Coming Home to Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  He had told Brandi everything, of course, when their whirlwind had started heading in the direction of till-death-do-us-part. He had figured she had a right to know what she was getting into, little realizing that the details would become ammunition when things started going downhill. And there had been a pretty, soft-eyed brunette who had sat down next to him at a bar in the heart of Vegas and asked what he was doing in town, not realizing that Weasley had canned him an hour before, and he’d had enough bourbon to loosen his tongue.

  There wasn’t any pressure now, no alcohol involved, but he found himself wanting to tell Ashley at least the basics. Maybe it was seeing her try to work things out with Wyatt, or the way his phone stayed stubbornly silent, with no word from Mac. Or maybe—probably—working with Geoff had brought the buried things far closer to the surface than they usually stayed.

  Whatever the reason, where Brandi used to accuse him of putting up walls and shutting her out when it mattered most, now he found himself saying, “My mother was a user. People. Booze. Drugs. You name it, she used it.” Including him, until he got big enough to go off on his own. After that, he had spent as much time as he could away. It didn’t matter where, just away.

  Ashley had sucked in a breath when he mentioned the system. Now she let it out slowly. “And your father?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Pretty sure she didn’t, either. But it was all I knew, and she used to tell me how I should be grateful, that there were kids worse off than me in the neighborhood . . . until there weren’t anymore.” It was the truth as far as it went. As far as he wanted to take it with her just now.

  She took his free hand and squeezed his fingers, but stayed silent.

  “Child Services showed up one day—I don’t know who called them or what changed. All I knew was that they said”—that nebulous grown-up collective they who were supposed to make life better rather than worse; it hadn’t taken him long to figure out that was a crock, and that he was the only person really on his own side—“everything was going to be okay now, and then they gave me a cot sandwiched between two older boys”—one who had showed him a switchblade, threatened to cut him, and took his jacket, all within the first five minutes he was there—”and told me to mind my manners.”

  “Did your mother try to get you back?”

  “If she did, I never heard about it. They were in the process of terminating Ma’s rights when she died.”

  She made a soft noise of distress. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. She was squabbling over a dime bag and lost the argument. And it was a long time ago.”

  “So were the days I used to imagine Wylie showing up for Christmas with presents for me and Wyatt and a diamond ring for Mom. But still.”

  Yeah. Still. It was why he had wanted to tell her, he realized. She understood more than most. “A couple of foster families tried to help, but I had a temper and was big enough to make them nervous. So back in the system I went, until I hit eighteen and they cut me loose. The caseworker wished me luck and said she knew I’d do great, but we both knew that was bull. A kid like me, with no foster family or outside ties, in and out of juvie and already with an assault pop on my adult record, thanks to a bar fight over another guy’s girl and a judge who was already sick of seeing my face . . . Well, let’s just say neither of us figured I’d be on the outside for long.”

  “I guess you beat those odds.” She studied him over the rim of her mug. “Give yourself credit there.”

  “I got lucky.” It didn’t feel that way most days, though—more like he had failed the one person who had been counting on him back then. He hadn’t gone looking for her like he had promised. Not until it was too damn late, after the system had swallowed her up. They had said it was better that way, that he was giving her a chance at a new life.

  It wasn’t until later that he had learned just how badly they had been lying.

  He wasn’t going there, though. Couldn’t.

  Draining his coffee, he set aside the mug and rose, still connected to Ashley by their joined hands. She was fresh and lovely in her pretty yellow skirt, surrounded by the backdrop of his temporary home. The sight of her there, in what was rapidly becoming one of his favorite spots, shifted something in his chest.

  He wanted to be with her, lose himself in her, let things be simple, if only for a little while. It was strange, really, how uncomplicated things felt with her when they were surrounded by nothing but complications.

  Here, though, now, there was just the two of them and the setting sun. “Can I give you the grand tour?” he asked, voice gone rough with the sudden thrum of blood through his veins as need surged.

  For her. For the two of them together.

  “I think I already saw most of it.” She rose, though, smiling as though they shared a secret. Which maybe they did. “Except the bedroom, that is.” Thank you for telling me, her expression said. It’s okay that you want to be done now.

  Did she know that was a gift?

  He lifted their joined hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “I’ll show you the way there. It gets kind of tricky. In fact—” Then, because he could, he swept her up in his arms and carried her, laughing, to the bedroom. There, he settled her on the big bed, came down atop her, kissed her, and lost himself to the night and the woman in his arms.

  For tonight, at least, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

  • • •

  The next morning, full of energy and enthusiasm, Ashley blew up the volleyball game in the shop’s front window, wanting something fresh, new, and really big. Once the space was empty, she hauled in a roll of chicken wire and got to work, not really sure what she was going to make.

  She wound up building a giant bucking bronco with a cowboy astride. Which probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, given where she had spent the night.

  The wonderful, glorious night. Ty had opened up to her, made love to her, made her feel special, from the moment he told her about his childhood to when he kissed her good-bye out by her car early that morning, where all the world could see.

  How bright and brilliant it was to discover that a casual relationship didn’t need to be a superficial one. They could talk about things that mattered—far more than she and Kenny ever had, or the boys she had dated before him. It was like having a new member of the Girl Zone, only one who was wired with a very grown-up male brain. As for the sex . . . well, wow was just plain insufficient at this point. It was quickly becoming more like wow to the sort of exponential power she had failed to fully understand back in school.

  “I can’t believe we’re using all this denim,” Hen said from up atop the step stool, where she was attaching vintage 501s over the arching chicken-wire framework.

  Tearing her thoughts away from Ty—no easy feat—Ashley looked at the mannequins she had propped up behind the bucking bronco, planning to make them look like a rodeo audience in a range of quirky cowgirl-inspired outfits. “Is it too much?”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong. The concept rocks. I just wonder what we’re going to do if someone comes in and wants to buy a pair of jeans.” Hen shot a look toward the pillaged wall rack. “Please tell me you’ve got some stock out back.”

  “A little.” Make that a very little. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  “Too late,” Hen said cheerfully, coming down the ladder to stand next to her. “What do you think?”

  “Here comes some foot traffic. Let’s see what they do.” That was their audience, after all. And in a month, their votes would be the make or break on the mayor’s big contest.

  Which she really needed to start thinking about now that the fashion show was in their rearview mirror. Eep.

  The two women, one younger, one older, glanced up at the window as they passed. Their steps faltered, then slowed. Eyes widening, they looked from Hen and Ashley to the horse and back again . . . and burst out laug
hing.

  “Well.” Ashley looked up. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. What did they—” She snorted, seeing it too late. “Whoops.”

  She and Hen were standing directly below the horse’s streaming tail, which was intended to look like it was arched in midmotion, but on second thought could look like it was arched for an entirely different reason.

  Clapping a hand over her mouth, Hen didn’t do a very good job of stifling a giggle. “It looks like he just . . . Hmm.” She skittered out of the line of fire, up to the front of the denim horse. Then she peered back at Ashley, eyes alight. “We’ve got those brown velour throw pillows. You know, the shaggy round ones? If we piled them up where you’re standing, they would look like—”

  “Don’t you dare,” Ashley warned, glaring. “If you do it, I’ll—” What could she do? It wasn’t like she would fire Hen, even if she installed giant road apples in the window display. “I’ll tell Jolly you had a sex dream about him.”

  Hen gasped. “That was just a onetime thing!” Though her flaming face suggested that maybe it hadn’t been so onetime as all that. “And I told you that in the Cone of Silence! I can’t believe you would even consider—”

  “So don’t put poop in the window!” Ashley hollered just as the front door swung unexpectedly open. She clapped a hand over her mouth as the bell gave a cheerful jing-a-ling, and she sucked in a breath so hard that it sounded like a whoop. “Ohmigosh. I’m so—” The breath came whooshing back out as she saw a familiar figure on the threshold. “Oh, Gilly, it’s you. Thank goodness.”

  Back wearing her brother’s jacket but with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of narrow jeans on her lower half, and her shoulders square beneath the camouflage, Gilly looked from her to Hen and back. “Who pooped in the window?”

  “Nobody!” Ashley shot Hen a warning look. “And nobody had better, either.”

  “Aye-aye, boss. Captain. Whatever.”

  Shaking her head, Ashley motioned for Gilly to follow. As they headed for the register, she said, “I’m glad you stopped in. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the show. I wanted to thank you again for all your help. Seriously. You rocked the runway, and I’m not sure we would’ve gotten as far as we did with the setup if you hadn’t helped out. I owe you.”

  Gilly hesitated, but then smiled shyly. “I’m pretty sure we’re even. I wanted to thank you. You know, for inviting Sean. Mrs. Mac said you asked for him specifically.”

  Ashley grinned. “You’re welcome. I know I said it’s important for a boy to like you for yourself”—that got an emphatic nod from Hen—“but I also figured it wouldn’t hurt for him to see you in a different environment.” And by environment she meant clothes. Where the yellow dress and edgy styling had made the girl look like a hip urban princess, the later military outfit had made her look like a souped-up Amazon—wholly feminine, but ready to kick some serious butt. “Sooo . . .” She drew it out. “How did it go?”

  The teen flushed brick red. “We’re going to the movies on Thursday.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Hen did a little victory dance in the window, startling a couple of passersby. “Way to go, girl!”

  “Ditto that.” Ashley reached behind the counter to snag a tissue-tufted gift bag. “Which makes this perfect timing.”

  Gilly’s eyes widened. “What . . .” She patted the pocket where she kept her wallet. “But I don’t—”

  “It’s a gift,” Ashley clarified. “Thanking you for helping with setup the other day.” And a little because it had made her sad that Gilly’s mother hadn’t come to see the show.

  The teen took the bag, new color flooding her cheeks. “But I just did it to help. I didn’t expect—”

  “I know you didn’t.” Which was why Ashley had wanted to give her something. “Go on, see if you like it. I’m thinking it might be just the thing for date night.”

  Gilly didn’t need any further urging. She dug into the bag, neatly folding back the tissue paper as if it was precious. When she got to the inner layer, she pulled out the bundle that Ashley had wrapped in more tissue, and peeled off the foil sticker that read, I JUST FOUND ANOTHER FYNE THING IN THREE RIDGES, WYOMING. When the wrappings fell away to reveal a soft, summer-weight cardigan, her eyes lit. “So pretty!”

  Ashley grinned. “It’s the same color as your eyes, sort of caramel with almost metallic overtones. It’s not quite military style, but it’s got some asymmetry to it, and you can dress it up or down depending on what you put on under— Oof!” She rocked back on her heels as Gilly grabbed her, nearly knocking the wind out of her. Rallying, she steadied herself and returned the hug. “I guess you like it.”

  In answer, Gilly shucked off her brother’s coat and tossed it on the counter, where it landed not quite name tag up. She pulled the sweater over her head, smoothed it down partway, and spun for the nearest mirror. “How do I— Oh! It’s lovely!” It was snug across her bust and a little generous over her waist, with an angled hem and flared cuffs that created the hint of an hourglass figure. She stroked the soft nap of the fabric, face aglow. In the mirror, her eyes met Ashley’s. “Until I met you, I never realized how much of a difference the right clothes could make.”

  “It’s the attitude more than the clothes, I swear.” Though the sweater was pretty awesome. “Promise me you’ll swing by and let us know how your date goes?”

  “Will do!”

  Gilly bounced out of the store, looking young, eager, and so very different from the girl who had first come into the store . . . gosh, was it really a couple of weeks ago? Somehow it felt like forever and an instant, both at the same time. Was this what life was going to feel like from now on—a whirl of payments, deadlines, promotions, and sales, with a layer of fun stuff iced over the top?

  She would be okay with that. In fact—

  The burble of her cell phone drew her attention, and she palmed the unit from her pocket. Her lips curved at the sight of Ty’s name on the display. Speaking of fun stuff on top. She hit the button to take the call. “Ty, hi.” A glance at the clock said it wasn’t even noon yet. “Why aren’t you out on the trail?”

  “I am. I found a couple of bars of reception and wanted to hear your voice.”

  “Oh.” Smiling foolishly, she cupped the phone closer to her cheek. “Hi.” Which she had already said.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “I know we left things pretty loose for the week, but I want to see you.”

  And, oh, how she wanted to be seen. To see him, talk to him, be with him. She had the trash-to-treasure clinics to run, though, and didn’t dare get behind on her paperwork. “I’m slammed until Thursday.”

  “Thursday, then. We’ll borrow a couple of horses and go for a moonlit ride. You can ride, right?”

  Anticipation bounced along her nerve endings. “I’d love to. And, yes, I can ride. Fair warning, though—I’m no cowgirl.”

  “We can work on that.” His voice wrapped around her, warmed her. “I guess I’ll see you Thursday, then.”

  “I’m already looking forward to it.” It came out husky, as if they had just kissed.

  “Me, too.”

  She held on to the phone a moment after they said their good-byes, aware that she was wearing a big, goofy smile. And that Hen had heard the whole thing. Face heating, she turned and said with as much I’m totally cool as she could muster, “So . . .”

  Her assistant’s smile was as big and goofy as her own. “So. You and Ty, huh?” She did a little dance. “Did I call it or what?”

  Had she? “Were you in on the pool?”

  “There was a pool? Darn it, I missed that one. I’m not missing out on this, though.” Hen plopped down on the edge of the display. “Start talking, or I’m pulling out the furry brown pillows.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Ashley grabbed her hand, hauled her up. “We don’t have time to sit around and gossip. We’ll
work and gossip instead.”

  18

  Thursday night was clear and lovely, with enough moonlight that the horses could see their way, but not so much that it drowned out the stars.

  Ashley rode Justice, who was one of the ranch’s most reliable beginner mounts, and did her best to remember to keep her head up and her heels down. Meanwhile, Ty sat astride like he’d been born in the saddle, atop a big, rawboned chestnut gelding whom he affectionately described as “always looking for an excuse.”

  “An excuse for what?” she asked.

  “Anything he can think of.” Ty patted the horse’s arched neck as they came down off one gentle slope and started up the next. “Last week while Junior and I had twenty guests picnicking out in Keyhole Canyon, he untied the picket line—not just his tether, but the whole danged thing—and tried to sneak the herd out past us. Like we wouldn’t notice twenty-two saddle horses making a break for it.”

  “Whoops.” She grinned.

  “Fortunately, Keyhole is a box canyon, so he didn’t have any other option than to go by us. He’s that smart. In a thoroughly deranged, let-me-see-if-I-can-make-my – rider-look-like-an-idiot sort of way. I don’t even want to think about the kind of grief I would’ve gotten if all the saddle horses had shown up back at the ranch without us.”

  “Maybe he’ll grow out of it.”

  Ty shook his head. “He’s been like this since Foster and I broke him out, five, maybe six years ago. He’s mellowed a bit, sure—I only have to run the devil out of him a couple of times a month now, rather than two, three times a week. But the potential for mayhem is always there.”

  “Is that why he’s your favorite?”

  “He’s not. He’s a pain in my ass.”

  She slid him an amused look. “If you say so.”

  They rode out to a favorite spot of his, a little tree-sheltered hollow down by a slow-moving river, where they picketed the horses, lit a small camping lantern he had brought along, dined on melt-in-your-mouth pulled-pork BBQ sandwiched between thick slices of homemade sourdough, and passed a canteen of unsweetened tea between them.