Summer at Mustang Ridge (29 page)

She shot him a grateful glance. “Thanks.”

As she stepped into the kitchen, Gran said, “You promised Krista that you’d leave the baking to me.” Her voice was calmer and quieter but held a thread of steel.

The combatants were squared off over the butcher block counter, glaring at each other while Krista hovered in the background. Looking super relieved to see Shelby, she mouthed a silent
Help!

Rose glanced over and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, great. Reinforcements. Have you come to gloat?” She looked nine feet tall in her toque, and like she could kick Shelby’s butt if she decided to.

Deciding not to be intimidated, Shelby came around beside Gran, wrinkling her nose at the weird aroma coming from the cooling rack, which was full to overflowing with pastries that smelled more like enchiladas than apple anything. “That depends. What happened that’s gloat-worthy?”

Rose flushed. “This . . . You . . . Urgh!”

Krista came up next to Shelby and said in a low voice, “Mom’s cinnamon got switched out for ground ghost pepper.”

“Oh,” Shelby said, with a longer thought of
Ohh
. “That would explain the smell.” Ghosts were the hottest peppers on record, and the powder most certainly wasn’t intended to take the place of cinnamon.

“If you’d been sticking to the deal, you wouldn’t have needed your cinnamon, would you?” Gran said in her “well, there you have it” voice.

“I could’ve been making pork chops with apple chutney!”

“Well, you weren’t, were you? You were trying to show me up with your Food-Channel-of-the-week special.”

“How dare you!”

Gran leaned in, eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think I don’t know you tried to poison Herman?”

“Mom!” Krista gasped. “You didn’t!”

“She did,” Gran insisted. “If Shelby hadn’t caught that she switched out the jars, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

Shelby didn’t notice it
,
she thought,
and this isn’t a conversation. It’s one step away from a kitchen cage fight
. But even the tension wasn’t enough to bring down her mood. Not when she saw Foster and Lizzie peer around the edge of the hallway arch and give her a double thumbs-up. Giddy heat bubbled in her veins, and she was one step away from a Snoopy dance that would probably send Rose over the edge.

For the first time, though, Krista’s mother looked uncertain, maybe even a little guilty. “I . . . I didn’t. I just wanted—”

“You wanted him dead,” Gran hissed, looking like she was enjoying herself now.

“No! I didn’t. I just—”

“Ladies, ladies!” Foster strode into the room with Lizzie on his heels. “Let’s not let this go further than you intend. You know what they say: it’s all fun and games until somebody loses a pie.”

The combatants turned to glare at him while Krista smothered a half-hysterical giggle. Shelby snagged Lizzie and tucked her near the wall so she was out of the line of fire if this boiled over and things turned physical—salad tongs at ten paces, maybe, or flying biscuits. Then she stepped up beside Foster and said, “He’s right. What’s more, you’re family, which means you’re going to have to find a way to deal with each other. So, as someone who’s spent some time in the kitchen recently, I have a proposal.” It had been percolating since her conversation with Krista last night, and might not be perfect, but it was a start.

Rose hesitated, but then nodded stiffly. “Go ahead, Shelly.”

Shelby squelched the eye roll. “I vote that you institute blue tape and a schedule. The tape cuts the storage areas into three parts—Gran’s, Rose’s, and shared—and you two agree not to mess with each other’s stuff. The schedule divides the kitchen hours into blocks—blue for Gran and red for Rose, or whatever you want. My first instinct is to say that Gran does the baking and sweets and Rose handles the savories. Or you alternate days. Whatever. The point is that you cross paths as little as possible.”

“Shelby.” Gran’s voice wobbled with dismay. “My kitchen!”

“I know.” She caught the older woman’s hands and squeezed. “I know you want to do it all, but think about it. You keep telling me to do things for myself, but when was the last time you did the same thing?”

“But I don’t—”

“Well, you should. Take an afternoon in town. Go riding with Arthur. Catch up with some friends. Be with the people you love.”

“Go riding?” The concept seemed foreign.

To her surprise, it was Rose who said, “You know . . . it could work.” She paused. “If you’re willing to try it, Barbara, I’d be on board.”

Gran wavered, but it was obvious she was thinking about it. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s give it a shot,” Krista urged, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Just a week, maybe two, and see how it goes.”

Gran took a shuddering breath. “Okay. I guess . . . okay. We can try.” But then her head came up and she locked on Shelby. “I’m going to need an assistant.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You’ve got one.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Her grin felt like it lit her up from the inside out. “I’m staying—we’re staying—another month to be with Foster . . . to be with all of you.” She couldn’t imagine leaving now, didn’t want to. She wanted to stay right there at Mustang Ridge, with her daughter and the people who had become her family. Maybe she would even reach out and try again with her own family. If Gran, Krista, and Rose could make it work, maybe she and Mercy weren’t that far off.

For now, though, this was her safe place. And, most of all, staying there with the people she loved would give her the time and room she and Foster needed to figure out if they were meant to be.

Mustang Ridge: Whe
re family comes together.

One month later

“I
t’s not much to look at.” Foster’s nerves jumped as the turnoff came into view, and he nearly hit the gas and kept going.

“Don’t you dare drive by it again,” Shelby warned from the other side of the truck. “I let you get away with it last week, but enough is enough.” Her voice softened. “It’ll be fine, cowboy. Lizzie and I can see past some bad paint and falling-down fences.”

If that was what she was expecting, she was in for a big disappointment. “Well, there were a couple of leaks before the old—um, before Winslow had the plumbing shut off and the system drained out. And, well, there’s some mold.” Lots of mold. “A few spiders.” Armies of them, actually, along with a platoon of mice.
Should’ve set out those traps last week
.

He’d subbed out the critical stuff, and had been working on getting the place fixed up in his off hours, but he hadn’t wanted to sacrifice his time with Shelby when things were still up in the air. Which was part of the nerves, really.

“If you don’t take us to your ranch today, we’ll just come out here by ourselves when you’re busy,” Lizzie warned.

Shelby winced. “Way to keep a state secret, kid.”

“Oops. Sorry.”

“No, we’re going.” Foster eased up on the gas and turned down the drive. “We’re going.” Fingers crossed. Things had been great between him and Shelby, and in the him-Shelby-Lizzie department, but nothing was settled, really. Which had him sweating as the familiar landscape rolled by. The fencing was tired, but he’d shored up the wire and boards and trimmed down the worst of the verge. At the time, it’d felt like a huge improvement. Now, though, it felt like he hadn’t done a damn thing.

You’ve gotta start somewhere,
he reminded himself, as he’d been doing off and on for the past four weeks.

Vader whined as they crested the last hill, and Foster slowed way down. “Go on, Vader.” The dog jumped down and ran ahead of them, barking his fool head off as they rounded the turn and the house came into view. It was gray and patched, and the roof had a decent sag, but the porch was wide and welcoming, and the barn behind it was in good shape. And there were good memories everywhere, at least for him.

Shelby reached across and touched his hand. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s in the middle of nowhere.”

“Mustang Ridge isn’t that far.”

“Forty minutes, maybe an hour.”

“That’s a short commute in Boston.” She squeezed his fingers. “Besides, that’s not what’s important here. What’s important is that it’s lovely . . . and your grandpa would be proud of you.”

His throat closed, but that was okay. He didn’t need to say what she already understood. But at the same time, as he pulled up in front of the house, he was strung as tight as a greenie being trailered for the first time. He cleared his throat. “Welcome to the Double-Bar H, ladies.”

“Yippee!” Lizzie was the first one out, dancing across the parking area with Vader bouncing beside her and then running on ahead, up the porch steps.

“Wait for us, Lizzie-kin,” Shelby called. “Remember, you’re not to go on or in any structure without Foster’s permission. He knows what’s safe around here and what isn’t.”

He slipped an arm around her waist. “What rule number is that?”

“I’ve lost count, but it might come under the umbrella ‘don’t be dumb’ policy otherwise known as the Anti–Darwin Award Act.”

“Ah. One of my favorites.”

She grinned up at him. “Mine, too. It’s just that sometimes it’s so darn hard to figure out the difference between a really brilliant idea and a really dumb one.”

“Which way are you leaning when it comes to me?”

“Brilliant.” She reached up on her tiptoes to brush her lips across his, making his body tighten with need, even though they’d slipped away together not twelve hours earlier. He’d be counting the hours—as usual—until they could do it again.

“Come on, come on!” Lizzie bounced on her toes at the bottom of the porch stairs. “Vader’s already gone inside!”

“He must not have heard the rule.” Foster led the way up the steps and opened the door. “Ladies first.”

Lizzie scooted in, but Shelby stopped just inside, turned back, and tugged him inside with her. “Hey, cowboy, stop stressing. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m tougher than I look? A leaky roof isn’t going to scare me off.”

“It’s not the roof I’m worried about.”

“Oh?”

Hell with it
. He’d planned on waiting until she had seen the whole house, maybe even after their picnic lunch, giving her a chance to get over the “ohmigod, it needs so much work” and come back around to “it’s lovely.” But, really, it didn’t matter what she thought of the Double-Bar H. That wouldn’t change how he felt.

So, standing a couple of feet inside the front room of his falling-down family ranch, with its stained ceiling and cracked plaster, he just said it. “Shelby, I’m in love with you.” It came out easier than he’d expected, feeling right. So he grinned and said it again, louder. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened, then filled. They hadn’t said it yet, holding off by some unspoken consent, or maybe because she was waiting for him to say it first. He hoped. Because as she stared at him, speechless, the nerves headed toward panic that she’d changed her mind about him, about them.

“Oh.” She lifted a hand to her heart. “I love you, too. So very much.”

The panic subsided, but the nerves remained. “Wait. I’m not done yet.” Aware that Lizzie had circled back with Vader, that they were both watching with wide, interested eyes, he went down on one knee and pulled out the worn leather box he’d gotten out of safe-deposit a few days ago.

Grandpa, wish me luck.

Working the latch, he opened the box to reveal a square-cut diamond, brilliant in a simple setting that was worked with the Double-Bar H logo on either side.

She gaped. “
Foster.
”

“It was my grandma’s. Now it’s yours, if you’ll wear it . . . and if you’ll take me.” He had thought of how he wanted to say this, how to tell her that he knew it was quick, that they still had things to work out, but that he was committed to her, to Lizzie, to the family they would make together. In the end, though, he was a simple guy with simple words. So he said, “Shelby, I love you like crazy. Will you marry me?”

•   •   •

Shelby stared at the ring, feeling the sturdy floorboards go unsteady beneath her feet, not because the house was coming down around them—though that was certainly a solid possibility—but because the pieces of her world were finally all falling into place, though not in any sort of pattern she would’ve expected at the beginning of the summer, when all she had been looking for was a place to sort things out with her daughter.

“Foster . . .” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t find the words.

“Please say yes.” He didn’t look wary anymore, didn’t look closed off. He looked like a man entirely in his element, as he did when he was working with the horses. Only he was here with her. And he loved her.

Suddenly, she could breathe again. The air rushed out of her, along with a word: “Yes.”

His face lit. “Yes?”

“Absolutely, yes!” Her pulse hammered in her ears and the blood sang a happy chorus in her veins.

“Thank God.” He rose and caught her against him in a whirling kiss.

“Woo-hoo!” Lizzie surged up to wrap her arms around them both, turning it into a family hug.

Embracing her tightly, he whispered, “Oh, sweetheart. You had me scared there for a minute.”

“But not enough to spook and bolt?”

“Never.” He slipped the ring on her finger, where it snugged into place like it had been made for her. “I’m well and truly gentled, darling. No more stampedes from me. I’m a family man now.”

Easing away, he pulled out another, newer box and went down on both knees in front of Lizzie. “What do you say? Can I marry your mom?”

She grinned at him. “Duh.”

“Excellent.” He held out the box, then flipped it open. “This is yours.”

Inside it gleamed a replica of the heirloom ring, threaded with a silvery chain. Lizzie’s mouth opened in an
ooh
, and she said, “Is it mine?”

“All yours, if you’ll let me be part of your family for good.”

“Put it on me!”

Shelby couldn’t stop grinning, didn’t even try, as Foster draped the chain around Lizzie’s throat and fumbled with the clasp. Her heart tugged as she thought of him doing that for her prom, her wedding . . . A shared future. And what a future it was, with him there with her, every step of the way.

He rose and cleared his throat. “Welcome to the Double-Bar H family, ladies. Because no matter where we live or what we do, we’ll always be a part of this place.”

Shelby saw the shadows in his eyes, though, the moment he braced himself for the bad news.

“About that.” Heart singing, she pulled out a small cardboard box and held it out to him. “I’ve got something for you, too. It’s not as shiny, but I think you’ll like it.”

“I’ll love it.” He took the box and shook it. “Light saber?”

“Maybe for Christmas, if you’re a good boy.”

“Deal.” He popped open the box and frowned down at the business cards. She saw the moment he got it, the moment he saw.

The cards read
SB Advertising. Whether you’re looking for talking lizards, a new jingle for your singing hot dogs, or the perfect pun to launch your new campaign, we’re here to make you look good, and have fun doing it
. The address was the one they were standing in.

His eyes came up to hers. “You mean it?” His voice was thick with emotion.

“Hey, I bought business cards, didn’t I?” She smiled. “Yes. I mean it. This is your home, and Lizzie and I are going to make it ours, too. We love it here in Wyoming . . . and we love you.”

He caught her in a triumphant embrace and kissed her long and deep, while Lizzie and Vader spun in dizzying circles and made joyous noise. And when things finally quieted down, he said, “For the record, that ring is a binding contract. No bolting off after you get a good look at this place. It’s like me—we both need some work.”

She laughed. “I promise. No takesies backsies. Come on . . . show me our new home.” And, hand in hand, they walked through the falling-down house, seeing the possibilities.