Winter at Mustang Ridge Read online

  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.”

  “Over here.” Rose caught Jenny’s arm and urged her to a wall, where six irregular squares of paint had been slapped up in two rows of three. At first they all looked like the same color of pale apple green, but as Jenny got closer, she saw the small differences in shade and tone.

  “Guess you’re going with green.”

  “Just for this wall.” Rose stepped back with a wide sweep of her arm, like she was Vanna revealing the grand prize. “Which one do you like better?”

  “Ah . . . the green one?”

  “Very funny. Which one says ‘mossy riverbank seen through a thick morning fog’ to you?”

  Suppressing questions like “Is that what you’re aiming for?” and “Why, exactly?”—which would only hurt her mom’s feelings or, worse, spark a lecture on interior design—Jenny indicated the one that looked the least like melted lime sherbet. “Middle bottom.”

  “No, no. That one won’t do at all. It’s got too much blue in it.” Rose stepped up and trailed her fingertips over an upper square. “This one is much better. It’s got more balance to it, and a fresher look.”

  Then why did you ask? Reminding herself that she didn’t need to get it as long as her mom was happy—and out of Gran’s hair—Jenny said, “I think it’s lovely.”

  Rose’s face brightened. “Do you really think so?”

  “Absolutely. It’s going to look great.” She gave her mom an awkward one-armed hug. “I’ve really got to go.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? Have a nice time with Dick.”

  “It’s Nick.”

  “Have fun!”

  Jenny escaped into the hallway and beelined downstairs, determined to make it out before her mother decided she needed her opinion on something else. But as she shrugged into her ski jacket, the cell phone in her pocket did its vibrate-buzz-ring routine.

  Nick’s name popped up on the caller ID, putting a lilt in her voice as she answered. “Hey, there! Are you on your way?”

  “I’m pulled over just shy of your driveway, actually.”

  “You didn’t see another stray, did you?”

  “No. Unfortunately, I just got an emergency call for a sick horse on the other side of town.”

  Her stomach dropped. Drat, drat, drat! “How bad is it?”

  “I’m not sure. The owner isn’t super experienced. From the answers to my twenty questions, it could go either way, so I don’t dare tell her to give him a couple of bute and call me in the morning. I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to bail on dinner.”

  “Of course. Rain check.” She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

  “Definitely. Thanks for being cool about it.”

  “You’re a vet. Comes with the territory. I . . . um, I don’t suppose you’re looking for a ride-along?”

  “Seriously?”

  Noting that he hadn’t hesitated, had even sounded pleased, she said, “Sure, why not? I know my way around a barn.”


  “No kidding. That’s why I didn’t figure you would want to spend your night hanging around someone else’s.”

  “Emergency farm calls might be old hat for you, but not for me. And I’m always up for an adventure. So what do you say?”

  His voice deepened. “I say keep an eye out your front window, because you’re going to be seeing my headlights in a couple of minutes.”

  She laughed, relieved that her night out hadn’t entirely disappeared, just changed direction. “Give me five to pull on my thermals and barn clothes, and I’ll meet you out there!”

  8

  He was waiting for her when she came out, leaning back against his truck, which was a dark green late-model Ford with an extended cab and the white compartmentalized hard shell that—to a ranch-raised girl, at least—said “traveling Vetmobile.”

  As she came down the path, he pushed away from the truck and opened the passenger door. “For the record, I was going to come up to the house and knock, but you were pretty specific that you’d meet me out here, so I figured there was a reason.”

  Her grin felt sheepish. “Just trying to escape some family weirdness. It’s . . . Well, it’s not important. I’m just glad to be shifting gears for a few hours.” No point in airing family stuff, especially when the family member in question wasn’t really doing anything wrong. And even though it wasn’t turning out to be the night she had expected, she was looking forward to her ride-along date with Doc Hottie.

  He was taller than she remembered, or maybe the heavy fleece made him look bigger. There was a layer of warmth around him, an energy that made her want to move closer and soak him in, take a taste. But she didn’t want their first kiss to be a Hey, how are you? in her front yard, so she took the hand he offered and let him help her up into the cab of the truck.

  She had been scrambling up into Ford F-250s unaided pretty much since she could walk, but it was a nice gesture.

  As he climbed into the driver’s side and closed them into the warm interior, he glanced over, one corner of his mouth kicking upward. “By the way, I looked nicer when I left the house. I keep a change of clothes in the truck for when stuff like this happens.”

  “Lucky you were driving your Vetmobile.”

  “More experience than luck. Emergency calls come at the darnedest times.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s a corollary of Murphy’s Law. And since we’re doing for the records, I, too, looked less like the Michelin Man in my original ensemble.” She unzipped her heavy parka in the truck’s warm interior, but left it on, figuring she would be cold soon enough.

  “You’re a good sport.”

  “Like I said, I’m always up for an adventure.” It was pretty much her motto. Granted, she could have found a solo adventure, but she had wanted to spend the evening with him.

  They got under way, turning out of the driveway toward town. The radio was turned on low, playing Johnny Cash, and the hum of the truck’s knobby snow tires on the road combined with the heat blasting from the vents soothed her, taking away the last of the edgy frustration her mother invariably kicked up.

  “How are things going at the ranch?” he asked as they rolled along. “You doing okay with the guest stuff?”

  “So far, so good.”

  “But it’s not your dream job?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Hardly. I don’t know how Krista does all the politicking. If I’m not busting my butt to satisfy the one nit-picky potential guest we get out of every fifteen good ones, I’m having to alternate between butt-kissing and hard-assing to make sure the suppliers are staying on track.”

  “How many supplies do you need in the dead of winter?”

  “You’d be surprised how much of the summer stuff gets done ahead of time. I know I am. Not to mention that Krista is continually upping the bar on the ranch’s services. This winter she set out to create a line of Mustang Ridge merchandise that guests can buy when they’re here, or order online. Which is cool and all, but it means I’m fielding logo proofs, samples, and a whole lot of questions I’m not qualified to answer, especially when I’m trying to bother her as little as possible.” She paused. “Some days, I wonder if I’m being hazed.”

  “You’d know if you were,” he said with a grin. “Trust me on that one.”

  “Oh?” She glanced over, lips curving. “Let me guess. Fraternity? Vet school tradition?”

  “Worse. The Bingo ladies.”

  A laugh bubbled up. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear.”

  His chiseled face was a study of light and dark cast by the dashboard illumination. It eased into amused lines as he said, “My first week in Three Ridges, this little old lady comes in with a big, mean-looking buff-colored Persian that had to be seventeen pounds. His name was Cutie Pie.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Naturally. I, having checked through my day’s appointments and seen that said beast needs his five-year rabies booster, start readying the injection. Except his owner, Miss Patty, gives me the full-on fisheye and says, ‘That best not be for my Cutie Pie. He’s got a heart murmur and can’t be sedated.’ When I explain it’s his rabies booster, she shakes her head. ‘Oh, no,’ she says, ‘he’s not here for a shot. It’s time for his lion trim.’”

  “She wanted you to shave him?”

  “Down to the skin, except for his head and the tip of his tail. She said old Doc Lopes used to wrap him in a towel and clip whatever part was sticking out. She even brought his favorite towel with her. White, with pink flowers.”

  A giggle escaped. “Did you do it?”

  “I got him wrapped up nice and tight, with part of his big old belly hanging out. I was headed for him with the clippers, ready to go at it, when Miss Patty suddenly remembered she had someplace to be, popped him back in the carrier, towel and all, and hustled out the door. Leaving me standing there, shaking my head and wondering what I had gotten myself into with this place.” He chuckled. “The next day, though, I got a six-pack of pink frosted cupcakes from Miss Patty, along with an invitation to sit next to her at Bingo anytime I want. So I’d say I did okay.”

  “I’d say you did better than okay. I wouldn’t even get through the door on Bingo night.”

  “You want me to arrange an invite? Though you might have to shave a cat first.”

  “I’m good, really.” And she was, she realized as they cruised through town. Better than good. She was out with a handsome man on a Friday night. The details didn’t matter. “Have you seen Cutie Pie since?”

  “Only for his five-year rabies shot, which I did by taking the top off his crate and sticking my arm in, rather than trying to haul him out and pin him down. Got a dozen cookies on top of my fee for my trouble. They weren’t as good as your gran’s, of course.”

  “That goes without saying. There might be some debate over the annual muffin title, but Gran won the biscuit and chocolate chip cookie divisions so many times they finally gave her a perpetual title and asked her to be the judge.”

  “Speaking of Mustang Ridge, how’s the dog doing? Does he have an official name yet?”

  “Rex. And he’s great. We really won the stray lottery with him.”

  “Did you name him or was it a family effort?”

  “He named himself.” She told him the story while the truck rolled through Three Ridges, which was so much bigger than it had been before. Not box-store big, but more than the feed store, grocery and two restaurants of her earliest childhood. “After that, we didn’t have the heart to call him anything else.”

  “Some people think it’s bad luck to change a pet’s name.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I figure he had a good life at some point. He’s too nice to have been a neglect case all along.”

  “Ruth and I thought the same thing. Here we are.” He turned up a wide paved driveway, drove past a McMansion-style house, and pulled up in front of a new-looking barn that was burning so many lights that it cast an orange halo in the night sky. “The owner’s name is Michelle, th
e horse is Nero. She’s got three of them, all quarter horses. Decent pleasure types, pretty healthy overall.”

  Jenny cocked her head. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  “But she’s a horse newbie surrounded by people who were riding before they could walk. She’s trying to catch up as fast as she can via the Internet, and doesn’t have a great filter.”

  “Ah. Like an amateur photographer who has all the latest gadgets and no idea how to use them.”

  “Or a hypochondriac who spends way too much time on WebMD.”

  A tall woman with curly dark hair stepped into the lit doorway and waved at Nick, looking both worried and relieved.

  Aware that she was about to dive into the Three Ridges rumor pool, Jenny said, “I don’t mind hanging here.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Too cold out there for you?”

  “More that I’m not sure you want the Bingo crowd to have us engaged by noon tomorrow.”

  Dimples deepening, he winked. “Michelle is new to town, so I’d say we’re safe. Besides, it’s not much of an adventure if you sit in the car.”

  “Fair enough. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Zipping up, she piled out of the truck and came around the hood.

  “Dr. Masterson, thank you so much for coming out on a Friday night.” Michelle shook his hand, then turned to Jenny. “And your assistant.”

  Deciding not to correct her, Jenny shook the offered hand. “I’m Jenny Skye.”

  The name apparently didn’t register, which was nice. Michelle beckoned. “Come in, come in. It’s freezing out here. I’ve got Nero on the crossties for you.”

  The interior of the glossy, tricked-out barn was varnished wood, the stalls assembled from top-end kits, and the center aisle was a smooth river of concrete covered in rubber pavers that gave gently under Jenny’s boots. Halfway down the aisle, a large dark bay gelding stood on the crossties with a back foot cocked and his head hanging in a way that suggested he was either asleep or felt like crap, possibly both. His weight was good, but his coat had that fluffed-out, dry look that spoke of a fever, and all four lower legs were swollen so badly it was hard to tell where the joints ended and the long bones began.