Okay. So why was she still sitting there?
“I’m not,” she said. “I’m going.” And she made herself grab her perky straw hat and leave the cabin.
Outside it was cool and gorgeous, all blue skies and butterflies, like something out of a Disney cartoon. As a matter of fact, the ranch really did look like a movie set: a cluster of log cabins and rough-hewn structures that could’ve come from a hundred years ago. As she got closer to the main house, though, the modern-day cars in the parking lot said it was very much today. And the buttery scent in the air and the bubbling conversations coming from the dining hall said she was late for breakfast.
The saloon-style doors creaked as she pushed through, but only a few of the other guests looked her way. The others were intent on their big, heaping breakfasts and the chitchat bouncing around the long picnic tables. Nina tried not to let her eyes zoom around, but they locked on Ben anyway, tractor-beaming to where he sat in a back corner with a family of five, laughing at something the dad had said. His dark hair was invitingly rumpled, his shirt undone at the throat, making him look casual and approachable. And very yummy. Yummier, even, than the sight of sideboards loaded with waffles, eggs, bacon, and all the trimmings.
Maybe she should’ve stayed in her cabin after all.
“Nina! Over here!” Traci waved from a table in the middle. “I saved you a spot.”
Giving her points—huge, mega points—for not doing her a “favor” by planting them at the same table as Ben, Nina grabbed a plate, filled it from the daunting array of calories and cholesterol, fixed herself a grapefruit-size mug of thick black coffee, and headed for her friend.
Unlike yesterday’s long black coat over skinny black jeans, today Traci was rocking the Western wear in jeans, lace-up boots, and a loose black T-shirt, with a bit of her personal style in the black nail polish. Like yesterday, though, her eyes were bright with interest as Nina sat down beside her. “Sooo . . .” She let it hang there for a moment. “Did you talk to Ben’s sister?”
“She’s avoiding me.”
“Do you blame her? She’s got to figure you’re mad at her.”
“I’m not mad. I’m . . .” Nina exhaled. “I don’t know what I am, really. I almost locked myself in my cabin just now, which is seriously lame.”
“Well . . . it was just one bad date, right?”
Yesterday, Nina had danced around the details. Today, she dug into her bacon and confided, “Nope. Worse than that. It was one super amazing date, followed by a total blow-off.”
“He stood you up?”
“No, he canceled. Twice.”
“Seriously?” Traci frowned in Ben’s direction, which might’ve made Nina squirm if he’d been paying any attention to them. Which he wasn’t.
“He had legitimate excuses,” Nina said, trying to be fair. “He’s a hand surgeon, and I guess there were emergencies that he needed to stay for, even though he was supposed to be off. And don’t get me wrong—I’m not saying he should’ve blown off his patients for me. It’s just that after our first date . . . I don’t know.”
Traci shot her a sympathetic look. “You wanted to feel like he was as excited as you were, maybe even to come over after he got out of surgery and bring you dessert, no matter what time it was. You wanted to feel like he had time for a relationship, not just an occasional booty call.”
Nina exhaled on a laugh. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that we wound up sitting together yesterday?” Not just kindred spirits in vintage clothing, they both owned their own businesses and had been doing the single thing for too long. It helped to have Traci jump in on her side, acting like her pique was totally understandable. In contrast, Bess and Tally, her two shop assistants, had done the “but he’s a doctor” thing, like that should make up for two canceled dates and a lukewarm apology.
And maybe for another woman it would have. Just not for her.
“It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” she said after a moment. “We just want different things. I’m looking for the kind of relationship my parents have—peas in a pod, till death do us part—and he’s looking for a fun girl who’ll make herself available when he’s free. Even Cheryl admitted that.” After the fact, and only after Nina had pushed. Apparently Ben’s well-meaning sister had decided Nina would be the perfect person to show her career-obsessed brother that there was more to life than eighty hours a week at the hospital.
Thing was, Nina didn’t want a project. She wanted a partner.
Studying him, Traci shook her head. “I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised by the playboy thing. He looks pretty down to earth.”
He did, too. Dressed again in jeans and a faded T-shirt, Ben looked loose and casual, and like he was utterly in the moment as he chatted with the others at his table. Then again, Nina remembered, he had been the same way during their date. Maybe that was one of his talents—the ability to make the person he was with feel like they were the center of the universe when they were together . . . and then forget them the moment they were out of his immediate sphere.
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what he looks like if he’s a total jerk,” Traci decided.
“He’s not a jerk,” Nina said with a little laugh. “Let’s be fair, here. A few days after cancelation number two, he called to apologize and offered to make it up to me. He asked me out to dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in town, the kind where you either need to know someone or get a reservation way ahead of time.”
“I take it you turned him down?”
“I like a fancy meal as much as the next girl, but this felt like . . . I don’t know. Like I’d be agreeing to his kind of a relationship. So I said no thanks, have a nice life.” More or less.
“You go girl. I’m impressed.”
Nina shrugged. “It was just one date.”
One stupendous date. One wonderful, blissful date that had left her feeling like she was skimming along the sidewalk without touching the ground as he’d walked her to her car and kissed her good night. And she was seriously going to kill Cheryl for setting her up like this. She was supposed to be taking a break from guys, not putting way too much effort into not looking over at Ben.
Then again, he was ignoring her more thoroughly than she was ignoring him. Which should’ve been a relief, but wasn’t.
“Ugh,” she said, and stuck a big forkful of eggs in her mouth.
Traci raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I said ‘good eggs.’ ”
Her friend grinned. “Sure you did.”
“Everyone? If I could have your attention?” The amplified voice cut through the conversations and brought the noise level down. Moments later, a pretty blonde stepped up onto the low risers that formed a stage at the far end of the room. She was carrying a handheld mic and wearing a dark green polo shirt emblazoned with the Mustang Ridge logo. Grinning, she lifted the mic and said, “I know you’ve heard it before, but I’ll say it again. Welcome to Rustlers’ Week at Mustang Ridge Ranch!”
That got a few excited whoops and scattered applause.
When it died down, she added, “I’m Krista Skye, and I’m one of the owners here. I’ll be riding along with you this week, so if you have any questions or issues, please don’t hesitate to come find me! I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you guys yesterday, but I’m sure Stace and Gran did a great job with orientation. Which means that I can jump right into the fun stuff.” She looked around the crowded room. “Who here knows what ‘rustler’ really means?”
A few hands went up, and she pointed to a kid near the front. Maybe ten or so, wearing braces and a baseball hat, he answered, “Someone who stole cows back in the olden days.”
“Yep, that’s right. Back then, herds ranged pretty freely, and the only way to tell who owned a cow was by reading the brand. If a cow wasn’t branded, then it was fair game for anyone to claim . . . which also meant that there were plenty of ranchers and hands who got very good at laying their own brand over other marks. Back in the day, a c
attle drive might leave the ranch with fifteen hundred or so cows, suffer a few losses along the way, and show up at the stockyard with over two thousand head. Which is a kind of rustling, really. But this week we’re talking about the other kind—the Butch Cassidy, Hole-in-the-Wall Gang, kind of rustling where outlaws would make off with whole herds and run them down to Texas to sell for beef. Here at Mustang Ridge, we had our own local version, called the Keyhole Gang. They liked to take a few dozen head of cattle here, a few dozen there, and stash them out in a box canyon near here. It’s almost perfectly hidden from view, and the only way to get into it is through a small rock formation called the Keyhole.”
“Can we hike to it?” asked a woman in the front.
“Forget hiking, we’re going to ride out there today!”
That got a cheer and a couple of “yee-haws,” and the noise level bubbled back up. Even Nina gave a whoop as her earlier excitement reignited. It was easier to ignore Ben when she had cowboys on the brain. “Do you know how to ride?” she asked Traci.
“Sort of. I took lessons for a couple of years when I was a kid. You?”
“Same. It was my horse-crazy phase.” They shared a grin that made Nina very grateful for her new friend. Things would no doubt be a lot weirder without her.
“Before we retrace the hoofprints of the Keyhole Gang, though,” Krista continued, “we need to make sure everyone knows the basics of safe horse handling and riding. So let’s head out to the barn and get started!”
Chapter Three
The next few hours were a pleasant blur of horses, instruction, and getting some Wyoming dust under the fingernails, as Krista and her wranglers ran the dudes through the basics and assigned them their mounts for the week.
Nina was paired up with a dark bay gelding who was named Moon, after the crescent-shaped white marking on his forehead. He was maybe fifteen hands, with solid hooves, a Roman nose and a Bureau of Land Management freeze brand on his neck. The trail boss, Foster, introduced him to her with a fond pat, saying, “This guy came off the range a few years ago and hasn’t put a foot wrong since I started him under saddle. He’ll take good care of you if you stay out of his way.”
She grinned, liking the cowboy’s blunt honesty. “I’ll do my best. Thanks.”
He nodded and moved on down the fence line, where the horses were tied at intervals, enduring patiently while the dudes fumbled with brushes and tack.
It turned out that Nina remembered more than she had expected to, and before long she had her mount tacked up. When she swung up onto Moon’s broad back, the ground seemed further away than she remembered. But by the time she had walked a few laps of the fenced-in arena under Krista’s watchful eye and reminded herself how stop-go-left-right worked, with a combination of rein and leg aids, she was feeling right at home. Moon’s gaits were smooth, his vibe calm, and if she had to give him a few heel nudges before the “go” actually worked, that was fine by her. She’d rather have more “whoa” than “go,” thank you very much.
“Looking good!” Traci said, pulling up beside her on an Appaloosa mare with one blue eye and one brown.
“How’s it feel?”
“Like I’m twelve again, at pony camp for the summer.”
“But old enough for a beer later.”
“Amen to that.” They shared a laugh as Foster and the four assistant wranglers mounted up and signaled that the group was ready to ride.
From her position over by the double-hung gates that were the last things separating them from the great wide open, Krista called, “Everybody got their heads higher than their boots?”
That got a laugh and a general “Yes!” along with a couple of excited whoops. The horses shifted in place or walked little circles, most with their ears pricked in the direction of the high country, clearly familiar with the routine. But while it might be old hat to them, Nina saw her own excitement reflected on plenty of other faces.
“Then let’s ride!” At a nudge, Krista’s flashy gray sidled sideways to parallel the gate while she worked the latch, and then pivoted neatly around so she could push the double doors open. She turned back, lifted her hat in the air, and waved them on. “Follow me to the stomping grounds of the infamous Keyhole Gang!”
• • •
Despite a few more whoops and cheers, their actual departure didn’t resemble a cavalry charge so much as the start of a walk-a-thon, with the frontrunners striding off purposefully while everyone else milled around, waiting for their turn to pass under the Start banner. Within a few minutes, though, the twenty-one dudes and six outriders were underway, filing out of the corral in a ragged line of twos and threes onto a dirt roadway that led up to the ridgeline.
The sight of the horses and riders against the flower-specked grass, with the mountains and seemingly limitless sky in the background, tugged at something deep inside Nina, as did the rhythm of Moon’s hoofbeats beneath her.
“Can you believe this?” Traci enthused, tugging on the reins to hold back her mare’s longer stride to match Moon’s slow amble. “Two days ago, I was up to my elbows in paperwork and scheduling, trying to get things squared away at the tattoo shop so I could leave without the place coming down around my ears.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “I was playing phone tag with one of my craftsmen.” At Traci’s raised eyebrow, she added, “In addition to vintage one-of-a-kind pieces, I also offer a couple of lines of good new pieces in the right style. One of my best clients asked for a custom daybed from my chrome-and-leather guy, who took the order but now appears to be flaking on me. Which makes me look bad, holds things up for the client finishing up a decorating job, and irritates the client’s client. It’s the trickle-down theory of bad business.”
“Maybe it’ll come in while you’re away.”
“I certainly hope so. And I now declare a moratorium on talking about work.”
“Agreed. We’re on vacation!” Traci tugged on the reins again, but the appy shook her head and gave a few steps of a bouncy trot, starting to look annoyed.
Remembering Foster’s advice about letting Moon do his thing, Nina said, “Don’t feel like you have to slow her down to stick with me. I have a feeling Moon here is in ‘we’ll get there when we get there’ mode.” The wranglers were unobtrusively working the line of horses, making little adjustments and suggestions here and there. So far, they hadn’t told her to kick along and keep up with the faster riders, so she figured she would leave her horse alone.
“Good point. I guess I’m the last one who should insist on walking in lock step.” Traci gave the mare a pat and loosened her reins. “Okay, Lots-of-Spots, let’s go.” As the mare powered up and headed off at nearly a running walk, Traci called back, “I’ll circle back in a bit!”
“See you then.” Nina waved her off.
Over the next half hour or so, Moon drifted contently to the back of the pack. When Nina glanced at Foster and raised an eyebrow, though, he just sent her a nod that she took to mean she should keep doing what she was doing. In other words, sit there, breathe in the thin, high-altitude air, and watch the glorious scenery go by.
They reached the top of the next ridge and turned off the dirt road to follow a worn trail leading down the other side. The sun was warming things up, lifting the scents of flowers and grass.
“Does that smile mean you’re happy to see me?”
An electric current ran through her at the sound of Ben’s voice, then pooled in her belly when she turned and found him coming up beside her. Mounted on a glossy bay horse with a long, arched neck and a silky black mane, he looked like something out of a modern-day Western, with his hat pulled low on his forehead. Sitting easily in the saddle—straight, tall, and relaxed—he guided his mount with small moves of rein and leg, and looked fully at home in the saddle.
Determined not to let him know there was a one-sided zing, she pasted what she hoped was a politely neutral expression on her face. “I thought you were riding up near the front.”
“I looped
back.” He patted his horse’s neck. “Justice here seems content to go where he’s pointed and dial his speed to suit.”
“I suspect that has something to do with his rider.”
He shrugged. “I played a little polo in college.”
Of course you did. “Hm.” She glanced around, found them near the back of the pack, alone, and nudged Moon in the ribs with both heels.
The gelding flicked an ear back, but didn’t speed up.
“I talked to Cheryl.”
She glanced over at Ben, annoyed when her heart gave a muted thudda-thudda at the sight of him. Hello, gorgeous, indeed. But why had he dropped back to ride with her? Probably feels bad that his sister messed with my vacation, she thought sourly. Then she sighed, trying to let go of the irritation, because none of this was his fault, really. “Oh? I tried to reach her, but she was screening.”
“Ditto, but I’ve got leverage.” He paused like he was waiting for her to ask. When she didn’t, he said, “She’s sorry for messing with us.”
“No, she’s not.”
“Okay, maybe not. But she means well.”
“That, I’ll believe.”
Cheryl might be selectively blind when it came to her brother’s shortcomings, but she had a huge heart, and was utterly convinced that he and Nina would hit it off gangbusters if they just gave it another chance.
“It was the Fourth of July that did it.”
She looked over, confused. “What?”
“The reason Cheryl is going to apologize to you when she sees you next, and why she’s going to stay out of our business from now on. I told her if she didn’t, then I’d tell Mom about the time she forgot Danny at my house after a family barbecue, and then broke in through a back window to get him so nobody would know about it.”
Surprised laughter bubbled up. “She didn’t.”
His teeth flashed in a devilish grin. “Oh, she most certainly did. Might’ve gotten away with it, too, except she was six months pregnant with Syb, and got stuck coming in through the window.”
Sunset At Keyhole Canyon: A Mustang Ridge Novella (A Penguin Special from Signet Eclipse) Page 2