Coming Home to Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “Woo-hoo! Come on in, girlfriend. We’ve got work to do!”

  • • •

  The Big List took a beating over the next six hours, but it was like a movie villain—every time Ashley thought they had struck the killing blow, the darned thing dragged itself back upright and came at her again. And she was running out of time.

  “Done and done.” She crossed off Hang curtains and Update window display, as the front of the store was now swathed in rented sheers and the volleyball game was now a jumping-and-hugging celebration with a scoreboard that said EVERYBODY WINS!

  The curtains had been Shelby’s idea—a way to heighten anticipation by making everyone guess what was going on inside the store in the last few hours before the show. What Ashley hadn’t anticipated, however, was how stuffy and hemmed-in the store would feel with the windows blocked off. Hello, claustrophobia. What if Three Ridges were hit with a zombie apocalypse while they were setting up for the fashion show? There could be a whole army of rotting undead plastered up against the plate glass, just waiting for her to unlock the door.

  Meanwhile, back in reality . . . Sighing, she shook her head.

  “Problem?” Hen asked from the lower level, where she and Gilly were setting up the folding chairs.

  “Next up on the hit parade is Pimp dressing area, but I don’t think we have enough time before the models start arriving for hair and makeup.” The loading dock was crammed with outfits and dressing tables, one for each model. She had planned to fancy it up with curtains, butterflies, personalized touches for each station, but the clock was ticking way too fast. Bummed, she added, “I want them to feel like stars.”

  “They will,” Hen said. “Don’t worry.”

  Gilly nodded quickly. She hadn’t said much, but she had worked her butt off all afternoon without complaint. Now she ventured, “Having someone do my hair and makeup is already more than I expected. But if you want to do something extra, how about special goody bags just for the models? I helped my mom with some yellow-ribbon benefits, and that’s what we did for the VIPs.”

  “Brilliant!” Ashley bounded down from the upper level to give the teen a high five—which was probably totally uncool, but she wasn’t sure what had come after the knuckle tap, and, hey, it was a vintage store. “You want to give me a hand? Grab a dozen of the nice paper bags with the handles and a bunch of tissue paper, and meet me in the warehouse. Hen? Can you come up with a snack station for out back? I’ve got nibbles and sodas in the fridge, along with champagne, sparkling cider, and strawberries.”

  “On it!”

  They cranked out those tasks, knocked Put programs on the chairs off the Big List, and were just starting to schlep the boxes of stuffed-full goody bags—the ones for the ticketholders, not the special ones they had just made for the models—to the ticket-taking station at the front door, to be dispensed at check-in, when there was a brisk knock at the back door.

  Startled, Ashley looked at the clock and got a serious adrenaline zap at seeing that the caterers, models, and hair-and-makeup people were right on time. Flee! Escape! Run-run-run! “Ohmigosh, is it really six thirty? Here. Take these!” She shoved her box at Hen, saw that her arms were already full, and froze as panic bubbled up. “It can’t be time. There’s still too much to do. We have to decorate the aisles, finish the catering stations, and disguise the garbage and recycling. And the sound system isn’t working yet. Where’s Jolly! I need—”

  “You need to breathe,” Hen said firmly. Setting aside her box, she appropriated Ashley’s to stack on top of it. “There. See? Dealt with. And you know what? Even if those boxes are there when you open the doors in a half hour, it won’t matter. Nobody is going to know that you didn’t get to some of the finishing touches you had planned. I mean, get a load of this place.” She slung an arm across Ashley’s shoulders. “Look around you! Look at what you’ve accomplished!”

  Ashley blinked, and in that instant, the shop floor transformed around her. She suddenly saw the butterflies on the walls, with their happy bug faces and subliminal messages; the colorful jumble of wire-hung clothes, frozen in playful little scenes; and the rows of chairs radiating away from the central display in concentric curves, as if the gorgeous gowns that swathed the strategically placed mannequins had caused ripples.

  She swallowed thickly. “Oh. Hey, wow.” It worked, really and truly. Not just the way she had imagined it, but even better. “This is . . . wow. Amaze-balls.”

  “See?” Hen nudged her toward the back. “We’ve got this. Go on and let the models in so they can get started in hair-and-makeup. It’s almost show time!”

  Oh, God. Showtime. She was totally going to throw up.

  She didn’t, though, and the next fifteen minutes were a whirlwind of people, noise, and laughter. The excited models—including Froggy, Rose and Gran Skye, Mayor Tepitt, and a half dozen other regulars of all shapes and ages—took a quick tour of the runway, exclaiming over the stage and cheering each other on as they took turns striking a pose or two. Back at their changing stations, they riffled through the clothes that had been laid out for each of them, and started a heated undies-versus-no-undies debate that had Ashley picturing all sorts of Model Falls Off Stage into Crowd moments of the sort that would get the store a gazillion hits on YouTube, but not in a good way.

  Putting her index fingers between her lips, she gave a piercing whistle that cut through the buzz. Into the surprised silence that followed, she said, “Let’s keep our undies on. We don’t want any wardrobe malfunctions, do we?” Not sure she wanted the answer to that one, she hurried on, “We’ve got just over an hour before the show starts, so I’m going to leave you in the more than capable hands of my hair-and-makeup crew.” Otherwise known as the Girl Zone, as all four of her besties had insisted on volunteering for this part, bless them. She motioned Shelby forward. “This is my beauty ringleader. Shelby, do you want to take this away?”

  “Absolutely! You, you, you, and you.” Shelby pointed to the four loudest members of Team No-Undies. “Hop in your chairs. We’ve got work to do!”

  Ashley stepped back as the models milled, some heading for their chairs while others checked out the snack table and their goody bags. Coming up beside her, Danny said, “We’ve got this. You go nail down whatever last-minute deets need nailing down.” She caught Ashley in a quick hug. “And remember to breathe!”

  “Working on it,” Ashley retorted, hugging her friend in return. But she felt more settled as she headed back up the hall to the sales floor. Shelby and the others would make the models feel like stars, even without their names on the mirrors and balloons tied to their chairs.

  “How does it look back there?” Hen asked from up by the counter, where she was getting the register booted up and ready to roll. They weren’t going to focus on making sales tonight, but they weren’t going to turn them away, either.

  “That depends on whether you like your grannies going commando.”

  “What?”

  “It’s under control.” More or less. “How are things up here?”

  “T minus ten minutes and counting until we open the doors. Want to say it with me?”

  Ashley obliged by grabbing handfuls of her own hair, and was amused when Gilly did the same. All three of them screamed in unison, making the bartender jump.

  Oddly enough, it made her feel better. At least until she took a gander at the Big List and saw two key line items that weren’t yet checked off. “Has anyone seen—” She broke off as she caught sight of a tall, dark-haired teen stalled at the end of the back hallway, as if he knew he didn’t belong in hair-and-makeup central but wasn’t quite sure where he was supposed to be. “Well, there’s one of them.” Raising her voice, she called, “Hey, Sean. Over here!”

  Gilly whirled around and let out a squeak.

  Smothering a grin, Ashley caught her arm and drag-steered her to meet the newcomer halfway. “Hi,
Sean. Thanks for helping out tonight! You know Gilly, right? She’s going to get you up to speed on taking the tickets and checking everyone in.”

  “I . . . um . . .” Gilly’s face was bright pink, her eyes wild.

  Recognizing incipient panic, Ashley added, “After you’re done with Sean, Gilly, I want you to skedaddle to the back room for hair-and-makeup. Not that you need much—you’ve got great cheekbones—but Shelby knows how to play up the drama of those eyes.” Okay, so maybe she was laying it on a bit thick, but neither of the teens seemed to notice. They were too busy not staring at each other.

  “You’re modeling?” Sean asked his left shoe. “Cool. Janey and Erik are helping the caterers. Did Mrs. MacIntyre ask you to help out? I guess she tagged a few of us drama geeks.”

  “Yes. I mean no. I mean—” Gilly took a deep breath, made a visible effort to pull herself together, and said, “Yes, I’m modeling, but, no, it’s not because of Mrs. MacIntyre. I shop here sometimes.” She plucked at the shirt. “I got this the other day.” Then she looked mortified, like she couldn’t believe she was talking to him about clothes shopping.

  He didn’t look put off, though. If Ashley remembered her deets correctly—she had pumped Barb Mac for some info—Sean had two sisters, one older and one younger. Odds were, he heard plenty about clothes on a day-to-day basis. “It’s nice,” he said, glancing over at her. “You look . . . different.”

  Ashley was pretty sure that by different he meant “pretty.” She hoped Gilly could translate the boy-speak.

  “Um. Thanks. Come on, I’ll show you the welcome station. It’s, ah, nice of you to help out.”

  “Mrs. Mac said we’ll get a thank-you letter out of it. For college apps and stuff.”

  Note to self, Ashley thought, fighting a goofy smile as she watched them head off for the front of the store. Write glowing rec letters for the Drama Club kids.

  Hen came up beside her, nudged her with an elbow. “Playing matchmaker, are we?”

  Ashley pantomimed innocence. “Just giving him an opportunity to see her in a different light. Or at least a different jacket.”

  “I didn’t think you had it in you. Or are you moving past the Men suck phase of the postbreakup continuum?”

  “I don’t think that men suck.”

  “Oh?”

  Not going there. Not yet, anyway. She and Ty were keeping things quiet for the time being. “Why are we talking about this, anyway? I’m supposed to open the doors in nine minutes, and my sound system still isn’t up and running. You haven’t seen Jolly, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t. But I can do you one better.” Hen looked past her and waved. “Yoo-hoo. Tyler! Over here!”

  A sizzle-zap raced through Ashley’s veins as she turned.

  And there he was.

  She could’ve sworn she hadn’t been thinking of him, but the sight of him—big, strong, and solid-looking, as if gravity held on to him extra tight, planting his boots on the hardwood as he strode toward her—brought a whisper of, There you are. As if part of her had been waiting for him, counting the minutes since he’d left last night. “Ty.”

  “Hey.” He stopped a polite distance away and nodded first at her, then at Hen. “Henrietta. Nice to see you again. Looking good.”

  Touching the ends of her hair like she was fluffing her feathers, she beamed. “Why, thank you, Tyler. You’re looking good, too. So much happier than the last time we saw each other. You know”—she lowered her voice, barely, to stage-whisper—“right after Brandi left.”

  Ashley smothered a wince. “Hen, can you stick your head in the back room and see if they need anything?”

  “Sure thing. Be right back.”

  “Sorry about that,” Ashley said, once she was out of earshot. “Hen is . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to be disloyal.

  “No problem. It’s comforting how little really changed while I was away. Henrietta included.” But where his words were carrying on a polite conversation, his eyes were locked on her with a good bit of smolder in their depths, as if he was thinking about the last time they had been in the shop together. Alone, with the lights down.

  The heat inside her gathered, expanded. “I didn’t think I would see you until later.”

  “I’m here to do your sound check.”

  “I thought Jolly was coming.”

  “I told him I’d take care of it. Unless you object?”

  “To having a pro do my sound check and help me cross off the last big to-do I need to get to-done before I open the doors? Not in a million years.” She grinned at him, had to hold herself back from doing more. “Come on. I’ll show you where—” She broke off as the timer on her phone did its annoying ding-a-ling thing. She glanced at the clock and winced.

  Following her gaze, he gave a lopsided grin. “Guess we’re out of time.”

  “For now,” she said, then took a quick look around and went up on her toes to brush her lips across his. “For luck.”

  “Knock ’em dead, killer.”

  “You’re supposed to say, Break a leg.”

  The lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. “Not a horseman’s favorite saying.”

  “Then Knock ’em dead it is.” She shot him a sassy finger wiggle, hoping he couldn’t tell how much she wanted to cling. “See you later.”

  “Count on it.” Raising her voice, she called, “Hen? It’s time.”

  She felt Ty watching her as she made her way across the store, pausing at the register to put away the Big List. She gave herself a moment to brush a couple of wrinkles out of the iridescent silk blouse she had worn over a tight black tank and narrow black pants, wanting to look the part but let the models shine. Then, taking a steadying breath, she headed for the curtain-shrouded front door.

  Hen met her there, eyes alight with anticipation. “Ohmigosh! Can you believe we’re actually doing this?”

  With her hand on the dead bolt, Ashley hesitated. “Tell me there hasn’t been a zombie apocalypse out there while we were in here setting up.”

  Hen, bless her, said firmly, “If there had been, Ty would’ve showed up with a shotgun and plenty of ammo.”

  “Have I told you lately that I adore you? Okay. Here goes.”

  The lock felt stiff under Ashley’s fingers, the door heavier than usual. Even the bell sounded muted as she swung the panel open, letting bright evening light spill through. It brought with it a buzz of humanity on the other side, hushed with anticipation and a couple of hisses of “Here she comes!”

  Not zombies, she told herself. Applause broke out as she blinked into the evening sun, which seemed so bright after spending the afternoon cocooned in the store. The noise swelled almost instantly, becoming deafening. She would have fallen back a step in surprise if Hen hadn’t given her a little push, propelling her all the way out, where she almost collided with someone who shouldn’t have been there.

  Mouth dropping open, Ashley let out a squeal. “Della! You came!”

  The store’s former owner grinned like a maniac. With her dark curls tamed in a single braid and her curvy body accented by a sleek bronze dress made stunning by its simplicity, she looked every stitch the successful designer she had become. “You didn’t really think we would miss this, did you?” She hooked an arm through her husband’s and cuddled close. “Besides, Max wanted an excuse to come back and look at the library, see how his renovations are holding up.”

  “Not even,” he protested gamely. “I love a good fashion show.” Square-jawed, handsome Max Ramsay was a hands-on guy, a top-notch contractor, and something of a techno geek. Which made him an interesting foil to Della’s older-is-better battle cry. At the moment, though, he looked perfectly happy to be back in Three Ridges, in front of the store where the two of them had fallen in love.

  “See?” Hen nudged her in the ribs. “Not zombies. Friends.”

 
; And that was exactly what they were, Ashley saw, looking beyond Della and Max as the applause died down and someone shouted, “Open the curtains! We want to see who won the volleyball game!” That got a ripple of laughter, and then the same someone—she had a feeling it was Feed Store Billy—started a chant of “Cur-tains, cur-tains, cur-tains!”

  So many faces! Some she knew, some she didn’t, some she recognized but couldn’t place. All here for her show, her little store. And there in the back of the group, Wyatt stood with Foster, Nick, and Danny’s fiancé, Sam, and behind them, Ed and Big Skye. Some of the manliest men she knew. Emotion tightened her throat, an upwelling of gratitude, nerves, and the sudden overwhelming urge to snap her fingers and disappear, poof, like magic. Because if she could do that, then she could go out on top, before anything went wrong.

  Instead, she gave a huge wave and hollered, “You want the curtains down?”

  She got a cheerful roar in response.

  “Okay, you got it!” Glancing back, she saw that Hen had the pull-rope in her hand and was giving her a thumbs-up. “Help me count it down to Another Fyne Thing. Five . . . four . . .” A hundred-plus voices took up the chant. “Three . . . two . . . one . . .” They hollered it together: “Another Fyne Thing!”

  Hen yanked the rope and the curtains came down, revealing the window display. The noise level dipped momentarily while the onlookers craned to see who won. Then that same voice—Note to self: Kiss Feed Store Billy—hollered, “Everybody wins!” There was another round of applause, and a chant of “Everybody wins” began in the back.

  Della surged forward to wrap her arms around Ashley’s neck. “It’s amazing,” she enthused. “You’re amazing. But, then, I never had any doubt. I can’t wait to see what you’ve done inside!”

  “Then come on in!” Forgetting her nerves—or maybe just pushing them down for now, which was good enough—Ashley propped open the double doors. “Single line, one at a time, let’s get everyone checked in and get this party started!”