Firelight at Mustang Ridge (19 page)

“Ha! I'll have you know, I give myself at least one vacation day a year, and a fruit basket at Christmas.”

“Such perks! Though I'm not sure I see Axyl as a fruit basket kind of guy. He strikes me as more of the balloon-o-gram type.”

“More like three weeks paid vacation he uses to bike over to the Sturgis rally, plus a hefty bonus at the end of the year,” Sam said drily. “Welcome to the wonderful world of being your own boss. Next thing you know, you're going to be filing a buttload of paperwork, getting outrageous insurance quotes, and paying taxes you've never heard of.”

“Not to mention finding someplace to live,” she added. She ticked off the points on her fingers while Sam's chest went oddly tight. “With plenty of room for Whiz, an office, and a garage big enough to store all the equipment I'm going to need. Shelby put me in touch with a Realtor friend of hers this morning. It was a little out of the blue, but I liked her well enough, and Shelby says she's the best. We're going to look at a couple of places next week.”

“I found one!” Abel shouted, throwing up his hands like he'd just scored a critical touchdown. “It's a . . . Well, I don't know, but it's something!” He twisted around and held out the flat, crumbly piece of shale, which bore a mishmash of brownish fossil marks. “What do you think?” he asked Sam. “Is it a bird? A plane? Slime mold?”

Sam hesitated for a minute, figuring he should say something about Danny looking at rentals. Like how his place was plenty big enough, and they already spent most nights there. But when he thought about saying the words, he got the warning dip in his stomach that came when he was standing on the edge of a rockslide zone, with his instincts telling him not to take that next step.

“Go on.” She nudged him. “I'll see how the kids are doing.” There was nothing in her expression suggesting that it had been a test, or a hint, and he was grateful as hell for that.

“Just don't get in the middle of the fish-versus-imaginary-bunny debate,” he warned, figuring that if he could make her laugh, then they were okay. And when she chuckled and headed for the kids' table, he watched her go, thinking he was damn lucky to have found a woman who got him the way she did, one who didn't play games.

“Yo. Earth to Sam.” Abel grinned when he said it, though. He held out the stone. “A little help here?”

Reorienting, Sam took the shale and made himself concentrate. What was he stressing about, anyway? What he and Danny had together was working exactly right, and if he had learned anything from rockhounding, it was that sometimes it was best to leave well enough alone rather than bring things crashing down around his ears.

T
he following day, the group set out on horseback for Misty Hills, riding into a darn near perfect summer morning. Danny—loose-limbed after a delicious round of morning lovemaking—rode on one side of the double column of horses. Sam rode on the other, with the two of them helping Krista and Wyatt keep the guests safe and happy. Or doing their best, anyway.

“Did not!” Kevin's indignant protest carried on the dry air.

“Did too!” Sonja had to shout the retort up at her brother, who was riding a placid full-size horse that towered over her purposeful brown pony.

Their father turned in his saddle and leveled a finger between the two of them. “Don't make me come back there.”

“But he—”

“I don't care,” Declan said. “Knock it off.”

Danny started to head in their direction, but Sam was already on the move, riding in from the other side with a cheerful, “Hey, kids. Do you know why a whole lot of dinosaur fossils were discovered in these parts back in the 1870s?”

Two pint-size cowboy hats, one pink and one white, zeroed in on him. “No,” Kevin said. “Why?”

“Because of the railroad.” As he launched into the story of how employees of the Union Pacific saw a huge skeleton protruding from the side of an eroding bluff, and how it sparked a turf war between two rival paleontologists, the others rode in closer so they could hear. Most of them, anyway.

Seeing Mindy's horse drift to the back of the pack, Danny reined around beside her. “Hey there,” she said. “Everything okay?”

The other woman sent her a shy, embarrassed smile. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall behind. It's just . . . sometimes I just want a minute or two of peace and quiet.”

“A woman after my own heart. I'll leave you to it.”

“No, stay. Please.” Mindy's expression clouded. “I guess I should say I wanted peace and quiet without my family in it. Some days I wonder . . .” She shook her head. “Never mind. I shouldn't even think it.”

Krista had warned Danny that Reunion Week could get tricky, especially when there was a shaky marriage and kids involved. The hollow sadness in the back of Mindy's eyes tugged at Danny, but she didn't know what to say, how to help. Or even if she should try.

Mindy didn't seem to notice the silence as she watched Sam entertain her kids. “He's good with them,” she said. “He talks to them rather than just barking orders like Declan does.”

“Your kids are easy to like. They're smart as a pair of whips.”

Mindy made a wry face. “That's one of those good
news, bad news things. Don't get me wrong. I love them, but—” She broke off and sucked in a breath. “Oh. I didn't just say that, did I?”

Completely out of her depth, Danny tried to think of what Farah would say in this situation, and came up blank.

The other woman shook her head, looking devastated. “I always swore I wouldn't be one of those mothers who said I love my kids, then followed it with something bad. Especially when none of this is their fault. It's me and Declan. We can't . . . We don't . . .” Her eyes filled, and she whispered. “We never talk anymore, unless it's about the kids, the cars, or the house. I thought that coming to Wyoming would make things better, but all this vacation has done is prove that we don't have anything to say to each other anymore.”

“I'm sorry,” Danny said, close to tears herself. “I don't . . . I think . . .” She slowed herself down, thought for a moment. “I wish I could think of something clever to say, something that might help.”

Mindy gave a sad smile. “Me, too. But thanks for listening. I think I just needed to get that out there.”

“Campfire, ho!” Wyatt's call rang out down the line. Standing in his stirrups, he waved toward a smoky column in the middle distance, where a clearing showed through the trees. “It's Misty Hill!”

And that was it for Danny and Mindy's quiet moment together. As Sam rode up to confer with Wyatt, Kevin twisted around, looking for his mother. “Mom? Hey, Mom. C'mere!”

The two women rode up, Mindy to her family and Danny to where Sam, Krista, and Wyatt had their heads
together. The meeting broke up as Danny reached it, and Sam reined in beside her to say, “Right on schedule. We'll be in camp and have everyone settled by dinnertime, then get a bonfire going at sunset.”

“That sounds perfect, especially the part about dinner. I'm starving.”

Something must have shown in her face, because he glanced from her to Mindy and back again. “Everything okay?”

“I'm just tired from the long ride. Give me my hiking boots any day.” And that was all it was, she told herself. That and knowing she couldn't do anything to help Mindy. There wasn't any other reason for her to be wistful, wasn't any reason for her to feel like there were clouds on the horizon when the sky was crystal clear. She had a whole new life unfolding in front of her, complete with wonderful friends, an amazing boyfriend, and a dog of her very own. It would be beyond greedy to wish for more.

*   *   *

As much as Sam loved riding onto an untouched claim alone, on a horse that was loaded down with bedrolls, food, and prospecting gear, there was something equally cool about leading a dozen or so riders into a fully functional base camp that was ready to rock and roll. Axyl, Midas, and Murphy had worked their butts off to finish the solar- and wind-powered bunkhouse, with its outdoor shower, detached latrine, and dedicated cookshack. They had even raked everything clean and used scrap wood to build a stacked set of street signs that pointed in different directions, letting them know that it was three miles to the Crystal Cave, twenty miles to
Mustang Ridge, thirty to Windfall, eight hundred and sixty to Disneyland, and three thousand to Alaska.

“Impressive place you've built here,” Wyatt said, riding up beside him and clapping him on the shoulder. Then, nodding to the sign, he said, “What cave?”

“A formation that Midas and Murph found with one of the new gadgets—they scanned a pocket at the back of a rock niche, and when they broke through . . . Well, let's just say I heard them yelling all the way on the other side of the hill. You have to see it to believe it.”

Wyatt's eyes lit with interest. “Can we check it out while we're here?”

“That's the plan. Danny and I figured we would tell the others about it tonight, then make it be an end-of-the-day treat tomorrow, after we dig.”

“You guys really have this planned out. And get a load of this setup.” Wyatt swept a hand around the camp. “I'll have to tell Krista to double what we're paying you for the overnight.”

“What's twice nothing again?” Sam asked. “Oh, right. Still nothing.”

“How about a round at the Rope Burn for you and your guys when we get back?”

“Plus a basket of fries,” Sam said, upping the ante because it was Wyatt. He was happy to help out with the guests, and he was enjoying the teaching side of things more than he would have expected. Most of all, though, he wanted to help Danny find her footing with her new business plan, wanted her to know she could do anything she set her mind to, and that he'd be right there with her.

“She's over there.” Wyatt hooked a thumb, letting
Sam know he hadn't been at all subtle scanning the clearing for her. “And I want it noted that I told you so.”

“Told me what?” Sam was only half listening, watching Danny with little Sonja, who was still mounted on her fat, sassy pony.

“That one of these days you'd meet the right woman and change your mind about pairing off.”

“Whoa.” Zeroing back in on his friend, Sam held up his hands in a
time-out
gesture. “Hang on. Don't go hanging labels on me and Danny. We're doing our own thing.”

“Yeah. It's called a relationship.”

“Sure, we're”—lovers, sleeping together, just plain
together
—“involved. Boyfriend and girlfriend, even. But don't go painting me with your baby-and-wedding brush. That's your thing, not mine.”

Wyatt just shrugged. “You keep telling yourself that, Babcock.” He reined his horse around and rode off, headed for where Junior was working on the picket line and portable electric fence. Turning back, he called, “Oh, and when you change your mind? You can buy
me
a round down at the Burn.”

*   *   *

Over the next few hours, everyone settled into the camp routine, helping tend to the horses and put together a dinner that might not have been up to Gran's standards, but was far better than the pick-a-can meals Danny had eaten over the campfire at Blessing Valley. It was strange to think back on those weeks with nostalgia when it really hadn't been that long ago, but she supposed it was a sign of how far she had come.

As night fell around them and the horses dozed on
their picket line, Sam and Wyatt built a bonfire, and the guests all gathered around. Jon—tall and quiet, and still seeming wary around the half siblings he was just getting to know—pulled out his harmonica and led the way through some campfire songs. The haunting notes floated up on the air, and in the firelit darkness with Sam's arms around her, it was easy for Danny to imagine they were back in time, driving a herd of cattle to the railhead. Or prospecting for gold.

When the last note trailed off, she joined in the applause that swelled up. Jon's half sister, Maura, gave an approving whistle. “That was amazing! I can't believe it. Mom always said she couldn't carry a tune in a bucket.”

Abel poked her in the ribs. “Sst. He doesn't want to talk about her, remember?”

Jon ducked his head, scrubbed the back of his neck, and said, “It's okay, I guess. My real parents . . . I mean my other parents. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, even though they told me that my meeting you guys wouldn't ever change things, I kept thinking that I didn't have room for another whole family. Now, though. Out here.” He tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. “It feels like there's room for everything, doesn't it?”

Maura leaned forward. “Does that mean you've got room for us?”

Abel poked her again. “Mo!”

“It's okay.” Jon cracked the first smile Danny had seen out of him. “I'm getting used to her. In fact, I'm getting used to both of you. And, yeah, I think I've got room for more family, if it includes you two.”

Maura whooped and launched herself at Jon, who caught her reflexively and nearly went over backward. He held himself stiff for a second, then awkwardly hugged her back as a second round of applause broke out.

As Abel peeled his sister off, then gave his big brother a manly half-hug-half-backslap, Mindy drifted back into the circle and sat next to Declan, the two of them separated by several feet. It wasn't until she reappeared that Danny realized she had slipped away.

“Are the kids asleep?” Danny asked.

Mindy nodded. “They're down for the count. It's hard to tell if they're even breathing, they're that tired.”

“They'll be up early,” Declan predicted. “Kevin especially is dying to look for fossils.”

“There's a likely spot near where we'll be,” Sam said, his voice rumbling beneath Danny's cheek. “I'll show you where it is, what to look for.”

“I'd appreciate it.”

“Why don't you two take a walk, get some alone time?” Krista said. “Wyatt and I will keep an ear out for the kids.”

“Oh!” Mindy glanced at her husband. “We couldn't impose.”

“We insist.” Krista shooed them away from the fire. “Go on, they'll be fine.”

Unable to find a good reason not to—at least that was how Danny interpreted his expression—Declan stood and silently held out a hand for his wife. Moments later, they disappeared into the darkness.

Danny crossed her fingers for them.

The group around the fire stayed quiet for a minute,
save for the crackle of wood, making Danny think she wasn't the only one straining to hear the start of a healing conversation. After a moment, Krista stirred and stood. “We're going to hang out in the lodge for a bit, so we'll be in earshot if the kids wake up.”

“I'm going to call it a night, too,” Doug said. “My saddle sores have saddle sores.”

By ones and twos, the others drifted to the main building, which had been set up with extra cots and bedding, until eventually it was just Sam and Danny, cuddled together and staring into the fire—warm, drowsy, and content.

“I've got a surprise for you,” he said after a bit, his words echoing in her ear and through her body.

“Oh?”

“Let's douse the fire, and I'll show you.”

They made short work of the burned-down bonfire, and as the darkness closed in, he clicked his high-powered flash on and took her hand. “This way.”

It wasn't until the nighttime quiet closed around her that she realized how loud her day had been, how crowded. She let out a soft sigh. “Ah. Peace and quiet.”

“That was what I was thinking.” He brought her up beside him, slipped an arm around her waist, and shone his flashlight ahead of them, to where her tent was pitched between two trees and surrounded by her bear fence—a small oasis of privacy away from the others.

“Oh, Sam!” She put her hand to her mouth. “You did this for me?”

“Well, I got Murph to help me. He swung over to Blessing Valley and grabbed everything for us, and
brought it all up here yesterday.” He gathered her close and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Normally I don't mind bunking with the guys in the camp shack, but these days I'm not interested in sharing cot space with anyone but you.”

“Thank you.” She turned in his arms and kissed him, long, slow, and sweet, thanking him for his thoughtfulness, and for understanding her so thoroughly. And, really, that was all that mattered. She didn't need to know exactly what things were going to look like a year from now, or even a few months. Because now, right this minute, they were pretty darn perfect.