Firelight at Mustang Ridge (23 page)

“It might,” Shelby said.

But Danny shook her head, her chest going hollow with grief. Regret. “You guys warned me. You said he was the perfect boyfriend up to a certain point, but always bailed when it looked like things might be getting serious. But I thought . . .” Her lips twisted. “It sounds stupid, but I really thought that I was different.”

“You are,” Krista said firmly. “Trust me. I've known Sam a long time, and I've never seen him like this before. I think it was hard for him growing up without his mother, but I know his father's death really knocked the wind out of him. He withdrew, shut himself off. Beer, video games, frozen dinner wrappers piling up . . . He snapped out of it eventually, but he's stayed wary, tends to keep everyone at arm's length.” She paused, then said softly, “I think he's lost the people closest to him too many times. Whether he realizes it or not, he's protecting himself from ever being hurt that way again.”

A shiver of shock ran through Danny as the pieces lined up, but she shook her head. “I can't compete with that. Besides, he made his decision.”

“So give him a reason to change it,” Jenny said, her expression fierce. “I was damn sure that things were
over between me and Nick when I headed for the airport to get the hell out of Wyoming, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

“Wyatt and I split twice before we finally worked it all out,” Krista chimed in. “And Shelby was on her way back to Boston when Foster made his move. So I guess there's only really one question. Do you love him?”

“I . . .” Danny's throat tightened completely, cutting off the rest of her reply with a wheeze as the world closed in around her, sparking panic and making her want to hide or run and not look back. “He doesn't love me.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Krista asked. “Because we've all seen the way he looks at you.”

“I . . .” Her mind filled with the memory of his face when he had come up the side of Wolf Rock, rushing to hold her. Kiss her.

What if he did love her? What if?

She pushed to her feet. “I've got to go.”

“Where to?” Shelby asked. “Not back to Maine, right?”

“No.” Danny grinned, feeling suddenly reckless and wild. Brave. Like she was about to throw herself off a cliff and hope her ropes would catch her just right. “I'm going back to Windfall.”

*   *   *

When she got there, though, she found a strange car parked with its nose up against Wolf Rock. “What the heck?” She took her foot off the gas and let the wagon roll to a stop in the drive.

The car wasn't just unfamiliar. It was completely out of place—a bright red VW Beetle convertible with black
spots that made it look like a giant ladybug on wheels. It was very female, very much the antithesis of her own style, and it had her hackles up before she hit the gravel.

Sure, it could have been work-related, could be a friend. But he conducted his work meetings down at the sorting shack, and he'd said himself that Krista, Jenny, and Shelby were his only real female friends. And they wouldn't be caught dead driving a Disney-pimped Beetle.

Don't jump to conclusions,
she warned herself, aware of a gut-deep urge to protect territory that might not even be hers anymore. But it shouldn't be anybody else's either, less than three hours after the fact.

With her body strung even tighter than it had been on the drive over, she stalked to the front door and knocked. Hard. “Sam? It's me.”

He must have seen her coming up the drive, because he opened the door almost immediately. “Hey. It's . . . Hey.” His eyes searched hers. “You came back. Is everything okay?”

It shouldn't have hurt so much to see him, shouldn't have made her want to simultaneously fling herself into his arms and shake him until the stubborn rattled loose. Locking her knees so she wouldn't give in and do either, she said, “We need to talk.”

He glanced over his shoulder, past the weight machines to the hallway by the bedrooms. “This isn't a great time. I—”

“Have company,” Danny said levelly as a woman stepped out into the hallway and studied her. Honey-haired and willowy, with a smooth, angular grace that said she spent far more time on ballroom dancing than
shooting the rapids, she wore yoga pants and a cropped-off tank that showed the glint of a belly button ring.

“That's Ashley,” Sam said. “She's—”

“I. Don't. Care.” Maybe Danny would feel bad later for being rude. But probably not. Because as much as she was trying not to care, she most certainly did.

“But—”

“I lied to you.”

That cut him off, fast. “Excuse me?”

“When I said I was okay with keeping things the way they are between us. That was a lie. Not because I don't like how things are now, but because I want more.” Heat raced through her, feeling like panic, but not. Instead of pressing in on her, the world wanted to rush out away from her, explode out of her. “I want a real relationship, one that's heading somewhere. I want to know that you're open to the idea of us making a life together, with all the bells and whistles. Marriage, babies, joint tax returns. The works.”

The Ashley person did an about-face and tiptoed back into the room she had come from. Sam didn't seem to notice, though. He just stared at Danny with an unreadable expression.

Her palms went sweaty as she said, “The only guarantee we've got in life is that we're all going to die eventually. Question is, what are you going to do with the time you've got? Jump from girlfriend to girlfriend, so you're always beginning something new rather than working on what you've got? Or is it time to try something different?”

He lifted a hand like he was going to touch her, hold her, tell her he wanted it, too. But then that hand fell
and his eyes went hollow. “I'm sorry, Danny. I can't give you anything more than I already am. That's all that's inside me. I'd be lying if I said any different.”

It turned out that heartbreak was more than just a word for the pain that came when the man you loved didn't love you enough. Because she could feel it happening as she stood there—feel her heart shattering into a dozen broken pieces that somehow still beat, still pushed blood through her body, but wasn't capable of anything else. “That's it, then,” she said, her voice sounding strange in her own ears. “That's your final answer—I'm supposed to take it or leave it?”

He nodded. “I'm sorry.”

“I'm leaving it.”

“I figured.”

She could see the resignation in him, the sense that he'd been there, done that, knew the routine. And it pissed her off. “Don't you
dare
,” she hissed, closing on him and drilling a finger into his chest. “I'm not like the others. What we have isn't the same. You're just treating it that way.”

He swallowed. Voice harsh, he said, “I wish—”

“Don't wish unless you're going to do something about it.”

Eyes stark and hurting, he shook his head. “I can't.”

“You mean you won't.” She held up a hand, feeling the tears course down her cheeks and hating the pity she saw in those gorgeous gray eyes. “Now I'm the one who's sorry. Not because I tried, but because it wasn't e-enough.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Danny.” He reached for her.

“Don't touch me.” She jerked back, not sure she
remembered how to breathe. “You don't get to touch me anymore.”

Then, unable to hold it together any longer, she turned and fled, rocks kicking up beneath her hiking boots as tears scalded her with the realization that whatever Sam felt for her, it wasn't half of what she felt for him. And it sure as hell wasn't enough.

*   *   *

Sam stood watching Danny drive away for the second time that day. The brake lights flashed cherry red, the car whipped out onto the main road, and the engine went to a roar. And, just that quick, died off again as she sped off, fading into the distance.

Gone.

There was a raw emptiness in his gut, one that wasn't hunger, wasn't grief or rage, but something beyond all three. “Damn it.” The words came out rough and hard, rasping at his throat like trail grit lashed by a hot wind.

He hated that he'd hurt her, hated that she had forced the issue.

There was movement behind him, a whisper of the clothes Ashley was barely wearing. Tensing, he said, “I don't want to talk about it.” There was no point in asking if she had overheard.

“Well, that was interesting.” She said it from right behind him, where she was no doubt looking out over his shoulder at the empty driveway. “And for the record, you're an ass.”

He spun and glared at her. “What do you know about it?”

“I know that you could've introduced me.”

“I don't think she cared. She was on a mission.” A mission to dangle something he didn't want in front of him, something that made his lungs freeze up and triggered a saber-tooth-size fight-or-flight response.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Urrgh. Men! Of
course
she cared. How would you feel if you drove out to talk to her and found her sharing air space with a total stud? You know”—she swept a hand down her body—“the male equivalent of me, maybe a few years older, and with a whole lot more muscle mass.”

Anger gnawed at his gut. “I'd kill him. I wouldn't care who he was or why he was there; he'd be dead.”

“Which I'll bet you a million dollars is how she felt just now.” She moved in and patted his cheek. “And somewhere in there, you knew it. Which is why you didn't tell her. You wanted to push her away, and make it stick this time.” Her eyes flicked to the door. “Congratulations. It worked. And you're a dick.”

“Ashley,” he growled.

“She was right, by the way. This is totally about your father. What do you think he would say about the way you treat women?”

He bit off the roar that rattled in his chest, knowing that if he let himself go now, it would get ugly. “Okay, that's it. We're done here. Help yourself to food, towels, whatever. But otherwise you're on your own.”

“Are you going out?”

“No. I'm staying in.” Turning on his heel, he headed for the game room. Where he could turn up the volume loud enough to drown out the world, and with one push of a button, start over fresh, again and again and again.

I
t shouldn't have seemed strange that the campsite looked the same as Danny had left it, shouldn't have annoyed her that the sky was streaked purple-pink with one of the most gorgeous sunsets she'd ever seen, silhouetting the black mountain shapes in the distance.

The world hadn't ended just because she and Sam were through. She had said it herself: nothing lasts forever.

“It just sucks when something really good ends too soon,” she said, swiping at her face, which felt hot and raw, as if scoured by the same avalanche that had pummeled her body, leaving her battered, bruised, and aching from head to toe. Whiz, sitting beside her in the Gator, looked over at her and thumped his tail. Reaching across, she ruffled his fur. “Well, big guy, I guess we're home.” For now, anyway.

He gave a low “whuff” and hopped off the Gator, tail sweeping as he did a nose-down circuit of the campsite. Slowly, stiffly—
Lord, what a day
—she shouldered her pack and headed for the RV.

The door was dark, though, and there wasn't anything for her inside, really. She wasn't hungry, wasn't
thirsty, and sleep would be a long time coming tonight, if it came at all. So she sank down at the table beneath the outstretched awning, brushed off the leaves that had fallen on it, and stared out at the river, her mind going blank.

“What now?” She wasn't even aware of speaking until she heard the words, and then an answering chitter from above. Chuck and Popov didn't have an answer for her, though. Neither did Butters the Butterfly, who still hung above the table like nothing had changed. She didn't want to think about the bachelorette party tomorrow or the wedding the day after, and she definitely didn't want to think beyond that. Right now, all she wanted to do was get into the fetal position and cry.

“Damn it, Sam.” It came out ragged and broken. He didn't want what she wanted, didn't want
her
—at least not enough to work for it. And, damn it, he had another woman in his house. She still wasn't sure of the deal there, was trying not to care, but it wasn't working.

“So, what now?” she asked the butterfly, which swayed in the slight breeze. The plush toy still didn't have an answer, but it made her think of Farah. She wished she could call her friend. Since that wasn't an option, she dug into a nearby storage bin and grabbed the tarot cards. Why not? It wasn't like she could feel any crappier, and maybe they would give her some reassurance—like telling her that she would soon meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger who would be the perfect guy for her.

Except she didn't want some perfect guy. She wanted Sam, with his quick mind, insatiable curiosity,
and bad furniture. But if part of her thought she had gone about it all wrong just now, another, larger part said the fight wasn't hers. If he had wanted to make room for her in his life, he would have found a way rather than breaking things off.

And, damn it, there went the tears again.

Whiz trotted over and plopped down at her feet, looking up at her with big, faintly worried doggy eyes that seemed to say,
Why are you sad? You're not leaving me behind, are you?

And, yeah, she was totally projecting there. But it resonated.

“Don't worry, buddy. Whatever happens next, we're a team, and we're staying right where we are.” But what if she didn't? What if she went somewhere else, close enough to stay in touch with Krista and the others, maybe even run some excursions out of the ranch, but far enough away that she wouldn't have to pass Windfall, wouldn't see his truck coming the other way and feel like she was feeling right now?

She wanted to think the pain would fade eventually if she stuck around, but the idea rang hollow.

Sniffing back tears that were proving as stubborn as the man himself, she shuffled the cards, feeling them warm in her hands. What was it Farah had said? Something about how, if she had a specific question, she should hold it in her mind as she shuffled, then say it out loud and cut the deck.

Trying to concentrate, she shuffled until the cards slid freely in her hands. Then she said, “Should I set up shop here in Three Ridges?” Except that as she cut out
a card that seemed right, what she actually said was, “Does he love me?”

And there it was. The “L” word. Like the tarot was a flipping daisy, and she'd gotten down to the last two petals.

Her breath hissed out. “Wait. I didn't mean it.”

There was the card, though, lying facedown on the table.

Whiz whined.

“I know, I know. I should put it away.” But, of course, she flipped it over. And recoiled at the sight of the Death card staring up at her, reversed. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, no.” Not because it meant anybody was going to die, but because of what it
did
mean. She didn't need to check the
Noob's Guide
; she knew.

Death meant an ending and the impermanence of things. Reversed, it meant that she was resisting a necessary end.

Her throat closed on a wrenching sob. Not because she believed in magic, or tarot, or any of it, but because it was telling her what she already knew. What she had known since earlier, when Sam had looked her straight in the eye and let her know he had gone as far as he was willing to.

“Oh.” She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Oh, Whiz.” Her voice broke, the dam against the tears broke, and she slipped out of the chair, onto the ground beside the table. Rocks bit into her knees and Whiz crowded up against her, whining urgently and dancing on his goofy, too-big paws. She looped one arm around his neck, and then the other.

And, curling herself around her dog like she had fallen overboard and he was a life preserver, she buried her face in his ruff and wept like her world was ending. Because, damn it, it was.

*   *   *

Coins, ghosts, dragons, hidden chambers—Sam had blasted through the easiest levels, sending his animated character slashing and leaping from room to room and skyrocketing the score. Things got harder as he went, but that was a relief, as it distracted him from the oppressive ache that started behind his eyeballs and ran through his chest to the hard, hurting lump in his gut.

Don't think. Just play
. He bore down, sending his avatar busting through a line of zombie-lizard things that turned to fireballs as they died, saying, “I'm out of here.”

It took Sam a beat to realize that hadn't come from the zombie lizards.

“Did you hear me? I'm leaving.”

Pulling himself out of the game, he paused the action on-screen and scowled at the door, where Ashley stood with her ridiculous pink overnight bag at her feet. “I thought you needed someplace to crash.”

“Thanks to you, I've decided to face things head-on instead of hiding out.”

“Has anybody ever told you that you're seriously annoying?”

“You don't have to be rude. You're getting what you wanted, aren't you?” She gave a breezy wave. “In a few minutes, you'll have this big place all to yourself, without anybody here to tell you that you're being a stubborn ass and you should go apologize and do whatever it takes to get her back.”

“You know,” he groused, “back when I was a kid, I used to wish sometimes that I had a little sister. Right now I don't envy Wyatt one bit.”

She blew him a kiss. “See you at the wedding, Sam. And for the record, don't even think about skipping out on Krista and Wyatt. You try it, and I'll tie you up and drag you there myself. Don't think I won't.”

“If I say I'll be there, will you go away?”

“Okay.” She waited a beat. “So? Do you promise?”

To go to Mustang Ridge, where he knew he would see Danny again? “I promise,” he said, because he just damn well wanted to be left alone to wallow for the next forty-eight hours, at a minimum.

“Cool. See you there. And, Sam? If I were you, I would think about some of the things she said. She seemed like a pretty smart lady to me.” She sent him a finger wiggle, snagged her rolling bag, and finally disappeared from the doorway.

Which was a good thing, because he was about five seconds away from throwing something at her.

He waited until he heard the kitchen door open and close, half expecting her to pop back with an “and another thing . . .” She didn't, though, and after a moment he heard her silly car fire up and drive away, leaving him in peace.

Except she had messed with his peace, and once she was gone he couldn't get it back.

He couldn't settle into the game. Heck, he couldn't even make himself unfreeze the screen—he just kept staring at it, thinking about Krista and Wyatt getting married in a couple of days. And how, when the
hubbub died down, everybody's lives would go back to normal, including his. And not in a good way.

There wouldn't be any more rock-paper-scissors over who was paying for dinner, no more big, wiggly dog galumphing around Wolf Rock, no more gem show dates. And there wouldn't be any more sweeping Danny up in his arms, no more kissing her until his head spun and his body burned for her. No more waking up when she did, and cuddling her close for a few minutes before they made sweet, urgent love.

“Damn it.” He dumped his controller and pushed to his feet, suddenly restless. He didn't want to sit on his ass anymore, not when his brain wouldn't get quiet. He headed out of the game room, thinking he should take Yoshi for a gallop, or maybe just grab some hammers and a collecting bag and drive up into the hills.

But when he got out in the hallway, he stalled at the door leading to the garage. It loomed suddenly large and solid. Important. Which didn't make any sense, because whatever had gone on between him and Danny, it had nothing to do with his old man.

But as he twisted the knob and pushed the door open, and the garage lights came up to gleam off the busted-up bike, his gut fisted hard, and he had to force himself not to backpedal. Damn. He didn't want to be in here, didn't want to look at the bike. Didn't want to remember. But he made himself take the two steps down to the concrete floor, and let the door shut at his back.

As long as he was cleaning house, maybe it was time for him to face this particular ghost.

*   *   *

Some time later—it seemed like forever and yet no time at all—Sam was fighting with the front brakes when there was a noise at the main door, which he had opened to let the stale air out.

“Well, hell,” a voice said. “What got into you?”

Sam looked up from the brake and blinked at the figure silhouetted against the bright sun, confused because the last time he looked it had been night, and because for a split second it looked like his father standing there. Then the figure shifted, the years came back, and it was just Wyatt. Who was about the last person he wanted to talk to right now. Returning his attention to the Harley, Sam said, “What are you doing here?”

Wyatt crossed the garage, studying the strewn bike parts. Nudging aside an exhaust manifold, he said, “I asked you first.”

“I just figured it was time to deal with the crap in the garage. Can't leave it sitting here forever, can I?”

“You can if you put up a whole 'nother building for your cars.”

Ignoring that, Sam tightened up the plate-size disc brake, giving each of the bolts a half turn in order, around and around, to keep things even. “What's up?”

“Just thought I would swing by, see how you're doing.”

Translation: Ashley told on him. “I'm not really in the mood for company.”

“So I heard.” Wyatt wandered over to the workbench, which had been clear last night—Sam thought it had been last night, anyway—but was now heaped with a collection of tools, rags, packaging, and empty beer bottles. Propping a hip, he added, “I also heard you dumped Danny.”

“We broke up. It was mutual.” Sort of.

Wyatt studied a wrench like it had all the answers. “Why?”

“The usual.” Shoving a length of pipe onto the end of the wrench to add leverage, Sam kept going at the bolts, around and around, making sure the disc was on there good, that there wouldn't be any chance that the brakes would fail going around a hairpin curve. “I can't give her what she wants.”

Wyatt tossed the wrench. “And seeing as how you could buy most of the town a couple of times over, I'm guessing we're not talking about a pony or a Porsche here.”

“You know what we're talking about.”

“I do. What I don't know is why you're so dead set against it, and why you bail the second it starts looking like you'll have to do a little compromising to keep a relationship heading in the right direction. What gives? It's not like you're afraid of hard work.” Wyatt's gesture encompassed all of Windfall. “You've built this place and made it into something important. Why aren't you willing to do the same with a woman?”

“That's not what this is about.”

“Okay, then let's talk about your parents.”

When had it gotten so cold in there? “Let's not.”

“Why not? They're right here with us.”

No, they weren't. And that was part of the problem. He had come out here hoping he would hear his old man's voice, the way he had right after the accident. Or his mother's wisdom, the way his father used to channel it, like he was talking for her, not just making stuff up.

Apparently taking his silence as a go-ahead, Wyatt
continued. “What would you give to have them back, even just for a day?”

“Anything!” Sam cranked on the wrench so hard that the head sheared straight off the bolt and went flying. Surging to his feet, he rounded on Wyatt. “Everything. This whole damn place. I'd give up the money, the business, all of it, if I thought it could bring them back.”

“What about Danny?”

“What about her?”

Wyatt closed on him, still holding the wrench, like he wasn't so sure Sam had control of himself. “What if she were hurt? What would you give to save her?”