Harvest at Mustang Ridge (26 page)

Ed Skye, wearing the costume tux from the bellhop skit, said, “Looks like you’ve got a decision to make, Webb.”

But it was a wonderful no-brainer. “I made my decision before I left Denver. She’s mine, if she’ll have me. The baby is mine either way.” He tipped his head to where Jupiter danced at the in-gate, swinging the
JUST MARRIED
sign. “That’s the woman I love over there, and she’s carrying my child. I’d be obliged if you’d get out of my way, so we can kick some ass on the mustang we trained together.”

Her father stuck out his chin. “And if we don’t?”

“I haven’t fought for enough things in my life. From now on, I intend to fight for her.”

*

When the gate swung open and the open chords of the freestyle music began to play, Krista’s heart lodged itself in her throat.
Where are you, Dad?
Was she going to have to do this alone?

“Sssst!”
The gatekeeper gave her a furious wave. “You need to get in the ring.”

“I’m waiting for—”

“We’re good!” Wyatt said, hopping up behind her. “Go!”

Jupiter didn’t need any more urging—she knew the music, knew it was her cue. With her front feet flipping in a high-stepping Spanish walk, she danced into the arena to an explosion of flashbulbs and a bunch of
oohs
and
aahs
from the crowd, followed by laughter when the audience got a load of the sign on her bum.

Under the cover of that noise, Krista hissed, “My dad was supposed to be doing this with me.” Wyatt had his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder, and the whole-body press was seriously distracting.

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in most states,” he said against her neck.

“Wyatt!”

“You thought I would cut and run, but I don’t blame you.” His hand snuck down, then splayed protectively across her belly in a move that darn near melted her heart. “Thing is, Krista . . . the dog wasn’t really a dog.”

The music changed as Jupiter reached the registration desk, and they dismounted, removed the sign from her rump, and pulled a couple of Velcro tabs to quick-change her from a car to a bellhop.

The crowd roared as the horse nudged Wyatt out of the way to go around behind the registration desk and ring the prop bell, calling the luggage cart, which she proceeded to fill with foam rubber luggage that kept falling out. Every time another piece hit the dirt, the mare shook her head and snorted.

Laughter and applause followed each pratfall on
cue, and Krista and Wyatt met over by the registration desk, where they were supposed to fake a kiss.

Wyatt sold it, bending her over his arm and working it for the crowd, but against his lips, Krista whispered, “What do you mean the dog wasn’t a dog? What is he? A little old man in a fur suit?”

“Not Klepto. The dog in the sketch. It was a baby all along. It was my brain’s way of saying there was something missing, not just in the sketch, but in my life. A baby, Krista. Our baby.”

Jupiter snorted down the back of his neck, and he brought Krista up from the dip so they could follow the luggage cart to the honeymoon suite setup, complete with the reinforced platform bed and huge bottle of fake champagne. There, Jupiter poured while they kissed again.

“Since when do you want kids? I thought raising Ashley burned you out on all that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her cheeks, her body beginning to burn while her heart swung between wanting to believe him and being afraid he would yank it all away again in a few weeks.

“I’m an ass,” he said against her lips as he cued Jupiter to try to interrupt the kiss, then walk around them, shaking her head in disgust. “Ash is still my sister, always will be, but that’s not the same as having my own kid. Our kid.” He grinned down at her. “I want the adventure, Krista. I want everything to be new and exciting—not because I’m somewhere different, but because I’m where I’m supposed to be—at
Mustang Ridge, with you and our family. Watching our kids grow. Helping the business grow. Seeing the sun come up over the mountains every day with you, and knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Because I love you. Not the way I did before, when I was trying to be the right guy for you, but stronger and harder than anyone will ever love you. Because now I
am
the right guy for you.”

Her heart rolled in her chest. “Oh, Wyatt. I love you, too. But how can I be sure this isn’t you trying to convince yourself again?”

“You can’t.” He said it like it was the best thing in the world. “There aren’t any guarantees in this life, Krissy-girl, except maybe that it isn’t forever. Maybe I die tomorrow, maybe the sun doesn’t come up over the mountains . . . or maybe—and this is what I’m banking on—maybe we wake up together in the bunkhouse and go down to breakfast, and see what the day might bring. That’s the adventure. That’s the pioneer spirit, the forging into the unknown because it’s there. I might not know much, but I know that I want to do that forging with you and our baby, and another baby. Maybe one or two more after that.” His grin lit her heart. “Because I love you and the future we’re going to have together.”

There was an amplified whinny-sigh as Jupiter gave up on the humans and went to lie down on the big platform bed, to a wave of laugher from the audience.

“So what do you say, cowgirl?” Wyatt grinned down at Krista, with all the love in the world gleaming from
his eyes. “Will you give a cowboy a chance to love you, and damn well never leave you again?”

Her heart swelled to bursting, as if a switch had clicked on inside her, saying,
This
. This was what she had seen glimpses of back in school, this was the love she knew they both had inside them. And this was the future, the adventure she had been craving. Her life with Wyatt might not ever be a safe and peaceful routine, but it would never be boring. And they would live it together.

“Yes!” she said, and the single word lit her with joy. “Yes to all of it, and especially to the forever. I love you, cowboy. More than the sun and the moon, and all the waterfalls put together!”

The music hit its crescendo as Jupiter pulled the bed cover over herself with her teeth, lay her head on the pillow, and stretched out a forefoot to dim the lights. And, as Krista reached up to kiss Wyatt—her friend, lover, partner, and the father of her child—applause rolled through the stadium where they had first seen each other after so long, and the chant rose around them, hundreds of laughing voices shouting in unison, “Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge!”

T
wo weeks shy of Christmas, with a pretty layer of snow on the ground, clear roads, and no storm on the horizon, a hundred or so of the Skye family’s nearest and dearest gathered at Mustang Ridge to celebrate Gran and Big Skye’s golden anniversary.

The heated tent had gone up at daybreak; the caterers had arrived at eleven; and Rose had fussed until the flowers and balloons showed up at noon. The guests arrived on schedule to yell “Happy Anniversary!” when Jenny brought in the happy couple. Gran had blushed and done lots of “Oh, poosh. Go on with you!” while Big Skye gave a couple of pleased
harrumphs
and asked if there was cake.

Now, as the outside world darkened with an early-winter dusk, with the food winding down, the cake getting set up for its big reveal and no major disasters to speak of, Krista was almost ready to consider the party a roaring success . . . And she would, as soon as they got through the presents.

“What do you think, little one?” She brushed her
fingers across her stomach, which was starting to round out with more than just the snacks she was wolfing, grateful that the all-day sickness had finally worn off. “Are they going to like what we’ve done for them?”

There wasn’t any answer from inside her—no kicks yet, or any real movement she could feel, which was so strange after seeing the baby the other day on the ultrasound screen, a black-and-gray silhouette rocking out to the beat of her own little internal drum.

Our little girl,
Krista thought, smiling as she watched her grandparents on the packed dance floor, swaying to something slow and bluesy.
Imagine that.
It still felt unreal some days, like the image on the screen was special effects and nothing was really all that different. Except that so much was different, wasn’t it?

She and Wyatt had taken over the bunkhouse for good, splitting their time between the ranch and his place in Denver, where the statue for the pioneer museum had finally come to life, wearing his face and hers, with a dappled mustang mare in the background to remind them of Jupiter, who was running free now, in a river-fed valley paradise about an hour’s ride north of the ranch.

They had named it Blessing Valley, and there hadn’t been a dry eye in the group when Wyatt had slipped the rope from the big gray mare’s neck and sent her to join the herd of forty-three mustangs that her winnings had bailed out of government holding pens. She had stood there a moment, looking from the humans to the horses and back again. Then, with a huge snort, she
had exploded into motion, racing to meet her new band. As she flew down the valley, the horses had bunched together and the newly gelded herd stallion had raced forward to meet her, ears flat and nostrils pinched.

Jupiter had whirled and kicked him in the chest, and that was all it took. The humans could practically see the hearts in the herd leader’s eyes as he fell for the big gray mare, hoof, line, and sinker. A minute after the horses met, their necks were twined together. Five minutes later, she had been muscling through the herd, meeting the others and letting them know who was in charge.

Even Big Skye had swiped at his eyes, blaming it on dust. And, better yet, their weekly check-ins said that the horses were flourishing in the sheltered valley.

Even with all of that going on, though, Krista had found it easier than she expected, being away from the ranch. In fact, it had been nice to plow through her office work during the day and spend the nights and weekends with Wyatt, exploring Denver, hanging out with Damien, or just staying in and cuddling by the fire while Klepto dozed nearby.

The ranch was fine without her, at least during the winter months. And she was starting to think that home wasn’t a place for her, after all. It was more a state of mind . . . and the man she loved.

“Hey there, cowgirl,” Wyatt said from behind her, as if he had known she was thinking of him. “Here. This is for you.” A plate appeared in front of her, loaded
with grilled chicken, skewered veggies, and the potato salad she had moaned over earlier in the day after sneaking a taste.

She grinned up at her man, drinking in the sight of him, so handsome in his dress-up jeans and a striped button-down, and so utterly easy in his skin, whether he was being the cowboy, the metalworker, or somewhere in between. “More food?” she teased. “Seems to me we just ate.”

“The rest of us ate. You orchestrated.” He nudged her toward a chair. “Sit. Eat. And after that, we’re dancing.”

She tipped her head, looking up at him as warmth moved through her, simple as the sunrise. “Bossy much?”

“You take care of the guests. I take care of you and the baby. Seems fair to me.”

More than fair,
Krista thought, taking the plate and enjoying the feeling of being fussed over—her and the yet-unnamed life-changer that was growing inside her. As he sat beside her, she asked, “Has our special guest arrived yet?”

“She’s about ten minutes out. Which is cutting it close, I know, but she’ll be here.”

She grinned as she forked up a mouthful of the creamy potatoes. “Ten minutes is nothing. It’ll take twenty for everyone to ooh and ahh over the cake.”

“If you say so. Frosting is frosting to me.”

She leaned in to give him a smacking kiss. “You’re such a guy.” And what a guy.
My guy,
she thought, feeling the rush that came with it. Then, seeing a swirl of
activity coming from the direction of the kitchen, she shoveled in a couple more bites as the DJ ended the song and announced, “And now . . . it’s cake time!”

There was a round of whoops and applause from the crowd, then another, longer ovation when the caterers set the promised dessert on a round table beneath a golden spotlight.

In deference to Gran’s status as Queen of All Baking, they hadn’t gone crazy with elaborate flavors, fondant, or piping. Instead, there were layers of chocolate and vanilla cake covered in a good buttercream and decorated with scenes from her and Big Skye’s marriage. Not edible copies of pictures from the family albums—Jenny had vetoed that on the grounds that eating their faces would be weird—but little symbols of their five-decade marriage, from a cutout of the prize bull and twenty good cows Big Skye had given her father as her bride price, to caricatures of the whole family ringing the top tier.

“Well, I’ll be!” Gran’s eyes glowed as she took in the massive dessert. “Arthur, look. There’s even a little boat for the cruise we took on our twenty-fifth!”

As Krista had predicted, it took some time for everyone to properly admire the cake and take pictures of her grandparents posing with it, cutting it, and even feeding each other demure little bites. Then there were more toasts as the caterers cut the monster and distributed slices, until finally everyone had a piece and Big Skye commandeered the microphone.

“I, ah . . .
Harrumph
.” He fiddled with the mic for a
second, then looked at Gran with a tender expression that was very unlike his usual scowl. Taking a sip of champagne to clear his throat, he said, “It’s hard to believe it’s been fifty years, isn’t it, darlin’? Seems like just yesterday we were chasing Eddie around in his nappies and putting him on old Dancer for his first ride. But now look at us.” His gesture swept the crowd. “I’m such a lucky man. Thank you, sweet Edith. Thank you for making a man out of me, and for making a family out of all of us.”

Gran started to wave that off with a pleased “Poosh!” but then stopped herself and beamed back at him. “You’re right, Arthur. I did all those things. And you know what? You’re welcome. You’re not the easiest man some days, but you’re the best man I know, and I’m proud to have been married to you all these years.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to the beginning of another fifty years, my love, in this world and the next.”

The crowd started to clap, but Big Skye waved them down. “Hang on, hang on. I’m not done yet!” He grinned, dug into the breast pocket of his sport coat—which rocked suede patches and probably qualified as vintage—and came up with an ivory card made of thick paper, with a spray of pressed wildflowers on the front. Holding it out, he said, “This is for you, Edie. Happy anniversary.”

As she flushed, Wyatt whispered in Krista’s ear, “Did your mom help him pick out the card?”

She shook her head. “Nope. He made it himself.”

“Impressive.”

Gran gasped as she read the pretty card. “
Arthur!
Do you mean it? We’re going to Paris?
Tonight?
”

His grin went from ear to ear. “Surprised?”

“I’m . . .” Her mouth worked and her hands fluttered at her sides.

“Shocked?” Big Skye offered.

“Oh, you!” She swatted at him, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris!”

With a flourish, he looped an arm around her waist and drew her in for a long kiss that scored good marks on the heat scale and sparked more than a few whoops.

“Awww.” Krista leaned back against Wyatt. “Look at them.”

“Quite a picture,” he agreed, dropping his chin on the top of her head.

Gran and Big Skye’s togetherness had been on an uptick since fall. Sure, she grumbled about having him underfoot more, and he had driven everyone nuts trying to micromanage the annual winterizing chores from a folding chair rather than the saddle. But he had also thrown himself into the family photo project, which had evolved into several new video clips for the ranch Web site and a coffee-table book, and he was starting to make noises about writing an actual history of Mustang Ridge.

Speaking of which. “Is Maizey here yet?” Krista asked as her mom and dad presented her grandparents with their gift—a day at Le Cordon Bleu, with cooking classes for Gran and an equal number of elaborate tastings for Big Skye.

“I don’t . . . Wait. I think I see her. I’ll be right back.” Wyatt moved off through the crowd as Gran did a little happy dance and hugged Rose tight enough to strangle.

Under the cover of applause and congratulations, Wyatt returned with Maizey Bascomb in tow. The elegant, silver-haired curator of the American Pioneer Museum was wearing a pale blue dress, an imposing amethyst-and-silver pendant, and an expression of suppressed excitement as she gave Krista a quick hug. “I can’t believe I’m here! This place is
gorgeous
.” She eased back and gave Krista an up-and-down. “And so are you. What’s your secret?”

Krista grinned up at Wyatt. “True love.”
And a bun in the oven
, she thought, but didn’t say, because today was about Gran and Big Skye. “You should come back in the summer. I know I’m biased, but I swear it’s the prettiest place on Earth.”

“You’ll have to bar the gate to keep me away.” Maizey’s eyes shifted to the center of the room, where a representative of the cattlemen’s association was handing over a gift of steaks on the heels of a medium-funny cow joke. “Do they know that you guys renegotiated the deal for
Blessing
?” That was what Wyatt had named the new statue. Because it was, on so many levels.

Krista shook her head. “Not a clue. Are you ready for the presentation?”

“Whenever you are!”

At Krista’s high sign, Jenny commandeered the
microphone and used her
hey, listen up, this is the TV voiceover speaking
voice to say, “Before we get back to the dancing and making merry, us grandkids have a little something for the happy couple.” She held out the mic. “Krissy? How about you do the honors?”

As Krista stepped forward, Wyatt blew her a kiss and said, “Knock ’em dead, boss lady.”

“I intend to,” she murmured in return. Because this was family. It was everything.

Taking her place at the center of the dance floor, facing Gran and Big Skye, who looked cheerfully shell-shocked by all the presents and speeches, she took a deep breath to steady the nervous little churn in her belly. She hadn’t written up anything formal, so it came straight from her heart when she said, “Most of you here today know me. For those who don’t, my name is Krista, and I’m one of Arthur and Edith’s granddaughters. I’m also the one who pushed the idea of turning this place into a dude ranch. Gran was behind me all the way on it, I think because she wanted a new kitchen.”

That got some chuckles, and a twinkling wave from her grandmother.

Returning the wave, Krista continued. “Gramps wasn’t as big a fan of the idea, though, and he and I have butted heads over it through the years. He thought that Mustang Ridge should stay the way it’s always been. And you know what? He’s got a point.”

That got a startled, “Eh?” from Big Skye.

“Yeah, you heard me. I said that you’ve got a point.
Not that we shouldn’t adapt and improve, but that we shouldn’t forget where we started from, either. Me? I come from them,” she pointed to Gran and Big Skye, “from them,” her parents, “from here” she widened her arms to sweep the ranch, “and from the generations of Skyes and married-ins who have made this such a special place.” She paused, savoring the moment. “So, to recognize that, and to share Gran and Big Skye’s legacy with the world beyond Three Ridges, we have a surprise for you. I’d like to introduce Maizey Bascomb, the director of exhibits at the American Pioneer Museum.” She held out the mic.

There was lots of curiosity as Maizey tucked a wrapped package under her elbow, took the mic, and smiled at Gran and Big Skye. “Congratulations on your milestone anniversary. To recognize it, and your family’s contribution to shaping pioneer history, we would like to designate Mustang Ridge as a Place of Pioneering Interest.” She unwrapped the flat object to reveal a polished metal plaque, which she showed to the audience, and then handed to Gran, amid a swell of applause.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” Gran beamed over at Big Skye, holding out the plaque. “Look, Arthur!”

The tips of his ears had gone bright red. “That’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Mighty fine, indeed.”

Maizey continued. “We’d like to include some family memorabilia in an exhibit we call The Way North, about settlers who left the main trail and spread into other parts of Wyoming. And Mrs. Skye, we’d love a
contribution from you on old-school cooking techniques. Do I understand that you have a sourdough starter that dates back to the original homestead?”