Coming Home to Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “Fine!” He bellowed it at the big mustang, backing up the volume with big, aggressive body language. He took a couple of steps, waving his arms like he was trying to turn a stray cow back to the herd. “Go on. Get!”

  The gelding shook his head in the equine version of Make me.

  “You want to run off on me, just damn well do it! Why the hell not? Everyone else has.”

  Ty. Stopped. Breathing.

  Those last three words hung in the air a good long time, backed up by a stomp of the big gelding’s forefoot.

  It was true, though. Everyone else had run off on him, one way or another. His sperm-donor father and junkie mother. Scilla. Rodeo Jim. Dim, good-natured Bob. Brandi. And now Ashley. He had lost them all.

  Ashley.

  Pain ripped through him, dragging the breath from his lungs and driving him to his knees beside the river, in the place where he had taken her slowly, wonderfully. “Goddamn it,” he grated. Was she right about him? Was Mac? Brandi, even? Pressing clenched fists against his burning eyes, he ground out, “You idiotic, chickenhearted, damn fool stupid son of a—” A blow caught him in the shoulder, nearly sending him sprawling. He shouted, surging to his feet to meet the attack. And found himself eyeball-to-eyeball with Brutus.

  The gelding snorted and nudged him again, hard enough to send him back half a step.

  A few minutes earlier, Ty might’ve taken a swing at the horse, even knowing he would hate himself for it after. Now, he just lifted a hand and rubbed the sore spot over his breastbone. “Well?”

  Brutus didn’t move. Just stood there looking at Ty like he was possibly the stupidest cowboy ever. Which was a distinct possibility. Because, all of a sudden, he got it. He darn well got it.

  He didn’t know what he was going to do about it, how to fix it. But he was damn sure going to try.

  • • •

  “No, no, no. Dang it!” Ashley sat back on her heels, scowling at a mannequin she was pretty sure was scowling right back at her. It had a snotty look on its face, no question about it, and the punk-era leather jacket and ankle-zip acid-washed jeans didn’t say I love the eighties so much as Kill me now.

  “Problem?” Hen called from the sales floor, her voice muffled by the heavy curtains.

  “Oh, no, I’m having a great time,” she hollered back. “Of course I’m having problems—what does it sound like in here, a party?” Okay, admittedly the mannequin wasn’t the only one who had some snotty going on. But after all the work she and the others had put in on the game show, the concept had gone stale on her. Glaring at the fifties-era mannequin, who looked smug and condescending in her perfect housedress, and like any minute now she might start lecturing Ashley about being a good little housewife, she said, “Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea?”

  “It is a good idea! The customers will love getting a discount for answering the questions. You just need to find a happy place.” The curtains moved at the far end and Hen’s face popped through. “You sure you don’t want to talk about what happened with Ty?”

  “Very sure.” Ashley adjusted the fifties housewife so she was picking her nose. “There’s nothing to talk about. I hate that it happened the way it did, but we would’ve gotten there eventually. I can’t help the way I feel about him, and he can’t help being who he is. The only thing I can do is refuse to wait around for him to change. I’m not my mother.”

  “News flash. Ty isn’t your dad.”

  “No, he’s not. He’s Ty. And that’s the problem.” Because Ty didn’t want her enough to let her in, work for her, or even meet her halfway. Blinking back fresh tears—why hadn’t she run dry by now?—she made it look like the punk rocker was reaching over to strangle June Cleaver.

  “Therapy,” Hen suggested. “Get some.”

  “I don’t need therapy. I need to stop falling for guys who take more than they give.” She scowled. “But right now, I need to make this bloody window work.”

  Hen shot a dubious look at the homicidal mannequins. “Maybe you should call Shelby, get her opinion on things.”

  “I will.” Later, when explaining the situation didn’t make her want to tear down the curtains, roll herself up like a giant cocooned caterpillar, and wait for Penny to come deliver the bad news from the bank. You failed. Probably shouldn’t have even tried in the first place. Who do you think you are, anyway? “Maybe I should rip it all down and start over. Because right now, it really sucks.” The window. Her mood. Her ability to think about tomorrow as anything but a chore.

  “Umm. Is this a bad time?” a new voice asked, sounding tentative.

  Ashley winced as Hen’s head disappeared back through the curtain. She hadn’t heard the bell, hadn’t realized they had a customer. She was off her game, off her rhythm, off her rocker. “Of course not!” she called, forcing a lilt. “And welcome to Another Fyne Thing!”

  “Thank goodness,” Hen said cryptically. “Go right on through.”

  The curtains moved, and Ashley sucked in a breath to tell whoever it was to get lost. But when Gilly came into view, wearing a T-shirt and jeans with her vintage boots and belt, she let that breath back out again.

  The teen hesitated just inside the curtained-off space, looking from Ashley to the mannequins and back again. “You’re busy.”

  “It’s okay. Come on in, look around. It’s kind of a disaster right now.” And, unfortunately, more reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange than Family Feud.

  But Gilly seemed more interested in the furball that was currently perched atop the hippie’s game show podium, tucked into the shape of a cat-headed loaf of bread. “I didn’t know you had a store cat.”

  As far as Ashley was concerned, she didn’t have a store cat. She had a house cat who had snuck out after her that morning and ever since had stayed within a two-foot radius of her, except when she tried to grab him for a return trip upstairs. Whereupon he vaporized. “He’s not a cat. He’s the reincarnation of a Russian spy with a split personality.”

  “Cool. What’s his name?”

  “Tunes. No, darn it. Petunia.”

  “I like Tunes better.” Gilly crouched down and held out her hand. “Hey, buddy. You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

  Darned if the creature didn’t jump down and trot right over to her, whereupon he butted his head against her hand and proceeded to wrap himself around her legs like a furry eel.

  “Oh, for—” Ashley shook her head. “Never mind. What’s going on in your world? How are things with Sean?”

  Gilly made a face. “Over and done.”

  “What . . . ? Really?” It was a double shocker, both the announcement and how casually it was delivered. “What happened?”

  “Once I started getting to know him better, it was always My ex this and My ex that. I came right out and said it was bugging me, and when it didn’t stop, I told him that I just wanted to be friends, and that he should really think about what it would take to get back with her.”

  “Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.”

  The teen’s shrug was entirely philosophical. “I was, too, at first. But the thing is, if it wasn’t for him, I might not have come in here that first time. Which means I would probably still be wearing Bub’s jacket and spending most of my time in my room. I’m grateful to Sean for giving me that kick in the pants, even if he didn’t really do it—I did.”

  There went those darn tears again, blurring Ashley’s vision and making things in the window seem better than they had a minute ago. “Wow, kid. You’re something else—you know that? I wish I’d had half as much perspective when I was your age.” Heck, she could use some of it now.

  “That’s from my mom, I guess, and Bub. They always wanted me to be my own person, and I think I’m getting there. Starting to, anyway.” She hesitated, then said softly, “Things won’t ever be back the way they were, but I guess we’re finding a new normal, me a
nd Mom. And I think wherever Bub is, he knows that we still think about him every day.” She pulled out her phone, tapped a button, and swiped through some images. “This was from his last visit. We’re getting it blown up and framed.”

  In the photo, a grinning Gilly was wrapped piggyback around a tall, spindly man with a prominent Adam’s apple and a smile that said whatever was going on, you could trust him to handle it. A dark-haired woman stood with her arm linked through his, wearing a deeply satisfied smile that said all was right with her world just then. There was a lakeside picnic in the background and autumn color to the leaves, and Ashley could almost smell the thin trickle of smoke coming from the campfire.

  Or she thought she would have, if she could have taken a breath.

  Instead, she stared, transfixed, as a whole lot of buzzing started up in her brain—a cacophony of Look at them and Think about what happened and How would you feel if something happened to Wyatt?

  She would be devastated, of course. And, worse, ripped up with guilt because she hadn’t fixed things all the way between them.

  Kind of how she felt right now, with Ty gone from her life.

  She was grieving, miserable, lashing out, shutting herself away.

  Oh, no. She had gone and done it, hadn’t she?

  She had fallen in love. For real this time.

  With a thud, she hit the bottom of the cliff. The impact knocked the wind out of her and sent shock reverberating—a whole lot of What were you thinking? What are you doing? and How could you? Not because she had fallen for him, but because she had pushed him away. She hadn’t given him a chance to breathe after learning about his sister’s plight, hadn’t taken a day—or even an hour—to see how things were going to shake out.

  Her mom had given Wylie decades to pull himself together, which was crazy. Ashley herself had given Kenny three years and more do-overs than she wanted to count. Then she had turned around and given Ty three minutes on what he probably counted as one of the worst days of his life.

  Not because she cared less for him, but because she cared so much more. And because, deep down inside, she was pretty sure he was out of her league.

  Thud. She must have bounced, because that had her hitting bottom a second time, along with the realization that she had lost Ty because she hadn’t truly fought for him. She had asked him to fight for her, but she had been the one retreating.

  “Oh.” Her hand went to her throat. “Oh, no.”

  Gilly lowered her phone. “What’s wrong?”

  I’m in love with Ty. And when you love someone, you don’t keep score. “Nothing. Everything. I just realized I made a huge mistake.” She should have given it more time, given them more time. How was it that she had dithered on the edge of falling for him, but leaped in with both feet when it came to blowing things up between them?

  Fear. Baggage. Insecurity. Daddy issues.

  Oh, shut up.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “I don’t know.” But Ashley’s mind raced ahead, skimming over apologies, little gestures, big gestures, ways to show Ty that she loved him, was willing to wait for him, fight for him, whatever it took, as long as he was willing to meet her halfway. What if she— No, not that. Or— Nope, not that, either.

  Then, in an aha moment of epic proportions, no doubt brought on by the punk rocker’s manic glee and June Cleaver’s down-the-nose sneer, she knew exactly what she had to do, and how she was going to pull it off.

  Heart suddenly thudding against her ribs, she called, “Hen? Toss me the store phone, will you?”

  “Are you calling Shelby?”

  “I will, but I need to talk to Jenny first.” Jenny, who had friends in television, and who could get the word out far and wide if she made it a big enough story. And who could maybe, just maybe, help make a big brother’s dream come true.

  Gilly rocked back on her heels. “I should go.”

  “No, stay. If you’ve got time, that is. I could use your help.”

  “Finishing the window?” she asked, eyes lighting.

  “No, tearing it down and building it back up from scratch. I need a do-over.”

  Fingers crossed that it wouldn’t be too little, too late.

  24

  Saturday, the day of the Midsummer Parade, dawned clear and warm, with a zero percent chance of rain and an eighty or so percent chance of Ashley melting down before the mayor’s cavalcade reached the shop.

  Not because she could smell the brownie bites, but because they didn’t matter anymore.

  “We’re here!” Krista hustled around the corner of the storefront with Abby on her hip and Rose, Ed, Gran, and Big Skye behind her. “We’re not too late, are we?”

  “Nope.” Ashley gestured to the next block down, where the mayor’s banner-hung truck was parked in front of the bakery. “The judges seem to have stalled.” She shot a look in Hen’s direction. Standing with Jenny, Shelby, Danny, Gilly, Gilly’s mom, and several other shop VIPs, she was chowing down. “And they’re not the only ones.”

  Popping the last peanut butter brownie morsel into her mouth, Hen gave an unrepentant grin. “Just keeping tabs on the competition, boss.”

  Looking past the small crowd assembled out in front of Another Fyne Thing, where a roped-off area would give the mayor a clear view of the window when it came time for the big reveal, Ashley said, “Where’s Wyatt?” She didn’t let herself ask about Ty. She had texted, asking him to come if he was back in town, but odds were that he was in Rapid City.

  Heck, she might even be too late to help. She could live with that, though. At least she would have tried, and she would have given Ty something to think about.

  Maybe. Hopefully. Oh, God.

  “I’m here!” Her brother appeared from the other direction, coming through the sidewalk-jamming crowd that jostled beyond the competition area. “I had to park outside of town and hike in.” He ducked under the rope and glanced at the two strangers standing just inside the roped-off area. “What’s with the film crew?”

  “They’re friends of Jenny’s. And it’s a secret.” Squelching her nervous butterflies, Ashley traded winks with Berry McNeil, the striking platinum blonde reporter who had, within her first five minutes in the shop, called dibs on two Designs by Della dresses and a fringed suede jacket. Ca-ching! Behind her, Mike the Camera Guy—that was how he had introduced himself—had everything up and running. They were ready to roll as soon as the mayor arrived.

  Ashley had something to do first, though. Not letting herself think of anything beyond this very minute, she crossed to Wyatt, flung her arms around him, and said, “I just wanted to say I love you, big bro. You’re the best. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m going to try to do better from now on.”

  He stiffened for a nanosecond, then went with it and hugged her back. “I thought I made you crazy.”

  “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. You’re the most functional piece of family I’ve got, and I know you’ll always have my back. Thank you for that.”

  That got a chuckle, younger and freer-sounding than his usual where she was concerned. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “A reality check.” She eased away, glimpsing Krista’s pleased smile. “I’ve gotten a couple of reminders recently that family is forever, and I wanted you to know that I’m glad you’re mine, exactly the way you are.” She paused. “And speaking of checks, what are the chances you could write me another one?”

  That got an eye roll, but it wasn’t nearly so annoying as before. “You blew through the last one already?”

  “I ripped it up.” She had done it first thing yesterday morning in a fit of I can do it myself. “But since I’m throwing the contest, I’m going to need to borrow from you—emphasis on borrow—to make my next payment. I want paperwork, interest, the whole nine yards.”

  An honest-to-goodness grin curv
ed his mouth. “Look at you, businessgirl.”

  “That’s businesswoman to you, buster.”

  “I stand corrected. And ready to give you that loan, with or without the paperwork. After seeing what you’ve pulled off over the past six weeks”—his gesture encompassed the store, the crowd, the electricity in the air—“I trust you that I’ll see the money back.” But then he paused, frowned. “Hang on. What do you mean, you’re throwing the contest?”

  The cavalcade was on the move, heading toward Another Fyne Thing with the band thumping along and the mayor waving from the back of a bunting-draped pickup truck.

  Ashley caught her breath. This was it. She was really doing this. “Change of plans,” she told her brother. “I’ll do the game show display next week. For today, I’ve got a whole new theory.” Summoning a smile, she said, “If it goes the way I hope, it’ll be the biggest surprise of the day.”

  Too bad it was aimed at a man who wasn’t there to see it.

  Wyatt wiggled an eyebrow. “I think you might be wrong about that.”

  “How so?”

  “Just wait.” As the truck approached with Mayor Tepitt waving and tossing mints into the crowd, he said, “This is your moment, kiddo.”

  The butterflies went vertical, launching into Ashley’s chest and making it hard to breathe. You can do this. You can. “I’ll make you proud.”

  “You already do, every day you live on your own terms and make your own way. And that’s something I haven’t said to you nearly enough, along with that I love you, too, sis.” He nudged her forward. “Now go get ’em!”

  It was time, she knew. The only thing missing was Ty. She had wanted him here, wanted to see his face when the curtains came down.

  Too bad it turned out that her personal mantra was really You don’t always get what you want. She was trying, though. She was working for it, even when the going got tough.