Harvest at Mustang Ridge (25 page)

Feeling the walls edge in on him—sterile and white, dang them—he pulled on his protective gear. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been in the house yet, didn’t matter that it was three in the morning. He wasn’t hungry and sleep was a long ways off. And if he stopped moving long enough for all the things he wasn’t thinking about to catch up, he might do something stupid. Like drive back to Wyoming and tell Krista he wanted to be with her, for better or worse, whatever the hell it took.

Which would be a really bad idea.

So instead, he would erase another really bad idea. Lighting his biggest torch, he got to work on the crap sculpture he’d built up on the ridge.

And, as the first cowboy’s head hit the deck with a satisfying rattle-clang and rolled off under a workbench, Wyatt felt a manic-sounding laugh tear at his throat. “You know what they say.” He pitched his voice to echo off the insulated walls. “If at first you don’t succeed . . . it’s time to start the hell over.”

T
he next morning, Krista told herself not to go down to the bunkhouse. Then she went anyway, driving under the archway and letting out a low moan when she found Old Blue missing and the workshop door closed tight.

She parked in the lot. And stalled, staring at the front door.

You can do this,
she told herself.
You can. Just do it.
Was it only two months ago that she’d told herself the same things when it came to calling him about the wrangler job? It seemed impossible.

“Just go in, grab your stuff, and get out.” She wanted her flip-flops and the inscribed picture of Seamus, Patience, and Blessing. The errand got her out of the car and up the steps, and she even managed not to think—at least not too much—that it was less than twelve hours ago that she had knocked and he’d opened the door and kissed her. Less than twenty-four hours ago that everything had still been normal.

Well, this was her new normal.

Steeling herself, she pushed through into the main room of the bunkhouse, which looked the same as it had last night. At first, anyway. But then she saw that Klepto’s bed was missing. The coffee table was clear of books and sketches. And there was no brown Stetson sitting on the breakfast bar.

He was really gone.

Krista’s breath thinned in her lungs, and although she wanted to think she had cried herself dry last night, new tears flooded her sore eyes. “Damn it.” She swiped at her red, raw cheeks as her stomach churned, heading toward nausea.

Thunk, thunk, thunk.
The sudden sound of boots on the porch wrung a gasp from her. She spun, heart leaping into her throat . . . and then sinking to her toes when Jenny stepped through the door.

“Oh,” she put a hand to her throat, holding in the disappointment. “Hey.” Not that she wanted to see him. Not that she had hoped, even for a second, that he had changed his mind.

Except she totally had.

Jenny came in, took a look around, and gave Krista’s hand a squeeze. “I guess he’s gone.”

“Thanks for not saying
again
.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No.” There was no note this time. She already knew why he was gone.

“Did you tell the others?”

“About the breakup? First thing this morning.” She had called Jenny at midnight, sitting alone on her bed
with hay in her hair. Now, she leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder and sighed. “This sucks. Makeover Week was supposed to be the high point of the season.”

“Five years from now, when you look back, what are you going to remember most?”

Krista knew what answer she wanted. “Finding out I was pregnant.”

“There you go.” Jenny squeezed her in a one-armed hug. “Maybe try to focus on that for now. Or if that’s too big and scary, then take it one day at a time. Today, we’re going to ship Jupiter over to the fairgrounds to let her get acclimated. In fact, we’re due there in an hour.”

“Okay.” Krista took a deep breath that didn’t do much to settle her stomach. “First, let’s get my stuff out of here.” She took a long look in the direction of the hot tub. “It’ll be a while before I come back.” And longer still before she could stand in this room and not think of Wyatt.

*

Wyatt didn’t know what time it was when he finally set his torch aside and came up for air. He was pretty sure he had missed a meal or two and at least one night’s sleep—was that dusk outside, or dawn? He didn’t have a clue. But it didn’t matter, because finally—
finally
—he had gotten the pioneer piece right. And he knew what it had been trying to tell him all along.

He stared at it and shook his head with disbelief. “It wasn’t ever supposed to be a dog. And I’m an idiot.”

The sculpture had started with inspiration from the picture of Seamus, Patience, and Blessing, but it had
taken on a life of its own, becoming a flow of metal shapes that suggested a wild, harsh landscape behind a hollowed-out Conestoga wagon. A metal man dug with a blunt-ended shovel while his woman stood with a rifle on her shoulder and a baby in her arms. A wolf watched from one of the distant ridges and a herd of horses flowed down another, making the humans look very small against the sweep of the frontier. Up close, though, they were strong and sure, with gears for joints and pistons for limbs. And the infant cradled in the woman’s arms stared up at the sky, where a hawk spun on an invisible wire, watching the pioneers break ground for the homestead that would become a ten-generation legacy.

It was raw, yet, but he knew the heart was there. Which was ironic, really, because he’d left his heart behind when he left Wyoming. He’d left his family—or the beginnings of it, at any rate—behind.

He whistled. “Hey, Klepto. You want to go home?”

The dog was bedded down under the workbench, curled in a sweatshirt of Krista’s that he had smuggled from the bunkhouse. He barely even twitched.

“I don’t mean inside. I mean
home
home. Mustang Ridge? Krista?”

The mutt’s head whipped up. “Whuff!”

“Come on, let’s go. The competition starts in . . .” He checked his watch. “Whoa. A few hours. We’ve got to haul ass.”

He had a big, huge apology to give, and some promises to make.

That is, if he wasn’t already too late.

As he dashed for the house for a change of clothes, he dragged out his phone, punched in the main ranch line, and crossed his fingers that Krista wouldn’t answer. He didn’t want to do this on the phone.

To his relief, Gran picked up. “It’s Wyatt, but please don’t hang up,” he said quickly. When there was an ominous silence on the line, he said, “Remember when Ed said that Mustang Ridge owes me a favor? Well, I’m calling it in.”

*

Krista did her best to join in on the Makeover Week festivities, but by the time she and Jupiter were on deck to enter the arena for the trail class, a big part of her just wanted it to all be over and done with.

Forty-eight hours from now, the guests would be headed home and she would have four blessed days off to hide out, lick her wounds, see a doctor.
Gack.

A round of applause indicated that the horse ahead of them had finished the obstacles. Jupiter shifted, her ears flipping back and forth as she tried to track the noise in front of her, the horses behind her, and the
ping-ping-jingaling
noises and cheerful tunes coming from the midway and carnival rides. The mare had settled in better than Krista had any right to expect, and kept all four feet on the ground as the wide gate swung open and a feisty chestnut gelding jogged out of the arena, with his rider collecting high fives and fist bumps on the way out, suggesting a good score.

Krista didn’t even look at the number. She just
wanted to give her nice horse a good ride and not embarrass Team Mustang Ridge. She didn’t need to win anymore. Not with Big Skye slowing down and her life eight-plus months from being turned upside down.

Leaning down in the saddle, she stroked Jupiter’s neck and whispered, “Just do your best, sweetheart.”

Once they were in the ring, though, the mare arched her neck, set her ears forward, and strutted her stuff like a runway model, as if she somehow knew she was being judged. Krista barely needed to do anything except point her from one obstacle to the next as they breezed through the weave poles, equine teeter-totter, drag, and cavalletti. The obstacles blurred together, and then suddenly they were at a narrow squeeze chute with an even narrower gate at the far end.

“You can do it,” Krista said, and sent her horse into the chute.

And Jupiter, bless her, marched through without flicking an ear. The applause began when they reached the third to last obstacle and swelled from there, with a chant of “Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge” that had no doubt started with her family and the guests, but seemed to be spreading.

Jupiter tackled the bridge and loped over the crinkly tarp like it was nothing, then stood like a rock while the score came up and the applause swelled.

“Brave mare!” Krista ruffled the long gray mane.

Big Skye met them at the gate, eyes sharp and excited. “You’re in second place, girlie! Only two points behind the leader.” He caught Jupiter’s reins and
guided the horse through the crowd to where the others were waiting, with the family in front and the guests ranged behind, packed two deep and looking sharp in their new outfits.

Brightening her smile, which felt dull and muted, Krista held out her fist for little Claire to bump. “Did you see Jupiter? Wasn’t she the best?”

The little girl nodded. “She did the gate perfect!”

“She sure did.” Krista swung off the mare. “Time to change into our freestyle outfits. I’ll be right back.”

As the others clustered around Jupiter—who fortunately seemed to be soaking up the praise and thriving in the Harvest Fair chaos—Krista sank down on a nearby bench and concentrated on breathing. Because if she was breathing, she wasn’t puking or crying, both of which were far closer to the surface than she wanted.

“Hey.” Jenny dropped down beside her. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good. I’m fine. I’m . . .” She put her face in her hands and burst into tears.

“Whoa there! Oh, sweetie.” Jenny hugged her.

“I’m sorry.” Krista sniffed back the tears with a force that made her sinuses bulge and put a headache square between her eyes. “I’m okay. It’s just”—
hormones, grief, guilt, regret
—“I should have told him about the baby. I should’ve given him the chance to make the decision rather than making it for him.” She sighed. “Dad was right. You can install all the buttons you want, but there’s still another living creature in the equation.”

Jenny blinked. “If you say so. Which means . . .
what? That you’re going down to Denver to see Wyatt?”

“No. I’m going to call him.”

“Face-to-face might be better.”

“No kidding.” She pawed through her equipment bag for her cell phone. “I mean I’m going to call him right now and tell him I’m coming down as soon as the after party is over.” She dialed, cupping a hand around the phone in an effort to hear it ring.

It did, but not in the digital bleat she was expecting in her ear. Instead, the first few bars of “How ’Bout Them Cowgirls” rang out behind her.

Krista’s. Heart. Stopped.

Jenny whipped around, and her mouth fell open. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

Working against legs that didn’t want to hold her up, Krista rose shakily and turned around, suddenly aware that she was the focus of a whole lot of eyes. Not just from her family or the rest of Team Mustang Ridge, but also from the nearby grandstands.

But it didn’t matter, because Wyatt was standing there, wearing a devastating, form-fitting tux that made him look like someone had dropped James Bond into a country fair. More, he was regarding her with an expression she’d never seen on him before. One that brought the blood buzzing through her system and had her pulse drumming in her ears. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Why are you dressed like that?”

He held up his phone. “You called me, remember?”
But then he dropped the cell in his pocket and crossed to her. “I’m glad you did. It makes me think that maybe it’s not too late, after all.” He searched her eyes. “Is it? Because I’ve got some things to say to you.”

She was dimly aware that the others had pulled off Jupiter’s saddle and bridle, and were hanging the
JUST MARRIED
sign on her haunches. They had been the last to go in the trail class, and were up third in the freestyle. There wasn’t much time.

Catching his sleeve, startled by the feel of expensive cloth, she said urgently, “Before you do, I need to tell you—”

“Please.” He covered her hand with his own. “Let me. I’m the one who screwed up. I should have seen it sooner.”

“Seen what?”

“That you’re my open prairie, my fast horse, and my gorgeous sunset, all wrapped together.”

She blinked. “Is that poetry?”

“Never. It’s something that Ashley said to me the other day, sort of.” He shifted to clasp both of her hands in his, his eyes dark and intense. “I keep seeing myself as someone who moves on rather than sticking it out, but she pointed out that the horses have always been part of my life. Maybe I ease away from them now and then, but I always come circling back around to having them in my life, one way or another.” He squeezed her hands. “That’s you and me, Krissy. We keep circling back to each other. Only this time I’m not leaving. Because I never want to leave you, ever again.”

Her pulse thundered in her ears, and it was a very strange moment when Jenny came racing toward her with a wedding dress and veil. “Wait! What—”

“The number two horse is a scratch, which means you’re on deck. Put this on!” She dumped the dress over Krista’s head and started doing up the Velcro they had built into the costume. “Do the veil. Quick!”

Wyatt grabbed the headpiece and got it into place, chest vibrating with amusement. Then he flipped the veil back and leaned in to kiss her. Part of her froze while another did a Snoopy dance—that he was kissing her, that he had come for her. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he knew the whole truth.

She pulled back and blurted, “I’m pregnant!” And she said it way louder than she had intended.

Every conversation halted in a forty-foot radius, but she barely noticed. She was entirely focused on Wyatt’s jaw dropping and his face going blank.

“Mustang Ridge!” a voice called from the gate. “You’re next!”

Suddenly, she knew exactly what he meant about the walls closing in, the air going thin, and the grass on the other side of the gate looking very green. “Coming!” she hollered back. Then, throwing Wyatt a last, panicked look, she sprinted for Jupiter, swung aboard, and kicked the horse toward the gate.

*

Wyatt spent a three-count frozen in place while the word ping-ponged around in his brain.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
But as quick as the shock had hit him,
it got chased off by a surge of
hell, yes!
Punching a mental fist in the air, he spun to go after her—

And found himself facing off against her family members, who were standing shoulder to shoulder, with a collective look of
if you want to get to her, you’re going to have to do it through us
tinged with a sort of wild-eyed shock that said the announcement had been news to most of them, too.