Firelight at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “His father, Trooper, was a mechanic, and a good one, but his true love was gem hunting. Sam’s, too. They spent all their time and money on it, and never really saw much of anything back until Sam stumbled on a huge pocket of blue diamonds seven, maybe eight years ago. High quality, very rare. The stones sold for a ton of money, and poof!” She snapped her fingers. “Millionaires. Like winning the lottery.”

  Danny gaped. “I thought he was . . . I don’t know. A local ranch hand or something.” Though he had the eyes of a man who was used to being in charge.

  “Well, Windfall used to be the family ranch. Now it’s the center of operations for Babcock Gems. Sam built himself a big house up on Wolf Rock Hill. A mansion, really, though he only lives in a few rooms.”

  “With his parents?”

  Gran’s expression clouded. “No. Sam’s mom passed when he was a baby—cancer, I believe—and Troop died not long after they broke ground up at Windfall. It was a terrible motorcycle accident.”

  “Oh.” Danny’s hand lifted to her throat. “That’s awful.” Her parents might not understand her now, or why she had needed to get away, but she couldn’t imagine the hole it would put in her life if one of them suddenly wasn’t there anymore. Both? Forget it. She didn’t even want to imagine.

  And she really needed to give them a call.

  Gran nodded. “It was, though Lord knows folks around here—especially his dad’s biker friends—did their best to step in and help. It took a while for Sam to come back out of his shell, but he came around eventually. Business is good these days, and I know he likes having Wyatt nearby. He’s out here every week or so for a hot meal and some company, so we keep an eye on him, make sure he’s not spending too much time up there alone on the hill.”

  “Playing with his rocks,” Danny said with a small smile, as Gran’s earlier reference cut through the ache.

  “Exactly. Any-hoo . . .” Gran hefted the basket off the ATV. “Let’s get you loaded back up. I know Krista will want to see you—she’s out in the barn, helping the guests settle their horses before dinner.”

  “Actually, I need to make a call first, check my e-mail, that sort of thing. Is there someplace I can go that’s out of the way?”

  “Of course, dear. You can use Krista’s office. Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Ten minutes later, with her laptop open on the huge wooden desk that dominated Krista’s small, crowded office and the window cracked to reassure the squirrelly part of her, Danny listened to the digital ring as the computer did it’s E.T. thing and phoned home.

  The image on the screen was a snapshot of the cabin where she grew up and where her parents still lived, deep in the Maine woods, all rough logs and a huge chimney, with pine trees crowded around it, blocking out the light. It struck her as odd how it seemed suddenly very crowded compared to Wyoming.

  The computer gave a triumphant badda-beep as the video call connected, and her parents’ faces blinked onto the screen. “Danny!” her mom said. “There you are.” Rumor had it that she had said the same thing when Danny was born. A true Yankee, Bea Traveler had underreaction down to an art, though Danny could see the relief in her mother’s sun-lined face. She could also see from her parents’ dark green shirts and ID tags, and the office backdrop, that she had caught them both at work.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Sorry it’s been so long. I got settled in at my campsite, and time got away from me. You know how that goes.”

  “Of course we do!” Her father leaned in, making his nose look huge for a second. A grizzled gray contrast to her mother’s bottle brunette, he was more laid-back, except when it came to racing. Now, looking happy to see her, even if only on-screen, he said, “Tell us everything.”

  Skipping over the nightmares and claustrophobia—it was fifty-fifty between them worrying and shrugging it off, neither of which would help her one bit—Danny told them about the valley and the mustangs, and made them laugh with a quick description of the sandwich test. Then she asked, “So, how are you? How’s Charlie? The dogs?”

  They chatted for a few minutes, with Danny paying more attention than usual, acutely aware of the way her parents overlapped each other on the screen and alternated finishing each other’s sentences. Little things that seemed suddenly so important after what Gran had told her about Sam’s parents.

  “But enough about us,” her father said. “We’re more interested in you. How about it? Are you ready to come home yet and get back to work?”

  And there it was. Not subtle, either. Then again, Mainers weren’t big on beating around the bush. Or maybe it was just her parents.

  “We miss you, sweetie,” her mom put in. “Not to mention that if you were here to help out, Charlie would have more time to race.”

  It was the Traveler family motto: If you’re not competing, then why bother? Except she didn’t want to compete anymore, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the flag bearer while the rest of them competed, either. Especially knowing that she would keep getting those sidelong looks, the ones that said, You’re all healed up, so why aren’t you getting back out there?

  Doing her best not to bristle—it wasn’t their fault that their lives were built around mountain sports when she was the one who’d lost interest—she said, “I’m sure you can hire someone to fill in.”

  “It’s not about the shop.” Her dad gave her mom a pointed look. “We want our girl back home.”

  “I miss you, too.” She blew them both a kiss, but said firmly, “I just got here, though, so if I were you, I’d post a Help Wanted ad over at the mountain. There’s got to be a few ski bums left looking for work, even this late in the summer.” Her attempt at a smile went crooked. “Heck, call Brandon. Last I checked, he was saving up to climb K2.”

  There was a startled pause, followed by a parent-to-parent look that set off warning bells.

  “Ohhh-kay.” She drew it out. “What am I missing? Did something happen to Bran? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Her mom visibly squared her shoulders. “Better than fine, I suppose. He’s engaged.”

  “He’s what?” The sudden buzzing in her ears must have made her hear that wrong. Because there was no way. Tall, dark, and handsome, with the swagger that came with being able to master just about any sport he set his sights on, Danny’s ski instructor ex lived by the motto he’d had tattooed on his chest: NO BOUNDARIES.

  Her father’s face settled into deeper-than-usual creases. “It’s true, baby. He and Allison got engaged last week.”

  “He and—” The name turned into a wheeze as the air vacated her lungs.

  “Charlie said Allie was going to e-mail you,” her mom added. “I guess not, huh?”

  A shake of her head was all Danny could manage while her brain spun like someone had dumped it in a blender and hit the ON button. Allison and Brandon, engaged. Brandon engaged to anyone. It didn’t compute, like trying to picture a flying shark or a mountain suddenly rising up on reptilian legs and stomping off in search of a beer. “I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.” Was she going to be sick? She didn’t think so, but her stomach had turned to a queasy knot.

  Her dad reached out, as if he had forgotten she was thousands of miles away. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Her lips felt numb, as if the words were coming from someone else. “It’s not anybody’s fault. He’s free to . . .” She couldn’t get the word marry out of her mouth. Not in a million years. “He can do whatever he wants.”

  Apparently, he just hadn’t wanted to do it with her.

  “If it helps any,” her father said gently, “Charlie said that Allie feels weird about it, seeing as how you got her the job over at the mountain.”

  “It really doesn’t help,” Danny said. “But thanks for trying. I’ve gotta go.” She was suddenly dying to hit the disconnect button, and escape back outside, where she could breath
e. “I’ll call you guys next weekend, okay? Maybe the weekend after.” Or the one after that.

  “How about you buy a plane ticket instead?” her mom said, not unkindly. “You should be here, with us, at the shop.”

  Down the road from the mountain, where her ex and her second cousin—who could barely ski an intermediate slope and thought that an indoor wall counted as climbing—were planning the wedding she had once envisioned.

  “Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom. Tell Charlie I said ‘hey.’ I love you all.” She ended the call before her parents could respond, and the video feed went dark.

  Then, even though the walls were closing in, the oxygen too thin, she sat staring at the home screen of her laptop, where the little red number in the upper left corner was in the double digits. You’ve got mail.

  She should just empty her whole darned in-box. One click, and poof. All gone. Except that deleting the notes wouldn’t change the reality, would it?

  Hand shaking, she hit the icon and then looked down the list, seeing Charlie’s e-mail address, and Allison’s. And then, at the bottom, Brandon’s. The subject line said GOOD NEWS, all douche-y and capitalized, like he somehow expected her to be happy for him.

  Don’t open it, she told herself. It’s just going to make things worse. But if she didn’t, she would only drive herself nuts trying to guess what it said. “Oh, what the hell?” she said out loud. “Rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with.” And she clicked on the message.

  Dear Danny,

  I know that Allison already e-mailed you the good news, but I wanted to follow up personally.

  “If that was true,” she grumbled, “I’d have a voice mail. And what sort of dork uses letter formatting in an e-mail?” Which was bitchy, but she didn’t care. Not when her pulse thrummed in her throat and the words blurred on the screen.

  I know our engagement will probably come as a shock to you. I hope you can see past that, though, and be happy for us as we embark on this new adventure, freeing yourself for whatever comes next. I treasure the memories of our time together, and wish you the absolute best.

  Your friend,

  Brandon

  “Why, that arrogant, overhyped, ham-handed . . . aah!” Danny had always thought that the idea of steam coming out of someone’s ears was a metaphor reserved for bad prose and kids’ cartoons, but now she knew different. Her face burned and when she breathed, the overheated air scalded her nasal passages.

  Shoving away from the desk, she slapped the laptop shut, jammed it back into its carrying case, and slung the strap over her shoulder while she fought the adrenaline buzz of a major fight-or-flight response.

  She had to get out of there—not back to her parents and Maverick Mountain, where “don’t wimp out” was a battle cry, but to Blessing Valley, where she could be alone. But as she rounded the huge desk, boot steps sounded out in the main room, and Krista’s voice called, “Danny? Are you still in there?”

  With her pulse thudding and her stomach tied in knots, she was seriously tempted to go out the window.

  Knowing she owed Krista better than that, though, she concentrated on her breathing and forced her voice to stay steady when she called, “Yep. I just finished up.”

  Krista came through the doorway with Abby on her shoulder and her face alight with welcome. “I’m so happy you’re here! I was just saying to Wyatt . . .” She trailed off, her expression shifting. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m . . .” Danny dug her fingernails into her palms. “I’ll be fine. Just some family stuff.”

  Krista hitched a hip on the desk. “Abby and I are good listeners, if you’d like to talk. Or I could hand her off and we could go someplace.”

  Normally, Danny preferred to keep private stuff private. This was far from normal, though, and she was supposed to be working on breaking free from her tortilla. She exhaled, and her shoulders came down a notch. “In a nutshell, I just found out that my ex-boyfriend of five years, who was all I shouldn’t have to give you a ring to prove that I’m committed to you and Marriage is a fascist institution, is now engaged to my much younger, prettier second cousin. Who, by the way, only met him because I helped her get a job waiting tables at the ski resort where he works.” Indignation sharpened her voice. “She doesn’t even like being outdoors!”

  “That wench!” Krista said in immediate solidarity. “Not for the outdoors thing, but for going there. As for your ex, he sounds like a royal”—she covered the baby’s ears and, in a whisper, spelled out—“a-s-s. You ask me, you’re far better off without him.”

  “I am. I know I am. And I shouldn’t be upset, really. We broke up more than a year ago, and there’s no reason he shouldn’t move on. It’s just the marriage thing. It makes me feel like—”

  “Don’t.” Krista held up a hand. “Tomorrow you can be all logical and rational. Today, I’m giving you permission to be completely illogical and upset. In fact . . .” Her expression shifted to an aha. “I’m not just giving you permission, I’m going to give you a weapon. How does a sledgehammer sound?”

  “Better than it probably should. Why?”

  “Have you heard about the Sears place?”

  “It burned down, right? An ember from a wildfire started it?”

  “Exactly. It’s a total loss, most of it torched to the ground. But there’s lots of cleanup left to do before they can rebuild, so the mayor organized today as a demo day, and a bunch of us are taking the shuttle over there to help. It’s strictly volunteer, a community-service sort of thing. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Suddenly, Danny couldn’t think of anything better than an excuse to smash stuff while helping out a family whose problems were way bigger than her own. “I’d love to,” she said. “When do we leave?”

  5

  Sam left for the Sears place later than he’d meant to, but he made up for it by talking Murphy, Midas, and Axyl into ditching their evening plans and coming along for the ride. The parking lot was jammed; Mayor Tepitt’s campaign truck, parked in the baked-dry front yard, had classic rock belting from the roof-mounted speakers; and a dozen empty picnic tables were set in rows near a bunch of coolers and a table stacked high with food. “See?” Sam said. “I told you there’d be snacks.”

  “We’re going to need ’em,” Midas said. “Get a load of this place. It’s a disaster area.”

  “So the mayor tells us.” Axyl frowned at the barn, where streaks of gray paint and white trim were interspersed with blackened char and blasted-out windows. “But the plan is to have the riding school back up and running by winter.”

  “The sooner the better,” Sam agreed, struck once more by the randomness of the destruction. The fields on one side of the drive were untouched, with even the fine layer of ash mostly blown away and horses and cattle grazing like nothing had happened. On the other side, though, the earth was black and barren, the fencing turned skeletal. “Come on.” He climbed out and snagged a tool belt and a sledge from the back of the truck. “I’m betting there are some smashables with our names on them.”

  Sure enough, after a quick check at the food tent, where the mayor and her terrifyingly efficient assistant were keeping things on track and handing out safety gear and lectures on using it, they split up to the spots that needed extra hands.

  Boots thumping on the platform that had been cobbled together to span the burned-out wreck of the front porch, Sam stepped through an empty doorframe into the main house. He found himself in what used to be a sitting room, with a mangled flat screen on the wall over a stone fireplace, and rectangles of less-burned hardwood where couches and chairs used to be. The bulk of the debris had been cleared, but a few odds and ends remained. A soggy stuffed dog with only one eye. A half-melted toy car. A single pink bunny slipper, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

  “Damn,” he muttered behind his respirator. “Eerie.” So was being alone in there. Most everybody el
se was working on tearing down the charred remains of the outbuildings, clearing the way for the big barn raising that was being planned, which left the main house feeling empty and strange.

  As he moved deeper into the house, past a cordoned-off bathroom where nothing was left except a whole lot of porcelain shrapnel, a thud-crash echoed from a back room, followed by a few unintelligible words in a woman’s voice. Following the sounds down a hallway that was mostly intact, save for a thick layer of soot on the walls, he stepped through a wide archway into a big, bright kitchen, where sunlight poured through to illuminate broken tiles, burned-out cabinets, a snakelike mess of dead wiring. There, a dark-haired woman swung a wood-handled sledgehammer like it was the bottom of the ninth and she was aiming for the walk-off homer as she nailed a caved-in section of the scorched Formica countertop. Wha-bam!

  And darned if he didn’t recognize her right off the bat. The book-wielding, revolver-toting beauty had her back to him, and should have been unrecognizable in a yellow hard hat, clear safety glasses, earmuffs, and alien-looking respirator, but he recognized her just the same. Mostly because he’d thought about her off and on, wondering how she was doing, and whether he should ride over and see for himself. Turned out luck was with him, though, because here she was.

  Before he could step through the door and say hi, she lifted the sledge over her head and hollered, “Jerk!” Wha-bam went the sledge against the countertop. “Idiot!” Rattle-slam, and a cabinet door went flying. “Stupid to care.” Crash-bang!

  “Uh-oh,” Sam said under his breath, realizing that he had walked into something more than community service.

  But then she made a muffled noise and rubbed one wrist with the opposite hand. “Ow. Damn it.”

  Just go, he told himself. She wants to be alone. Heck, she thought she was alone. But she was hurting, too, and he couldn’t just walk away from that. So, summoning a look that he hoped said I just got here, didn’t see a thing, he stepped through the door. “Howdy, Miz Traveler. Fancy meeting up with you here. And look. This time, we’re both wearing masks!”