“Sit.” He guided her to a spot where she could lean back against the stone and watch the waterfall. “Close your eyes.”
She eyed him. “Why?”
“Trust me.”
Her hesitation didn’t last long. Then, nodding, she closed her eyes. With the visuals suppressed, she was far more aware of her other senses—the scent of the river on the mist-weighted air, the warmth of the fading sun on her closed eyelids, and the sound of him turning away, toward where the horses were tied. “Should I count to a hundred and go looking for you?” she asked archly.
“No.” His answer came from closer than she had expected. “Just lean back, relax. And listen.”
To what? she wanted to ask, not sure if he was talking about the burble of the river, or if there was more to come. She held herself still and quiet, waiting. Trust me, he had said, and she did, at least in this.
Then, moments later, a single guitar note sounded on the moist air, mellow and resonant.
“Oh—” She breathed. She hadn’t realized he had brought the old acoustic guitar—he must have disguised the case behind his saddle, planning the surprise. Another note, then a chord. And then he began to play.
Notes flowed over her, shimmered into her, and put a sweet poignant pressure in her chest. She didn’t recognize the song, but thought it must be old, something the long-ago cowboys would have played around the campfire. She was sure of it when he started to sing.
Unbidden, her eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of him standing near the water’s edge, with the sun setting behind him, creating burnished colors in the waterfall’s mist. His eyes were closed, his body swaying to the beat, and his mouth shaping the words as he sang about a pretty piece of land and an even prettier woman, both waiting for her cowboy to come back. He looked peaceful, earnest. And like he meant every word as he sang to her.
Warmth flooded her, feeling more complicated than simple pleasure, and the edge of the cliff suddenly felt very unsteady indeed. But as she watched his clever fingers on the strings and felt the music inside, she thought that, for the first time, the mist was starting to clear. And that maybe, just maybe, she was starting to see the possibility of a soft landing at the bottom of that long, scary plunge.
19
“He serenaded you down by the waterfall?” Danny put a hand to her forehead. “Ohmigosh. I think I’m having a quarter-life hot flash. Please tell me you guys did the nasty right out there in the open, and it was awesome.”
The Rope Burn was Thursday-night busy, with the noise level up and the mechanical bull whirling beneath a steady stream of tourists. Still, Ashley glanced around before she said, “It wasn’t out in the open, and it wasn’t nasty. It was . . .” Perfect.
“It was . . .” Krista prompted, eyes alight, and Jenny and Shelby leaned in. “Come on. You can’t just leave us hanging—”
“Or we’ll just make up our own details,” Jenny finished for her. “And we’ve got good imaginations.”
So does Ty. Ashley compressed her lips together so as not to say that aloud. After a short set of old-timey cowboy songs, he had wiped off the Martin and tucked it into its carrying case, then spread a doubled-up sleeping bag on the soft sand near the fire pit. Champagne and strawberries struck a perfect note, making her heart sing as he lay down with her. Kissed her . . .
Made love to her.
“Drinks!” The waitress appeared with a spur jingle and a loaded tray, and divvied up the three beers, one wine, and one happy pink cosmo in a blinky glass. “Your apps will be out in a few minutes.”
As she bustled off, Ashley said, “Okay, you guys want the four-one-one? Here goes.” She gave them an edited version with just enough steam to heat her face and have their eyes going round.
Krista sighed and fanned herself. “Gotta give him points in the romance department. Who would’ve guessed?”
The other three raised their hands, grinning.
“Good call,” Ashley said. “Because, wow. Anyway, we stayed there for a bit”—made love on a blanket beside the river—”and then rode home. Back to Mustang Ridge, I mean.”
“And . . .” Krista prompted with a wicked twinkle.
Ashley lifted her blinky glass in a toast, took a sip, and said, “I stayed over at his place . . . and we didn’t get much sleep.”
Shelby lifted her wine. “To good loving!”
Jenny followed with her beer. “To sunset trail rides and serenades down by the river.”
“To wanting to be with your guy, wherever, whenever,” Krista added.
Danny scoffed. “Wimps.” Fixing Ashley with a gimlet look, she lifted her beer and pronounced, “To finding Mr. Right.”
“Hang on there!” Ashley put up a hand that didn’t do much to muffle her friends’ good-natured cheer. “Whoa. It’s not like that. We’re just having a good time.”
“Of course you are, because he’s crazy about you. Why wouldn’t he be? You’re smart, funny, determined, loyal, and wickedly creative. You’re the total package, girlfriend. He’d be stupid not to see that, and Ty isn’t a stupid guy.”
Was that how her friends saw her? God, she loved them, loved that beautiful didn’t top the list by far the way it did for so many men, or even with her mother. That didn’t mean they were right about Ty, though. “Look, I get that you’re happily married”—she nodded to Danny—“or happily engaged, and all to wonderful men. And, yes, Ty is amazing.” It was the sort of statement that didn’t deserve to be followed by a but. “But he and I have been up-front with each other from the very beginning that things between us couldn’t get serious.”
Shelby studied her across the rim of her glass. “Is it just the timing? Because that’s the sort of thing you can’t dictate.” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “Ask me how I know. Or talk to Jenny. She had a return ticket to Belize when she and Nick got together.”
“It’s true,” Jenny confirmed. “Of course, I didn’t just chuck the rest of my life because I fell stupid in love. I brought Nick with me when I went south, and we did the long-distance thing for a while. Eventually, though, I decided I’d rather be here with him than anywhere else without him. That wasn’t timing, though, so much as my priorities changing.”
“It’s not the timing,” Ashley answered, but then shook her head. “Okay, it’s partly the timing, at least for me. I’ve got too much on my plate right now to be in a serious relationship.”
“Says who?” Krista inquired. “Seems to me you guys are doing just fine. Maybe Ty has had a few mornings where he yawned his way through breakfast or drove in fifteen minutes before the guests were due in the barn, but there’s no harm in that. Human beings aren’t wired to exist on work alone—there needs to be some balance with fun and family, too, and love comes wrapped up in that.”
“In the long term, sure.” Ashley wouldn’t let herself yearn, not now. She had too many plans in play, too much riding on them. “But there are times that your hypothetical human being—in this case, moi—needs to buckle down and focus on work. When that happens, she doesn’t have time to juggle a real relationship.”
“Hello, McFly.” Danny reached over to rap a gentle knuckle on Ashley’s head. “Don’t you get it? You’re already doing that. You’re working killer hours at the store, sure, but you’re making time for Ty, too. You guys are alternating a couple of nights a week at each other’s places, doing chores together sometimes rather than just going on date-dates—”
Panic sparked deep inside. “That doesn’t mean anything. We’re busy people and we like being together even if it’s not a date-date.”
“Hello, functional relationship.”
Those three words probably shouldn’t have made Ashley want to hurl her blinky drink at the nearest table of loud-and-half-drunk guys, and use the ensuing commotion to cover the sound of Bugsy’s tires peeling out. She and Ty weren’t having a relationship. They wer
e just having fun. “We’re getting off track here. It’s not just about my schedule—Ty has his own stuff going on, too.”
“Like what?” Jenny demanded, no doubt ready to demolish each point with a reasoned argument and the desire to see her friend happily paired off with a double-date-worthy guy.
Ashley hesitated. When they came down to it, Krista was still Ty’s boss. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I don’t think he sees Three Ridges as his final landing spot. And—hello—his fiancée cheated on him and broke things off. I think it’s good that he’s not looking to rush right back into things.”
“He’s been here off and on for nearly a decade,” Shelby pointed out. “And Brandi was a spoiled brat who was more interested in planning a big wedding than working on her relationship, and who, when things started going downhill, hooked up with an ex-boyfriend because it was easier than fixing things with Ty. She didn’t deserve him. You do.”
“You may have to work at it, though,” Krista pointed out. “Cowboys are a stubborn breed. Once they’ve got their mental hooves planted on a certain trail, it can be hard to get them going in a different direction.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to have to work that hard.” It wasn’t until it was out there that Ashley realized how true it was. And how awful it sounded. “I didn’t mean—” But that was the thing. She did mean it.
“It’s okay.” Krista patted her hand. “I get it. You want someone to chase you, not the other way around.”
“Well . . . yeah.” And put so much better than Ashley had done. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not. I’ve met your mother.” Krista gave their joined hands a squeeze. “But the thing is, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Pushing for what you want and making the guy work to get you, I mean. Ty is a straightforward guy—left rein means go left, right rein means go right, and both reins means stop. You may have to spell it out for him that clearly one of these days, make sure he knows what you want from him, what you need. Then you can sit back and see if he’s willing to deliver.”
Her mouth dried up despite the drink in her hand. “What if he’s not?” Not that she was going to ask.
“Then you’ll have your answer,” Shelby said. “I’m betting, though, that it will go the other way—that is, if you want it to. He adores you, and when it comes to Three Ridges, he was ready to settle down here once before, and he circled back around even after things went bad with Brandi. He’s kidding himself if he thinks this isn’t his home base.”
Part of Ashley—a large part—wanted to agree, wanted to believe it. But she didn’t dare. Pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to squelch the sudden mental churn, she said, “I can’t handle this right now. Not with the parade a week away.”
“Here are your apps!” the waitress announced cheerfully, flourishing a loaded tray. “One order of Commitment-Phobe Buff Wings, and the Two Kids, A Dog, And A White Picket Fence Nachos, hold the sour cream.”
“Admit it,” Danny said. “You make up the names as you go.”
The waitress winked. “I’ll never tell.”
As she jingled off, Ashley took a deep breath, settling herself. There’s no pressure, no rush. At least not where it came to Ty. They were riding along the same trail for now, but she knew there was a fork up ahead somewhere that would put them on new trails heading for different destinations. And she was okay with that.
Cowboy metaphors. Sheesh.
“Speaking of the parade,” she began.
Danny blinked. “Were we?”
“We are now,” Ashley said firmly. “Because in case you’ve lost track—trust me, I haven’t—it’s a week from tomorrow. I could use some help from you guys, brainstorming the perfect display.”
“You don’t have any ideas?”
Ashley whipped out her Window List, slapped it down on a tiny bare spot on the table. “Tons of ’em. That’s the problem, and it’s why I called you guys.”
Danny pouted. “I thought you wanted to talk about Ty.”
“We did that. Now we’re moving on to the brainstorming part of tonight’s entertainment. Because, short of a three-ring circus, I don’t know how I can be sure my window will beat Betty’s brownie bribes.”
“Hey,” Krista said, “that’s got a ring to it.” Pitching her voice to a singsong, she followed the beat of the bar music as she said, “Beating Betty’s brownie bribes, beating Betty’s brownie bribes . . . Say that six times fast!”
“Not helping,” Ashley said quellingly. “What would help is for you guys to tell me which of these ideas make you sit up and go, Oooh.”
But as the others put their heads together over her list, she found herself wondering if a third drink would be too much, when one was usually plenty. She was churned up, riled up, and not really sure how to bring herself back down to reality. What she and Ty had together was working, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by buying into too much girl talk or losing track of her genetic predisposition to grab onto a man too hard and fast. There was absolutely no reason to mess with her and Ty’s success, or risk complicating things with the sort of emotions they had agreed to avoid.
Right?
“This one.” Shelby tapped the page. “It’s perfect.”
Reorienting, Ashley followed her fingertip. “You like the game show one?”
“Like it? I love it. It’s got all the bells and whistles—pop culture, digital displays, and the opportunity for the audience to play along and win discounts.”
“And,” Jenny added, “the visuals could be super awesome if you put it together right. Which you totally will.”
“You’re darn right I will. Or,” Ashley added with a grin, “die trying.”
“Please don’t do that. We like having you around. Okay.” Shelby flipped over the list and produced a pen. “Time for a new list. First item, funny trivia categories. How about Favorite Cowboy Sayings?”
“Bad Hair of the Eighties,” Jenny put in.
“Things That Don’t Rhyme with Orange,” Danny offered.
And they were off and running.
• • •
Late that night, Ashley rolled down the drive to Mustang Ridge. She parked next to Ty’s truck, waved at the main house in case anyone was looking, and let herself into the barn, closing the doors behind her. It all felt very natural, very right.
She might have credited the cosmos or the brainstorming session for the warm glow in her belly, but she was plenty sober and had a new Big List to go along with her window plan. Besides, the buzz of anticipation didn’t come from alcohol or work-related stuff.
It was all for Ty, and the night ahead. She was determined to set aside the bar conversation and stick to her plan, to their agreement. To having fun, darn it.
He had called earlier and invited her to come on over after they were done at the ’Burn. “Don’t worry if it’s late,” he had said with a low growl that left no doubt where his mind had gone. “I’ll wait up.”
Sure enough, that sounded like fun to her.
The stairwell lights were on, and the door to his apartment was cracked open in welcome. After pausing a second to run fingers through her hair and tug at the front of her shirt, she knocked gently and pushed open the door, calling, “Knock-knock? Hope I’m not too late!”
When she didn’t get an answer, she stepped through into the main room, expecting to find Ty asleep on the couch. He wasn’t there or in the kitchen, but the small flat-screen TV was on and turned down low, and a mug sat on the coffee table next to his laptop, which had a country music forum on the screen. It looked like he had just stepped out of the room. But to where?
“Ty?” She poked her head in the bedroom, then the bathroom, but she was alone in the apartment. She hadn’t seen him in the main barn, suggesting that he was checking on one of the horses in the back barn, or maybe up at the main hou
se, raiding the snack fridge.
Figuring he’d be back soon, she sank onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her as she leaned forward to snag a catalog off the coffee table. It was Western wear, granted, but you never knew where you’d find something unexpected.
Beneath the catalog was a new-looking blue folder, only slightly worn at the corners. It was heavily paper-clipped across the top and unmarked save for the upper right-hand corner, where it bore a sticker from Pendergast Private Investigations and a name written in ballpoint ink: Priscilla Reed.
At the sight, Ashley stopped breathing. Reed was Ty’s last name, but who was Priscilla?
“Ashley, hey!” He came through the door with a six-pack in one hand and a wrapped bundle in the other that smelled like fresh brownies. “I saw your car. Just ran up to the house to get us a snack.”
The sweet scent had her stomach dropping. She hadn’t heard him on the stairs, didn’t know what to say to him now. So she said the only thing she could. “Who is Priscilla?”
His eyes went to the folder, and his expression shut down like someone had turned out the lights.
Tell me you’re looking for information on your mother, maybe her family. An aunt. Tell me that being around the Skyes made you want to reconnect. But he didn’t. He just looked at her as if she had just backed him into a corner, even though the door was still open behind him. Voice trembling, she said, “You don’t have a daughter, do you?”
He would have said something, right? They had talked about it, about how there was nothing lower than a father who would walk out on a child. He knew about Wylie. He would have said something, then, if there was a child out there with his name, his face, but somehow so far gone from his life that he needed to pay for information.
Right?
“You didn’t open it.” His voice was flat, his eyes dead. But the not-quite-a-question wasn’t a denial. Exactly the opposite.
Her chin came up; her hand hovered. “Should I?”
Coming Home to Mustang Ridge Page 21