Harvest at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  Krista didn’t even look at the number. She just wanted to give her nice horse a good ride and not embarrass Team Mustang Ridge. She didn’t need to win anymore. Not with Big Skye slowing down and her life eight-plus months from being turned upside down.

  Leaning down in the saddle, she stroked Jupiter’s neck and whispered, “Just do your best, sweetheart.”

  Once they were in the ring, though, the mare arched her neck, set her ears forward, and strutted her stuff like a runway model, as if she somehow knew she was being judged. Krista barely needed to do anything except point her from one obstacle to the next as they breezed through the weave poles, equine teeter-totter, drag, and cavalletti. The obstacles blurred together, and then suddenly they were at a narrow squeeze chute with an even narrower gate at the far end.

  “You can do it,” Krista said, and sent her horse into the chute.

  And Jupiter, bless her, marched through without flicking an ear. The applause began when they reached the third to last obstacle and swelled from there, with a chant of “Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge” that had no doubt started with her family and the guests, but seemed to be spreading.

  Jupiter tackled the bridge and loped over the crinkly tarp like it was nothing, then stood like a rock while the score came up and the applause swelled.

  “Brave mare!” Krista ruffled the long gray mane.

  Big Skye met them at the gate, eyes sharp and excited. “You’re in second place, girlie! Only two points behind the leader.” He caught Jupiter’s reins and guided the horse through the crowd to where the others were waiting, with the family in front and the guests ranged behind, packed two deep and looking sharp in their new outfits.

  Brightening her smile, which felt dull and muted, Krista held out her fist for little Claire to bump. “Did you see Jupiter? Wasn’t she the best?”

  The little girl nodded. “She did the gate perfect!”

  “She sure did.” Krista swung off the mare. “Time to change into our freestyle outfits. I’ll be right back.”

  As the others clustered around Jupiter—who fortunately seemed to be soaking up the praise and thriving in the Harvest Fair chaos—Krista sank down on a nearby bench and concentrated on breathing. Because if she was breathing, she wasn’t puking or crying, both of which were far closer to the surface than she wanted.

  “Hey.” Jenny dropped down beside her. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m good. I’m fine. I’m . . .” She put her face in her hands and burst into tears.

  “Whoa there! Oh, sweetie.” Jenny hugged her.

  “I’m sorry.” Krista sniffed back the tears with a force that made her sinuses bulge and put a headache square between her eyes. “I’m okay. It’s just”—hormones, grief, guilt, regret—“I should have told him about the baby. I should’ve given him the chance to make the decision rather than making it for him.” She sighed. “Dad was right. You can install all the buttons you want, but there’s still another living creature in the equation.”

  Jenny blinked. “If you say so. Which means . . . what? That you’re going down to Denver to see Wyatt?”

  “No. I’m going to call him.”

  “Face-to-face might be better.”

  “No kidding.” She pawed through her equipment bag for her cell phone. “I mean I’m going to call him right now and tell him I’m coming down as soon as the after party is over.” She dialed, cupping a hand around the phone in an effort to hear it ring.

  It did, but not in the digital bleat she was expecting in her ear. Instead, the first few bars of “How ’Bout Them Cowgirls” rang out behind her.

  Krista’s. Heart. Stopped.

  Jenny whipped around, and her mouth fell open. “Well, I’ll be . . .”

  Working against legs that didn’t want to hold her up, Krista rose shakily and turned around, suddenly aware that she was the focus of a whole lot of eyes. Not just from her family or the rest of Team Mustang Ridge, but also from the nearby grandstands.

  But it didn’t matter, because Wyatt was standing there, wearing a devastating, form-fitting tux that made him look like someone had dropped James Bond into a country fair. More, he was regarding her with an expression she’d never seen on him before. One that brought the blood buzzing through her system and had her pulse drumming in her ears. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  He held up his phone. “You called me, remember?” But then he dropped the cell in his pocket and crossed to her. “I’m glad you did. It makes me think that maybe it’s not too late, after all.” He searched her eyes. “Is it? Because I’ve got some things to say to you.”

  She was dimly aware that the others had pulled off Jupiter’s saddle and bridle, and were hanging the JUST MARRIED sign on her haunches. They had been the last to go in the trail class, and were up third in the freestyle. There wasn’t much time.

  Catching his sleeve, startled by the feel of expensive cloth, she said urgently, “Before you do, I need to tell you—”

  “Please.” He covered her hand with his own. “Let me. I’m the one who screwed up. I should have seen it sooner.”

  “Seen what?”

  “That you’re my open prairie, my fast horse, and my gorgeous sunset, all wrapped together.”

  She blinked. “Is that poetry?”

  “Never. It’s something that Ashley said to me the other day, sort of.” He shifted to clasp both of her hands in his, his eyes dark and intense. “I keep seeing myself as someone who moves on rather than sticking it out, but she pointed out that the horses have always been part of my life. Maybe I ease away from them now and then, but I always come circling back around to having them in my life, one way or another.” He squeezed her hands. “That’s you and me, Krissy. We keep circling back to each other. Only this time I’m not leaving. Because I never want to leave you, ever again.”

  Her pulse thundered in her ears, and it was a very strange moment when Jenny came racing toward her with a wedding dress and veil. “Wait! What—”

  “The number two horse is a scratch, which means you’re on deck. Put this on!” She dumped the dress over Krista’s head and started doing up the Velcro they had built into the costume. “Do the veil. Quick!”

  Wyatt grabbed the headpiece and got it into place, chest vibrating with amusement. Then he flipped the veil back and leaned in to kiss her. Part of her froze while another did a Snoopy dance—that he was kissing her, that he had come for her. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until he knew the whole truth.

  She pulled back and blurted, “I’m pregnant!” And she said it way louder than she had intended.

  Every conversation halted in a forty-foot radius, but she barely noticed. She was entirely focused on Wyatt’s jaw dropping and his face going blank.

  “Mustang Ridge!” a voice called from the gate. “You’re next!”

  Suddenly, she knew exactly what he meant about the walls closing in, the air going thin, and the grass on the other side of the gate looking very green. “Coming!” she hollered back. Then, throwing Wyatt a last, panicked look, she sprinted for Jupiter, swung aboard, and kicked the horse toward the gate.

  *

  Wyatt spent a three-count frozen in place while the word ping-ponged around in his brain. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. But as quick as the shock had hit him, it got chased off by a surge of hell, yes! Punching a mental fist in the air, he spun to go after her—

  And found himself facing off against her family members, who were standing shoulder to shoulder, with a collective look of if you want to get to her, you’re going to have to do it through us tinged with a sort of wild-eyed shock that said the announcement had been news to most of them, too.

  Ed Skye, wearing the costume tux from the bellhop skit, said, “Looks like you’ve got a decision to make, Webb.”

  But it was a wonderful no-brainer. “I made my decision before I left Denver. She’s mine, if she’ll have me. The baby is mine either way.” He tipped
his head to where Jupiter danced at the in-gate, swinging the JUST MARRIED sign. “That’s the woman I love over there, and she’s carrying my child. I’d be obliged if you’d get out of my way, so we can kick some ass on the mustang we trained together.”

  Her father stuck out his chin. “And if we don’t?”

  “I haven’t fought for enough things in my life. From now on, I intend to fight for her.”

  *

  When the gate swung open and the open chords of the freestyle music began to play, Krista’s heart lodged itself in her throat. Where are you, Dad? Was she going to have to do this alone?

  “Sssst!” The gatekeeper gave her a furious wave. “You need to get in the ring.”

  “I’m waiting for—”

  “We’re good!” Wyatt said, hopping up behind her. “Go!”

  Jupiter didn’t need any more urging—she knew the music, knew it was her cue. With her front feet flipping in a high-stepping Spanish walk, she danced into the arena to an explosion of flashbulbs and a bunch of oohs and aahs from the crowd, followed by laughter when the audience got a load of the sign on her bum.

  Under the cover of that noise, Krista hissed, “My dad was supposed to be doing this with me.” Wyatt had his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder, and the whole-body press was seriously distracting.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in most states,” he said against her neck.

  “Wyatt!”

  “You thought I would cut and run, but I don’t blame you.” His hand snuck down, then splayed protectively across her belly in a move that darn near melted her heart. “Thing is, Krista . . . the dog wasn’t really a dog.”

  The music changed as Jupiter reached the registration desk, and they dismounted, removed the sign from her rump, and pulled a couple of Velcro tabs to quick-change her from a car to a bellhop.

  The crowd roared as the horse nudged Wyatt out of the way to go around behind the registration desk and ring the prop bell, calling the luggage cart, which she proceeded to fill with foam rubber luggage that kept falling out. Every time another piece hit the dirt, the mare shook her head and snorted.

  Laughter and applause followed each pratfall on cue, and Krista and Wyatt met over by the registration desk, where they were supposed to fake a kiss.

  Wyatt sold it, bending her over his arm and working it for the crowd, but against his lips, Krista whispered, “What do you mean the dog wasn’t a dog? What is he? A little old man in a fur suit?”

  “Not Klepto. The dog in the sketch. It was a baby all along. It was my brain’s way of saying there was something missing, not just in the sketch, but in my life. A baby, Krista. Our baby.”

  Jupiter snorted down the back of his neck, and he brought Krista up from the dip so they could follow the luggage cart to the honeymoon suite setup, complete with the reinforced platform bed and huge bottle of fake champagne. There, Jupiter poured while they kissed again.

  “Since when do you want kids? I thought raising Ashley burned you out on all that.” She wrapped her arms around his neck as he kissed her cheeks, her body beginning to burn while her heart swung between wanting to believe him and being afraid he would yank it all away again in a few weeks.

  “I’m an ass,” he said against her lips as he cued Jupiter to try to interrupt the kiss, then walk around them, shaking her head in disgust. “Ash is still my sister, always will be, but that’s not the same as having my own kid. Our kid.” He grinned down at her. “I want the adventure, Krista. I want everything to be new and exciting—not because I’m somewhere different, but because I’m where I’m supposed to be—at Mustang Ridge, with you and our family. Watching our kids grow. Helping the business grow. Seeing the sun come up over the mountains every day with you, and knowing I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Because I love you. Not the way I did before, when I was trying to be the right guy for you, but stronger and harder than anyone will ever love you. Because now I am the right guy for you.”

  Her heart rolled in her chest. “Oh, Wyatt. I love you, too. But how can I be sure this isn’t you trying to convince yourself again?”

  “You can’t.” He said it like it was the best thing in the world. “There aren’t any guarantees in this life, Krissy-girl, except maybe that it isn’t forever. Maybe I die tomorrow, maybe the sun doesn’t come up over the mountains . . . or maybe—and this is what I’m banking on—maybe we wake up together in the bunkhouse and go down to breakfast, and see what the day might bring. That’s the adventure. That’s the pioneer spirit, the forging into the unknown because it’s there. I might not know much, but I know that I want to do that forging with you and our baby, and another baby. Maybe one or two more after that.” His grin lit her heart. “Because I love you and the future we’re going to have together.”

  There was an amplified whinny-sigh as Jupiter gave up on the humans and went to lie down on the big platform bed, to a wave of laugher from the audience.

  “So what do you say, cowgirl?” Wyatt grinned down at Krista, with all the love in the world gleaming from his eyes. “Will you give a cowboy a chance to love you, and damn well never leave you again?”

  Her heart swelled to bursting, as if a switch had clicked on inside her, saying, This. This was what she had seen glimpses of back in school, this was the love she knew they both had inside them. And this was the future, the adventure she had been craving. Her life with Wyatt might not ever be a safe and peaceful routine, but it would never be boring. And they would live it together.

  “Yes!” she said, and the single word lit her with joy. “Yes to all of it, and especially to the forever. I love you, cowboy. More than the sun and the moon, and all the waterfalls put together!”

  The music hit its crescendo as Jupiter pulled the bed cover over herself with her teeth, lay her head on the pillow, and stretched out a forefoot to dim the lights. And, as Krista reached up to kiss Wyatt—her friend, lover, partner, and the father of her child—applause rolled through the stadium where they had first seen each other after so long, and the chant rose around them, hundreds of laughing voices shouting in unison, “Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge, Mustang Ridge!”

  27

  Two weeks shy of Christmas, with a pretty layer of snow on the ground, clear roads, and no storm on the horizon, a hundred or so of the Skye family’s nearest and dearest gathered at Mustang Ridge to celebrate Gran and Big Skye’s golden anniversary.

  The heated tent had gone up at daybreak; the caterers had arrived at eleven; and Rose had fussed until the flowers and balloons showed up at noon. The guests arrived on schedule to yell “Happy Anniversary!” when Jenny brought in the happy couple. Gran had blushed and done lots of “Oh, poosh. Go on with you!” while Big Skye gave a couple of pleased harrumphs and asked if there was cake.

  Now, as the outside world darkened with an early-winter dusk, with the food winding down, the cake getting set up for its big reveal and no major disasters to speak of, Krista was almost ready to consider the party a roaring success . . . And she would, as soon as they got through the presents.

  “What do you think, little one?” She brushed her fingers across her stomach, which was starting to round out with more than just the snacks she was wolfing, grateful that the all-day sickness had finally worn off. “Are they going to like what we’ve done for them?”

  There wasn’t any answer from inside her—no kicks yet, or any real movement she could feel, which was so strange after seeing the baby the other day on the ultrasound screen, a black-and-gray silhouette rocking out to the beat of her own little internal drum.

  Our little girl, Krista thought, smiling as she watched her grandparents on the packed dance floor, swaying to something slow and bluesy. Imagine that. It still felt unreal some days, like the image on the screen was special effects and nothing was really all that different. Except that so much was different, wasn’t it?

  She and Wyatt had taken over the bunkhouse for good, splitting their time between the ranch and his place in Denver, where
the statue for the pioneer museum had finally come to life, wearing his face and hers, with a dappled mustang mare in the background to remind them of Jupiter, who was running free now, in a river-fed valley paradise about an hour’s ride north of the ranch.

  They had named it Blessing Valley, and there hadn’t been a dry eye in the group when Wyatt had slipped the rope from the big gray mare’s neck and sent her to join the herd of forty-three mustangs that her winnings had bailed out of government holding pens. She had stood there a moment, looking from the humans to the horses and back again. Then, with a huge snort, she had exploded into motion, racing to meet her new band. As she flew down the valley, the horses had bunched together and the newly gelded herd stallion had raced forward to meet her, ears flat and nostrils pinched.

  Jupiter had whirled and kicked him in the chest, and that was all it took. The humans could practically see the hearts in the herd leader’s eyes as he fell for the big gray mare, hoof, line, and sinker. A minute after the horses met, their necks were twined together. Five minutes later, she had been muscling through the herd, meeting the others and letting them know who was in charge.

  Even Big Skye had swiped at his eyes, blaming it on dust. And, better yet, their weekly check-ins said that the horses were flourishing in the sheltered valley.

  Even with all of that going on, though, Krista had found it easier than she expected, being away from the ranch. In fact, it had been nice to plow through her office work during the day and spend the nights and weekends with Wyatt, exploring Denver, hanging out with Damien, or just staying in and cuddling by the fire while Klepto dozed nearby.

  The ranch was fine without her, at least during the winter months. And she was starting to think that home wasn’t a place for her, after all. It was more a state of mind . . . and the man she loved.