Firelight at Mustang Ridge (26 page)

Drawing away, she grinned up at him. “Do you have a spare helmet?” When he nodded, she kissed his cheek. “Then let's ride, cowboy!”

*   *   *

When they reached a set of wrought-iron gates off in the middle of nowhere, well beyond the suburbs of Three Ridges, where age-stained headstones were scattered on the hillside like flowers after a spring rain, Sam eased up on the throttle and pulled over. With Danny pressed up behind him, her hands linked around his waist and the memory of her happy, excited laughter as he had gunned the V-Rod up into the foothills, he knew he could do this. Knew it was time.

Past time, really. But his parents would understand.

Axyl revved his engine and raised a hand in salute as he rolled past, and the others followed suit, forming an honor guard of black-and-chrome, returning him to the Prospect Hill Cemetery for the first time since he buried his father beside his mother, on a hillside overlooking the great wide-open.

As the last of the grizzled bikers passed them, shooting him a thumbs-up instead of a salute, he propped the bike and swung off, then turned back to Danny. “So,” he said. “Here we are.”

She looked up at the wrought iron. “Prospect Hill. I'm betting there's a story to the name.”

“There is. I'll tell you later, if that's okay. There's
something I need to do first.” He saw the understanding in her eyes, but he held out a hand in formal invitation. “I'd like to introduce you to my parents. If you're willing. I know it's a little weird—”

“It's perfect.” She took his hand, eased off the bike, and then stretched up on her toes to brush her lips across his. “I'm glad you brought me here.”

Us, too
.

Sam heard the whisper deep inside himself, imagined he saw a pair of silhouettes in the purple clouds above them—a man and a woman, with their arms around each other as they looked down on their son and the woman he loved, walking hand in hand through the wrought-iron archway, toward the perfect sunset beyond. And the future.

T
he next afternoon, after a busy day of helping with last-minute wedding details, Danny slipped away to the apartment over the barn. She skimmed a hand over the rumpled sheets and smiled.

“Thinking of me?” Sam said, stepping into the bedroom doorway.

“Oh!” She jumped, then grinned. “You startled me.”

“In a good way?”

He was already wearing his wedding getup—a lightweight navy suit, a striped shirt open at the throat, and a sparkly pink boutonniere that had made Wyatt's day. Thinking that he looked good enough to eat in big, greedy bites, she crossed to him and went up on her toes to kiss him, feeling a pang at how close they had come to losing moments like this. “In a very good way,” she said, her voice husky with emotion. “I haven't seen nearly enough of you today.”

He eyed the bed. “I don't suppose we have time—”

“No, we really don't, especially the way we do it. I have ten minutes to get dressed and get to my seat. And you, mister, need to go play groomsman!”

“I'll get there. Foster and Nick have everything
under control.” He wiggled an eyebrow. “Need help with your zipper?”

She blew him a kiss. “Maybe I will.” Then, snagging the garment bag holding her pretty green dress, she danced into the neat little bathroom and shut the door. It added an extra buzz, knowing he was in the bedroom, waiting for her. Loving her. As she slipped into the dress, the smooth slide of fabric across her skin reminded her of his touch, his kisses. And when she turned to the mirror and got a look at herself, she pursed her lips in a soundless whistle. “Well, hello there.”

Back when she had bought the dress, seeing herself in it had shown her just how far she had come. Now, with her hair and makeup done and a new softness in her eyes, with the green dress draping off one shoulder and leaving a whole lot of her tanned-gold skin bare, she didn't just look good, she looked
happy
.

Toeing her feet into the turquoise-blinged shoes that the others had found for her, she gave a little shimmy that swirled the long dress and played peekaboo with her legs. Then, throwing open the door, she swept out into the bedroom and did a twirl. “So? You like?”

He caught her hand and continued the twirl up against his body, so his voice rumbled approvingly through her when he growled, “Like it? I love it. And I love you.” He kissed her to seal the deal.

The kiss was deep and thorough, his body solid against her, anchoring them both as their tongues touched and their fingers twined together. In one of his hands, he held something hard and bumpy, with a dangling chain.

She broke the kiss and looked down. “What . . .” The
air left her lungs as she opened her fingers and stared down at what he had given her: a perfectly faceted aquamarine, cut in a teardrop shape and hung on a delicate wisp of a chain. “Oh!” She held it up to the window, marveling as the facets caught the light. “It's beautiful. Is this the stone I found our first time out at Hyrule?”

“Yeah. I cut it myself.” He hesitated, looking almost sheepish when he admitted, “This is a first for me.”

Warm pleasure suffused her. “Giving a girl a gemstone you faceted yourself, you mean?”

“Giving a gemstone period.” His teeth flashed. “Then again, being in love is a first, too.”

Loving the gift, and the man, Danny turned to Sam and stepped into his arms. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

“It was yours from the first moment.” He brushed his lips across hers. “Just like me.”

*   *   *

For all the back-and-forth between Krista and her mom, Danny thought that everything came together in a perfect blend of Rose's traditional taste and Krista's casual cowgirl flair. The gazebo was wreathed in local foliage and beaded decorations made of braided horsehair, looking rustic and lovely. Vines and cornstalks had been woven into the lattice, offering shade and adding a soft rustle to the music that came from a lone guitarist standing off to the side.

From her spot a few rows behind Krista's family, tucked between Bootsy and Della, Danny had a good view of the wedding party assembled beneath the gazebo. Ashley, Shelby, and Jenny stood on one side of Mayor Tepitt, who—go figure—was also a justice of the peace. The three
bridesmaids were wearing very different summer-colored dresses that matched their personalities—flirty green for Ashley, vivid red for Shelby, and a trim blue sheath for Jenny, a couple of shades darker than the accents on Krista's dress. Jenny had little Abby—adorable in a frilly white dress and tiny blue cowboy boots—in the crook of her arm, and the baby was making faces at the crowd.

Della gave a happy sigh. “The girls look amazing, don't they?”

“You know it,” Bootsy confirmed. “And, hello, is there anything better than a man in a suit?” She wiggled her fingers toward where Wyatt stood in a cowboy-style tux and spit-shined boots, with Foster, Nick, and Sam beside him, all three of them wearing suits and matching pink boutonnieres.

Danny, whose eyes kept coming back to Sam, said, “The same guy peeling out of his suit?” As if he had heard her, he locked eyes and winked.

“Hoo!” Della fanned herself. “I think the temperature just went up ten degrees.”

“Do you blame her?” Bootsy asked. “Our Sam is a total hottie.”

My Sam,
Danny thought with a smile. But he belonged to Three Ridges, too, just like she would soon. Maybe, in a way, she already did.

She didn't see the cue, but all of a sudden the music paused and the wedding party came all the way to attention. Then, as the guitarist started strumming the traditional march with a twang that turned it uniquely country, Krista and her father appeared at the end of the aisle, perfectly framed by an archway of flowers and vines. A hushed murmur rose from the audience as
they made their way to the gazebo. “Oh.” Della dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “She's so lovely.”

Blue flowers were worked into Krista's upswept hair, echoing the pops of blue on the floaty white dress, which swished around her boots as her father kissed her cheek and she stepped up onto the raised platform to join Wyatt. He looked thunderstruck, as if he had never seen her before. And as if he had just been handed everything he'd ever wished for as he took her hands and the mayor began, “Dearly beloved . . .”

The words washed over Danny, who focused on the faces of the eight people standing beneath the gazebo, seeing their love, and the deep friendship that bound them together, and to her. Sam turned and met her gaze as Wyatt recited his vows, then Krista. He didn't wink or try to telegraph any message, just stood there, looking at her as if to say,
Here I am
.

And, yes, there he was.

“I do.” Krista said the words loud and clear, her face shining as she looked up at Wyatt, their hands linked and their eyes blind to anything but each other as the mayor prompted him with the same question.

“I do,” he said, the words coming out rough with emotion, but no less loud and clear.

From her spot, Danny fought a sniffle, thinking,
I never cry at weddings
.

Drink.

Della pressed a Kleenex into her hand. “You're leaking.”

“Just a little,” she whispered back, dabbing at her eyes and trying not to wreck her makeup.

“Do you have the rings?” the mayor asked.

“Here.” Jenny stepped forward and held out Abby, who had them pinned to her dress for safekeeping.

“Repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed.” The mayor guided the bride and groom through the exchange. Then, with a broad smile, she announced, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Wyatt moved in before she had even finished speaking. Sweeping Krista up in his arms, he kissed her long and deep, the both of them grinning through laughter, tears, and wonderful love.

Danny sniffed again, not even minding the tears. It was perfect. Krista and Wyatt were perfect together, and this was the perfect wedding for them. And sooner or later, she would have a wedding of her own. In the meantime, she was darn well going to enjoy the next few stages in her and Sam's new journey—moving into the mansion, opening up a couple more rooms, starting her new business.

Wyoming Walkabouts.
Because we dare you
.

The mayor gave a grand flourish and intoned, “I now present Mr. Wyatt Webb and Mrs. Krista Skye Webb!”

Surging to her feet along with the others as the cheers and applause drowned out the cornstalk rustle and triumphant guitar riff, Danny added her whoops to the din. As the applause swelled, Wyatt and Krista dashed up the aisle hand in hand, with the bride calling out, “Let's get this party started! Last one to the tent is a rotten egg!”

“Come on!” Bootsy grabbed Danny's arm and urged her out into the aisle. “It's time to dance!”

“We will,” said a deep, powerful voice from behind them. “In a minute.”

“Sam!” Danny turned, whooping anew as he swung her out of the traffic flow and into his embrace. “There you are.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she went up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, letting him know that she had missed him, even though he'd been standing right there under the gazebo.

Hidden speakers came to life with lively music, and a familiar voice said, “Hello, wedding guests! This is Fiddler, and I'm here to invite you to share Krista and Wyatt's first dance, country style. So every gent should grab his favorite girl and meet the newlyweds under the tent.”

Sam swung Danny in a do-si-do. “What do you say? Can I have the first dance? And the last? And every one in between?”

She beamed up at him, heart so full that she thought it might burst. It seemed impossible that he was there, that they were together, that this wonderful new life was suddenly unfolding before her. “Yes,” she said as the music kicked up a notch. “Absolutely yes!”

He caught her lips in an ardent kiss that made her head spin and her body sway against his. Against her mouth he whispered, “I love you.”

Closing her eyes, she absorbed the words, and the joy they brought. “I love you, too. So much.”

Up on the hill, Fiddler called, “And now for the newlyweds . . .” His voice went to a singsong. “Bow to your partner; bow to your miss. Mustang Ridge is a place of bliss. Grab that filly and give her a spin; there's nothing better than a fine weddin'!”

And as Krista and Wyatt followed his instructions and other dancers started forming new squares under the big, flower-studded tent, Sam grabbed Danny's hand. “Come on!”

Laughing, loving him, she joined him in a mad race up the hill, and into their future.

“All join hands and circle wide—now it's time for a doozy of a ride!”

“Y
ou did
what
?” Wyatt loomed over Ashley, seeming to momentarily forget that he was holding his eleven-month-old daughter in the crook of his arm. “Are you out of your
mind
?”

Little Abby let out a startled “Awoooo!” that reverberated off the rough-hewn log walls and overstuffed couches of the sitting room–slash–reception area in the main house at Mustang Ridge—aka the gorgeous dude ranch Ashley's brother had married into last fall, and where Ashley had lasted six weeks as an employee before deciding that working there wasn't nearly as fun as being a guest.

Thank God there had been a Help Wanted sign in the window of Another Fyne Thing. Though Wyatt probably didn't see it that way now.

He gave the baby a bounce, rearranged his face to a fatuous smile, and sweetened his tone to say, “Sorry, sweetie. Auntie Ashley started it.” With his hat off and his dark, russet-streaked hair standing up in agitated spikes, he looked like an irate porcupine.

A very large irate porcupine.

Ashley just folded her arms. “You're the one doing the yelling.” Though she was pretty sure she was the only one capable of hitting her big brother's bellow button.

“What did you expect?” he demanded, halfway losing
hold of his baby-soothing voice, so he sounded like an irritated cartoon character. “Of all the harebrained, irresponsible—”

“
Annd
that's my cue.” Krista stepped in and scooped Abby out of Wyatt's arms. “Come on, kiddo. We're going to go find somewhere else to be.” Propping the baby on her hip, the pretty, fresh-faced blonde kissed Wyatt's cheek, shot Ashley an encouraging finger wiggle, and whisked down the hallway leading to the kitchen.

“But—” Wyatt took a half step after them, then stopped himself with a muttered curse and took a couple of deep breaths. By the time he turned back to Ashley, he looked less like a furious porcupine and more like a concerned patriarch of a porcupine.

Which was worse, really. She could deal with his bluster, but his disappointment always got to her. There was too much history there.

“I can do this,” she insisted. “It's a fantastic opportunity. And aren't you the one who was always telling me I needed to find something I love, something I'm good at? Well, this is it.” From the first moment she had stepped through the shop door into the bright, chaotic interior and heard the jingle of the little bell overhead, she had been in love.

“I was talking about you going back to school and getting a degree,” he grated. “You know, giving yourself a shot at a real future. Sound familiar?”

As usual, he didn't even try to understand where she was coming from. “Seems to me you went right back to cowboying after college.” Sure, he was famous now—in a few high-dollar art circles, anyway—for the Wild West–themed sculptures he made from recycled farm equipment. But those successes hadn't come out of any classroom.

“We're talking about you, not me. And I've gotten plenty of use out of my degree. You would, too, if you'd just give it a try.”

“Too late. I've already signed on the dotted lines. All of 'em.”

Besides, she was allergic to school. Her brain was too quick, too flighty. Too ready to get distracted when things stopped being fun and started feeling like work. That was why Another Fyne Thing was perfect for her—the stock was always changing and the customers were a fascinating blend of locals and tourists. And as of today she could mix things up even more—the advertising, the sales, the window displays, all of it. Nothing at Another Fyne Thing would ever be boring again now that she owned it.

Ohmigosh. She owned it.

Even though she and Hen had thrown an impromptu celebration after they finished the paperwork, inviting everyone up and down Main Street to stop by for cookies, coffee, and ten percent off, there was still a frisson of shock at the thought.

She. Owned. The. Store.

It was impossible. Incredible. Wonderful. Terrifying.

“Are you even listening to me?”

She blinked at Wyatt. “What?”

“You can't afford this,” he said between gritted teeth. “What if you miss one of the payments? You'll lose what you've already put into it and destroy what little credit you've managed to scrape together since you left the Douche-Bag Drummer.”

Her chin went up. “I'll make the payments.” She didn't want to talk about Kenny. She could only say
You were right and I was wrong
so many times.

Yes, her ex had been a douche bag, and yes, she had followed the family tradition—the female half's, anyway—by staying way too long in a relationship that was going nowhere but downhill. That was over and done with, though, and just because she had made a whopper of a mistake in her choice of men didn't mean that buying the store was a terrible idea, too.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

Scrub,
went Wyatt's hand through his hair. “You're getting in way over your head. You don't have the first clue how to run a business.”

“Della is going to help me. Not to mention Krista,
Jenny, and the others.” The friends she had fallen into—married into, really—when she'd crossed the line into Wyoming with zero to her name but Bugsy, some clothes, and her boxes of art supplies.

He scowled. “What happened to starting small? I thought you were going to stay at the shop until Della sold it, then come back to work here while you got an online storefront up and running.”

That had been his plan, not hers. “I changed my mind.”

“Change it back.”

“No.” It was a single word, a complete sentence. But it was one of the hardest things she had ever said to him. Unable to leave it like that, she added, “Please, Wyatt. Try to understand where I'm coming from. I can do this without your support—I will if I have to. But it won't be the same. I know I've let you down before, but this time it's going to be different. You'll see.”

“Ashley.” He sighed as some of the fight drained out of him. “Be—”

“Happy for myself?” she interrupted before he could say “reasonable” or “logical” or any of those other words he was so fond of. “I am. And I hope you will be, too, eventually. In the meantime, what would you say to making me a few mannequins? It'd be killer to have some F. Wyatt Webb originals in my window.”

“I'd say you're pushing it.” But his scowl lacked the punch it had carried before. “Have you told Mom what you're up to?”

“I'll call her in a day or so. I wanted to tell you first.” And when it came to talking to their mother on the phone, she needed a dark, quiet room. Wine and chocolate were good, too. She stepped in, gave him a hug, and said, “Love you, Bro. Even when you treat me like I'm still ten years old.”

“Back then, I could take away your allowance.”

“Now the bank can do it for you.”

He winced. “Don't say that. Don't even think it.” A pause. “On second thought, do think it. Maybe knowing
that you're just a couple of missed payments away from having it all yanked away will help keep you on track.”

“I'll keep myself on track, thank you very much.” And, yeah, the whole bank thing gave her a definite twinge. Hiding that behind a saucy smile—flirting was one thing that had always come naturally, even with Wyatt—she patted his cheek, near where she had kissed. “I'm leaving before you decide to scare more babies.”

“Going back to the store?”

“That's the idea.” It was closed to customers, but there was plenty to do. And it was all hers! Well, hers and the bank's.

“Change of plans,” Krista announced, appearing in the doorway, carrying Abby, who was armed with a fat chocolate-chip cookie and was back to her usual smiling self. Popping the baby in Wyatt's arms, she said, “You're on kidlet duty, because Ashley and I are going out. I already called the others, and they're going to meet us at the Rope Burn. We're going to celebrate Ashley's big news!”

*   *   *

“I'll have a Let's Get This Party Started Cosmo,” Ashley said as she and the other four members of the Girl Zone settled around their usual high-top bar table.

“Sure thing.” The waitress poised a pen that had a miniature cowboy boot dangling off the end. “Do you want it in a light-up glass?”

“Absolutely.” Why not? They were celebrating.

“White wine for me,” Shelby said, then shot Ashley a wink.

Danny wrinkled her nose at them. “You two are such girls. I'll have a Corona.”

“That's not exactly a manly-man's beer,” Shelby pointed out.

“Better than a cosmo. In a blinky glass, no less.”

“Tomboy,” Ashley said.

“Priss,” Danny fired back, and they grinned at each other.

The two were a study in opposites. Where Ashley
flirted, Danny was no-nonsense. Where Ashley flitted, Danny kept her hiking boots firmly planted. And where Ashley rushed headlong, Danny planned everything out to the last detail. But despite their differences, they totally clicked.

“Here are your drinks!” their waitress announced, arriving with a spur jingle that somehow carried over the crowd noise. She offloaded the wine and beer, and then set Ashley's tall glass in front of her and pushed the button on the bottom to activate the LED embedded in the stem, making red, white, and blue stripes move up and down.

Shelby raised her wine, which looked classy and grown- up in its traditional housing. “To Ashley. Congratulations on being the new owner of Another Fyne Thing!”

Danny held up her beer. “To being your own boss!”

Jenny added her glass to the group salute. “To loving what you do.”

Krista raised hers. “To taking a leap of faith!”

“Hear, hear!” The four of them clinked, then looked expectantly at Ashley.

Who sat there, holding her blinky glass as she fought back a sudden wave of emotion. “I . . . You guys . . . Wow. I can't breathe.”

Sometimes when she was out with her friends, it was hard not to feel like the little sister, even when Wyatt was miles away. The others were so educated, so accomplished, each of them a business owner in her own right. Now, suddenly, they were looking at her like she had done something important. Something they understood, even admired.

“So don't breathe,” Jenny advised. “Drink.” That got another round of “Hear, hear!” and the five of them clinked and drank.

The first slug of cosmo tingled going down; the second spread a warm glow that eased the pressure in Ashley's lungs and let the air back in. With it came some of the positive vibes she had been practicing.
Della believes in you. The customers love you. The window displays rock. You can totally do this
.

And she could. She would. Starting now.

“Speaking of the store,” she said, setting down her blinky glass, “I could use some brainstorming help.” Considering how many times she had helped the others spitball ideas for their businesses—everything from new theme weeks for Krista's dude ranch or Danny's adventure trekking business, to slogans and photo-shoot locations for Shelby and Jenny—she got a buzz out of it being her turn.

Eyes lighting, Shelby beckoned. “Bring it on.”

“The second payment is due in forty-five days, and it's going to be tight.” She had already filled them in on the financing. “The window display contest that Mayor Tepitt is running during the Midsummer Parade has a big cash prize, but it's right before the money is due, and there's no guarantee I'll win. So, here's the deal. I want to run a couple of special events at the store as a way to get customers through the door, and hopefully put product in their hands while they're there. Which is where I could use some help. I was thinking of holding a sale and letting people spin a roulette wheel right at checkout to ‘win' an extra discount. Or maybe having a fashion show. Or what about a handyman auction? Highest bidder gets stuff fixed around their house. I figure there aren't enough eligible bachelors in Three Ridges for a sexier sort of auction, though that would tie in better with vintage clothing.”

Shelby whipped out her phone. “Hang on. Let me jot down a few notes.”

“What about a costume contest?” Krista suggested. “You know, sixties and seventies, that sort of thing. You could charge twenty bucks per entry, less if they buy everything from the store.”

But Shelby shook her head. “You don't want the store to become a Halloween go-to, especially after Della did all that work for the drama club and helped out with the haunted house. Branding-wise, you need to focus on how you can make hip, trendy combinations with vintage clothes. That's the message you're trying to get out to your customers, right?”

“That's exactly what I'm going for!” Ashley grinned, feeling suddenly like she was surrounded by a warm glow of friendship. Or was that that the cosmo? Probably a little of both.

“So no costumes.” Shelby hummed, tapping her lower lip. “But a contest isn't a bad idea. Or the fashion show.”

They bounced ideas back and forth for the next twenty minutes, through another round of drinks, and pretty soon Ashley had decided she should totally claim the night as a business expense, because they were getting more planning done over drinks than she had in the past three weeks of sitting up late at night.

It was crazy, really, how much things had changed in the past year and a half.

Her lips curved. “Thanks, guys. I mean it. Thanks for the ideas, for coming out tonight, for being happy for me, even though some people—cough-cough, Wyatt, cough-cough—think I'm completely nuts for jumping in like this . . . for all of it.”

“Well, we kind of think you're nuts, too, but that's why we love you.” Danny lifted her glass. “To Ashley!”