck that almost got him?” Krista offered with a grin.

“No, and not ‘Roadkill,’ either, thankyouverymuch.” Jenny ruffled his fur. “Come on, people, let’s help the poor guy out! No clichés, either. Not Fido, Yeller, Lassie, Rex—”

The dog’s head whipped up and he gave a low “whuff.” It was the first noise he’d made since coming into the house.

Jenny looked down at him. “You’re kidding. Your name is Rex?”

His eyes were bright, his body quivering. “Whuff!”
Yes, yes, that’s me!

“Seriously?”

Their dad chuckled. “If that wasn’t his name before, I’d say it is now. What do you say, Rex?”

When that got another indoor-voice bark, Jenny threw up her hands. “Okay, cliché it is. Welcome to the family, Rex m’boy.” She patted the dog bed by the fireplace, with its laundry-smelling cover and newly donated fleece blanket. “I think you should park it here. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

The dog obediently curled on the bed, forming a loose ball of reddish guard fur and rabbit-soft undercoat, and looked up at her as if to say
Now what?

And suddenly Jenny knew exactly what came next.

“Come on, everyone.” She waved toward the hearth. “Get yourselves organized. It’s family photo time.”

As she headed up the stairs for a camera, she heard her mother say, “I should go change. And my hair—”

“Looks great,” her father interrupted firmly, wrapping an arm around her waist.

From her bedroom, Jenny snagged the big padded bag that contained her second-best yet absolute favorite camera, a Nikon she called Old Faithful. Back downstairs, she found her whole family—including Skype Krista—gathered around the dog bed. Her gramps stood in the back wearing his
this is ridiculous
face, but the others were bumping shoulders to sneak a pat of the golden fur.

And the dog, thank goodness, was soaking it up.
Smart guy
.

“Everybody ready?” Jenny asked, lifting Old Faithful and tweaking things for an inside shot.

Gran beckoned. “You should be in here, too.”

“My tripod is packed and the timer died on Machu Picchu.” She lifted the camera and framed her family. “Squish in closer around the dog.”

“His name is Rex,” Krista reminded her

“Right. Cuddle up, everyone, and say ‘Sexy Rexy’!”

•   •   •

By quitting time on Friday, Jenny felt like she was starting to get the hang of the make-nice-to-the-guests thing. She had turned Missy around by hitting the “he’ll love the surprise and you can throw a party to announce the trip” angle exactly right, and had dealt with a minicrisis with one of the suppliers. She had even upsold a few cabins and two more of Gran’s special-occasion packages to new guests, and was surprised by the sense of accomplishment.

Then again, it had helped to have the advertising project to fall back on when the ranch stuff made her want to poke her eyes out with a Bic.

She had gone through the photos she’d taken around Mustang Ridge over the past few years and pulled together some possibilities, and sketched out ideas for the short interview clips. She was meeting with Shelby next Thursday, and wanted to have at least two videos to show her. Which meant it was time to get down and dirty with Old Faithful and Doris, her trusty digital vidcam.

But not tonight. Tonight, she had plans.

“Happy date night to me,” she said, pushing away from the desk and opening her arms wide in a back-cracking stretch.

Rex gave a hopeful chuff from the corner, where he was sacked out in a nest of old blankets. The dog had settled into the family like he’d been raised beside the woodstove, even staying off the doily-studded frou-frou pillows that Jenny’s mom insisted looked just darling in the rustic living area. The dog had proven to be a cheerful, easily distracted fellow with good manners, at least so far. He was still moving slow, favoring his injured ribs and gimping on his infected paw, so Jenny had been keeping him close by her side most of the time, either in the office or her bedroom.

She gave him a sympathetic ear rub. “Sorry, buddy. You’re not invited. Come on, let’s see if you can hang with Gran in the kitchen.”

That got her an enthusiastic tail wag.
Cookies?

But the kitchen was deserted, with even the ovens powered down, suggesting she wasn’t the only one with Friday night plans.

“Gran?” Jenny called, walking back into the main room with Rex padding unevenly behind her. “Dad?” When there was no answer, she tagged on, “Mom?”

There was no answer from that quadrant, either, and guilt stung a little that she didn’t have a clue what her mother was up to, or if she was even around. Jenny hadn’t been avoiding her, exactly, but they had both been busy with their own stuff.

“Well, then, I guess we’ll have to put you in my room. I’ll leave the TV on for you, okay? What do you say,
Animal Planet
or
Jerry Springer
reruns?”

She went for
Animal Planet
, and patted the yellow patchwork bedspread she had picked out of a catalog for her sixteenth birthday. “Here. You can have the bed.”

After a brief hesitation, he hopped up, did his customary two and a half circles, and lay down with a sigh that was clearly designed to make her feel guilty for leaving him behind.

“Suck it up,” she advised, but gave his ruff a scratch and added, “I won’t be too late.”

At least she didn’t think she would be. Nick had called earlier to confirm and suggest dinner at the Steak Lodge, earning points for avoiding Three Ridge’s more traditional first-date, linen-tablecloth restaurant in favor of talking animatronic taxidermy and killer onion rings. And after that . . . well, they would see how it went.

She didn’t intend to rush into anything—if nothing else, Krista would kill her if she made things awkward with Mustang Ridge’s main vet. But she and Nick were both grownups, and it wasn’t like he was a born-and-bred local. Besides, if the Twenty-Thirty Project was anything like the relief group she had embedded with for a three-month stint before joining
Jungle Love
, he wouldn’t be any stranger to people coming and going, and the potential for a no-strings fling as a stress reliever.

Maybe. Possibly. But first they would start with dinner.

She hopped in the shower, then gave her hair a quick blow-dry and fluff—
thank you, short haircut
. Coming back into her bedroom, she gave a silly twirl. “What do you think, Rex? Jeans and the dark purple sweater that shows off the goods, or black pants I practically have to paint on plus something loose up top?”

That got her a “whuff,” but no clear vote either way.

“Black it is,” she said, deciding to take it up a notch. There was that zing to think about, and the way her stomach had fluttered at odd moments through the week, in anticipation of tonight.

She paired the pants with a tight black shirt and a soft sea foam sweater with a dramatic cowl neck, tapped her feet into silver-toed black boots, added an extra two minutes to her five-minute makeup routine, and was ready to roll.

Doing her best not to collect too many dog hairs, she gave Rex a good rub that set his tail thumping on the mattress. “See you later, buddy. Be a good boy.”

He wiggled and slurped her hand.

Out in the hallway, the floorboards did their
creak-creak-creak
, but she did a little dance with her boots, drowning them out.

The doorway at the far end of the hall swung partway open and her mother popped her head through. “Jenny! Sweetie, I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“I’m on my way out. Nick is picking me up in a few minutes.” More like fifteen, but the last thing she wanted to do right now was unload dusty old stuff from the van and schlep it upstairs.

“This won’t take long. I need your opinion.” Rose beckoned. “Come on.”

Admittedly curious about all the noises that had been coming from her parents’ suite over the past few days, Jenny headed up the hallway. “You promise no heavy lifting?”

“Oh, you.” Rose looked both ways, as if making sure nobody was hiding in the bathroom or linen closet, just waiting for an opportunity to rush the master bedroom, and then stepped back and cracked the door a few inches wider.

Stifling the urge to hum the theme from
Mission: Impossible
, Jenny slipped through. Then, as her mother closed and locked the door behind her, she blinked around.

Wow. Things had really changed in the four days since she’d last been in here.

The main room had been cleared of furniture, the carpet tarped over, and the windows taped. In the dressing area beside the bathroom, the spindle-legged dressing table and boxes of art glass sat under clear plastic, nestled up against the dispossessed bedroom furniture. Next to that, incongruously, sat a huge red-and-white structure that looked like a one-tenth scale model of a New England barn, but might’ve been a cabinet. Or a chicken coop. Maybe both.

What the heck?

Rose bounced a little on her paint-speckled sneakers. “What do you think?”

Um . . .
“I thought you were doing Depression era?”

“Not for the whole thing, silly. That would be like reproducing your Nonnie’s house on purpose.”

“What’s that?” She pointed to the coop.

“It’s an armoire for all your father’s things! Isn’t it darling?”

“Has Dad seen it yet?”

“Of course, silly. He loves it.” She beamed at the monstrosity. “I’d show you the inside, but I’m waiting on the hardware. Besides, I know you’re in a hurry. We wouldn’t want to keep Dick waiting, would we?”

“It’s Nick.”