Winter at Mustang Ridge (15 page)

Nick stared after him for a long moment, wondering just how much he should read into that parting shot. Had it been standard country courtesy, a sort of neighbors-helping-neighbors thing, or had it been a paternal stamp of approval?

He was still trying to figure that one out fifteen or so minutes later, when the door rolled open a crack and Jenny slipped through. Her eyes warmed when she saw him standing in the aisle, packing his gear. “All done?”

“For tonight, at any rate.”

She crossed to peer in the open stall. “How’s he doing?”

Leaning on the divider next to her, their elbows bumping, he looked in at the calf, who had wobbled to his feet. “He would’ve been a goner without your gramps—that’s for sure.”

“Don’t tell Big Skye that. He’s already riding the ‘nobody needed to come get me, I was perfectly fine’ high horse. He doesn’t want us to fuss over him, doesn’t want to hear that we worry about him. And . . .” She blew out a breath. “And I shouldn’t complain. Things could have turned out so much worse than they did, thanks in no small part to you. Which is the long way of saying I’m sorry this is the first I’ve gotten out to see you since we got back. I got caught up.”

“No need to apologize. You’ve got family to deal with. I understand.” And maybe he missed that sort of big, boisterous drama more than he had realized. Away from the old hometown, it was down to just him and his dad. Slipping an arm around Jenny’s waist, he brushed his cheek against her hair. “So . . . Friday night?”

She tipped her head to look up at him, blinking in pretend confusion. “What about Friday night?”

“You. Me. A date. What do you say?”

Her eyelash-batting dissolved to a smile. “I say absolutely yes. It’ll give me something to look forward to as I slog through purchase orders and run interference between my grandparents over the next few days.”

“You want something to look forward to? How about this?” He covered her smiling mouth with his own in a kiss that was as stirring as it was sweet, and that reminded him once more that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about him and Jenny, because the two of them were on exactly the same page.

I
t was Thursday before Jenny knew what hit her. The excitement of Big Skye’s adventure had worn off in a couple of days, pretty much as soon as the black cow and her healing calf had been picked up by their grateful, chastened owner two spreads over. Beyond that, the week had disappeared in a blur of phone calls, film clips, and digging through the family photos. And then, once she had exactly the right images, picking her grandfather’s brain on names, dates, and locations before she slotted the pictures into place in the first two official Mustang Ridge video clips. But she was getting close to having things nailed down. As she bent over her computer, the center of her chest had the tingly feeling that meant a film had started gelling, elevating itself to a sum greater than its parts.

“Just a few more hours,” she said, tipping back in the desk chair and spreading her arms to stretch out the kinks.

Rex lifted his head to give her an inquiring “Whuff?”
Are we doing something?

“Two more hours, maybe three, and this is going to knock Shelby’s socks off.”

They had rescheduled their meeting to Friday when Shelby’s daughter, Lizzie, had come down with a short-lived bug, and the delay had given Jenny the time to hone her first two clips from rough cuts to Sundance quality.

Okay, that was pushing it. But still. There was that happy tingle in her chest.

And, yes, some of those inner sparkles were because of Nick. They had talked every night and texted at odd hours of the day, and were firm on their Friday night rendezvous. And she. Couldn’t. Wait. She didn’t care where they went or what they did, as long as they were face-to-face.

“Tomorrow’s going to be a good day,” she told Rex.

His tail thumped.

“You’re looking forward to the snow?” her mother’s voice asked from behind her.

Spinning around in the desk chair, Jenny let her boots fall to the floor. “Snow?”

Her mom was wearing gray slacks and a soft-looking sweater in her beloved raspberry. Propping her shoulder against the doorframe, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hush. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a big storm coming in.”

“Nope, not buying it. I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”

“Ah. Snow denial. Let me know how it works for you.”

“It can snow on Saturday.” When she and her mom were supposed to go shopping for bedroom stuff.

“Whether or not the storm has moved on by then, the roads will be a mess.”

“Bummer. I was looking forward to shopping.” Sort of. Not really.

Rose beamed. “Me, too. That’s why I think we should go now.”

“I’m really—” Jenny stopped herself, thought for a second, and then reached out to close the lid of her laptop. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.” The videos were close to finished, and shopping would kill the rest of the day. If nothing else, she could protect herself from Pepto pink walls and rabid ceramic animals. She’d finish up the videos later tonight.

•   •   •

Two hours later, after parking in the heart of the Three Ridges shopping district, Jenny warily followed her mom into Kitty’s Kountry Kitsch, worried by the shop’s name, the thick aroma of cinnamon, and the sight of a whole lot of calico.

“Oh!” Her mother made a beeline for a display of granny dolls with dried-apple heads and detergent-bottle bodies, wearing stiff gingham dresses and expressions that made them look like they were thinking:
Braaaains!
“Look at these beauties,” she cooed. “Aren’t they fabulous?”

“Assuming I never want to sleep again.” Jenny imagined a half dozen of them lined up on her dresser with their freaky little eyes glowing red in the dark.

“Oh, you.” Rose flapped a hand at her. “Always teasing. Come on, let’s see what other new things she’s gotten in!”

Fortunately, the store’s creep factor decreased once they got past the apple dolls. Folding three-quarter walls divided the good-size store into smaller areas that reminded Jenny of movie sets—living rooms, dining rooms, bedrooms, and playrooms, all done in versions of Country Bear Jamboree. She eyed an explosion of gingham ruffles that looked more like a bed tutu than a dust ruffle. “I don’t know, Mom. This isn’t really my style.”

That got an eye roll. “Your idea of decor is mosquito netting and a photo collage thumbtacked to the wall.”

Sounded pretty good to her. “Then why am I here again?”

“To tell me what you like, sweetie.”

“I like yellow, white, and simplicity.” Lowering her voice so as not to offend the orange-haired, stick-thin woman who was bearing down on them, she added, “Ikea delivers, you know.”

“That’s not funny. Come on, we’re going to pick a few rustic pieces here and then go vintage-retro on the soft goods. You’ll love how it turns out, I promise.”

“Hiya, Rose!” The stranger turned, did a double-take, and then beamed. “Jenny! Well, I never. When did you get home?”

It took a second, but the woman’s features came into focus and Jenny’s brain did a remember-when back to junior high science class. “Mrs. Cosgrove?”

Her laugh was the same hee-haw bray that had earned the biology teacher a slew of lunchroom nicknames. “It’s Kitty now, even to my former students.” She indicated the room with a wave. “As you can see, I branched out from worms and weather patterns. What do you think?”

Remembering field trips to the local forestry service and getting extra credit for a photo essay documenting a band of wild mustangs, Jenny went with, “It looks like the junior high’s loss was the shopping area’s gain.”

Kitty beamed. “Why, aren’t you sweet?” She brushed a hand over one of the apple creepies. “I try to showcase local artisans, and of course I buy Wyoming-made products as much as possible. Business was slow at first, but lately a few people—like your mom here—have been redecorating, which has helped. Speaking of which, if you’re here to pick up more of those lace pillows, Rose, you’re a few days early.”

“We’re redecorating Jenny’s room, and of course this had to be our first stop.”

That brought Kitty’s bright, interested eyes back to Jenny. “You’re staying?”

“Oh, no.” Hell, no. “We’re just updating my room a little, bringing it out of high school and into the adult zone.”

“And why not? You’ve got your own in-house decorator.” To Rose, she said, “I just got in the most divine bureau from Billy Fox’s woodshop. You know, down toward Laramie? The front is carved with these amazing horses, a whole herd of them coming down around the sides and galloping across the front.” She sighed happily. “Gorgeous.”

“I’d like to see it.” Rose shot Jenny a look that was almost a smile. “Don’t worry. It’d be for Krista, not you. Or maybe the bunkhouse, depending on how high-end she wants to go.” To Kitty, she said, “My Jenny likes things clean and simple, and set up for a quick getaway.”

As Kitty’s brow furrowed a little on that one, Jenny added, “Bonus points for yellow and white.”

Her mother opened her mouth to protest, but Kitty brightened. “If you’re after yellow and white, I’ve got just the thing. Follow me!” She led them through a maze of little scenes, a whole lot of them featuring bedrooms that were made from bark-on pine trees and birch, and looked like something out of a hunter’s catalogue. Hanging a left at a rabbit-themed nursery, she breezed past a whole bunch of antlers and stopped in front of a bedroom set that looked nothing like the others. “What about something like this?”

The cubicle-size display held a glossy white queen-size bed done up in a diamond-pattern quilt in three different shades of lemony yellow against a creamy white background. A gorgeous afghan lay folded at the foot of the bed, knitted in stripes of the same yellow, and the throw pillows that drifted up against the headboard wore yellow and white flowers with pops of a lovely sky blue.

“I don’t think—” Rose began.

“It’s perfect,” Jenny interrupted. She reached out to her mother, intending to grip her arm but catching her sleeve instead, like she was tugging and going “Mama, Mama, I want this one!” Which in a way she was. “I’ll make you a deal—if you go with me on the bedding and the color scheme, I’ll let you pick the rug and the curtains. No fuss, no arguments. Free rein.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Free rein?”

What was the worst that could happen? “Cross my heart. Is it a deal?”

“I want to pick the mirror, too.”

“You . . . Okay, but no antlers. No offense, Kitty, but they’re not my style.”

“Mine, either,” the shop owner said cheerfully, “but sometimes a girl has to go where the money’s at.”

“Words to live by,” Jenny agreed. Because, hey, she had wanted to do documentaries, not a dating show. “What do you say, Mom? Deal?”

“Deal.” They shook on it.

“Sheesh. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Big Skye used to say the same thing,” Kitty remarked, “back when you were just a baby.”

Jenny looked over at her. “Oh?”

“My dad was a wrangler at Mustang Ridge, and I part-timed at the ranch during the summers when I was a kid, doing chores, helping put up hay and such.”

“You . . .” Okay, it made sense, small town and all that. But Jenny was having a hard time picturing the woman opposite her slinging square bales. “What was it like? As a girl, I mean, working with the cowboys back in the day?”

“Oh, it was great fun! Lots of work, mind you, but loads of fun. My daddy kept an eye on me, of course, so there wasn’t much fuss about me being a girl. And, besides, everyone knew Mustang Ridge wasn’t the place for anyone who thought cowboying was a man’s job. She was a tough one, your mom, but fair. And like I said, there wasn’t anyone on that ranch—maybe even the town—who could beat her in a negotiation. Supplies coming in, cows going out, payroll, you name it, if it had to do with the business end of things, you went to Rose.”

Jenny glanced over at her mother, who at that moment was fluttering over a blue ceramic vase filled with dried twigs, cooing things like “darling” and “evocative.”
How times have changed
.

“And the roundups!” Kitty threw up her hands. “I know I don’t need to tell you how exciting it is the first time you ride out with the herd. I pretended I was Mercy Skye, running the ranch after her Jedediah was gunned down by those rustlers, or Pansy Skye and the other women riding out when the men got sick at the poisoned watering hole.”

“Wow. You really know your Mustang Ridge history.”

Kitty pressed her lips together, then confided, “Well, your daddy was a handsome man who didn’t mind telling campfire stories. You can say I paid better attention than I would have otherwise.”

Jenny liked where this was going. Okay, not so much that her science teacher used to have a crush on her dad—
squick
—but the roundup stuff rocked. “Would you be willing to tell some of those stories on camera?”

Kitty’s brows drew together. “Excuse me?”

She explained the video project, adding, “We could do a short piece on the store, too. You could put it on your Web site, share it around, get some more buzz going.”

“You’d do that for me?” Kitty’s voice nearly squeaked in her excitement.

“Sure. Why not?” It would only take a few hours, and if she could survive postproduction on
Rose’s Boudoir
, she could handle calico ruffles and dried-apple zombies. “We could do it one day next week.”

“Oh, my, yes! Wow, thank you! That sounds like so much fun.” They chatted for a few more minutes, going through the do’s and don’ts of an on-camera interview. While they talked, Jenny’s mom puttered around the store, adding things to a rapidly growing pile on the counter. By the time the three of them convened at the register, with Jenny carrying the quilt and afghan, and Kitty following with an armload of pillows, the pile had become a mountain, with an avalanche threatening.

Jenny eyed the jumble, but didn’t bother trying to dissect it.

“Should I put this on your tab?” Kitty asked.

“No,” Jenny said, at the same time that her mother said, “Yes.”

Kitty blinked. “Which is it?”

“I’m paying,” Jenny said firmly, pulling out her credit card. Her mom grumbled but gave in, and wandered deeper into the store as Kitty rang her up. And kept ringing. Jenny frowned at the mounting total. “Did I okay all that?” She only remembered about half of it.

“Trust me.” Her mother appeared behind her with an armload of apple grannies, making her twitch. “We’ll take these, too.”

Kitty beamed. “Aren’t they just darling? They’re each one-of-a-kind. A woman over in Calverton makes them from windfall apples she picks out of her nephew’s pasture. She swears the apples that land in the cow patties make the best grannies.”

Jenny stifled a laugh. Only in Three Ridges would the presence of manure be considered a selling point when it came to home decor.
I think we’ll leave that out of the advertising
. Then again, far weirder things had gone viral.

Once they were back outside, loading their smaller purchases into the car, Jenny said, “Those dolls are so not going in my room.”

“I was thinking they would make a real statement in the dining area.”

“What, abandon hope, all ye who enter here?” Gran would have a fit.