Winter at Mustang Ridge Read online

  • • •

  It was ridiculous to feel like she had missed curfew, Jenny decided as she sat in the Jeep, staring at the main house. Not to mention, it was ridiculous for her to sit there replaying the past forty-eight hours in her mind, feeling like some of it was going to disappear the moment she walked through the front door.

  Those were her snow days, her memories, and she wasn’t going to let anyone mess with them.

  “Whuff?” Rex pressed his head against her arm and looked up at her with a charming mix of Are you okay? and Are we going to sit here all day? I bet there are cookies in the kitchen.

  It was the thought of cookies that got her moving. Not because she was hungry, but because the kitchen meant Gran, and she could use a dose of Gran right now. “Okay, we’re going,” Jenny said. “You ready to brave the cold?”

  “Rworf!” Oh, boy, oh, boy, we’re going inside!

  With Rex bounding ahead of her, barking and wriggling with a pointless enthusiasm that would no doubt make Big Skye roll his eyes, she pushed through the main door, knocking snow off her boots as she called, “Hey, gang. I’m home!”

  “In the kitchen!” Gran called, and Rex charged down the hallway. But as Jenny turned to follow, a head popped through the office door.

  “Hello, sweetie.” Her mom beckoned. “Come here. See what I’ve done!”

  Oh, heck. Whatever had happened to the office, it would be Jenny’s fault, because she was the one who had invited Hurricane Rose over the threshold. Like a decorative vampire or something.

  Braced for raspberry with flamingo accents—or vice versa—Jenny took a deep breath, held it, stepped into the office . . . and let it out again, because everything looked the same. White walls, wooden shelves stuffed with books and folders that Krista had claimed were organized by subject and date, big desk dominated by the computer, phone, printer, and an in-box that wasn’t as overflowing as it had been when Jenny arrived—it was all there, exactly the way she had left it.

  Thank heaven.

  Relief brightened her smile. “Hey, there. What did you want me to see?”

  “This!” Rose lifted a three-ring binder, then sank into Krista’s chair and motioned for Jenny to take the guest chair. Again. “Sit. Have a look!”

  Figuring that whatever it was, it had to be easier to explain to Krista than an unwanted office redo, Jenny sat, took the binder, and flipped it open.

  “What— Oh! You organized all the guest add-ons.” They were all there in the table of contents, with chapters alphabetically ordered from Anniversary to Wedding, with subheadings for gift baskets, special meals, services, and many more, some that Jenny hadn’t ever heard of before.

  Her mother leaned across and touched the page with her fingertips. “I talked to your grandmother about what’s been offered in the past and roughly what’s been charged, and picked her brain about some of the new directions Krista has been talking about. Obviously it’s just a rough outline, and there are a ton of details that we’ll need to fill in, but I thought . . .” She clasped her hands together. “I answered a couple of calls, looked for this information, and realized it was scattered all over the place. So I thought I could help.”

  Jenny paged through, seeing blank spots. “You left room for graphics.”

  “Not my forte.”

  Maybe not, but the rest of it was pretty perfect. “You could’ve showed this to me on the computer.”

  “It felt more tangible this way.”

  Indeed it did, and as Jenny flipped through, she got that little excited shimmy in her stomach. “This is really good.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised. This used to be my office, after all.” Before Jenny could react to that, her mother barreled on. “So, do you think Krista will like it?”

  “I think she’ll love it. Better watch it, though, or she’ll give you a to-do list.”

  “I wouldn’t mind.” It was said with more peace than Jenny had seen from her mother in . . . well, since she could remember. But then her expression shifted and she popped out of the chair, lit with sudden excitement. “I painted your room, too. Come and see!” She practically danced out of the office, leaving the folder behind.

  Jenny sat there for a beat, staring at the chair on the other side of the desk as it swung in a pivot, then slowed and stopped. Then, wishing she knew what to say to her mom, how to get through to something deeper than this bright, brittle cheer, she followed her silently out the door.

  • • •

  Later that afternoon—after Jenny had oohed and aahed at the cream-colored paint on her bedroom walls and put in a few hours touching up the white on the trim and clearing the decks in the office—she whistled to Rex, bundled up, and headed for the barn.

  It was time to call in the big gun. Or at least ask him for a ruling.

  Rolling one of the big double doors open just wide enough, she slipped through into the barn, where the warm, humid air was redolent with the scents of hay, wood shavings, and horses. As she muscled the door shut, a grizzled head popped out of an open stall about halfway down, near where a toolbox sat open next to several pieces of wood. Looking surprised, her father said, “Hiya, pumpkin.”

  Starting down the aisle toward him, past empty stalls that would be filled come summer, she said, “Hey, Pops. How’s it going?”

  “Well enough,” he said, returning his attention to the stall door he was working on. “You going for a ride?”

  “Not today.” She leaned against the wall nearby. “Aren’t you going to ask me how it went, being stranded in a snowstorm with Nick?” Gran had grilled her like a cheese sandwich.

  He didn’t quite wince. “That depends. Is there anything I really need to know? Anything you need to talk about?”

  Charmed by the image of her dad toting a shotgun up to the vet clinic, she chuckled. “He’s a good man, Pops, and I’m a big girl.”

  “Then I don’t need to know anything else about it.” He didn’t put his hands over his ears and do a “la-la-la, I can’t heeearrr you,” but that was the impression she got.

  But that was his way. He wasn’t just the Switzerland of neutrality; he was almost completely hands-off until one of them got in trouble, and then watch out. He was as fierce a disciplinarian as he was a protective father, and when it came to the big stuff, he was her go-to guy.

  Going on impulse, she crossed to him, went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Love you, Dad.”

  He set his tools aside and caught her in a one-armed hug. “Back atcha, kiddo, times ten.”

  “Why not a hundred?”

  “Because you haven’t asked me to be in your movie yet.”

  “Really? I didn’t think you’d want to be on camera.”

  “I’ve still got a few moves.”

  “How about some stories? I could use more on the historical stuff, like cattle rustling and the Keyhole Canyon gang.”

  “I’m your man.”

  She kissed his cheek again. “You’re hired.”

  He moved away and turned back to the stall door, where two old, chewed-down boards had been replaced with new ones. He swung it back and forth a little, cocking his head to judge the rasp of wood-on-wood where the replacements didn’t line up quite right. After a minute or so of silence broken only by the soft noises the horses made in their deeply bedded stalls, he said, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “It’s not a what, it’s a who.”

  “Your mother.” It wasn’t a question. “Take it from me, it’s best to pick your battles.” He shot her a wink. “I decided I could live with fabric on the walls and fake fur pillows that look like a sabertooth horked up some giant hairballs, but I drew the line at the water feature, because I knew I’d be the one in charge of maintaining the darn thing.”

  “Color me not reassured. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Oh?”

  “Not exactly. What I really wanted to ask . . . is she okay? The obsessive thing se
ems to be getting worse, not better. And please don’t brush it off again, or tell me that she’s got the right to try on a few hobbies, now that the two of you are retired.”

  He opened the door all the way, eyeballed the offending edge, and reached for a handheld planer. As he ran it along the door in smooth strokes, producing springy curls of wood, he said, “Well she does.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” How to put it that wouldn’t sound like she was judging? Part of Krista’s whole plan had been to give their parents and grandparents a chance to enjoy retirement. It had been Gran’s choice to stay on in the kitchen, their parents’ choice to hit the road. Who was Jenny to say that her mother wasn’t handling it the way she should? Staring down at her gloves, where a thread had worked itself loose from the Velcro closure, she said, “Do you think she’s happy?”

  “I honestly do.” He paused. “Are you?”

  “Of course. Why? Are you telling me to mind my own business?”

  The planer paused, then continued. “No, I’m saying to give her room, that’s all. If I had to pick one thing I learned on the road, it’s that no matter whether we’re ten years old, fifty, or a hundred, we’re still learning how to live inside our own skins.”

  “So I need to work on myself and leave Mom to her own devices?”

  “Or at least let her figure out who she wants to be for the next twenty years or so. Not everybody’s retirement has to look the same. I was the one who wanted to leave, so we left, and we wandered, and I got a chance to be someone new. After a while, though, your mother got tired of living in a little box. She wanted to come back, spread out a little and try her hand at some of the things she had studied on the road. So we winterized the Rambling Rose and hunkered down here so she could do what she needs to do.”

  “You’re saying she’s a work in progress.” It was weird, thinking of her mom that way.

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “I guess.”

  He chuckled. “What, you thought it was all over once you hit twenty-five?”

  “Maybe thirty.”

  “Funny kid.” He turned his back on her and went to work with the planer. “You want to help her, then do exactly what you’re doing. Spend some time with her, and tell her you love her just the way she is.”

  “I . . .” Wow, that one hit her in the gut, not because it was a low blow, but because her first instinctive response wasn’t “Of course I love her.” It was far more complicated than that. “Okay, I’ll do that. And thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And, sweetie?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Give yourself some time, too, okay? You don’t have to figure it all out in the next few weeks.”

  That wasn’t what she expected to hear, but it resonated. “Good talk, big guy.” She kissed his cheek. “Have fun with your doors. Come on, Rex.”

  He bounded out of an empty stall, scattering shavings with infectious enthusiasm. Oh, boy, we’re going inside!

  “I envy you,” she told the dog as they made the short, chilly trek along the plowed and shoveled pathways. “You always have so much fun.”

  Not that she wasn’t having fun. It was just . . .

  Sigh. Complicated.

  Back in the office, she thumbed through her mom’s binder once more, then plonked in the chair and went for the voicemail, where there were three new messages and two archived requests she was letting sit until she got a ruling from Krista. As she keyed in the password, though, the main line rang.

  She connected. “Mustang Ridge Ranch, main office. This is Jenny speaking. How can I help you?”

  “So official,” Nick teased.

  Sparklers lit in her stomach. “Hey, there. Done for the day already?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “I can be. Did you have something in mind?”

  “You up for bowling?”

  “Always.” It was a Three Ridges winter staple, with all the nostalgia that went with it. “No leagues tonight?”

  “They don’t start until nine. I figured we could work around that, maybe grab a bite to eat after. Or, you know, some groceries.”

  “Count me in.” And count her excited, far more so than a bowling date probably warranted. But that was one of the very nice things about having been away from Three Ridges for so long—all the stuff that had gotten old and tired by the time she escaped felt new again.

  “Great. Pick you up in an hour?”

  “Perfect.”

  There was a pause before he said, “There’s one more thing. My dad wants us to come out to the cabin for dinner one of these days.”

  “Us?” She wasn’t surprised that the word brought a quiver. Except it didn’t exactly feel like dread.

  “You and me. Well, I suspect it’s more that he wants to meet you, and figures I’m part of a package deal.” He cleared his throat. “In this context, I mean. And for the record, this isn’t a meet-the-parents thing.”

  “Except that he’s your parent, and I’m meeting him.”

  “Okay, granted. But it’s a no pressure, no expectations sort of deal.” He paused. “I think he misses seeing new people, living up there.”

  Her heart tugged. “Oh, that’s a low blow.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  Had there ever been any doubt? “Count me in. When?”

  “This Sunday. We’ll leave around lunchtime.”

  22

  Due to a rash of emergency calls and mechanical trouble with the Vetmobile, it was actually two Sundays later before they set out for the foothills. Which was good news and bad news, as far as Jenny was concerned.

  It was good because she and Nick had been together pretty much every night over the past two weeks, enjoying each other. It didn’t seem to matter what they did, they had fun. It was bad, though, because for all the fun they were having, now there was a countdown in the back of her mind. She was there for fifteen more days. Fourteen. Thirteen. Where before the days had loomed long, now they flew. And the last thing she ever expected was for part of her to wish she could have more time in Mustang Ridge.

  She and Nick hadn’t talked about it, though. The easy good-bye was part of their unspoken agreement.

  They debated bad sci-fi movies as they drove to the foothills, and the two-hour trip passed in a flash. Before she knew it, he was turning off the mountain road onto the long, plowed path leading to his father’s cabin. The dark green pine trees were heavy with snow, and dragged along the top of the truck in places, but then the forest opened up and they emerged back into the thin winter sunlight, into full view of the cabin—a small, snug log structure with fresh chinking, solar panels, and a curl of smoke coming from the stone chimney.

  “How cute.” Jenny pressed her nose to the passenger window. “It looks just like a gingerbread house!”

  He grinned. “Don’t tell my dad that. He thinks it’s rough-and-tumble, and extra manly to live in a hunting cabin full-time.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  As they tromped up the porch steps, knocking snow off their boots, the green-painted door swung open and out stepped an older, leaner version of Nick leading a big gray dog on a short leash. Age-stooped and grizzled, Bill Masterson had his son’s piercing hazel eyes and long lashes. Or maybe that was vice versa.

  Nick slung an arm around her shoulders, hugging her tight. “Dad, this is Jenny. Don’t scare her off, okay?”

  A funny sort of flutter worked through Jenny at seeing what her lover would look like in twenty-five years, followed by a queer twist at the knowledge that she wouldn’t be around to see it. Telling herself to get over it—hello, hormones—she stepped forward and held out a hand. “Mr. Masterson. It’s a pleasure.”

  He took her hand, but only to pull her into a hug. “It’s Bill, young lady, and the pleasure is mine.”

  A whine-growl had her drawing back, but he gave the big dog a reproving “Shush.” Then, to Jenny, he said, “Let Molly sniff your hand.”

  Jenny eyed the creature, seei
ng the wolf in the shape of Molly’s face and body. “I need both hands to work.”

  His eyes glinted. “Chicken?”

  “Why, is that her favorite?” But at Nick’s go-ahead nod, she obliged, holding out her hand for Molly to get her scent.

  “Friend,” Bill said to the dog. “She’s a friend, got it?” When the long, thick tail gave a slow sweep, he nodded and unclipped the leash. “Okay, go on.”

  Molly barked and bounded away into the snow, making a fast circuit of the cabin with flowing strides that showed her feral heritage. It was like watching wild mustangs streaming across a grassy field, perfectly in their element. The snow sprayed with each powerful lunge, haloing the wolf-dog against the dark pine background and making Jenny yearn.

  “Want your camera?” Nick asked with a chuckle in his voice.

  “Later,” she said, determined to be a good guest. “But, yeah. I’d love to film her.” To Nick’s father, she said, “Molly is absolutely gorgeous, Bill, as is your cabin. You’ve got a piece of heaven out here—that’s for sure.”

  The dimples, it turned out, were hereditary. They came into view as Nick’s father grinned and gestured them toward the cabin. “Come in, come in. Let me show you around!”

  Over the next couple of hours, she learned very quickly that the father had as much indefatigable energy as his son. He showed them around the surprisingly spacious three-room cabin, explaining the renovations he’d made to winterize the structure while minimizing his carbon footprint as much as possible. There were solar panels on the roof and another array higher up, as well as composting systems, water purification, and two wind turbines.

  Jenny barely had time to marvel at each of the systems before they were off to the next, until they circled back around to the driveway so she could retrieve Old Faithful from the truck and snap away, delighted, as the men played with Molly in the snow. Later, after the quick night had descended and they had holed up in the snug cabin, they dined on fish Bill had caught just that morning from the fishing shack he had built at a nearby lake.