Summer at Mustang Ridge (18 page)

She let out a breath. “Sally and Paul. They’re good people, and first on my ‘in case of emergency’ list. They live outside Seattle, though, and aren’t in the best of health, which makes it hard to stay close. I take Lizzie out to see them at least once year, but it never feels like enough.”

“I bet it’s not easy to keep up a long-distance relationship without talking on the phone, or at least e-mailing.”

“We try. I put their calls on speaker, and the three of us chat about what we’ve been doing while Lizzie listens in, and I e-mail them photos at least once a month, but . . .” She shrugged. “It’s okay. All we can do is our best.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“She’s got some friends at school, a couple in our building. I make sure she gets out and interacts even though she’d rather stay in by herself and read or play games. She likes gymnastics, though, and dance.” She tried not to sound defensive.

“That’s good, but I wasn’t talking about just Lizzie.” When Shelby stiffened, he shifted over and wrapped an arm around her, so they were sitting side by side, staring through the mist. Which made it easier to hear the husky sympathy in his voice when he said, “Shelby, darling, it sounds to me like you do a whole lot for everyone around you—especially that sweet little girl of yours. But who’s going to do nice things for you?”

She didn’t let herself pull away, but her voice gained an edge. “I don’t need anybody. We’re fine, just Lizzie and me. We can take care of ourselves.”

“No argument here. I just hope that if you take anything away from Mustang Ridge for yourself, it’s that you need to have some fun of your own now and then. You’ve been down a hard road and come out the other end in one piece.” He tightened his arm. “Be good to yourself. You’ve got a great life, a great kid. Make sure you enjoy them.”

The reminder of that life—and the fact that they wouldn’t always be sitting together, out here in the middle of nowhere—brought a quiver. “I . . .” She blew out a breath, made herself relax. “I’m trying. I’m out here with you, aren’t I?”

“Yes. That you are.”

“And I’m doing things like this.”

He arched a brow. “Like what?”

Determined to dispel the gloom that had come with talking too much about the past and future rather than the glorious now, she turned and rose on her knees beside him. “This.”

For the first time she initiated a kiss, leaning into him to press her lips to his, hard and ardent. His mouth opened beneath hers and she delved in, aroused by the hint of wine and the clutch of his hands on her arms, her waist. She pressed against him, feeling wanted, feeling powerful. Maybe she was on her own in the real world, but right here and now, she was with him.

When she pulled away, heart pounding, he tightened his fingers and let out a low growl. “Do that again.”

She wanted to—wow, did she want to!—but didn’t dare. Not now, after a conversation that had left her feeling a little off balance and more than a little vulnerable. “Maybe later.” Smiling, she retrieved her wine and sipped, enjoying the flavor and the faint tingle against her tongue. “Tell me you have chocolate to go with this.”

“Dessert before dinner?”

“Or for dinner. Don’t tell me you’ve never dined on chocolate chip cookies and root beer?”

Grinning, he reached for the saddlebag. “Chocolate cupcakes do it for you?”

“Always,” she said, and settled in beside. By unspoken consent, they stayed away from serious things while they watched the sun go down. Instead, they munched on junk food and talked about small, silly things long after the rainbows blazed red and gold, then faded to night. And it was perfect.

•   •   •

The following evening it rained, not just a soaker, but ominous thunderstorms that rolled through, blackened the sky, and sent wind whipping across the campsite. There wasn’t any question of Shelby and Foster sneaking away—she stayed put with Lizzie in their tent, playing gin rummy by camp lantern and working not to flinch when lightning flashed and thunder rolled. Lizzie’s eyes stayed wide and worried, though, and Shelby sometimes had to prompt her when it was her turn.

The thunder moved on after an hour or so, but the rain and wind stayed put, as did the scared expression on Lizzie’s face. When the third gust hit their tent in as many minutes, making the canvas boom around them, Shelby threw up her hands. “Enough! Uncle!” As Lizzie stared, she gathered up their sleeping bags and pillows. “Come on, kiddo. Grab Mr. Pony and let’s go. We’re sleeping in the truck tonight.” It was late enough in the roundup that most of the back was clear of provisions. There would be plenty of room for them to stretch out, unless too many other people had come to the same decision.

A little to her surprise, they were the only ones to take shelter in the truck. And yeah, maybe bailing out of the tent confirmed that she was a city girl despite the boots and jeans, but when Lizzie crawled into her arms and curled up in her lap, Shelby decided she didn’t care. For tonight, the most important thing was being a safe place for her daughter.

On Thursday night, their last night on the trail, things cleared up again much to everyone’s relief, and Shelby and Foster slipped away for some more alone time. It was late but the moon was bright, letting the horses pick their footing up a steep, rocky hill to a grassy plateau, where he left the hobbled horses to graze, then led her over to the edge and down a narrow trail that took them partway down into a moonlit valley.

“We’ll sit here.” He guided her to a wide, flat ledge, where rocks encircled a scorched spot and a split log made a bench. Sitting beside her, he dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a sloshing canteen and their evening snacks. “Pixy Stix and Kool-Aid?”

She laughed. “I’m so going to have to detox after this week.”

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“I didn’t say that. Hand them over.” She looked around, not really sure why there was an evidently well-trafficked viewing spot right here. The valley was soft and rolling, the distant mountains were pitch-black against the moon-blue night, and the stars spread around them like a canopy. But all that could be said for tonight’s campsite, too. “What are we—
Oh,
” she breathed, “mustangs!”

The horses appeared out of the darkness like ghosts, floating across the valley floor, their hoofbeats inaudible from the humans’ vantage point. There were twenty of them, maybe more, three of them mares with foals tagging more or less at their heels. Or, rather, scampering from side to side with little hopping bucks, like the ones Lucky had started to throw in when he and Sassy went out in their paddock.

“See the dark one out front, keeping an eye on everything? That’s the alpha mare.” Foster kept his voice low, his mouth close to her ear, making the moment even more intimate, more special. “She bosses the herd, leads them, keeps them safe. She’s chased off all of the bachelor stallions except for that guy over there—the stocky fellow with the high whites on his rear legs, bringing up the rear of the group and keeping them safe.”

“They’re beautiful,” she breathed. “And so different! I thought that they would look like the ranch horses. And they do . . . but they don’t.”

“Nope,” he agreed. “The wild ones have an extra something to them. An air of freedom, maybe, or an extra layer of cautiousness. Whatever it is, it gets inside you and stirs the blood. At least it does me.”

“Me, too.”

He cocked his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You like it here?”

“I love it. Thank you for bringing me.” She leaned in and brushed her lips across his. “I can’t think of a better way to spend the last night of the roundup.”

“Watching wild horses with my lady? I can’t, either.”

Even as the thrill of his words shot through her at the pleasure of being his lady, if only temporarily, he returned the kiss, deepened it, and amped up the sizzle a hundredfold. A thousand. She murmured and crowded closer, loving the feel of his arms around her, his body hard against hers. His lady. Yes. She’d take that.

From below, one of the mustangs whinnied. From above, one of the saddle horses answered.

She broke the kiss. “Are they okay?”

His lips curved. “Loco will keep Brutus in line, and the wild ones are too smart to waste the effort investigating. So I think we should—” His face blanked suddenly, his eyes fixing past her shoulder.

“What—” She started to turn.

“No. Stay where you are. Don’t. Move. Just let me—” He shot an arm past her, grabbed something and yanked, dragging a piece of what looked and felt like black rubber garden hose over her shoulder and down her arm. Except that then it moved, curling up and around his arm.

Snake!

“Ohmigod!” She scrambled to her feet and flew back, slamming into the solid rock behind them. She would’ve screamed, but all the oxygen had suddenly vacated her lungs.

“Breathe,” he told her with a chuckle in his voice. “He didn’t mean any harm.” The snake’s head protruded from his fist, fanged and gaping, and the rest of it—four feet, maybe more—was looped over his forearm, making her think of boas and pythons and every
Animal Planet
show she’d ever seen.

Air trickled back in, making her head spin. “No . . . harm?” She would’ve scooted farther away if it hadn’t meant free-falling. “It’s a snake!”

“Just a harmless one. He eats rodents, not ranch cooks.” He held out the creature, which stared at her with beady eyes the size of chocolate chips.

She plastered herself against the stone. “Get him out of here!”

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, rising and carrying the snake to the far side of the ledge, where the downslope was heavily overgrown. “Three’s a crowd, especially with this crowd.” He released the creature, then used the toe of his boot to keep it aimed away. “Go on. Bet there’s a nice, fat mouse in there for you.”

Not helping,
Shelby thought, and tried to quell the shudder.

He sat back down on the bench and gave it a pat. “All gone.”

“You’re sure? Look again.” Did snakes travel in packs?

Smothering a chuckle, he pulled out a flashlight and scanned the area. “We’re snake free, honest.”

Swallowing hard, she tried to find some humor in the moment, because he sure as heck looked amused. “What are you, a snake whisperer?”

“Nah, just not a city slicker.” He cocked a brow. “Want me to grab him back and show you how to wrangle?”

“Not on your life.” She wielded her sugar stick like a light saber, holding him off. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinking about it.” He wiggled an eyebrow. “Trust me, it wouldn’t be the first time one of the wranglers threatened—quietly, and in private—to tuck a creepy crawly into an annoying guest’s bunk. Since you’re one of the gang, not a guest, seems to me I can do more than threaten.”

She gave him a narrow stare, but started to relax as the fight-or-flight adrenaline drained from her. “Let me guess. You tortured your sister—Tish, is it?—mercilessly when you were kids.”

“Isn’t that a little brother’s job?” He stretched, wrapped an arm around her, and drew her down to rest against his side, her cheek pillowed on his chest. His voice rumbled against her as he said, “Besides, she gave as good as she got, sometimes better.”

“Oh, really?”

He chuckled. “Yes, really. I think her shining moment—one she reminds me of to this day—was sneaking into my room one night while I was sacked out asleep, exhausted from roundup prep, and giving me a sissy manicure, complete with pink polish.”

She smiled, imagining it. “And you, of course, hadn’t done anything to deserve it.”

“I might’ve put a black snake—one not unlike our friend over there—under her pillow.”

She slanted him a look. “I thought only city girls squealed over that sort of thing.”

His eyes warmed, gained a glint. “She was having a sleepover that night with a few friends from town. Trust me, they squealed plenty.”

A laugh bubbled up. “Thus, the nail polish. Let me guess—she hid the remover.”

“She didn’t need to. I woke up late and had to scramble to get outside before the roundup left. I howled plenty when I saw the polish but didn’t have time to do anything about it, so I just grabbed a pair of gloves and ran.” He held out a hand, looking at it as if he could still see hot pink. “She was already mounted up, laughing her butt off.” He laughed, too. “It was a five-day roundup like this one, and danged if I didn’t keep those gloves on the whole time. No way I was letting the others see. I never would’ve lived it down, not with the guys we had back then, plus my pa and grandpa.”

Warmth moved through her, mellower than attraction, deeper than friendship. “It sounds like a nice way to grow up.”

“It was. I hate that Tish’s kids won’t get the same chance we had.”

“Why not?”

“The Double-Bar H belongs to someone else now.”

She winced, remembering that so many local ranches—most of them, in fact—had gone under in recent years, or been forced, like Mustang Ridge, to diversify. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Sucks knowing it’s not there for us anymore, and that the guy who has it has let it go to hell. The buildings are falling down, the fencing’s a mess, the fields have gone to seed . . .”

The rawness of his voice tugged at her, but she didn’t know what to say.