Firelight at Mustang Ridge (22 page)

Yeah,
Danny thought.
I did, didn't I?
Not that she expected it to matter to her parents—caves were nothing to them, her fears just a weakness. “I'm glad I could help,” she told Mindy, appreciating the other woman's style and wishing she could find some of the same common ground with her own mom. Turning to her parents, she said, “You guys should see this cave. It's—” She broke off. “Mom?”

Bea Traveler's eyes were drenched with tears. “Oh, sweetie.” She grabbed Danny's hands and gripped them tight, then let go to swipe at her tears. “I'm sorry. Just give me a minute.”

Pulse thudding, Danny looked past her mom. “Daddy?”

He cleared his throat. “It's okay, peanut. It's that . . .” He exhaled and reached out to take his wife's hand, lacing their fingers together. “We don't like the idea of leaving here without you. But we're seeing that we're going to have to.”

Suddenly, it wasn't such a bad thing feeling all the air leave her lungs. It left her giddy, even hopeful. “You mean it?” Not that they would be leaving without her, but that they were admitting it.

Her mom sniffed. “You love it here.”

A lump gathered in Danny's throat. “Yeah. I really
do.” She realized that Krista was standing nearby, with Abby cradled against her and Wyatt nuzzling her hair. Rose and Gran were there, too, and Declan and the kids, and the others were drawing in closer as word spread that something important was happening.

“You were so banged up after the accident,” her father said, surprising her with the rasp of emotion in his voice. “The doctors were saying you might not ever walk again, and you were just lying there, pale in some places and so bruised in others . . .” He cleared his throat. “It's hard for your mom and me to get those pictures out of our heads when it comes to you. But I guess we're going to have to.”

She went down on her knees in front of her parents, shattered by their admission. “I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . .” That they had been so worried. That they had been smothering her the only way they knew how. That it had been about more than them wanting to keep things at the shop in the family.

“We didn't want you to know.” He brushed the hair back from her forehead, bringing the sudden memory of him doing the same thing in the hospital, back when her forehead had been one of the few spots on her that didn't hurt. “You had too much on your plate already. Rehab, the dreams, the panic attacks . . . We just wanted to give you a safe place to heal.” His smile went crooked. “I guess we overdid it.”

She caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “You did it exactly right. I'm fine now. Good as new.”

“No, baby,” her mom said, stroking her hair. “You're better than that.”

The tears caught her by surprise, ripping out of her
throat in a sob as she hurled herself into her parents' arms, knowing they would catch her. And as they hugged like they hadn't done since long before the accident, someone hollered, “Three cheers for Reunion Week!” And darned if all the others didn't lift their drinks, marshmallows, and empty hands to chant, “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”

As the cheer faded, she pulled away to swipe at her face with a shaky laugh. “Well. I didn't expect that.”

Her father wrapped his arm around her mother's shoulders and tipped their heads together. “We didn't expect any of this. But that's okay. We'll get used to it.”

“You'll visit,” she said, not letting it be a question.

“We will. And you'll come home now and then.” Face softening, he said, “No matter where you are or what you're doing, you'll always be our little girl.”

Bea dabbed at her eyes, which were looking raw from the tears. “I think I should maybe . . .” She made a vague gesture in the direction of the main house. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” Danny rose and lifted her to her feet, then pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything. I love you.”

That got her a watery smile and a one-armed hug from her dad. “We'll see you in the morning?” he asked. “We'll need to leave around ten to make our plane home.”

The word
home
brought a twinge, because it wasn't hers anymore. But the little pinch was far outweighed by the happy ache of knowing that she and her parents were finally okay. Maybe more okay than they had ever been.

“Sam and I will meet you in the dining hall at eight
for breakfast,” she promised, and then stood and watched as they walked up the pathway to the main house, with their hands clasped and their heads together.

They had been together almost thirty-five years, and they still held hands.

“Hey.” Sam came up behind her, kissed her temple, and twined their fingers together. “You okay?”

“I am. Very okay.” And maybe a little wistful all of a sudden, at realizing how much her parents cared.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, cruising his lips around the outer edge of her ear.

Her lips curved as she thought of the comfortable bedroom in the cozy little apartment over the barn. “I thought you'd never ask.”

*   *   *

The next morning, Danny had more than the usual number of good-byes to say—not just to Mindy, Declan, and the kids, and the other guests she had gotten to know over the course of the week, but to her mom and dad as well.

As the bus gave its trademark
beep-beep
and trundled up the driveway, she followed her parents to their rental car while Whiz ran zigzags around them, reading the ground with his nose. Danny hugged her mom and said, “I'm glad you came.”

Bea gave her the same crooked smile she often saw in the mirror. “You weren't at first.”

“No, but we worked it out.”

The smile widened. “We did, didn't we?”

Laughing, Danny turned to her dad. “Bye, big guy. Be good to yourself.”

“You, too.” He enveloped her in the sort of bear hug
he used to give her when she crossed the finish line before everyone else. “It makes me feel better knowing you've got Sam,” he said, surprising her. “You two seem like a good match.”

She was tempted to let it go, but it would have felt dishonest. “It's not like that, Daddy. Sam and I are just . . .”
Friends, lovers, having a good time
. When none of those seemed to fit quite right, she went with, “I don't think we're headed in that direction.”

“Oh?” His attention sharpened. “Was that your call or his?”

“It was mutual.”

“Harris? Are you ready to go?” Danny's mom jingled the keys to their rental. “We have a plane to catch. Remember, Jase and Charlie are racing tomorrow.”

“Go on.” Danny hugged him. “Safe travels.”

That was their usual good-bye, a family motto right up there with
higher, faster, farther
, but he didn't move. Instead, he hung on a moment longer, and said in her ear, “If you want something, ask for it. Better yet, fight for it. And don't be afraid to lose.”

She drew away, surprised. “Daddy?”

“You know where to find us.” He shook a scolding finger at her. “And no more lobbing grenades and then going camping, you hear?”

Laughter bubbled up. “Charlie told you.”

“Maybe. I'll tell her you send your love.”

“I do. And tell her to come visit! I think she'd like it out here. She might not ever want to go home.”

“Don't tell your mother that.” He lifted a hand. “Safe travels, peanut. And think about what I said.”

“I will.” How could she not? In fact, as her parents
drove off, waving out the car window, his words kept playing in her head, over and over again.
Don't be afraid to lose. Don't be afraid to lose. Don't be afraid to lose
. And along with the words came a little shiver as an awful possibility came to her.

Was that what she had been doing with Sam? Could that explain the wistful twinges that came when she thought about next year, two years from now, five years? Had she fallen so thoroughly for what they had that she was afraid to risk it by asking for more? The possibility resonated. And the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Not at him, but at herself.

Hadn't she learned anything from Brandon? She knew better than to take less than she really wanted, even subconsciously.

“Drat.” She scowled. “Drat, drat, drat.”

Whiz bounded over. “Whuff?”

“I'm fine. I'm just . . .” Mad at herself. And suddenly nervous, because she had so very much to lose. But what if she won?

Making her decision, she headed for the kitchen.

Gran's face lit when Danny let herself into the long, narrow space, with its exposed beams, dried herbs, and stainless-steel worktable. “There you are! I was just wondering how you were doing after saying good-bye to your parents. Can I get you some coffee? A muffin? Some for Sam, too?”

“He's on his way home with Yoshi. I'm going to meet him for lunch, and I want to ask him something. And, well, I was thinking maybe you could help me put together a romantic picnic. Something that will get him in the mood.”

“Oh!” Gran put a hand to her mouth as it widened to a brilliant, knowing smile. “If you want a romantic picnic, my dear, you've come to the right place!” She tapped her chin a couple of times, thinking, then said, “Strawberries, definitely, with dipping sauce. No champagne for Sam, though. He's too much of a beer man. We've got a small-batch ale that will do the trick. I've got leftovers of the chicken he likes so much, and biscuits, of course. Then something chocolate.” Her smile went wicked. “By the time you get to dessert, he'll be well-fed putty in your hands, ready to give you your heart's desire.”

W
hen Sam came within sight of Windfall, the first thing he did was look at the top of Wolf Rock. And damned if she wasn't right there waiting for him, like he had wished her there.

“Hey!” He stood in his stirrups and waved his hat, grinning like a fool and thinking that there was something very special about riding up the slope toward home and knowing his woman was waiting for him. More, knowing they had something to celebrate after her parents' visit. As he rode in close, he called, “Give me five minutes to put Yosh away, and I'll be up!”

She shot him a cheeky finger wiggle, and caroled, “I'll be wait-ing.”

It had been only a few hours since he rode out from Mustang Ridge, but it felt like too long. He was itching to touch her, hold her, see the glow that kindled in her eyes now when he mentioned her family.

He nudged his horse toward the barn. “Come on, Yosh. Let's get you some hay and check your water.”

Five minutes later almost on the nose, he caught the free end of the knotted rope and used it to walk his way up the back of Wolf Rock, to the flat spot near the
flagpole where she was waiting for him. He meant to say something—that he was happy to see her, or that he had seen a wildcat's tracks on the ridgeline—but the words got tangled up in the heat that blazed through him, and he swept her up against his chest and kissed her instead.

She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she kissed him back like they had been apart for weeks rather than hours. Which was about how he felt. Wanting to be with her, lose himself in her, he said, “What do you say we climb back down, go inside, and—”

“I have Gran's fried chicken with me.”

His head came up. “Where?” Catching his first sight of the picnic spread out nearby—which just went to show that she did a good job of blinding him with lust—he grinned. “Okay, you got me. Chicken first, then bed.”

“How about we start with strawberries?” She took his hand, led him to the corner of the red-and-white-checked blanket she had spread and loaded with goodies from one of Gran's jumbo picnic baskets.

“Are we celebrating a very successful Reunion Week?” he asked as she uncovered a container of fat strawberries and dipped one in creamy white yogurt.

“Among other things,” she said, and held the fruit to his lips. “Open up.”

There's no doubt about it,
he thought as he bit in.
This is the life.

They fed each other a lazy, leisurely lunch, pausing for kisses and soft words as they devoured the chicken and sides, and then the dark chocolate cake that they ate in small bites, savoring the dense richness.

“That's it,” he announced, flopping back on the
sun-warmed blanket. “You win. Whatever you want, it's yours.”

“Actually . . . ,” she said.

He laughed at the joke. “Your father does that, too, you know. Sort of trails off, hoping the other person will jump in.”

She nodded. “He mostly does it when things get serious.”

“Is that what we're doing here?” he asked with a chuckle. “Getting serious?” He expected her to laugh, too. When she didn't, the meal felt suddenly heavier than it had moments ago. “Danny?”

She hesitated, reminding him of the woman who had pulled a gun on him out at Blessing Valley. She looked that determined as she said, “Where do you see this”—she gestured from him to her and back—“going?”

His heart damn near stopped on a whole lot of
oh, hell
, because there it was. The Question. The one that spelled the beginning of the end, always.

Chest tightening, he fought to fill his lungs, fought not to let the pain show. He hadn't thought they would wind up here for a while yet, maybe not ever.

Keep dreaming, buster,
said an inner voice. “Danny,” he began, then shook his head. “I don't think you're going to like my answer.”

“Why? Because you've got a habit of getting to a certain point with a woman and then pulling back?” At his narrow look, she said, “Yes, I heard about that.”

Then why are you asking?
But he knew. She was hoping for a different answer because what they had between them was different. It was special. It was something he probably wouldn't find again, certainly didn't deserve.
But where she was different, his answer wouldn't be. Not when the thought of her moving in tied him up in knots just as thoroughly as the thought of her going back to Maine had done. Seeing the hollow sadness start to gather in her, he wanted to go to her, to hold her and tell her they could get through this. But that wouldn't be fair, because he had tried to get through it before, and knew better than to try again.

So he stayed where he was, and said, “I care about you, Danny. More than I've ever cared about anybody. But I can't promise . . .” He hated the sudden darkness in her eyes, but he had to be honest with her and true to himself. “Can we just leave things the way they are? I can do that. I'm good at that.” It was the other stuff he couldn't handle.

Her pause went on long enough that he thought she might not say anything at all before she stormed off. But then she gave a long, shuddering sigh, and the light came back into her eyes. “Okay.” She nodded like she was trying to convince herself. “Right. Then that's what we'll do. We'll just leave things the way they are. Because I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to walk away from what we've got.”

“God, no.” He moved then, fast and sure, propelled by a hard, hot surge of relief. Catching her against him, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, rocking them both. “No, I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you.”

She looked up at him with drenched eyes, but she didn't point out the obvious. Instead, she managed a weak smile and said, “Well, nobody can accuse me of being a wimp now.”

“No, they can't.” He kissed her flushed cheeks, her pale forehead, her pert nose, her soft lips. “You're no wimp. You're so strong, so brave.” For a moment he thought she was shaking. Then he realized it was him.

“It's okay.” She stroked his back, pressed her lips to his throat. “We're okay. We'll just keep having fun.”

“That's not so bad, is it?”

“No.” Her laugh was watery, but it was real. And when she reached up and cupped his cheek, rubbing along his jaw with her thumb, the affection in her eyes was real. “There's nothing wrong with fun. Which, by the way, this has been, despite the detour into Seriousville.”

It was an effort to match her smile. “You can pack me a picnic any day.”

“Well, Gran did most of it.”

“But you asked.”

She smiled and brushed her lips across his. “Speaking of which, I need to get the basket back.”

“Don't go.” She was still pale and drawn, and his chest was still hollowed out from knowing that he had let her down. “Stay a while. Or if you have to go, I'll come with you.”

He saw the answer in her eyes even before she shook her head. “I need a little space right now.”

Always before, he had been the one saying that. Now he felt the sting. “You're coming back, though.”

Her smile was real, though strained. “Of course. Nothing has changed, Sam. We're still the same people we were ten minutes ago. I just need to, I don't know. Take a drive. Clear my head. Talk to the dog. You know how it goes.”

Yes, he did. He also knew that decisions got made during drives like that. Sometimes big ones. “Promise me you'll come back, or call me to meet you. Don't just start driving and wind up in Maine.”

“It's Krista's car.” But she leaned in and brushed her lips across his. “I promise.” Then, looping the picnic basket over her arm, she dropped nimbly down the rope, disappearing from sight. Moments later, she reappeared and whistled for Whiz, who shot out from behind the barn with several sharp barks and hopped in the station wagon when she opened the door.

Always before, she had turned back and waved to him before she got in the car. But not today.

Don't be an idiot,
he told himself as she drove away.
Go after her
. But his feet stayed planted and the larger part of him said,
Nope. Not happening.
He didn't chase women, and he didn't make plans for the future.

This wasn't just any woman, though. It was Danny, and she was upset. Hiding it well, maybe, but still . . . He should at least call Krista and give her a heads-up. But as he bent to grab the rope, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye as a car came down the drive. He turned, relief kicking through him at the idea that she had turned back.

It wasn't the station wagon, though. It was a ridiculous little red Volkswagen Beetle that didn't belong anywhere near the Wyoming mountains.

What the hell?

He lowered himself down the rope, so he was on solid ground by the time the foolish car stalled out on his lawn. Before he could react to that, the door flung open and a leggy twentysomething blonde swept out.
Catching sight of him, she rushed over in a billow of fabric and frantic energy. “Sam! Thank God you're home. I need your help!”

*   *   *

Danny made it a couple of miles from Windfall before she pulled over on the side of the road, shaking too hard to drive. Almost too hard to breathe. “God!” The breath burst from her, and her eyes blurred as she fumbled for her phone and took two tries to dial, whispering a broken “Please pick up, please pick up.”

The line went live. “Danny!” Jenny said. “We were just talking about you. Did your parents get off okay?”

Her throat closed and her breath made a little whistling sound. “I . . .”
Can't think about them right now.
Her chest hurt. Her whole body hurt.

“Danny?” Jenny's voice went instantly concerned. There were exclamations in the background, Krista's and Shelby's voices doing a two-part harmony of, “What's wrong?”

“It's S-Sam.”

“Is he hurt? Are
you
hurt?”

“No. Yes. I don't know.”

“Where are you?”

“Driving. Well, pulled over.”

“We're at the Sears place. Can you make it here, or should we come get you?”

Closing her eyes and pressing the phone firmly against her cheek, Danny let out a shuddering sigh. “I'll be there soon.”

*   *   *

She didn't know exactly how she got to the horse farm. In fact, she almost drove past it, not recognizing the
house, with its glossy white siding, blue shutters, and windows so new they still had stickers on them. The big, brightly painted sign read
SEARS RIDING ACADEMY
, though, and the big indoor arena and attached barn looked familiar. Turning in, she looked at the horses in the newly fenced paddocks on one side, the cows pastured on the other. It was easier to do that than think about the look that had crossed Sam's face when she asked him about their future.

Shock. Grief. Guilt. Accusation.

Whiz whined and licked her face, and she didn't have the heart to push him away. Instead, she parked, slung an arm around his neck, and pressed her face into his shoulder.

She wasn't going to cry. This wasn't the end of the world. It wasn't even the end of her and Sam. If anything, it was the end of a dream she hadn't even let herself acknowledge.

“There you are!” Jenny came out of the barn and made a beeline for the station wagon, with Krista and Shelby right on her heels. “What happened? Did he do something wrong?”

She climbed out of the station wagon, a little surprised to find that her legs would hold her up. “No. I did. Or maybe neither of us did anything wrong, except tell the truth.”

Then the story came tumbling out of her, starting with her father's advice. Her voice broke when she got to the end, and how part of her had been so hoping that he would have a two-year plan for the two of them. Maybe even a tentative five-year theory. She had told herself she wouldn't cry, but the tears came anyway,
warning her that Sam might have told the truth, but she hadn't. At least not all of it.

“I'm not okay with leaving things the way they are,” she said, probably louder than she needed to. “I didn't tell him that, though.” Her shoulders sagged. “I wimped out.”

“Don't say that.” Jenny looped an arm around her shoulders, eyes ablaze. “Stop beating yourself up. He's the jerk here.”

“He's not a jerk,” Danny protested. “He's just being honest.”

“Or maybe he's the one being the wimp.”

Krista caught her hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.” She led the way into the barn. Unlike the day of the barn raising, the structures smelled of hay and shavings, and carried the
rustle-thump
sounds of horses. Stopping in the block of stalls that they had all built together, Jenny cracked the door of the big foaling stall and motioned her forward. “Come on. Take a look. Marigold had her baby.”

Danny wasn't really in the mood, but it was easier to follow orders than argue, especially when her friends were trying to help, so she crouched down in the opening and gazed through, to where a tiny golden foal lay in a tangle of its too-long legs and a wispy white mane and tail. Marigold stood over her, watching the door. On guard.

“Oh,” Danny breathed, and then, softer as she got Krista's point, “Ohhhh.”

The foal was a new beginning for the Sears family, even more than rebuilding the barn had been. It said that life went on, that they could survive the worst that
the universe could throw at them and come out the other side because they had each other.

“I want this,” she said. “Not the horse part, but a baby. With Sam.” It wasn't nearly the shock it should have been, as if the knowledge had been there for some time, waiting for her to be ready to see it. “And I want him to want them with me, and to want me enough to fight for it. Which isn't going to happen.”