Sunset at Keyhole Canyon: A Mustang Ridge Novella (5 page)

Several of the lakeshore trees rustled and shook, and moments later, a horse stepped down to the lakeshore, then another . . . three more . . . an entire herd.

“And there they are,” Ben said, like they had arrived on cue.

The alpha mare, a sturdy chestnut with a perfect star on her forehead, kept her head up and her ears pricked, staying alert as the three youngsters moved down to drink. The fading sun obscured some of the details, leaving a sense of sinuous movement, the sound of a whinny from one young horse, then an answering call. They were dusty and unkempt compared to the gentled mustangs back at the ranch, but even with shaggy coats and knotted manes, there was something about them that stirred her deep inside in a way their domesticated cousins didn’t.

“They look so free,” she whispered. “So beautiful.”

“Gorgeous,” he agreed, and the way he said it made her think he wasn’t talking only about the horses.

They watched as the herd shuffled, trading places so several mustangs could drink while the others kept watch. The magic of the moment had her leaning into him and holding on tight when his arms came around her. And when the horses slipped back into the trees like they’d never been there at all, she turned in his arms and looked up at him, inviting the kiss they’d both been wanting for days now.

He held himself back for a beat, a breathless moment when they stared at each other, caught in the moment, the sunset, and the presence of wild animals that didn’t have to worry about careers or commutes, or whether or not something that had started as a crush was rapidly becoming so much more. “Are you sure?” he said, though she hadn’t made the offer. At least not aloud.

“Oh, ye—” The rest of the word got cut off as his lips descended on hers.

Their first kiss had been a hot, heady good night, fraught with the excitement of new beginnings. This one was no less hot or fraught, but now he was taking his time. He shaped her mouth, touched his tongue to hers, and delved deep.

Warmth coursed through her, bringing a moan of heady pleasure. She clutched his waist, then ran her hands up to his broad shoulders, feeling his strength through his shirt. He made an urgent noise and pulled her body tighter against his, so she could feel his strength and urgency, which fired her own. She wanted to tug at his shirt and get her hands beneath it, wanted to taste his throat, the rasp of his jaw. Wanted . . .

She wanted. And she hadn’t done that in a long time, not like this.

Unnerved by her own response, she eased back and looked up at him. Which was a mistake, because his tousled hair—when had she run her fingers through it? She didn’t remember, but knew how it felt, knew she wanted more—and hot eyes made her want to dive back in.

“Wow,” she said, pressing her lips together to catch his flavor.

“Yeah,” he said, voice a sexy rasp. “Hello, sexy.”

Remembering Traci’s “Hel-lo, gorgeous” when she first saw him, Nina had to laugh. “You can say that again.” She tightened her arms around him, burrowing in. “That was better than our first go around.”

“Everything’s better this time around,” he said firmly, “and it’s going to stay that way.” He eased them apart to look down at her, eyes intent on hers as he said, “This isn’t just a vacation fling, Nina. When we get home—”

Lifting a hand, she pressed her fingers against his lips, forestalling the promise. “Not yet.”

“Then when?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “Saturday morning, before I get on the bus. That way, if things between us have burned down by then—”

“Ha.”

Her heart bumped at his certainty, and again because she wasn’t so certain. Not about the chemistry, but about whether she could trust him. “Still, if they have, then we can go our separate ways without it being too awful.” Or, rather, it would be awful, but at least she wouldn’t have to see him after the fact.

“Fine, we’ll do it your way. That won’t change anything, mind you, but we’ll wait until then to talk about the future.” He grinned crookedly, charmingly. “Once we’re home, though, I have a feeling that Cheryl is going to get her ‘I told you so’ moment, after all.”

For Nina, the next few days passed in a dizzying whirl of the Three Rs, Mustang Ridge style—riding, roping and rustling—and the nights . . . ah, the nights. If there was a heaven on earth, it was in Wyoming with Ben Sullivan.

On Wednesday evening, they ate with the others and then sat around a campfire down by the lake while Foster strummed a guitar, and Ty and Stace recited something they called “cowboy poetry,” which turned out to be an art form all its own, as gorgeous as the terrain and as varied as the job.

Some of the poems came from old-time lore and some from the annual Cowboy Poetry Roundup in Laramie, while others were the wranglers’ own compositions. Several funny ditties about questionable baked beans, nutso bosses, and obstinate cows had Nina laughing until her sides hurt and she collapsed weakly against Ben. Then, later, a longer and more melancholy piece of Stace’s had her going misty-eyed over the wild land and its inhabitants.

After, when everything broke up for the night and Ben walked her back to her cabin, she sighed and leaned into him. “I feel . . . I don’t know. Different. Chilled out.”

“Isn’t that what vacations are for?” But his smile went crooked. “I know what you mean, though. It’s like we don’t have to prove everything right now. We’ve got time, you know? This isn’t going to be over on getaway day.”

She wasn’t sure which surprised her more—that he had known what she meant, or that he’d put it into words so neatly.

Then he moved in and kissed her, and she stopped being surprised, stopped thinking at all for a while, concentrating on the solid heat of his body pressing her against the door, the excitement of his lips on hers, his hands on hers, and the skim of her fingers over his shoulders and down his back. By the time the kiss ended, her head was spinning and her body throbbed with need, along with the crazy temptation to invite him in, keep things going, go further.

She pulled away. “Um. I think we should . . .”

“Yeah. Me, too.” He exhaled heavily, then cocked his head. “You were going to say we should slow down, right? Because if you weren’t—”

“I was. Good night.” Laughing, she nudged him back, gave him a quick peck on the lips, and then ducked into her cabin, light-headed and giddy, and whistling to herself.
Home, home on the range, where the doctor and the decorator play . . .

Thursday was movie night, back-to-back showings of
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
and
Blazing Saddles
. Nina and Ben sat in the back and cuddled in the darkness, and when they said good night again on her porch, she couldn’t stop herself from holding on a moment too long, clutching just a bit too tight.

It seemed like he did the same thing, though, like she wasn’t the only one dreading Saturday.

Finally, on Friday, their last full day at the ranch, the wranglers announced that the dudes were ready for some cattle thieving. Krista dispensed outlaw bandanas for them to wear around their necks—or over their faces, if there were witnesses—and she and Foster led the mounted party up into the hills beyond Keyhole Canyon. There, they found a small herd gathered just over a shallow rise from a campsite, where two cowboys were arguing over the proper way to cook trail beans.

It didn’t matter that the cattle wore the brand of Mustang Ridge, or that the cowboys’ camp was a time-traveling mix of old and new equipment. The illusion worked. More, it added to the sense of illicit fun as the dudes crept up on the herd and set about cutting out a few slow elk.

Nina suspected the cows were rolling their bovine eyes, having played out this skit a number of times before. But between the horses’ instincts and the dudes’ hushed-up enthusiasm, everything got moving in the right direction, and within ten minutes of finding the herd, the rustlers left with a dozen fat cattle and no alarm sounded by the bickering cowboys on the other side of the hill.

“We did it!” Nina shot a grin over to Ben, who rode beside her with his bandana tied rakishly around his neck.

“We sure did. Those two never knew what hit them.” With trail dust darkening his skin and a gleam of enjoyment in his eyes, sitting easily astride his sleek bay gelding, he looked like part of the illusion. Only he wasn’t a fantasy. He was real, and he was really there, with her.

And how awesome was that?

“Next stop, Keyhole Canyon!” Krista called from the front of the herd, and the dudes whooped and pushed their “stolen” cattle after their leader.

A few hours later, after the rustlers had eaten cold lunches rather than risking a fire that might give away their hiding spot, a shady-looking cowboy appeared in the narrow canyon entrance, flanked by two even shadier – looking guys, with worn chaps and shifty eyes. Foster took charge of the negotiations, gold changed hands, and the three drove the cattle off without a backward glance.

When the last tail disappeared through the gap, Krista lifted her rope, swung a loop, and gave a big, “Yee-haw!”

The dudes picked it up good naturedly, and for a moment the rocky chasm rang with victory shouts, as it might’ve done after a real cattle raid—assuming the law wasn’t on the robbers’ trail, of course.

As things died down, Krista coiled her rope, eyes alight with enjoyment. Then, pitching her voice to carry, she said, “Congratulations, you’re officially a band of cattle thieves! Back in the day, the penalty for rustling was a noose looped over a high branch . . . but lucky for us, it’s the new millennium, and your reward is a good hot dinner back at the ranch, followed by a bonfire with music, dancing, and dessert, marking your last night of being members of the Keyhole Canyon Gang.”

Mingled cheers and “awwww”s greeted the announcement, but the mood was high as the dudes headed for their horses. Moon and Justice were close to each other, dozing in the sun, but they roused and took their bridles cheerfully enough, as if they knew that the long ride home spelled the end of their work week.

“It’s funny,” Nina said as she smoothed the woven saddle pad over her horse’s broad back, “I’m getting more of a kick out of being a cattle thief than I thought I would.”

Ben grinned over Justice’s haunches. “You mean you didn’t pick Rustlers’ Week on purpose?”

“Nope. Things were quiet at the shop, so I felt like I could take the week off without obsessively checking my e-mail.” E-mail. Now there was a foreign concept, along with voice mail, smart phones, video conferences, delivery schedules, and all the other things she hadn’t really missed. Stifling the thud of sadness that came with the thought of heading home tomorrow, she forced a smile. “It was either that or Singles’ Week.”

He mock shuddered. “I’m glad you went with cow thieves.”

“Me, too.” At the time, she had been steering away from the pressure of speed dates, awkward getting-to-know-you conversations, and too much focus on the opposite sex when she was looking to relax. Now, she was doubly grateful for the decision—not only had Rustlers’ Week been a ton of fun, but the schedule had let her and Ben take some time away together without it being a big deal.

Except it was a big deal, wasn’t it? They had found something special.

She only hoped it would stand up in the real world—not just on his part, but hers as well. Would she be able to handle his schedule, knowing that even if he was making an effort to be with her, there would be times he’d have to cancel at the last minute?

As if reading her mind, he let Justice’s reins drop, ground-tying the obedient gelding, and came around beside her. “Here, let me.” He took the heavy saddle from her and settled it in place, then did up the cinch with practiced ease. With her tack secure, he leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, “So . . . will you go to the dance with me tonight?”

“I . . . Ah, yes. Yes, of course I will.” It shouldn’t have flustered her—they were both going to be there, and she had assumed they would sit together, as they had the past few nights. But this was something more. It was official, though not quite their second date. They were saving that for back home.

Still, the invitation made her heart bump against her ribs and brought a flush to her skin, and made her wonder what, exactly, he had in mind.

His teeth flashed. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

There was no reason for Ben to be nervous as he headed up the stairs to Nina’s cabin, but it felt strange to be here during daylight, strange to be in a button-down shirt, even though it was one of his favorites. It was the same one, come to think, that he’d worn on their blind date. Women tended to pay attention to things like that, right? Maybe she would recognize it and see it as a good sign. He hoped.

Or maybe—probably—he needed to get a grip.

She opened the door at his knock, expression light and happy, smoothing out his unaccountable jitters. “You’re here!” She was wearing another swirly sundress, this one a bright lemon yellow with tiny blue flowers on it, with delicate sandals in place of her boots. After giving him an up-and-down, she grinned. “You look great.”

“You too. You look . . .” He fumbled the compliment when none of the old standbys felt right and he couldn’t come up with anything better. Not now, with his senses suddenly full of her. “Here, this is for you.” He offered the pretty purple wildflowers that he’d picked for her, just a single sprig because it had seemed right at the time. Now he thought he should’ve gone with an armload of the things.

Her smile widened as she took it, touched it to her cheek. “Thanks. It’s beautiful. And it’ll be a nice reminder once we’re . . . you know.”

Back home
. “I know.” He didn’t want to think about it, though. Not yet. Crooking an arm, he tipped his head toward the dining hall. “Shall we?”

Dinner was a whirl of food, laughter, and the solid vibe of the friendships that had formed over the course of the week. Most of them probably wouldn’t last past the airport or a couple of e-mails after, but that didn’t make them any less real right now, any less fun.

After a boisterous meal, as the servers were clearing the tables and Krista and the others slipped away to finish setting up the bonfire, Traci lifted her beer in a toast. “To the Keyhole Canyon Gang. May we meet back here this time next year for another week of cattle thieving!”

That got a whoop and a ragged cheer, and Ben lifted his drink and clinked glasses with Traci across the table, and then with Nina beside him. Their eyes met at the same time as their glasses, and she winked. “To the Keyhole Canyon Gang.”

“To the Keyhole Canyon Gang,” he echoed, but inwardly, he added,
To meeting back here the same time next year
. And, realizing that his mind’s eye saw him and Nina arriving together, he smiled.

“What is that look for?” she asked, playfully nudging him with an elbow.

“I’m happy,” he said, and realized it was true. He wasn’t worried about tomorrow, wasn’t thinking about patients or politics. He was there, with her, enjoying the moment. Rising, he held out a hand. “Can I escort you to the dance?”

“Absolutely.” She let him pull her to her feet, and then stretched up on her toes, brushed her lips across his and whispered in his ear, “You can take me anywhere you’d like, cowboy.”

His pulse went off-kilter for a moment and his fingers tightened on her, pressing too hard. But then he eased up, eased back, and grinned. “Let’s start with dancing and see where we go from there.”

And boy, howdy, did they ever dance.

As the sun went down and the stars came out, and the bonfire grew from a small flame to a full-throated roar that threw heat in all directions, Ty played the guitar while Krista got the greenhorns dancing, only excusing them long enough to toast a marshmallow or two before chivvying them back into the pagan circle that formed around the huge fire.

The Chicken Dance and Hokey Pokey were raucous fun, the Macarena a cheesy memory of old times and wedding DJs, and the square dances were a whirl of instructions and music that dissolved into laughter as the dudes bumbled into each other. But best of all were the slow songs, the ones that gave Ben an excuse to pull Nina into his arms, mold their bodies together, and sway together, feet barely moving as he breathed in her scent, kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips.

As the night cooled around them, the air chilling quickly when they strayed beyond the bonfire’s radiance, their bodies got closer, their kisses longer, and he was aware that a few of the others had said their farewells and headed back to their cabins.

The firelight reflected on the rippling water of the lake, flickers of orange stretching up to touch the silvery disk of the moon with a natural simplicity that he wouldn’t see back home. Sure, there was moonlight back home, cast by the same moon, the same stars, but it was nothing like the wide-open Wyoming sky. One thing wasn’t going to change, though. He was bound and determined to make sure of it.

Nina. He wanted her, wanted to be with her, to keep her, to make things work with her.

The song ended, leaving him standing there with her in his arms, wishing the music would keep going.

“It’s getting late.” She arched a look up at him. “Going to walk me to my cabin, cowboy?”

“Not tonight.” Seeing the flash of hurt, he tightened his arms around her. “I shouldn’t. Not tonight.” Not when he wasn’t sure he would be able to walk away.

“Oh.” Comprehension flooded her features. “Oh. Um.” A sexy smile teased the corners of her lips. “Want to walk me to my cabin . . . and come inside?”

His body tensed with want, hardened with overwhelming temptation. But he heard the hesitation in her voice, saw the questions in her face, and knew it wasn’t the right answer.

Like their second kiss, they weren’t quite there.

“Next time,” he said in a low-voiced growl that turned it into a promise.

Her eyes widened, but after a moment, that secret smile played around her mouth. “On our second date? What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

My girl
. The words popped into his head, but he kept them there, deep inside.
Later
, he told himself. He still had things to prove to both of them. “That’s right. Our second date, back in the big, bad city. You pick the day and time, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Not a fancy restaurant.”

His grin went crooked. “No way. I know you better than that now.” An afternoon at a flea market or a trail ride in the hills north of the city would entertain her far more than a four-star meal. And how cool was that? “I’ll get creative.”

Her eyes lit. “Well, when are you off next week? Give me some help here.”

“Nope. Pick a night and I’ll make it happen. Switch a shift, call in dead, whatever it takes.”
Trust me
, he urged her inwardly.
I’m going to make room for you this time
. When she started to speak, though, he covered her lips with his, silencing her with a slow and thorough kiss. It was a long moment before they parted, another before he said, rough-voiced, “On second thought, tell me tomorrow before we leave. That’ll give us both something to look forward to.” Because he had a feeling it was going to be a long night.