When Shelby came charging into the barn, Foster’s heart lurched in his chest and he had to stop himself from immediately reaching for her. She was in full-on mama bear mode, eyes flashing and face set in “I can deal with any crisis” lines, reminding him of the first time he saw her. Then he’d thought her lovely, fancy, and a little dangerous. Now he saw the unhappiness beneath, felt it in himself . . . and hoped he was about to make it better, not worse.
He knew the moment her eyes adjusted to the darkness, because her choppy strides faltered and her eyes went from Lizzie to him, and then to the crowd behind him—not just Stace, Ty, and the other staffers, but nearly a dozen early-bird guests who had wanted to get a jump on the horse stuff and were getting a show, instead.
Shelby slowed and stopped, looking at her daughter. “Lizzie? What’s wrong?”
The little girl glanced back at Foster, and he nodded encouragement. Go on, he urged silently. You can do it. And, bless her, she squared her narrow shoulders and faced her mother, tuning out their audience so she could get through this. He hoped.
“I’m s-sorry,” Lizzie said in a small voice. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you. And I shouldn’t have t-t-tried to ride Sassy to the w-waterfall.”
Shelby blanched. “What?”
He held up both hands in an it’s okay gesture behind Lizzie’s back, and saw Shelby fight to marshal her emotions. He could practically see her counting to ten, twice. And he didn’t blame her. If what he’d felt when he saw Lizzie trying to saddle Sassy was even a fraction of what she was used to dealing with . . . well, he had a feeling that being a parent might be an even harder job than he’d originally thought, when it had just been a concept, not a real kid. Back then, he had thought he had a whole bunch of other things to get lined up first, before he took any sort of a run at having a family of his own. Now, though, he was starting to think that he needed to be more flexible, like the horse trainer he was supposed to be. No two greenies came along exactly the same way, at exactly the same speed. Maybe his life was coming along at Brutus speed—slow at first, and with some scuffling and fighting, but then gaining momentum once he was on the right track.
Maybe it had been sleeping on it, or at least what little sleep he’d gotten. Or maybe it had been there for longer than just last night, worming through his subconscious in a series of what-ifs that had come together the moment Lizzie wrapped herself around him and told him to fix things. Right then, he’d felt like a Jedi, a superhero, like he could do anything, possibly even fix his own problems, along with hers. Yeah, it would mean giving up some stuff, making some changes, and he could hear Tish’s imaginary “I told you so” in his head. But the thing was, he didn’t care. He wanted what he wanted, and he was willing to admit that what he wanted had changed. Maybe on fast-forward, and maybe enough to make him nervous as hell, but still.
It would be worth the risk, though, even knowing that there weren’t any guarantees. Not with horses, and not with life.
“I wanted to stay with her and L-Lucky, but they need to l-live here.” Lizzie paused, twining her fingers together behind her back. “And I need to be with you, no matter w-what.” She added in a small, rebellious voice, “I’d like to s-stay here, though.”
Shelby coughed, maybe to hide a disbelieving laugh. “Was that an apology?”
Lizzie nodded, contrite. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll go back to Boston if that’s w-what you w-want.”
The statement dug in, tightening Foster’s chest, but that was nothing next to the pressure that came when Shelby went down on her knees in front of her daughter and drew her into a bear hug. Her face, visible over Lizzie’s shoulder, was luminous. All of the tension was gone, all of the questions and regrets erased in a perfect moment.
Unconditional love, that was what he was seeing. It was the kind of love that changed lives, bound families together, made a man bigger than himself. The kind of love he’d never had before, never wanted, maybe hadn’t even recognized. He recognized it now, though, wanted it now.
Wanted them. More than anything, he wanted a life with them.
“I’m sorry,” Lizzie said, clutching around her mother’s neck. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
“You aren’t, you weren’t.” Shelby drew back, then grinned mistily. “Okay, maybe a little. But there’ve been lots of changes lately. I think we can cut each other a little slack, especially when you’re being so brave. Because this, dear kiddo, is pretty brave.”
Lizzie looked back over her shoulder at the others, and smiled shyly at Foster.
That put Shelby’s attention on him. She steeled herself, stood, and came over to him. “Thank you for doing . . . well, whatever you did here. And I owe you an apology.”
His heart twisted, trying to hog-tie itself in his chest. “You don’t owe me a damn thing.”
“We had an agreement—”
“Yeah, we did. And now I want to renegotiate it.” Feeling shaky, he was almost tempted to go down on his knees as she had done with Lizzie, but knew that would just freak them both out. So instead, he took her hands and held on tight, the way he would the lead rope of a wrangly mustang he didn’t quite trust to stay put. Then, hoping he would get this right, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was married. She was a daddy’s girl rodeo queen who took my breath away. We were crazy about each other, and we figured that’d be enough, but it wasn’t. I assumed she understood ranching life, she assumed we would keep rodeoing indefinitely, and we were both wrong. We split up, she told her daddy a couple of whoppers, and he took me down. That’s the short version. You can have the longer version any time, ask any questions you want. And again, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. Because you were right—that’s the sort of thing a man should tell his woman, especially if it’s one of the things that’s making him head shy when it comes to getting in deeper.”
Color had flooded her face as he was talking. Now she blew out a long, shuddering breath. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, and you don’t owe me an explanation. That’s not the kind of relationship we had.”
He wanted to spin and bolt like the barn was on fire. Instead, he charged into the blaze. “Maybe. But it’s the kind of relationship I want with you. I want to be with you for real, Shelby. You, me, and Lizzie. I want to make it work.” Suddenly, he couldn’t read her—was that shock or panic? His heart tightened painfully in his chest, feeling like Brutus had just stepped on it. “So . . .” He moistened his suddenly dry mouth. “What do you say?”
• • •
Shelby couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening. There was no way he was talking about their relationship in front of all these people—an audience for a man who kept himself so very private and closed off. But there was nothing private about this, and nothing closed off about the man standing opposite her. His face was set in its usual calm lines, with a hint of the familiar wariness. But his body was in motion—a shift of balance, a squeeze of her hands, a shrug to shift his collar half an inch on his neck.
He’s nervous, she thought, and on the heels of that realization came another, even more astounding one: this is real. “But last night—” she began.
“I spooked,” he said bluntly. “Instincts, old habits, whatever. I didn’t stop to ask myself whether they still applied. I just saw a garden hose move in the bushes, thought ‘snake!’ and stampeded.”
A bubble of laughter came out of nowhere. “Am I the snake or the garden hose here?” she asked, just as Stace muttered behind her, “Really, Foster?”
He colored a little. “I, ah . . . I believe I mentioned that I suck at this. But that’s the thing—you get that. You get me. And at the same time, I think I get you, too. And there’s nothing I want more in this world than to keep learning about you, and being with you and Lizzie. So please, give me another chance. Let’s try again, this time for real. Nothing casual, no time limits, just the two of us. The three of us.”
Shelby looked down at Lizzie
as the ground shifted beneath her, making her feel as if one wrong move would send everything crashing down like a life-size game of Jenga, with pieces falling down around her, taking all her hard-won points with them. But this wasn’t about points. It was so much more important than that.
“It wouldn’t work,” she said, voice wobbling. “You know the person I am here, but she’s not real. Back home, I’m always going a million miles an hour, racing from home to work and back again, always hurry-hurry-hurry except when I’m with Lizzie. Even when I am, my brain is still going, keeping score and seeing slogans wherever I look. And half the time they’re not even good slogans!” The last came with a clutch of nerves as she realized that her inner advertiser had gone silent. Now she saw the sunset for its beauty, not its potential to sell eye shadow, and she didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. She hadn’t even come up with a decent blurb for Mustang Ridge.
The lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. “Now who’s spooking at garden hoses?”
“I don’t . . . I won’t . . .” Babble. She took a deep breath. “Krista said you got your family’s ranch back.” Saying it twisted something inside her. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, but you know what? It’s been waiting for me a long time now, and it can keep on waiting if it needs to. What matters is that the potential is there.”
“But your family—”
“Never blamed me for what happened as much as I blamed myself. My mom and dad love Flagstaff, and Tish is just as happy to visit me here as there.” He paused, voice dropping. “Or wherever I wind up. That’s not set in stone, Shelby. The only thing that’s set in my head right now is that I want a chance to be with you for real, and see if what we’ve started here has got a forever future.”
Forever. She tried to whisper it, but couldn’t. The word stayed locked inside her.
Lizzie gave her a two-handed push toward Foster. “Go on, Mom. You know you w-want to.”
When had her kid gotten so smart? Shelby looked down, going misty. “Oh, baby.” But this wasn’t about what Lizzie wanted, or even about what made sense. It was—at least it could be—about the future.
“I think . . .” She paused, trying to find the words for the fear and excitement that came rocketing through her. That was the great thing about Foster, though. She didn’t always need the words. So she gave a little cry and launched herself at him.
He caught her and spun her in a big circle, his laughter rumbling against her as he held her tight and buried his face in her neck. “Does this mean you’ll stay until September and give it a chance?” He held her away a little, his face going serious. “You don’t have to. You can go back now if you want, and I’ll come out when the season is over. Spend the winter. I’ve got a few old rodeo contacts I can lean on for a job. Or—”
She put a hand over his mouth. “Stop.” Then she put her lips where her fingers had been, and kissed him. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Yippee!” Lizzie danced away to Sassy’s stall. “Lucky, did you hear that?”
A huge smile split Foster’s face as he looked down at Shelby. His arms tightened around her, bringing her body flush with his. “Yippee, indeed.”
And then he kissed her for real, long and deep and bending her back, much to the amusement of their audience. The Shelby who’d come to Mustang Ridge might have pushed away, blushing. This wasn’t professional, wasn’t the kind of thing that happened in public back home—at least once you were over the age of eighteen or so, and got a clue. The woman she’d become here on the ranch, though, wrapped her arms around her cowboy and gave back as good as she got.
Ty hooted in approval and Stace clapped, grabbed Lizzie, and spun her until she threw her head back and laughed. The sound soared up and echoed in the barn, warming Shelby’s heart as much as the rumble of Foster’s chuckle heated her body.
This, she thought. This was her safe haven. Not the people or the place, but the knowledge that she could handle whatever came next.
“Shelby? You in there?” The half-panicked cry came from outside the barn.
She turned in Foster’s arms. “Topper?”
The younger man skidded at the barn door. Not catching on that something big was happening, he waved furiously. “Come on! Hurry! Something bad is happening in the kitchen!”
• • •
Shelby hurried into the main house, thinking how quickly things could change. The last time she’d come up the porch stairs, she’d been miserable, convinced that everything she cared about had suddenly unraveled on her like a cheap sweater with its tag pulled off. And now she had Foster and Lizzie right behind her, and a whole new set of possibilities opening up in front of her.
It was incredible. Wonderful. Unbelievable.
Hers.
Then she swung through the door, and heard the yelling, loud and clear.
“You ruined my apple tarts!” Rose shrieked. “A whole batch of them, gone. Oh, my babies.”
“Dra-ma,” Foster sang softly behind Shelby as they double-timed it down the hallway. Near the end, he caught her arm, planted a quick kiss on her cheek, and said, “Lizzie and I will stay here, in case a quick getaway is needed.”
In other words, in case the grown-ups stopped acting like grown-ups or Lizzie got worried, and he needed to beat a quick retreat.
She shot him a grateful glance. “Thanks.”
As she stepped into the kitchen, Gran said, “You promised Krista that you’d leave the baking to me.” Her voice was calmer and quieter but held a thread of steel.
The combatants were squared off over the butcher block counter, glaring at each other while Krista hovered in the background. Looking super relieved to see Shelby, she mouthed a silent Help!
Rose glanced over and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, great. Reinforcements. Have you come to gloat?” She looked nine feet tall in her toque, and like she could kick Shelby’s butt if she decided to.
Deciding not to be intimidated, Shelby came around beside Gran, wrinkling her nose at the weird aroma coming from the cooling rack, which was full to overflowing with pastries that smelled more like enchiladas than apple anything. “That depends. What happened that’s gloat-worthy?”
Rose flushed. “This . . . You . . . Urgh!”
Krista came up next to Shelby and said in a low voice, “Mom’s cinnamon got switched out for ground ghost pepper.”
“Oh,” Shelby said, with a longer thought of Ohh. “That would explain the smell.” Ghosts were the hottest peppers on record, and the powder most certainly wasn’t intended to take the place of cinnamon.
“If you’d been sticking to the deal, you wouldn’t have needed your cinnamon, would you?” Gran said in her “well, there you have it” voice.
“I could’ve been making pork chops with apple chutney!”
“Well, you weren’t, were you? You were trying to show me up with your Food-Channel-of-the-week special.”
“How dare you!”
Gran leaned in, eyes narrowed dangerously. “You think I don’t know you tried to poison Herman?”
“Mom!” Krista gasped. “You didn’t!”
“She did,” Gran insisted. “If Shelby hadn’t caught that she switched out the jars, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”
Shelby didn’t notice it, she thought, and this isn’t a conversation. It’s one step away from a kitchen cage fight. But even the tension wasn’t enough to bring down her mood. Not when she saw Foster and Lizzie peer around the edge of the hallway arch and give her a double thumbs-up. Giddy heat bubbled in her veins, and she was one step away from a Snoopy dance that would probably send Rose over the edge.
For the first time, though, Krista’s mother looked uncertain, maybe even a little guilty. “I . . . I didn’t. I just wanted—”
“You wanted him dead,” Gran hissed, looking like she was enjoying herself now.
“No! I didn’t. I just—”
“Ladies, ladies!” Foster strode into the roo
m with Lizzie on his heels. “Let’s not let this go further than you intend. You know what they say: it’s all fun and games until somebody loses a pie.”
The combatants turned to glare at him while Krista smothered a half-hysterical giggle. Shelby snagged Lizzie and tucked her near the wall so she was out of the line of fire if this boiled over and things turned physical—salad tongs at ten paces, maybe, or flying biscuits. Then she stepped up beside Foster and said, “He’s right. What’s more, you’re family, which means you’re going to have to find a way to deal with each other. So, as someone who’s spent some time in the kitchen recently, I have a proposal.” It had been percolating since her conversation with Krista last night, and might not be perfect, but it was a start.
Rose hesitated, but then nodded stiffly. “Go ahead, Shelly.”
Shelby squelched the eye roll. “I vote that you institute blue tape and a schedule. The tape cuts the storage areas into three parts—Gran’s, Rose’s, and shared—and you two agree not to mess with each other’s stuff. The schedule divides the kitchen hours into blocks—blue for Gran and red for Rose, or whatever you want. My first instinct is to say that Gran does the baking and sweets and Rose handles the savories. Or you alternate days. Whatever. The point is that you cross paths as little as possible.”
“Shelby.” Gran’s voice wobbled with dismay. “My kitchen!”
“I know.” She caught the older woman’s hands and squeezed. “I know you want to do it all, but think about it. You keep telling me to do things for myself, but when was the last time you did the same thing?”
“But I don’t—”
“Well, you should. Take an afternoon in town. Go riding with Arthur. Catch up with some friends. Be with the people you love.”
“Go riding?” The concept seemed foreign.
To her surprise, it was Rose who said, “You know . . . it could work.” She paused. “If you’re willing to try it, Barbara, I’d be on board.”
Gran wavered, but it was obvious she was thinking about it. “I don’t know.”
Summer at Mustang Ridge Page 28