Winter at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “Guess we don’t have to put the vet on standby,” Big Skye said, stomping back into his boots, “seeing as he’s already here.”

  Yes, he was, wasn’t he? The knowledge eased some of the tightness in her chest as she turned to look at the small mixed herd, where Nick was moving around the skittish black cow, talking soothing nonsense and keeping close, so if the animal did kick him, the blow would lack its full punch. He was big and solid beneath his layers, someone she could depend on. And where at first she had thought him an outsider like her, someone who didn’t fit in with the cow-and-ranch thing, now she realized he was utterly in his element.

  Giving the cow a final pat, he looked over at her. “You ready to move out?”

  The warmth deepened to an inner glow of gratitude—that he had taken care of the calf without pointing out that the harsh economics of ranching argued for a bullet instead; that he had maneuvered things so Big Skye had accepted food and clothes without a fuss; that he was so darn good at everything he did. Going on impulse, she crossed to him, went up on her tiptoes, and gave him a big, smacking kiss. “Thanks, Doc. You’re the best.”

  He grinned down at her. “I thought you were done thanking me for today?”

  She patted his cheek. “I am now, hotshot. Let’s get this show on the road. And by the way? I’m riding with you.”

  • • •

  Even with Roman carrying a double load, with Jenny’s arms around Nick’s waist in what he decided was a nice perk, the ride back seemed much shorter than the trip out had been. Still, it was full dark before they crested Mustang Ridge, passed the marker stones, and looked down on the homestead, which spread out in the bowl of the valley in a wash of yellow light.

  “Hello, electricity,” Jenny said, leaning to look around him. “Looks like they’ve got every bulb in the place lit.”

  “Guess they wanted to give us a big target.” He clucked to Roman and they started down the path. “Looks like there’s a welcoming party, too,” he added as figures emerged from the barn and main house, half a dozen humans with a pair of dogs racing around them in giddy circles. A chorus of barks carried across the snow.

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Big Skye muttered behind them. “When this was a real ranch, it was rare for a man to get in before dark. Don’t know why all the fuss now.”

  Fighting a grin at Jenny’s low growl, Nick said, “Blame it on the winter. These days, we’ll take any excuse for a little excitement.”

  “Humph.”

  Nick chuckled at that, and Jenny poked him in the ribs. There wasn’t much of a tickle through his heavy clothes, but he caught her gloved hand in his and held it tight, so her arm was snug against him as they passed through the outer gate, into the fenced-in confines of the ranch proper.

  If he had been on foot, he might have hesitated briefly before entering the loose semicircle made of Gran, Rose and Ed Skye, and the wranglers, Foster, Stace, and Junior—which, along with Big Skye and the absent Krista, basically amounted to Jenny’s family and friends, and the heart of Mustang Ridge. But Roman had no such qualms, eagerly marching into the brightly lit parking area and stopping in front of the barn, one ear flicking back in a clear indication of “Okay, that was fun. Now get off and feed me.”

  Jenny squeezed Nick’s hand, then swung off the gelding’s haunches. “Look what we found!”

  It wasn’t clear whether she was talking about the stray cattle or her grandfather, but the others flocked around her, then surrounded Big Skye as he climbed stiffly down from Doobie, grumbling about having to ride in her too-small saddle. Most everyone was talking at once, asking for details and making lots of “we were so worried!” noises. Foster was the exception, breaking off to give the horses and cows a quick once-over.

  Nick hung back from it all, not really sure of his footing. He had crossed paths with each of them in the course of his work on the ranch, granted, but that had been before he got involved with Jenny, making this an odd sort of meet-the-parents-but-not-really moment.

  “Hey, Doc,” Foster said casually, “you want to help me get these two into the barn?”

  “Sure.” Heck, yeah. Nick took hold of the calf’s back end and between the two of them, they got the limp little creature off Big Skye’s horse and carried it into the barn, followed closely by the black cow, who stepped on their heels, and didn’t at all appreciate being shut in a separate stall. Bumping the wall hard enough to make the two-by-twelves creak, she mooed protest.

  Foster straightened away from the calf, which lay quietly on an old blanket, eyes at half-mast. “I’ll get you some warm water. Need anything else? Coffee?”

  “I wouldn’t turn down a cup.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Nick made a trip out to his truck and came back with more fluids, along with his suture kit and a selection of meds. Big Skye had been right about the bite marks—Nick had already seen the worst of them, and if there was other damage, it wasn’t obvious from the outside. The bleeding had stopped on the ride, though a sluggish ooze started up from some of them as the calf warmed up.

  Digging into his equipment, Nick came up with a light tranq and a pair of cordless surgical clippers. “Okay, there, little buddy. Let’s see what we’re really dealing with, shall we?”

  Over the next hour, he carefully clipped the baby-fine coat down to the dark skin, scrubbed and flushed the wounds, and stitched where stitching made sense. Foster came and went several times, seeing to the horses and tossing hay to the black cow, who settled in quickly enough to suggest she wasn’t anyone’s wild range beef. Then, toward the end, as Nick was snipping off the last of the sutures and feeling the ache in his neck and shoulders, Jenny’s father came in.

  Suddenly very aware that he hadn’t gone one-on-one with the father of a girl he was seeing since high school or thereabouts, Nick said, “Evening,” and squelched the urge to tack on a “sir.”

  Hands in his pockets, Ed Skye leaned against the open stall door and took a look at the patched-up calf. “Neatly done, Doc.”

  “Hope it holds.” Nick smeared on a thick coat of ointment. “Teeth can be nasty things—ragged edges, punctures, and lots of bruising—and coyotes are worse than most. I left plenty of drainage space, though, and I’ll hit him with some antibiotics now and leave you more for later.”

  “Think he’ll make it?”

  “I’d say he’s got a decent chance.” The warmth and fluids had perked up the little guy’s systems, pinking his gums and filling out some of the hollows, though it would be a little while yet before the calf woke from the tranq. “That’s assuming he doesn’t get sick from exposure, and there isn’t anything going on internally.” He glanced over. “Lot of work for someone else’s calf. Even for one of your own, really.”

  Ed shrugged. “A rancher has to pick his battles. Sometimes he picks one that doesn’t seem worth fighting, but that’s okay. It’s part of being human.”

  “Ah, a rancher-philosopher.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as a tinkerer.”

  “That’s right. Jenny said you fix things.”

  “Things, maybe, but not people or animals. A living being is a far more complex system, so my hat’s off to you.”

  “Thanks, though most of what I do is pretty straightforward—plug this, unplug that, convince owners that it’s in the animal’s best interest to be confined, even if it seems cruel. Hardest part is that my patients can’t tell me exactly where it hurts, at least not in words. So there’s more than a bit of guesswork involved.”

  “In my experience, there’s a fair bit of guesswork involved with people, too.” One corner of Ed’s mouth kicked up. “That’s why I like my tools. No opinions to deal with except a stubborn bolt or two.”

  Nick chuckled and stood, feeling his knees pop from having been down on the stall floor for too long. “You don’t miss living on the road?”

  “I do, but Rosie wanted to come home.” His smile was utterly fond, and didn’t seem to echo any of Jenny’s worr
ies about her mom. “I’ve had my turn,” Ed added, “and now it’s hers. Speaking of which, I should get back in there, make sure Big Skye is playing nice.” Pushing away from the doorframe, he stuck out a hand. “Thank you for riding out tonight, Doc. Mustang Ridge owes you one.”

  Nick shook on it, and got a firm, no-nonsense grip in return. “I was glad I could help, and glad it all turned out okay.”

  “That it did.” Ed’s eyes went to the black mama cow. “We’ll call around, see if anyone is missing these two. Probably haul the old man back to the doctor tomorrow, to be on the safe side. Couple of days and things will be back to normal . . . but I mean it. We owe you one.”

  “Send some cookies my way the next time your mom makes a batch, and we’ll call it even,” Nick said, having learned that, especially as the only vet in such a small, close-knit community, it was better to suggest a small token than refuse gratitude.

  “Count on it. And you’re welcome at our table anytime.” With that, Ed sketched a wave and headed for the main door.

  Nick stared after him for a long moment, wondering just how much he should read into that parting shot. Had it been standard country courtesy, a sort of neighbors-helping-neighbors thing, or had it been a paternal stamp of approval?

  He was still trying to figure that one out fifteen or so minutes later, when the door rolled open a crack and Jenny slipped through. Her eyes warmed when she saw him standing in the aisle, packing his gear. “All done?”

  “For tonight, at any rate.”

  She crossed to peer in the open stall. “How’s he doing?”

  Leaning on the divider next to her, their elbows bumping, he looked in at the calf, who had wobbled to his feet. “He would’ve been a goner without your gramps—that’s for sure.”

  “Don’t tell Big Skye that. He’s already riding the ‘nobody needed to come get me, I was perfectly fine’ high horse. He doesn’t want us to fuss over him, doesn’t want to hear that we worry about him. And . . .” She blew out a breath. “And I shouldn’t complain. Things could have turned out so much worse than they did, thanks in no small part to you. Which is the long way of saying I’m sorry this is the first I’ve gotten out to see you since we got back. I got caught up.”

  “No need to apologize. You’ve got family to deal with. I understand.” And maybe he missed that sort of big, boisterous drama more than he had realized. Away from the old hometown, it was down to just him and his dad. Slipping an arm around Jenny’s waist, he brushed his cheek against her hair. “So . . . Friday night?”

  She tipped her head to look up at him, blinking in pretend confusion. “What about Friday night?”

  “You. Me. A date. What do you say?”

  Her eyelash-batting dissolved to a smile. “I say absolutely yes. It’ll give me something to look forward to as I slog through purchase orders and run interference between my grandparents over the next few days.”

  “You want something to look forward to? How about this?” He covered her smiling mouth with his own in a kiss that was as stirring as it was sweet, and that reminded him once more that it didn’t matter what anyone else thought about him and Jenny, because the two of them were on exactly the same page.

  16

  It was Thursday before Jenny knew what hit her. The excitement of Big Skye’s adventure had worn off in a couple of days, pretty much as soon as the black cow and her healing calf had been picked up by their grateful, chastened owner two spreads over. Beyond that, the week had disappeared in a blur of phone calls, film clips, and digging through the family photos. And then, once she had exactly the right images, picking her grandfather’s brain on names, dates, and locations before she slotted the pictures into place in the first two official Mustang Ridge video clips. But she was getting close to having things nailed down. As she bent over her computer, the center of her chest had the tingly feeling that meant a film had started gelling, elevating itself to a sum greater than its parts.

  “Just a few more hours,” she said, tipping back in the desk chair and spreading her arms to stretch out the kinks.

  Rex lifted his head to give her an inquiring “Whuff?” Are we doing something?

  “Two more hours, maybe three, and this is going to knock Shelby’s socks off.”

  They had rescheduled their meeting to Friday when Shelby’s daughter, Lizzie, had come down with a short-lived bug, and the delay had given Jenny the time to hone her first two clips from rough cuts to Sundance quality.

  Okay, that was pushing it. But still. There was that happy tingle in her chest.

  And, yes, some of those inner sparkles were because of Nick. They had talked every night and texted at odd hours of the day, and were firm on their Friday night rendezvous. And she. Couldn’t. Wait. She didn’t care where they went or what they did, as long as they were face-to-face.

  “Tomorrow’s going to be a good day,” she told Rex.

  His tail thumped.

  “You’re looking forward to the snow?” her mother’s voice asked from behind her.

  Spinning around in the desk chair, Jenny let her boots fall to the floor. “Snow?”

  Her mom was wearing gray slacks and a soft-looking sweater in her beloved raspberry. Propping her shoulder against the doorframe, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hush. “Haven’t you heard? There’s a big storm coming in.”

  “Nope, not buying it. I’ve got plans for tomorrow.”

  “Ah. Snow denial. Let me know how it works for you.”

  “It can snow on Saturday.” When she and her mom were supposed to go shopping for bedroom stuff.

  “Whether or not the storm has moved on by then, the roads will be a mess.”

  “Bummer. I was looking forward to shopping.” Sort of. Not really.

  Rose beamed. “Me, too. That’s why I think we should go now.”

  “I’m really—” Jenny stopped herself, thought for a second, and then reached out to close the lid of her laptop. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do it.” The videos were close to finished, and shopping would kill the rest of the day. If nothing else, she could protect herself from Pepto pink walls and rabid ceramic animals. She’d finish up the videos later tonight.

  • • •

  Two hours later, after parking in the heart of the Three Ridges shopping district, Jenny warily followed her mom into Kitty’s Kountry Kitsch, worried by the shop’s name, the thick aroma of cinnamon, and the sight of a whole lot of calico.

  “Oh!” Her mother made a beeline for a display of granny dolls with dried-apple heads and detergent-bottle bodies, wearing stiff gingham dresses and expressions that made them look like they were thinking: Braaaains! “Look at these beauties,” she cooed. “Aren’t they fabulous?”

  “Assuming I never want to sleep again.” Jenny imagined a half dozen of them lined up on her dresser with their freaky little eyes glowing red in the dark.

  “Oh, you.” Rose flapped a hand at her. “Always teasing. Come on, let’s see what other new things she’s gotten in!”

  Fortunately, the store’s creep factor decreased once they got past the apple dolls. Folding three-quarter walls divided the good-size store into smaller areas that reminded Jenny of movie sets—living rooms, dining rooms, bedrooms, and playrooms, all done in versions of Country Bear Jamboree. She eyed an explosion of gingham ruffles that looked more like a bed tutu than a dust ruffle. “I don’t know, Mom. This isn’t really my style.”

  That got an eye roll. “Your idea of decor is mosquito netting and a photo collage thumbtacked to the wall.”

  Sounded pretty good to her. “Then why am I here again?”

  “To tell me what you like, sweetie.”

  “I like yellow, white, and simplicity.” Lowering her voice so as not to offend the orange-haired, stick-thin woman who was bearing down on them, she added, “Ikea delivers, you know.”

  “That’s not funny. Come on, we’re going to pick a few rustic pieces here and then go vintage-retro on the soft goods. You’ll love how
it turns out, I promise.”

  “Hiya, Rose!” The stranger turned, did a double-take, and then beamed. “Jenny! Well, I never. When did you get home?”

  It took a second, but the woman’s features came into focus and Jenny’s brain did a remember-when back to junior high science class. “Mrs. Cosgrove?”

  Her laugh was the same hee-haw bray that had earned the biology teacher a slew of lunchroom nicknames. “It’s Kitty now, even to my former students.” She indicated the room with a wave. “As you can see, I branched out from worms and weather patterns. What do you think?”

  Remembering field trips to the local forestry service and getting extra credit for a photo essay documenting a band of wild mustangs, Jenny went with, “It looks like the junior high’s loss was the shopping area’s gain.”

  Kitty beamed. “Why, aren’t you sweet?” She brushed a hand over one of the apple creepies. “I try to showcase local artisans, and of course I buy Wyoming-made products as much as possible. Business was slow at first, but lately a few people—like your mom here—have been redecorating, which has helped. Speaking of which, if you’re here to pick up more of those lace pillows, Rose, you’re a few days early.”

  “We’re redecorating Jenny’s room, and of course this had to be our first stop.”

  That brought Kitty’s bright, interested eyes back to Jenny. “You’re staying?”

  “Oh, no.” Hell, no. “We’re just updating my room a little, bringing it out of high school and into the adult zone.”

  “And why not? You’ve got your own in-house decorator.” To Rose, she said, “I just got in the most divine bureau from Billy Fox’s woodshop. You know, down toward Laramie? The front is carved with these amazing horses, a whole herd of them coming down around the sides and galloping across the front.” She sighed happily. “Gorgeous.”

  “I’d like to see it.” Rose shot Jenny a look that was almost a smile. “Don’t worry. It’d be for Krista, not you. Or maybe the bunkhouse, depending on how high-end she wants to go.” To Kitty, she said, “My Jenny likes things clean and simple, and set up for a quick getaway.”