Winter at Mustang Ridge Read online

  “I’ll see you at six.”

  Fortunately, there was nobody there to see her goofy grin as she disconnected.

  • • •

  Nick was whistling as he came out of his office. “I’m off to play large-animal vet. Be back in a few hours.”

  Ruby raised her eyebrows. “Somebody took a happy pill. Do I want to know what you were doing in your office just now?”

  “Can’t a guy be in a good mood?”

  “Sure, but there are good moods and then there are good moods, if you know what I mean.”

  He was pretty sure he didn’t want her to explain the difference. And, besides, it had just been a quick conversation. Nothing earth-shattering. Just . . . fun. So he said, “Guess that second cup of coffee is catching up with me.”

  “Or maybe you got a sext you don’t want me to know about?”

  “A what?”

  “A sext. You know, a sexy text message.”

  He didn’t know which was worse—that she knew sext was a word, or that he didn’t. Clearly, he needed to watch more TV. Or hang out at Wednesday Bingo. “Nope, no, er, messages to speak of.”

  “If you say so.” Grinning, she waved him off. “Drive safe and watch the ice. Call me if you get lost.”

  “Count on it.” He pulled on his parka and gloves, and shot her a wink as he headed out the door, suddenly in a hurry to get through his day.

  • • •

  By midafternoon, Jenny had dealt with most of her to-do list and needed a break, so she bundled up and followed the path down to the neat little split-log cabin at the bottom of the valley. She let herself in through the kitchen door, calling, “Knock, knock.”

  A gruff voice called from the next room, “Who’s there?”

  “Bear,” she said as she crossed the kitchen and tiptoed into the living room, where Big Skye was kicked back in his recliner, facing the sliders that looked out on the snow-covered ridgeline and the mountains beyond.

  “Bear who?” he demanded.

  She put her hands over his eyes and leaned in to say, “Bear with me while I come up with a better punch line.” Then she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek before she let go and danced away.

  “Ah, go on with you.” He made a face and swiped at the spot she had kissed. “And if you catch this lung crud of mine, don’t say I didn’t warn you to keep your distance.” But his voice was stronger than it had been a few days earlier, suggesting that the antibiotics were doing their job against the sinus infection that had knocked him off his boots.

  Grinning at him, she tossed her coat, hat, and gloves onto the floral sofa, and perched on the arm closest to him. “Was that the official diagnosis? Lung crud?”

  “Close enough.” His eyes went to the window. “Nice day. Looks like it’ll stay that way for a bit.”

  With anyone else, that would’ve been small talk. With her gramps, it was sixty-some years of reading the sky and the way the sunlight fell on the mountains. “Think we’ll get a melt?” she asked.

  “In January?” He looked at her like she had just suggested he trade his rigging for a sissy English pancake saddle.

  “Right. What was I thinking?” Wishing, more like it. She had shivered awake that morning, despite a space heater and pile of blankets. Maybe Krista was right about her needing to get some Wyoming back in her blood. Temporarily, anyway.

  “Jenny?” Gran poked her head in from the back hallway. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you visiting, or did you need me?”

  “Both, actually. I’ve got a guest question for you.”

  Big Skye harrumphed. “Dang foolishness, all of it.”

  “Foolishness that’s keeping this family together,” Gran said with a definite edge to her voice, suggesting that he wasn’t the only one feeling cooped up with him riding a recliner rather than a fence line. To Jenny, she said, “Come into the kitchen, sweetie, and tell me all about it.”

  The invitation was as familiar as the spindle-leg piano beside the kitchen door and the decorative cast iron trivets that hung near the ceiling. The cabin was only five or six years old, built to give Gran and Big Skye a one-level refuge from the guests, but to Jenny it seemed that they had never lived anywhere else, like they had transplanted everything that mattered—and not just the furniture and stuff—from their former rooms in the main house.

  Jenny paused just inside the kitchen, where her grandmother already had the kettle on, the oven preheating, and her head in the fridge. “Can I help?”

  “Poosh, no. You just sit and relax a minute while I get these guys going.” Gran pulled out a mixing bowl and slicked off the wax-paper covering to reveal chilled cookie dough, golden brown and loaded with chocolate chips.

  “Mmm,” Jenny said, picturing them warm, right out of the oven. But then she cocked her head. “Don’t you get enough of cooking up at the main house?”

  “Not during the wintertime. Besides, where do you think I test my recipes before they go on the menu?” Blue eyes dancing, she tipped her head toward the living room. “Don’t tell him that, though.”

  Jenny grinned. “It’ll be our secret.”

  “Here.” Gran set a mug of tea in front of her, blue earthenware in a matching saucer. The tea ball was another old friend, as were the scents of the herbs she dried herself.

  “Chamomile and lemon,” Jenny said, inhaling the fragrant steam. “Guess I must look pretty stressed out.”

  “Maybe not on the surface, but it’s in there.” Gran retrieved two cookie sheets from the cabinet to the left of the stove, just where they had been in the old kitchen up the hill. She lined up the sheets on the counter and, using two spoons so gracefully they could’ve been extensions of her fingers, began dropping perfect teardrop-shaped clumps of dough in ruler-straight lines. “Tell me about this guest. What’s the issue?”

  “Her name is Missy Mackey, and she’s . . . Well, let’s just say that if we met at a party, we’d probably annoy each other. Anyway, she booked a romantic getaway for her and hubby’s third anniversary, and just realized she put in for the wrong week. Now she wants us to fix it. And by ‘wants’ I mean ‘will likely trash us on every review site known to mankind if she doesn’t get her way.’ Problem is, her anniversary falls on the one week next summer that Krista is already fully booked. First week in June.”

  Gran made an “ouch” face. “Ricci-Norris week. Doesn’t that just figure?”

  “What’s a Ricci-Norris?” Jenny had thought she knew all of the theme weeks Krista put on to help entice guests to the ranch, everything from Singles Week to Rodeo Week, but she’d never heard of that one.

  “Not what, who. Antonia Ricci and Dale Norris. It’s a wedding.”

  “A . . . oh.” She took a sip of tea, remembering her sister’s enthusiasm over the idea of adding wedding planning to the ranch’s repertoire last year. Shudder. “Good for Krista.”

  “But too bad for Missy.”

  “Who is not going to be happy about this. Ten bucks says she cancels, demands her nonrefundable deposit back, and then complains to anyone who’ll listen.” Which could mean a hit to the ranch’s rep, given that most people would rather read a scathing rant or watch idiots scheming against one another for a million-dollar prize than read a complimentary review or watch a solid documentary.

  “So give her a reason to stick with her original reservation and be happy about it.”

  That brought Jenny’s head up. “Like what? A discount?”

  “I was more thinking along the lines of up-charges.” Gran slid the cookie sheets into the oven and set the timer. Then, cupping her mug in both hands, she leaned back against the counter, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Is her current reservation a week early or a week late?”

  “Late.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Says who?”

  “Me.” Smiling now, Gran sipped her tea. “Tell her to make it a surprise for her husband. She’ll need to have him take that week off from work, but she can turn the rest of it into a big myste
ry. And then, for the day of their anniversary, we’ll ship a special picnic basket—cheese, cookies, champagne, that sort of thing—and she can make a big announcement about their upcoming Wild West adventure.”

  Jenny nodded, wheels starting to turn. “Good. That’s good. And exactly the sort of thing I think she would go for.” Over the top, with no extra effort on Missy’s part. “We can include information on the ranch and a big card inviting them for their special anniversary celebration the following week. So they’re actually celebrating twice, and Missy looks like a star for planning everything out. She can even have a party back home on the day of their actual anniversary, so there’s a public unveiling of her big gift, with lots of oohs and aahs.”

  “And some free advertising for us,” Gran put in, eyes twinkling. “We can also do a private catered dinner on the last night they’re here. Table for two under the gazebo, candles, even a fiddler or guitarist if they’d like.”

  “Let’s not go overboard.”

  “Poosh. It’s not the first or last time we’ll do a little extra for a guest. And charge them for it, of course. Just because the customer is always right, doesn’t mean they get it for free. Especially when they start off by giving us grief.”

  Jenny laughed. “Amen to that.” She lifted her mug and was surprised to find it empty. Setting it back in the saucer with a click, she stood, crossed to Gran, and kissed her cheek. “It’s perfect. You’re the best.” Enthused by the solution, she twirled away. “I’m going to deal with this right now.”

  “Do you want to wait and bring some cookies up with you?”

  “Tempting, but I need to call Missy while things are still fresh and I don’t feel like strangling her. Rain check?”

  “I’ll bring a few up when I start dinner.”

  “You’re the best. Seriously.” Riding high, Jenny blew her grandfather a kiss he pretended to ignore, snagged her layers, and dragged them on as she headed back through the kitchen with a “Love you, Gran. See you at dinner, and thanks again!”

  Not even the subzero temps outside flattened out the bounce in her step as she headed for the main house. See? She could totally handle this. She just had to ask the right people the right questions, and remember that no matter how cranky a guest she was dealing with, or how weird the request, it probably wasn’t a first at Mustang Ridge.

  Now she just had to make sure she didn’t blow it with Missy.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, trying out the tone as she boot-thumped her way up the porch steps and pushed through the door into the warm entryway. “We’re unable to move your reservation to the week you’ve requested. However, I think you’ll find that’s a good thing. Just listen to what we’ve cooked up especially for you and your husband—”

  “Jenny, darling!” The lilting call came from upstairs, in a familiar voice that stopped her dead in her tracks with her coat half off.

  Pivoting toward the staircase, she looked up. “Mom?”

  Rose Skye stood on the second step with her hand on the rubbed-smooth banister. Wearing tailored navy pants and a soft ivory sweater, with her steel gray hair swept up in a twist that had relaxed to let a few wisps fall free, she looked professionally elegant, and nothing like the jeans-and-flannel mom of Jenny’s childhood.

  Eyes alight with pleasure, she stretched out a hand and drifted down the last two steps. “Come here! Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

  Crossing to her, Jenny leaned into a cloud of unfamiliar perfume and returned her mother’s hug. “You, too, Mom. You’re back early.”

  “I couldn’t wait to see my baby.” Rose let go and stepped back, face lighting. “Besides, I found some amazing pieces for the bedroom, and I wanted to get back here with them.”

  Sigh. “Dad said you were on the hunt for a dressing table. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “It’s beautiful. Come and see!”

  “I need to make a phone call first. Guest issue, you know. Can you give me ten minutes, maybe fifteen?”

  “This won’t take long.” Rose pulled a bright plum-colored parka off the rack near the door.

  “We’re going outside?”

  “Of course, silly. Do you think the pieces are going to carry themselves in?”

  “Carry . . . Right.” Jenny shot a look out the back window, but there was no sign of life in the workshop. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He had to run to the hardware store.”

  “How about Foster? Junior?”

  Her mother’s eyebrows climbed. “Jennifer Lynn Skye. Since when do you need a man to carry your bags for you? I taught you girls better than that.”

  Jenny wanted to point out that it wasn’t about testosterone and she had work to do. But it wasn’t like Missy was sitting by the phone, waiting for her to call back—or if she was, that was Missy’s problem, not hers. And the guests weren’t the only ones she was supposed to be making nice with. “Okay, okay, you got me. Let’s go unload your booty.”

  She stifled another sigh, though, as she dragged her parka back on. Darn it. She really should’ve waited for those cookies to come out of the oven.

  6

  Nick’s morning flew and he was back at the clinic by lunchtime. With an hour free before his first small-animal appointment, he headed for the back room, where he found the golden retriever on the grooming stand with a dog-size pile of hacked-off fur off to one side and Ruth going to town with a pair of scissors.

  “Whoa there Three River Scissorhands,” he said. “He’s a dog, not a topiary!”

  She spared him an eye roll. “You want to get in here with the detangler and a brush, be my guest. You want me to do it, then keep the comments to yourself.”

  “In that case, he looks great.”

  “Good call.”

  Nick patted the dog’s shoulder. “Hey, buddy. You behaving yourself?”

  “He wasn’t too sure about getting up on the stand at first, but he’s a sucker for a biscuit or two. He started by sitting and offering me a paw to shake, so I’d say he got decent training at some point, maybe with a prior owner.”

  “The scanner didn’t pick up any microchip, and the local animal controls don’t have an APB on a missing goldie.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Given the condition he’d been in, neither of them was in a hurry to return the dog to wherever he’d come from. Besides, the most likely scenario was an all too common story these days—pet owner one loses a job or house and has to move on, and gives Fido to owner two, thinking they’re doing the right thing. In some cases—most cases, Nick liked to think—it worked out just fine.

  Not always, though. Sometimes it was the start of a downward slide. Which was why it felt so darn good when things worked out for the better, like they were in this guy’s case.

  “I’m going to check his labs.”

  “Don’t forget Binky the Pug at two.” Taking a few steps back, Ruth surveyed her handiwork. “There. That’s better, don’t you think?”

  Not so much. “He certainly looks more comfortable.” She had cut off the ropy mess that had hung under the dog’s belly and snipped out the worst of the tangles on his chest and jowls, leaving the dog looking ragged, but relieved.

  She grinned over at Nick like he had said the first part out loud. “Just wait until after I’ve got him bathed and brushed. Besides, the Skyes know how to look past the rough bits and see diamonds underneath.”As Ruth started running warm water through the spray nozzle in the big stainless steel tub, she said conversationally to the dog, “I bet Jenny’s gran is going to sneak you treats from the kitchen, and Ed is going to make noises about building you a top-notch dog house, but then skip it because you wind up spending most of your time indoors, next to the fireplace. And even if you’re not fully trained—which my gut says you are—Krista and Foster will have you civilized by the time the first load of guests rolls in next summer.”

  “Jenny found him,” Nick commented, “and she seemed mighty attached. Said
he reminded her of the dog they had when she was a kid. Maybe she’ll work with him.” He wasn’t fishing; just making conversation.

  Ruth made a that’s neither here nor there face. “Jenny’s different. She might’ve been born at Mustang Ridge, but there’s not much rancher in her. Sure, she knows how to go through the motions—she rode like a dream and could cut a cow with the best of them—but after she lit out for school she didn’t do much looking back.”

  “She came home when her family needed her. That’s got to count for something.”

  “It counts for plenty, but this guy,” Ruth gave the goldie a pat and set his wispy tail to wagging, “is going to need to bond with the others, because she won’t be here for long. Where Krista’s got roots, Jenny’s got wings.”

  Yeah, he knew how that went.

  “Want me to get him in there for you?” he offered, with a nod toward the tub.

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  Brightening his voice to a tone of who’s a good boy? he said to the dog, “What do you say, buddy? Are you ready for a B-A-T-H?” Not waiting for an answer—or to see if the goldie could spell—he got the big dog in an easy chest-and-rump cradle that wouldn’t twinge his injured ribs and lifted him the short distance to the stainless-steel tub, with its grippy rubber bottom and steamy spray.

  The dog didn’t struggle or try to jump out, just sighed and took it like a man. A dog. Whatever.

  As Nick stepped back, Ruth shot him a look under her lashes. “Why the interest in Jenny?”

  “Just curious.”

  “A hot and heavy kind of curious?”

  “Ah, Ruth. Always the romantic. Nope, I’m not going there. Not even thinking in that direction.” Okay, maybe he was, a little. But not in any serious kind of way.

  “Because if you were, I’d have to suggest you think more in Krista’s direction. They’re twins, after all, and she’s still going to be in town come spring.”

  “Like I said, not going there.” Especially when Krista wasn’t the one who’d left him grinning after only a few minutes on the phone.

  • • •