Harvest at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “Hey there, cowgirl,” Wyatt said from behind her, as if he had known she was thinking of him. “Here. This is for you.” A plate appeared in front of her, loaded with grilled chicken, skewered veggies, and the potato salad she had moaned over earlier in the day after sneaking a taste.

  She grinned up at her man, drinking in the sight of him, so handsome in his dress-up jeans and a striped button-down, and so utterly easy in his skin, whether he was being the cowboy, the metalworker, or somewhere in between. “More food?” she teased. “Seems to me we just ate.”

  “The rest of us ate. You orchestrated.” He nudged her toward a chair. “Sit. Eat. And after that, we’re dancing.”

  She tipped her head, looking up at him as warmth moved through her, simple as the sunrise. “Bossy much?”

  “You take care of the guests. I take care of you and the baby. Seems fair to me.”

  More than fair, Krista thought, taking the plate and enjoying the feeling of being fussed over—her and the yet-unnamed life-changer that was growing inside her. As he sat beside her, she asked, “Has our special guest arrived yet?”

  “She’s about ten minutes out. Which is cutting it close, I know, but she’ll be here.”

  She grinned as she forked up a mouthful of the creamy potatoes. “Ten minutes is nothing. It’ll take twenty for everyone to ooh and ahh over the cake.”

  “If you say so. Frosting is frosting to me.”

  She leaned in to give him a smacking kiss. “You’re such a guy.” And what a guy. My guy, she thought, feeling the rush that came with it. Then, seeing a swirl of activity coming from the direction of the kitchen, she shoveled in a couple more bites as the DJ ended the song and announced, “And now . . . it’s cake time!”

  There was a round of whoops and applause from the crowd, then another, longer ovation when the caterers set the promised dessert on a round table beneath a golden spotlight.

  In deference to Gran’s status as Queen of All Baking, they hadn’t gone crazy with elaborate flavors, fondant, or piping. Instead, there were layers of chocolate and vanilla cake covered in a good buttercream and decorated with scenes from her and Big Skye’s marriage. Not edible copies of pictures from the family albums—Jenny had vetoed that on the grounds that eating their faces would be weird—but little symbols of their five-decade marriage, from a cutout of the prize bull and twenty good cows Big Skye had given her father as her bride price, to caricatures of the whole family ringing the top tier.

  “Well, I’ll be!” Gran’s eyes glowed as she took in the massive dessert. “Arthur, look. There’s even a little boat for the cruise we took on our twenty-fifth!”

  As Krista had predicted, it took some time for everyone to properly admire the cake and take pictures of her grandparents posing with it, cutting it, and even feeding each other demure little bites. Then there were more toasts as the caterers cut the monster and distributed slices, until finally everyone had a piece and Big Skye commandeered the microphone.

  “I, ah . . . Harrumph.” He fiddled with the mic for a second, then looked at Gran with a tender expression that was very unlike his usual scowl. Taking a sip of champagne to clear his throat, he said, “It’s hard to believe it’s been fifty years, isn’t it, darlin’? Seems like just yesterday we were chasing Eddie around in his nappies and putting him on old Dancer for his first ride. But now look at us.” His gesture swept the crowd. “I’m such a lucky man. Thank you, sweet Edith. Thank you for making a man out of me, and for making a family out of all of us.”

  Gran started to wave that off with a pleased “Poosh!” but then stopped herself and beamed back at him. “You’re right, Arthur. I did all those things. And you know what? You’re welcome. You’re not the easiest man some days, but you’re the best man I know, and I’m proud to have been married to you all these years.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to the beginning of another fifty years, my love, in this world and the next.”

  The crowd started to clap, but Big Skye waved them down. “Hang on, hang on. I’m not done yet!” He grinned, dug into the breast pocket of his sport coat—which rocked suede patches and probably qualified as vintage—and came up with an ivory card made of thick paper, with a spray of pressed wildflowers on the front. Holding it out, he said, “This is for you, Edie. Happy anniversary.”

  As she flushed, Wyatt whispered in Krista’s ear, “Did your mom help him pick out the card?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. He made it himself.”

  “Impressive.”

  Gran gasped as she read the pretty card. “Arthur! Do you mean it? We’re going to Paris? Tonight?”

  His grin went from ear to ear. “Surprised?”

  “I’m . . .” Her mouth worked and her hands fluttered at her sides.

  “Shocked?” Big Skye offered.

  “Oh, you!” She swatted at him, smiling. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris!”

  With a flourish, he looped an arm around her waist and drew her in for a long kiss that scored good marks on the heat scale and sparked more than a few whoops.

  “Awww.” Krista leaned back against Wyatt. “Look at them.”

  “Quite a picture,” he agreed, dropping his chin on the top of her head.

  Gran and Big Skye’s togetherness had been on an uptick since fall. Sure, she grumbled about having him underfoot more, and he had driven everyone nuts trying to micromanage the annual winterizing chores from a folding chair rather than the saddle. But he had also thrown himself into the family photo project, which had evolved into several new video clips for the ranch Web site and a coffee-table book, and he was starting to make noises about writing an actual history of Mustang Ridge.

  Speaking of which. “Is Maizey here yet?” Krista asked as her mom and dad presented her grandparents with their gift—a day at Le Cordon Bleu, with cooking classes for Gran and an equal number of elaborate tastings for Big Skye.

  “I don’t . . . Wait. I think I see her. I’ll be right back.” Wyatt moved off through the crowd as Gran did a little happy dance and hugged Rose tight enough to strangle.

  Under the cover of applause and congratulations, Wyatt returned with Maizey Bascomb in tow. The elegant, silver-haired curator of the American Pioneer Museum was wearing a pale blue dress, an imposing amethyst-and-silver pendant, and an expression of suppressed excitement as she gave Krista a quick hug. “I can’t believe I’m here! This place is gorgeous.” She eased back and gave Krista an up-and-down. “And so are you. What’s your secret?”

  Krista grinned up at Wyatt. “True love.” And a bun in the oven, she thought, but didn’t say, because today was about Gran and Big Skye. “You should come back in the summer. I know I’m biased, but I swear it’s the prettiest place on Earth.”

  “You’ll have to bar the gate to keep me away.” Maizey’s eyes shifted to the center of the room, where a representative of the cattlemen’s association was handing over a gift of steaks on the heels of a medium-funny cow joke. “Do they know that you guys renegotiated the deal for Blessing?” That was what Wyatt had named the new statue. Because it was, on so many levels.

  Krista shook her head. “Not a clue. Are you ready for the presentation?”

  “Whenever you are!”

  At Krista’s high sign, Jenny commandeered the microphone and used her hey, listen up, this is the TV voiceover speaking voice to say, “Before we get back to the dancing and making merry, us grandkids have a little something for the happy couple.” She held out the mic. “Krissy? How about you do the honors?”

  As Krista stepped forward, Wyatt blew her a kiss and said, “Knock ’em dead, boss lady.”

  “I intend to,” she murmured in return. Because this was family. It was everything.

  Taking her place at the center of the dance floor, facing Gran and Big Skye, who looked cheerfully shell-shocked by all the presents and speeches, she took a deep breath to steady the nervous little churn in her belly. She hadn’t written up anything formal, so it came straight from her heart when she sa
id, “Most of you here today know me. For those who don’t, my name is Krista, and I’m one of Arthur and Edith’s granddaughters. I’m also the one who pushed the idea of turning this place into a dude ranch. Gran was behind me all the way on it, I think because she wanted a new kitchen.”

  That got some chuckles, and a twinkling wave from her grandmother.

  Returning the wave, Krista continued. “Gramps wasn’t as big a fan of the idea, though, and he and I have butted heads over it through the years. He thought that Mustang Ridge should stay the way it’s always been. And you know what? He’s got a point.”

  That got a startled, “Eh?” from Big Skye.

  “Yeah, you heard me. I said that you’ve got a point. Not that we shouldn’t adapt and improve, but that we shouldn’t forget where we started from, either. Me? I come from them,” she pointed to Gran and Big Skye, “from them,” her parents, “from here” she widened her arms to sweep the ranch, “and from the generations of Skyes and married-ins who have made this such a special place.” She paused, savoring the moment. “So, to recognize that, and to share Gran and Big Skye’s legacy with the world beyond Three Ridges, we have a surprise for you. I’d like to introduce Maizey Bascomb, the director of exhibits at the American Pioneer Museum.” She held out the mic.

  There was lots of curiosity as Maizey tucked a wrapped package under her elbow, took the mic, and smiled at Gran and Big Skye. “Congratulations on your milestone anniversary. To recognize it, and your family’s contribution to shaping pioneer history, we would like to designate Mustang Ridge as a Place of Pioneering Interest.” She unwrapped the flat object to reveal a polished metal plaque, which she showed to the audience, and then handed to Gran, amid a swell of applause.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” Gran beamed over at Big Skye, holding out the plaque. “Look, Arthur!”

  The tips of his ears had gone bright red. “That’s fine,” he said gruffly. “Mighty fine, indeed.”

  Maizey continued. “We’d like to include some family memorabilia in an exhibit we call The Way North, about settlers who left the main trail and spread into other parts of Wyoming. And Mrs. Skye, we’d love a contribution from you on old-school cooking techniques. Do I understand that you have a sourdough starter that dates back to the original homestead?”

  Gran beamed. “Why, yes! Would you like to try him?”

  Maizey blinked. “Him? Who?”

  More voices than Krista could count chorused in unison, “Herman!” and then dissolved to laughter.

  Grinning, Krista rescued Maizey from the microphone, and said, “To my grandparents. Happy anniversary!”

  There was a general shout of, “Hear, hear!” and lots of clinking glasses, and the guests moved in to admire the plaque. From the throng, Big Skye reached out a hand to Krista. “Come here, you.” Pulling her into his arms, he hugged her long and hard, like she was eight years old again, whispering in her ear, “Thank you. For everything.”

  And she had a feeling that if Bueno had been in the tent with them, he would’ve put her up on the saddle in front of him, and called her his little cowgirl.

  Eyes stinging with happy tears, she hugged him back fiercely. “I love you, Gramps. So much.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’re a good girl, Krissy. The best.”

  Gran was next, hugging her so tight she couldn’t breathe, then setting her away to mock-scold, “I know you told him about lunch in Paris.”

  Krista blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Then she grinned. “But wasn’t it breakfast in Paris and lunch somewhere else?”

  “Who cares? I’m going to Paris!” Gran threw her hands up in the air and did a twirl that flared her skirt around her legs and got Big Skye’s attention as the DJ took his cue and spun the next tune—something jazzy and fun that immediately got toes tapping.

  When the dancing started up again, Krista walked into Wyatt’s arms. He swung her in a circle, then pulled her close and enfolded her, swaying to the music. “Happy?” he said against her temple.

  “Blissful. That was perfect.”

  “Yeah. It really was.” His voice was a low rumble, his hands hypnotic on her body as they danced. When the song wound down and another geared up, he said, “You thirsty?”

  “Parched, actually, and I wouldn’t mind sitting for a minute. And, you know, enjoying the glow of a party well executed.”

  “Well executed, indeed. But I’ve got something else in mind.” Twining their fingers together, he led her from the tent, snagging their coats on the way out and draping hers across her shoulders. “Come on.”

  Little bubbles of pleasure fizzed in her bloodstream. “Where are we going?” she asked, though it didn’t really matter, as long as she was with him. It had taken her a while to figure that out. But she got it now. She did.

  “You’ll see.”

  He took her to the barn, ushering her into the warm, sweet-smelling interior.

  A laugh bubbled up. “You didn’t buy a pony, did you?” He had been talking about it, though she had assured him that Marshmallow would love having a little girl of his own.

  “Nope. This is all for you.” He swung open the door to the tack room, where the heat was on and a blanket was spread on the floor, topped with a bottle of sparkling cider and two glasses.

  She lifted a hand to her throat as it closed on a swell of emotion. “Oh, Wyatt. It’s perfect. I’m so ready for a few minutes of peace and quiet, with just the two of us.” More even than she had realized until just this moment.

  “Your wish is my command.” He took her hand and lowered her to the blanket, then poured the cider as she fluffed out her skirt and let the party din recede from her brain. For a short while, at least.

  Stretching her arms wide, she breathed deeply. “I really don’t think we could have found a better way to celebrate. Fifty years. Can you imagine it?”

  “Yeah, actually, I can.” And something in his voice said it wasn’t an offhand comment.

  Happy sparks lit in her belly and she leaned into him for a kiss. “Me, too.” They had talked about marriage, of course, and agreed it would happen when the time was right. Next fall, maybe, or the spring after. It would happen, though, she knew. She had faith.

  More, she had love.

  “In fact . . .” Wyatt looked around them, then gave a low whistle. When that didn’t produce any results, he whistled again and said, “Yo, Klepto. That’s your cue!”

  Krista gaped when the scrubby gray dog came bounding through the door, with his tail wagging and his cheeks bulging. “Oh, jeez,” she exclaimed. “What have you got there? Tell me it’s not expensive.”

  “Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Actually, it is.”

  The dog stopped at the edge of the blanket and sat down like he was actually trained to sit-stay, and looked at Wyatt for his next cue.

  Something suddenly made her think that this was about more than a glass of sparkling cider and a moment for them to be alone.

  Wyatt sat beside her, lifted his glass, and said, “To us.”

  “To us,” she responded weakly. “What’s going on here?”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up. “You’ll see. Honestly, I thought about doing this after the presents, in front of everyone, and your parents and grandparents were fine with it. But then I figured we didn’t need an audience for this. Just each other.”

  “My . . .” Her parents knew? And Gran and Big Skye? She lifted a hand to her rapidly tightening throat. “An audience for what, exactly?”

  “This.” He held out a hand to Klepto. “Drop it.”

  The dog opened his mouth and spit a cardboard jewelry box into his hand.

  Wyatt winced. “You weren’t supposed to slobber on it, you fool. Glad I swapped out the original box for something you couldn’t swallow.”

  Krista barely heard him. She was staring at the box. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Your Great-grandma Abby’s ring?” He opened the box to reveal a yellow-gold ring set with
a deep red garnet and crusted with diamonds. “Yeah. It is. And it’s my promise to you.”

  Her breath exited in a rush as the world threatened to spin. This was happening. It was really happening. “What kind of a promise?”

  “All of them,” he said simply, and held out the ring. “Will you wear this, Krista Skye, as a symbol of my promise to love you, adore you, care for you, and be your partner? Will you travel with me, ride with me, and be my anchor and my wings? And, most of all, Krista Skye, will you marry me?”

  “I will,” she said softly, feeling like her heart was suddenly too big for her chest, too big for her entire body. “I love you, Wyatt. So much. I’m so lucky you came back into my life.”

  She held out her hand and he slipped the ring—the one she had loved since she was a little girl—onto her ring finger where it fit, snug and perfect, like it had been intended for her all along.

  “I’m the lucky one,” he said, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her toward him. “You gave me a second chance,” he said against her lips. “And thank God for that.”

  He kissed her then, in a perfect moment that went on and on, lighting sparks in her body that could easily expand to more. She moved closer, slipped her hand inside his shirt, and—

  “Hey, you two,” Nick called from the far end of the barn. “If you’re about done in there, Big Skye is yelling for you. Jenny’s setting up for a family picture, and he wants both of you in it!”

  Read on for a special preview of the next book in the series,

  FIRELIGHT AT

  MUSTANG RIDGE

  Available from Signet Eclipse

  in February 2015!

  Danny Traveler didn’t put much stock in luck or fortune-cookie sayings, but as the shuttle bus rolled beneath an archway that spelled out WELCOME TO MUSTANG RIDGE in horseshoes, she was starting to think that the whole “if you’re going through hell, keep on going” thing might have some merit. The last year or so had sucked eggs, but now, finally, she thought she might be seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.