Firelight at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “No way. I already told her that Jase and I would handle his jersey. Better that than fairy wings.” They shared a grin over the memory. It hadn’t been funny at the time, but fifteen years later, the pictures were pure gold. Then, hesitating a little, Charlie said, “I, um, saw Allison the other day. She asked how you were.”

  It wasn’t nearly the kick in the gut that Danny would’ve expected. More like a poke in the solar plexus. “Have they set a date yet?”

  “They’re doing a Christmas wedding.”

  Okay, a poke in the stomach with a couple of chopsticks. But she wasn’t going to dwell on it. “Next time you see her, tell her I said congratulations. Actually, on second thought, don’t.”

  “No?”

  “I’ll e-mail her myself. Brandon, too.” If she held a grudge, she would be the only one who knew it, or really cared. So why bother? “Are you going to the wedding?”

  Charlie ducked her head. “She, um, asked me to be a bridesmaid?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “I said I’d have to talk to you.”

  Moved, Danny said, “Aw, Chuckie. That’s so sweet.”

  That got a snort. “Don’t call me that. I take it you’re cool with me being in Allison and Bran’s wedding?”

  Bran. The nickname tugged, but that was life. “You don’t need my permission, but thanks. And go ahead. Have a ball.”

  “You’ll be back by then, right? You’re not going to miss ski season.” She made it sound inconceivable.

  “We’ll see.”

  Charlie cocked her head. “You’re really okay with this, aren’t you? What happened?” Her eyes sharpened. “Did you meet somebody?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m really okay with Allison and Brandon getting married. And no, it’s not because I met somebody new. Or maybe I did.” Danny grinned. “Me.”

  Her sister’s brows furrowed. “You met yourself?”

  “Yep. And you know what? I think I like me.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s okay, because I do.” At least she was starting to. Hearing Shelby’s voice in the main room, she said, “I gotta go. We’re heading over to the barn raising.”

  “The what?”

  “Barn raising. There’s going to be a square dance after, which sounds fun.”

  Charlie was looking at her like she had just started spouting off about alien landing parties and nasal probes. “What are you, in another century out there? Sheesh. I thought Maine was bad.”

  Laughter bubbling up, Danny waved. “I’ll talk to you later, Sis. Tell Mom and Dad I called, and that I’ll try them again in a week or so.” She aimed for the disconnect button.

  “Wait!”

  Danny froze, her finger hovering. “What?”

  An impudent grin lit Charlie’s face. “Whoever this guy is—the one you’re trying to pretend you’re not thinking about—I think you need to ask him to dance. What have you got to lose?”

  * * *

  Sam didn’t claim to be an expert gem cutter by any stretch, but he enjoyed the process, and on a good day he could produce a decent cut and polished stone. So far, he was having a good day, at least when it came to the work. With classic rock pumping through the sorting shed and the gem wax-mounted on the drop stick to keep it immobilized, he was in the groove.

  Earlier, he had cut a flawed section off the rough aquamarine and ground down the outer surfaces, shaping it toward the teardrop outline that would maximize the usable stone. Now, referring to the cutting chart at his elbow, he started on the facets of the pear cut—a flat oval table on the front surrounded by a precise set of angles, with a deeper starburst pattern on the back that would turn the blue-green bright and brilliant when the light hit it.

  It required exact precision, especially for a stone this big, so as he started faceting the front, he ignored the movement in his peripheral vision. Until it started flapping at him.

  He drew the stone away from the grinding face, killed the motor, and fixed Midas with a look. “This better be important.”

  The geo-engineer’s facial hardware gleamed in the fluorescent overheads as he did a mime routine, complete with silent screams and invisible walls closing in on him.

  Sam tapped his ear protectors. “They’re digital, so I can hear you just fine, just like I can hear the music. Which you darn well know. And I repeat: this better be important.”

  The engineer’s eyebrows rose. “Axyl’s right. You’re cranky.” He held up both hands. “Hey, don’t pound the messenger. He sent me in here to see if you want to ride over to the Sears place with us.”

  Right. The barn raising. “You guys go ahead.”

  “You’re coming later?”

  Sam shrugged. “I bought all the steel and hired the machines.”

  “So?”

  “What do you mean, so?”

  Midas studied his tattooed knuckles—ROCK on one hand and STAR on the other. “I’ve never heard you pull the rich-dick card before, and sure as hell not as an excuse for getting out of hard work. So I figure there’s another reason you don’t want to go to the barn raising. Like maybe that brunette who’s been staying over at Mustang Ridge?”

  Sam bristled. “What do you know about her?”

  “I know she helped you find that aqua pocket over the weekend, and you’ve been in a mood ever since.”

  “I’m not in a mood.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ve never seen you like this over a woman before.” A penlight came out of Midas’s pocket, got clicked on. Leaning in, he studied the stone. “Nice aqua. Good color, really good structure. Not used to you cutting your own, though. This for her?”

  “I’m just playing around. And you’re breathing on me. Go away. Go build a barn.”

  “Come with us. Talk to her.”

  Sam fired up the grinder. Over the noise, he said, “She doesn’t want to see me.”

  “She said that?”

  “Not exactly.” Not even close. “She doesn’t think she’s in a good place to start anything romantic.”

  “What do you think?”

  I think that she’s stronger and braver than she realizes, and that I miss her a whole hell of a lot more than I should. “I think you should go away, because I’m busy.”

  “Moping.”

  “I am not—” He bit off the muted roar and pointed to the door. “OUT!”

  Midas wisely scrammed, letting the door bang behind him and giving Sam his peace and classic rock. The damage was done, though.

  As Sam checked his chart to confirm the next cut, he pictured the look on Danny’s face when he rinsed off the stone and she caught her first glimpse of aquamarine. As he started the next facet, his fingers remembered the softness of her skin. And as the acrid smell filtered through his mask, he tasted her kiss, amping up the churn in his gut . . . The one that said, What the hell are you doing?

  He was being a stubborn idiot, that was what.

  Cursing, he removed the stone from the grinder and killed the engine. He was out of his chair before the wheel stopped spinning, had his gear off before the next song started. He stiff-armed the door, saw that the others had already left, and made a beeline for his truck.

  “The hell with it,” he said as he fired up the engine. Maybe he’d made it a rule to never chase a woman. But he’d never before known a woman like her.

  12

  “Woo-hoo!” Danny cheered as she helped lift the heavy beam into place alongside Krista and two of the ranch’s guests—Magnus and Cathy Kees, who ran a Christmas tree farm on the other side of town and had insisted on being part of the barn raising. “It’s up!”

  “Hold it right there,” Wyatt ordered, then stood back and studied it. “What do you think?” he asked Magnus and Cathy’s seven-year-old son, Ike, who he’d deputized to hand him lag bolts and
washers. “Should we level it off again?”

  Ike, all serious, nodded. “Looks crooked to me.”

  “Just bolt it, buster!” Krista shouted. “You know darn well it’s level!”

  Laughing, Wyatt clambered up the stepladder and drove the long bolts in deep, then added a couple of angled two-by-fours to finish the frame for this section of stalls. Then he scanned back down the row, nodding. “Looks good, team. And, hey, here come our walls!”

  They cheered as a forklift came through the extra-tall door and scooted down the cement aisle toward them, carrying a pallet of precut, prestained panels that would fit right into the team’s framing to create a row of stalls, including a foaling stall for Marigold—a beloved broodmare who had survived the fire and was getting close to her due date. The stalls faced a huge indoor riding arena, where several other teams were working on building a chin-high plywood kickboard around the perimeter. Other groups were busy installing the bus-size mirrors and enclosing a windowed viewing room that could be heated in the winter. Nearby, a short office-lined aisle connected the indoor arena to the main barn, where other crews were installing additional stalls and storage areas.

  Paid crews had done the site prep and built the outer shells of the big steel structures over the previous week, which Danny figured was probably a good thing. The steel beams and panels called for heavy equipment rather than many hands, and the thirty or so teams scattered between the two buildings had made some serious progress over the past five hours, filling in the wooden guts that would put the riding school back in action.

  Standing back and propping her gloved hands on her hips as she surveyed the busy scene, Danny, said, “What do you think, Whiz? Should we take up building barns for a living?” There was something very satisfying about watching the place take shape.

  The big black dog had started out the day frisking from one human to the next and gleefully chasing whatever got thrown, but he had soon downgraded to sticking close to Danny, watching the action as Wyatt’s team worked on the stall blocks they had been assigned. Now, as they got close to quitting time and a couple of the teams switched over to setting up a stage in the big open space of the riding arena, all the dog managed was a couple of tail thumps.

  “I vote yes,” Krista said, “but only if we’re working with nice stall kits like these.” She hefted one of the prefinished pieces. “Heck of a nice donation.”

  The offhand mention shouldn’t have kicked Danny’s senses into high gear, just as she shouldn’t keep darting looks over at one particular kickboard crew to see if it had gained another member. But it wasn’t much of a secret that Babcock Gems had sponsored most of the rebuild, and Sam’s guys kept looking around like they were waiting for someone.

  “Hey,” a woman hollered over from the stage-building team. “Can we borrow your extension ladder for a minute?”

  “Sure thing!” Krista called back. Then, to Danny, she said, “Want to grab an end? Even folded up, it’s a beast.”

  When they got to the stage, they found two crews conferring at the bottom of a tall support column. Located at the edge of the arena, the column stretched up thirty feet or so and was topped by a pair of loudspeakers on one side and a row of floodlights on the other.

  “Problem?” Krista asked.

  “A wire came loose.” An older farmer-type with a hitch in his getalong peered up, brows furrowed. “Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except that we don’t have the keys for the bucket truck, and we’ll need the speakers for the square dance. I’d climb up there, but . . .” He slapped his bum leg. “No can do.”

  “And the rest of us plain don’t like heights,” said the woman who had called Krista over, giving a little shudder.

  “I’ll do it.” Danny said it without thinking, without hesitating, the way she would have before. Cliff diving? I’ll do it. Hang gliding? Sign me up.

  Krista’s head snapped around. “Are you sure?”

  “Thirty feet up a steel girder? No problem.” She wouldn’t let it be a problem. The fear could have its dark little cave. She was taking back the heights. “What do I do once I’m up there?”

  Five minutes later, armed with instructions, a rudimentary safety rope, and shouts of “Go, Danny!” she scaled the ladder seven feet up, to where the beam offered a series of hand- and footholds running the rest of the way to the top. Nerves skimmed as she started up and her center of balance shifted, making her acutely aware of the downward tug of gravity and the empty air beneath her. Focusing on her goal—look up, not down—she climbed, running through the repair in her head.

  She saw the problem before she was even all the way there—the main connection hung loose, the wires separated.

  “Do you swear you killed the right breakers?” she called down.

  “Pinkie swear,” Krista hollered back. “My dad triple-checked it.”

  Taking Ed Skye at his word, Danny climbed the last couple of rungs, used the safety rope to give her a little extra leverage, and got to work on the connection, screwing it together and adding a layer of electrical tape for good measure. Then, backing off a couple of rungs, she waved. “Okay. Fire it up!”

  There were a couple of relayed shouts, and then a click-hum as the loudspeakers came online and the lights flared to life.

  “Woo-hoo!” Krista led the cheer. “Way to go! Come on down, girlfriend!”

  Instead, Danny stayed where she was and gazed around from three stories up, surprised anew at how a little altitude could change her perspective on things. From there, the alternating opaque and see-through roof panels seemed to go on forever, and she could see over the kick panels to the crews finishing up their stalls on the other side. More, she could gaze through the nearest skylight panel, over the new barn and scorched fields to the mountains in the distance. And darned if she didn’t feel a tug, the kind that said, I bet there’s good climbing up there.

  She had roped up twice since the accident—once at an easy traverse she could do in her sleep, and once at a stupid-simple indoor wall—and she had panicked both times, winding up scared and sad, convinced she would never climb again. Now, leaning back against her rope and feeling that much closer to the sunlight coming down through the clear panel, she felt joyous warmth spread through her. Relief. Excitement. She could do this. She really could.

  Maybe—probably—she wouldn’t ever again spider her way up a chimney or crawl down to explore a crevice that barely left her room to breathe, but that was okay if she could still go up.

  “Seriously,” Krista called, teasing now. “You can come down any time. I’m not leaving without you, and Wyatt is itching to get back to work.”

  “Coming.” Danny waved acknowledgment, then tightened her grip to release the safety rope and get it set for a rappel. Checking below to make sure she was clear to land, she saw that the crowd had grown and shifted, thronging now around an open cooler of sodas and a platter of cookies; those gathered looked like Jupiter and her mustangs jostling for position down by the river.

  Except for one outlier. Because there, at the edge of the crowd, Sam stood with his work boots planted shoulder-wide and his thumbs hooked in his tool belt, looking up at her. When their eyes met, he lifted a hand in greeting, then gave her a thumbs-up.

  And not because he was propping her up, but because she darn well deserved it.

  “Hey!” She waved back and held up an index finger for him to wait. Suddenly in a mad rush to get back down, she shifted her weight and kicked away from the beam, letting the rope play through her fingers as she swung out and then back, rappelling down. And, for a few brief seconds, she was flying like she used to do.

  * * *

  Sam wanted to catch her on the way down, wanted to sweep her up and carry her off somewhere alone, where he would do his damnedest to convince her that she should take a chance on the two of them. But as she came smoothly down the last few feet of rope and her feet tou
ched the ground as gentle as a kiss, all of his arguments backed up in his throat at the sight of her face, alight with triumph and the thrill of adventure.

  “Sam!” she said. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “Were you looking for me?”

  Her lips curved in a smile that lit a fire in his gut. “Maybe I was. Maybe I’ve been thinking that I was wrong the other day, and that you were right—I’ve got more guts than I think. And maybe I was hoping that you’d show up and ask me to dance.”

  Blood firing in his veins, he closed the distance between them and lowered his voice so it was just the two of them in the middle of the crowd. “Well, now, that’s a shame.”

  Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “I had it all planned out, how I was going to throw you over my shoulder and whisk you out of here. Maybe even tie you to the back of my horse and ride off with you into the sunset.”

  “Oh?” Interest lit her expression. “Where were you going to take me?”

  “Keyhole Canyon, maybe. Someplace where we could hide out for as long as it took me to convince you that I’ll give you whatever room you need, whenever you need it, and that I won’t try to fix you.” A corner of his mouth kicked up. “That last part is going to be a cinch, by the way. Because I think you’re just about perfect the way you are.”

  “Let’s not go overboard.” But she leaned into him. “So what exactly are we talking about here? What do you want from me?”

  “Everything.” He didn’t have to think it through—it was right there, caught between the burn of desire and the tight spot beneath his ribs that said his feelings for her ran deeper than they should. Keeping his voice low, so she was the only one who heard, he said, “I want to go out with you, stay in with you, hunt rocks with you, climb mountains with you, kiss you, go to bed with you, wake up with you . . .” He closed the last little bit of distance between them, and said against her lips, “For starters, though, I want my first dance with you. Tonight. And then I want to be part of whatever happens next.”