Coming Home to Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  Aware that the camera was rolling, the crowd buzz was growing, and a whole lot of eyeballs were swiveled her way, Ashley took a deep breath, walked to the front of the roped-off area, lifted a hand, and called, “Howdy, Miz Mayor. Welcome to Another Fyne Thing, home of the best vintage wear in Three Ridges!”

  Over the ripple of applause and the hoots of “Woo-hoo!” and “Way to go, Ashley!” Mayor Tepitt’s amplified voice said, “Why, thank you, Ashley! I know you’ve got a real flair for window displays, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing your entry in this year’s contest. But—” The mayor paused, drawing it out and preening a little for the TV crew.

  Ashley stiffened. There was a but? No, there couldn’t be a but. She had worked too hard for there to be a but.

  Before she could do a Wait, what? the mayor continued. “First, I’ve got someone who wants to say something.” She looked over to the other side of her truck. “Tyler?”

  Ty!?

  The butterflies hit warp speed and Ashley’s vision tunneled for a second, as if she might faint right then and there. Boom, down on the sidewalk she would go, for all of Three Ridges—and the viewers of Channel Sixteen—to see. But then things cleared as hoofbeats sounded on Main Street and a mounted cowboy—her cowboy—came around the front of the mayor’s truck, astride a familiar rangy chestnut, who had an arch in his neck and something hanging on either side of his haunches.

  It was a realty sign, with HOUSE FOR SALE changed to HORSE FOR SALE and a diagonal SOLD slapped across it.

  Pulse thudding, Ashley stared at Ty. “What . . . ? Ty! But you’re supposed to be in Rapid City looking for Scilla!”

  He reined up just on the other side of the rope and tipped the brim of his hat back so the sunlight reached his eyes. And instead of the wary, closed-off look she was expecting, she saw two of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

  Nerves and hope. Just like what was inside her all of a sudden.

  “Nope,” he said, loud and clear. “I’m right where I’m supposed to be, right where I need to be, though it took me a little while to figure out.” He patted the gelding’s neck. “You were right that I was marking time, keeping things loose, but it wasn’t because of Scilla, not entirely. It was because having things meant I could lose them. And having things I love would make it even worse.”

  She couldn’t breathe, but in the very best way possible. “You bought Brutus.”

  He nodded. “We can pick the dog together when it suits us, but this guy is nonnegotiable. Nobody else wants to put up with his grief, and I need someone who’ll have my back against your devil cat.” He paused, searching her eyes. “That is, if you’ll give me a chance to set things right?”

  • • •

  The pause that followed was the longest of Ty’s life, because her answer mattered the way breathing mattered to him, or music. But where breathing and music had always come naturally, this was new territory.

  He could do this, though. She deserved it. She deserved to know that she was everything to him, and that he had enough inside him—he would make there be enough inside him—for her, even while he and Mac kept looking for Scilla, and dealt with whatever they found.

  Just like Wyatt couldn’t run his sister’s life, Ty needed to make his own way. It was time to put down some roots, even if it scared the hell out of him.

  Needing to move, he swung down, tossed the reins to Wyatt—the unexpected ally who had offered his truck and trailer to get him and his new horse to the parade when Krista clued him in on what was going down—and hopped over the rope. Aware they were being filmed by a TV crew from a station number he didn’t recognize, he stopped an arm’s length away from Ashley.

  Pitching his voice to carry, he said, “This is me chasing you, or at least starting to. If you need more, you got it. I’ll chase you, fight for you, bring you flowers and chocolate. Whatever you want, you got, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And”—he took a deep breath—“because I love you.” The last three words came out rough, rusty, and echoed in his chest in a way that said this was it for him. She was it. Whatever it took to win her back, he would do it. If only she gave him the chance. “Say something. Please.”

  Instead, she reached out, took his hand, and tugged him closer to her, off to one side of the display window. Then, not looking at him, she called, “Mayor Tepitt? I hope you like my window. But it’s okay if you don’t, as long as Ty gets it.”

  Squeezing his hand, she shot a high sign to Hen, who was standing just inside the store. A quick yank, and the heavy purple curtains fell inside the store, revealing the huge display window.

  Ty’s. Heart. Stopped.

  Instead of mannequins, butterflies, and vintage clothes turned trendy by Ashley’s magical touch, there was Scilla.

  Not in person, of course, but there she was. Her eyes. Her smile. Her photographs—the long-ago Polaroid, and a Photoshopped version of the mug shot, which cleaned her up and put trees behind her rather than a gray wall of lines and numbers.

  And beside the photos, a plea for help. DO YOU KNOW PRISCILLA? PLEASE HELP US REUNITE HER WITH HER BIG BROTHER. HE’S BEEN LOOKING FOR HER SINCE THE DAY THEY WERE SEPARATED. Below that was a phone number and TV logo that matched the camera crew’s. RAPID CITY’S TOP NEWS TEAM.

  Ty moved toward the window, throat locking up as he tugged Ashley with him, tangling their fingers together and hanging on tight. She had done this. For him. Even after he had let her go, darn near pushed her away.

  She was amazing.

  “Ashley . . .” It was the most natural thing in the world to pull her into his arms. The crowd, the camera, even the mayor’s amplified voice reading a brief, carefully worded statement about his search for his sister—none of it mattered compared to having Ashley in his arms again and knowing she had done this for him, even after he’d let her go. Pressing his forehead to hers, he rasped, “Thank you.”

  Looping her arms around his neck, she rose up and pressed her lips to his. “You’re welcome.”

  The kiss was simple, chaste, and rocketed through him like lightning, tightening every fiber of his being with hope—that this meant what he thought it did. “Does this mean I get a second chance?”

  “Only if I get one, too.” Easing away, she looked up at him, all serious, and so adorable that his heart hurt. “I’m sorry I picked a fight about Rapid City. She’s your sister. Of course you’ve got to do whatever it takes. There’s plenty of time for the two of us to work things out after. Forgive me?”

  He would have given her just about anything she asked for right then, but this one was easy. “Done. Do-over.”

  “How about we say we’re moving forward from here?”

  “Yeah.” There wasn’t even a twinge. It was right. They were right. “That’ll work.” He kissed her, deeper this time, and aware of a rising buzz from the crowd. But he was focused entirely on her when he eased the kiss to look down at her and say, “I love you, Ashley Webb. From now on, I promise to love you every day, and to fight for you when I have to, even if it means fighting myself.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes. “I love you, too, Ty. And there won’t be any fighting.” But then the corners of her mouth kicked up. “Well, maybe. I’m a work in progress.”

  “We both are.” But for the first time in his life, he wanted to do that work. More, he wanted to do it together, as part of a team. Their team.

  “So, Tyler . . .” A microphone appeared in his peripheral vision, held by a snazzy brunette with a definite This story just got even better than I was hoping twinkle in her eyes. “Does this mean you like what Ashley did for you?”

  He would have rather ducked both of them out the back, or maybe upstairs—somewhere they could have privacy, where he could kiss her for real and revel in knowing that he didn’t have to stop, that they hadn’t lost their chance. But she had done this for him, and
he wasn’t going to waste the gift. This was his chance—their chance—to spread the word.

  Maybe it would work; maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe he would go to Rapid City for the winter and help Mac with the search. Maybe not. But if he did, he would be burning a whole lot of rubber between there and Mustang Ridge, and he’d be back in Three Ridges come spring, this time with the five-year contract Krista had offered him. Because Scilla might be his sister, but Ashley and the gang at Mustang Ridge were his family.

  So, looping an arm around Ashley’s waist and snugging her close to his side, he grinned at the reporter and added a little extra cowboy to his voice, the way he did with the greenhorns. “I’m so grateful to her that I’m about to bust. Here’s hoping that someone who knows Scilla sees it, or maybe even Scilla herself.” He looked into the camera. “I love you, little sis, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time now. Please call, or come find me.” He snugged Ashley a little closer to his side. “And for the rest of you ladies out there, if you’re looking for something a little different, come see Ashley here, at Another Fyne Thing!”

  25

  That evening, after everything wound down and the last of the steady flow of customers had waved on their way out the door, Ashley and Ty finally got some alone time.

  “Well,” she said, carrying their drinks around from the kitchen nook and making a beeline for the sofa. “That was quite a day.”

  “You can say that again. Here. Let me get those.” He snagged his beer and her wine—she would’ve been channeling Shelby with a sedate white in a normal glass, if it hadn’t been for the perky pink umbrella—and set them on the coffee table. “I still think your window should’ve won.” He tugged her down, tumbling her onto his lap and drawing her in for a kiss.

  “I agree, but still . . . Brownies.” Because, really, chocolate was going to beat most anything nine times out of ten. Even a really good cause and prominent spots on the afternoon and evening newscasts.

  “You sure you won’t let me lend you the money?”

  “Positive. Wyatt and I are going to draw up the paperwork this week. Collateral, interest, and everything.”

  “Collateral?”

  “Bugsy.” She grinned. “I’m going to be tempted to default, just to make my big, bad brother drive him out of town. The pictures would almost be worth it.” She wouldn’t, though. Snuggling into him, she added, “It’s crazy. When I started this, I swore I would lose the shop before I asked him for money. Now it’s no big deal.”

  “Actually, I’d say it’s a very big deal.” As Tunes jumped up on the coffee table to investigate, Ty reached forward, snagged his beer, and handed over her wine. “A toast. To making your second payment.”

  “Amen.” They clinked, sipped, and kissed, and her heart turned over in her chest before settling back into the happy rhythm it had been bebopping ever since the parade. It was hard to believe how much things had changed in just a few hours. Then again, look at the past couple of months. The past two years.

  A work in progress, maybe, but she sure liked the direction she was heading, and she loved the man who was going to be beside her for the next chunk of it, hopefully all the way to the end. It was early yet to think about things like for as long as you both shall live. But all of a sudden it didn’t feel so far off, either.

  She smiled into her wine as Tunes jumped up on the couch and pointy-footed his way over the two humans, giving suspicious sniffs at their drinks and wrinkling his whiskers in feline disgust. “And just look at you,” she said to the cat. “You’ve come a long way.” They all had.

  “We should celebrate,” Ty decided.

  “A party for Tunes?”

  He ruffled the cat’s fur, got a sneer and a head butt in return. “He’d like that, wouldn’t he? Actually, I was talking about when you hand over the check.”

  She wasn’t sure which part of that warmed her right down to her toes—that he wasn’t going to let her wallow in falling short of her goal when she had a workable backup plan, that he was thinking about her stuff as well as his own, or that he wanted to make a plan. All of it, really. Angling her face, she gave him a smacking kiss on the jaw. “Look at you, thinking ahead!”

  His expression went wry. “Funny. You want to talk about the future? Fine, how about a vacation? I’ve always thought about heading south for a couple of weeks during the worst of the winter, but never did it. I think we should make a plan. Nashville, maybe, or New Orleans. Good music. Or Hawaii. Or is there someplace you’ve always wanted to go?”

  “I . . . Hmm.”

  “Is that a No, I don’t want to go someplace warm and awesome in the dead of winter? I know you’ll be busy with the store over the holidays, so I was thinking maybe February.”

  More warm tingles. “Oh, definitely yes to the vacation part. It’s just that nobody’s ever asked me where I want to go on vacation before.” Jack had taken her and her mom on a couple of cruises, and Kenny and the band had liked to party in San Fran, but that was about it. “I’ll have to get back to you on that. Though Mardi Gras is on my bucket list . . .” She thought it would be like her brain—loud and chaotic, with lots of bright colors.

  “No rush. But how about the party?”

  “Definitely,” she assured him. “I want to repaint the sign, do a big reveal, and christen the shop’s new name with a champagne toast. I’m even going to invite Mom and Jack.” Her mother would love Ty, God help her.

  His eyebrows rose. “You’re changing the shop’s name?”

  “I am.” It was the first time she had said it out loud. Before, it had been all about the paperwork, legalities, and figuring out what script to use. Now, it was time for the shimmies of excitement. “Just a little—to Ashley’s Another Fyne Thing.”

  Expression warming with approval, he said, “I think that sounds just about perfect to me.”

  “Good, because I was going to ask if you wanted to keep me company while I did the stealth painting Thursday night.”

  “Count me in,” he said easily. “I’ll take care of dinner.”

  And it really was that easy, she realized. It might not always be—probably wouldn’t be—but for now, she would let herself enjoy being in love and being loved.

  “Speaking of dinner,” she began, then broke off when her cell phone rang its generic no-caller-ID melody. “Hang on. Hold that thought.” She hit the button to connect. “Hello?”

  There was a startled-feeling pause, and then a woman’s voice said, “Um, hello. I don’t know if I have the right— Is Tyler Reed there? This is . . . this is his sister.”

  Hot-cold-hot poured through Ashley and she was pretty sure her heart skipped a couple of beats. “You’re . . .” She couldn’t get it out, was almost afraid to hope for him. Had her crazy plan actually worked?

  “His sister. Um . . . I called the number on the TV, and the lady asked me a bunch of questions, then gave me this number.” Her voice softened, took on new nerves. “Is he there?”

  “Yes.” Ashley got the word out, aware of Ty’s sudden scrutiny, the tension in his big body that said whatever was upsetting her all of a sudden, he would deal with it.

  Or, rather, they would deal with it together.

  Hand shaking slightly, she held out the phone. “It’s for you. It’s Scilla.”

  His face blanked, then drained of blood, his skin going suddenly gray with shock. “You’re kidding.”

  She put the phone in his hand. “The station gave her my number.” Which meant she had answered the verification questions correctly. Which meant . . .

  He lifted the handset, eyes stark on Ashley’s. “Hel—” His voice broke on it. Clearing his throat, he said, louder, “Hello? This is Ty.” Ashley didn’t hear the reply, but his face blossomed suddenly with exquisite joy, as if he had been trapped alone with nothing but broccoli to eat and a bikini model suddenly showed up bearing chocolate. “Sci
lla.” He blinked back moisture. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  Choking up, Ashley rose, figuring she would give him some privacy and give herself a good sniffle in the process. But as she moved past Ty, he shot out a hand, caught her arm, and tugged her back down beside him. He angled the phone so she could hear a soft sob, then Scilla saying, “I didn’t think I was ever going to find you.”

  He tightened his arm around Ashley and breathed into her hair, and his voice was husky when he said, “It’s all good now, darlin’. Because we finally found each other.”

  See how it all began at Mustang Ridge! Turn the page for a preview of

  SUMMER AT MUSTANG RIDGE

  Available now from Signet Eclipse.

  “Okay, no pressure. We’re just here to have fun. Ready?” Shelby paused with her hand on a pair of saloon-style swinging doors to grin down at Lizzie, hoping her daughter couldn’t see the nerves. “Me neither, but let’s do it anyway.”

  She pushed through into the dining hall of the ranch, which continued the Western theme from the log-style exterior, complete with rope accents, primitive furniture, and antler chandeliers. Thirty or so men and women wearing crunchy-new denim and unscuffed Western boots milled around long picnic tables with drinks in hand, creating a cocktail party’s worth of noise, and a banner over the huge stone fireplace proclaimed HOWDY THERE, FILLIES AND STUDS. WELCOME TO SINGLES WEEK AT MUSTANG RIDGE!

  The moment the doors banged shut behind Shelby, a dozen or so pairs of eyes zeroed in and gave her an up-and-down, making her very aware that her black pants, pin-striped jacket, and chunky boots probably said “straight from Boston” more than they did “we’re stretchy and comfortable for a long car trip.” Then the saloon doors swung again and her daughter came in behind her, and the eyes shifted away.

  “Here!” A twentysomething blonde bounced up to them. She was wearing a green polo shirt embroidered with the Mustang Ridge logo on one side and her name—Tipper—on the other. She looked momentarily confused by Lizzie, but then shrugged and thrust two HOWDY, MY NAME IS ! tags at them, along with a Sharpie. “You guys will want these!”