Summer at Mustang Ridge (25 page)

She turned around and leaned back against the windowsill, hating that he’d gone back to looking quiet and withdrawn. But at the same time, while she might hide her emotions for Lizzie’s sake, she knew better than to ignore them when it came to a man. Been there, done that, had the wool pulled over her eyes. “I know this isn’t fair. I know we said—
I
said—that we’re just having a good time, carpe diem and all that.”

“What happened between me and Jill is ancient history.”

“It just . . . it seems like the sort of thing you mention to a lover.”

“Not if it doesn’t have any impact on today. A good horseman takes the lessons and leaves the bad memories behind.”

“You told me once that a key to training greenies is making sure that the lesson they’re learning is the one you’re trying to teach.”

“What I did at twenty-two and regretted like hell at twenty-six doesn’t have much bearing on the guy I am now. And, by the way, you’ve been getting along with that guy just fine up to now.” He paused, voice roughening. “What changed, Shelby? Why is this suddenly a big deal?”

They were the same questions she’d been asking herself most of the afternoon. “You know about Patrick.”

“Because you told me. And if you wanted to know more about me, you could’ve asked.”

“Would you have answered?”

“We’ll never know, will we?” The words carried a bite, but then he muttered a curse, scrubbed a hand over his face, and dropped down to the couch. “I don’t want to fight about this.”

“Me, neither. But it hurts knowing you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.”

“It wasn’t . . .” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “Hell. I hate that I lost the Double-Bar H, hate knowing how disappointed Grandpa would’ve been. I don’t like talking about it, even thinking about it.”

“How close are you to buying it back?” At least he’d told her that much, although he’d made it sound like a pipe dream, where Rose seemed to think he was closer than that.

Exhaling, he met her eyes and said, “I made a new offer right before I left for the roundup. Old Winslow always has six different projects going at any one time, and one of these days, he’s going to need the money more than the revenge.”

“A few days ago . . . and you didn’t tell me.” That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

“Honestly? I thought about it, but I just figured that’s not what we’re about. It’s not like you want to stay out here in the middle of nowhere, and I’m sure as heck not moving to the city. So why throw that into the mix when we’re having a good time?” He paused, expression shifting to regret. “Look, I’m sorry you found out about all this from Rose, and I’m sorry it upset you. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

No, the last thing you want to do is get involved for real with me and Lizzie
.

And there it was, crashing down on her like a piano dropped from high above, making so much noise and mess that it took her a second to figure out what had really happened, what it meant. She actually backpedaled a couple of steps and stared at him in such horror that he stood and came toward her, hands outstretched.

“I’m serious,” he said. “What do we need to do to get past this? Do you want me to tell you all the gory details about me and Jill and the Double-Bar H? I will, if that’s what you want.”

“No, no. It’s not that.” Not anymore. It was far, far worse.

“Then what?”

“I . . . I should go. I’m sorry. I need to go.” She darted across the room and fumbled with the doorknob.

He was right on her heels, and slapped a hand on the door to keep her from opening it. His voice gained an edge. “Shelby, come on. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”
Mine, mine, all mine
. Just as she had thought when she watched him and Lizzie together, seeing them as a unit. A family.

“So tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“Don’t push me, Foster.”

He caught her arm. “Damn it, Shelby, talk to me!”

“Fine!” She yanked away, but then spun on him, full of miserable fury. “You want to know what’s going on? I screwed up, that’s what!”

“Screwed up how?”

“By falling for you.” It hurt to say it, hurt even more to see his face go utterly blank.

“Falling . . . in
love
?”

“Not love. Not yet, I don’t think.” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s close, I think.” The awful roller coaster feeling in her stomach wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t the buzzing flush of a high school crush or the happy confidence she’d had going into her wedding, convinced she was doing the right thing with the right guy, only to have it go very wrong. Now it was even worse, because she wasn’t confident, wasn’t convinced of anything.

He had gone pale. “I didn’t want . . .”

“I know,” she said quickly. “And I don’t blame you.” At least she was trying not to. “We had an agreement. I just . . .” Her throat locked tight, and she had to force the words. “I didn’t even realize it was happening. But now . . . I’m sorry. I . . .” As hard as she fought them, sudden tears broke free, trailing down her cheeks in wet trickles that made her even sadder.

“Shelby, don’t. Please.” He reached for her, but didn’t make contact. “Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know.” But she did, really. “I want more times like this morning, with you, me, and Lizzie out together. And I want . . . I want this to be real. Not just a summer fling, but a relationship. Something we’re working on, trying to see if there’s a future.”

“How can there be?” His eyes darkened. “My life is here. Yours and Lizzie’s are in Boston.” He paused. “Unless you were thinking of staying.”

“Of course not, no. I haven’t . . . Of course not.” She wished he had let her escape, wished she could’ve had some time to work this out in her head. But maybe it was better this way. She didn’t have time to talk herself out of anything, just had to go with her gut. “We could do something long distance. I could visit . . .”

He was already shaking his head. “I think we both know that wouldn’t work. We’re just, I don’t know, wired differently. When two people are this far apart, trying to find a compromise is impossible, and it’d just drive us both crazy. In the end, things would get ugly. I don’t want that.”

A flicker in his eyes—desperation, maybe, or guilt—spurred her to ask, “Are you talking about you and me, or you and your ex?”

“Okay, point to you.”

The pressure in her chest turned to pain. “I’m not keeping score.”

“I know, and it pisses me off that suddenly I am.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “I wish I could say what the heck, let’s give it a try.”

“But you can’t.” She said it dully, already seeing the answer in his eyes.

“I’ve got a life here, plans here. My family took a big hit when I lost the Double-Bar H.”

“And when you get it back?” She hated that she sounded desperate, felt desperate.

His eyes went very sad. “Even then, I don’t think I’m the guy you’re looking for, Shelby. Maybe you’re right. Maybe things with Jill changed me more than I want to admit. I guess when things fell apart with her, I lost the fire. I just want to be a cowboy, not a father or a husband.”

He hadn’t ever pretended any different.

She nodded, swiped at her face, and swallowed back the tears she didn’t want to shed in front of him. This wasn’t his fault, wasn’t anybody’s fault. It just wasn’t meant to be.

And if she kept telling herself that, she might believe it one of these days. A month or two from now, maybe longer. Much longer.

Taking a deep breath, she said the death-blow words that, a few hours ago when they’d been picnicking by the watering hole and watching hawks soar high above, she never would’ve expected to be saying. “I can’t do this if we’re not headed in the same direction. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

She braced herself for anger. Instead, he caught her close, and wrapped her in a warm, tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he said into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

The feel of his arms around her and the pained rasp in his voice said this was real, it was really happening. Choking back a sob, she hugged him back. “Not your fault. But I need to go. I’ll . . .” She swallowed and forced a smile. “I’ll see you around, cowboy.”

And then she bolted out the door.

He didn’t try to stop her. Maybe he said her name just as the door closed. But the word was full of grief and regret, and it wasn’t loud enough to call her back.

Out in the Subaru, she sat for a few seconds with her forehead pressed to the steering wheel and her heart pounding a sick, shuddering rhythm in her chest. He didn’t come after her, and she didn’t blame him. Because she hadn’t just broken Rule Twelve, she had also shattered the unstated corollary, good old not-so-lucky number thirteen:
if you have a summer fling with a cowboy, for God’s sake, don’t fall for him
.

This isn’t just any old heartbu
rn. It’s a MegaFizz heartburn!

F
o
ster watched her brake lights disappear while he tried like heck to catch his breath and put his head back on straight. Which wasn’t easy when all the oxygen had gotten vacu-sucked out of the room, like he was standing in an air lock that’d just been vented, and any minute the outer doors would open up and
whoosh
, out he’d go, into outer space with all the other garbage.

Okay, maybe not. But that was about how it felt, or as if his insides had been removed, leaving his chest aching and hollow.

“It was the right thing to do,” he told Vader. “Better to end things now than let it go on and blow up later.”

The dog didn’t give him a “whuff” or a tail wag, just looked at him with a doggy expression that was either accusation or mild indigestion.

Restless, Foster prowled the downstairs, moving things that didn’t need to be moved, like the broken headstall hanging over the back of a chair and his white straw hat, which had found its way to the table next to the door, though not yet onto his head. It wasn’t until he had shuffled through a couple of catalogs that had come in since the Great Purge and rearranged the afghan twice that he admitted he was looking for his phone, that he needed to talk to the one person he trusted to make absolute sense, except sometimes when it came to her kids.

Ten minutes, three dust bunnies, and the can of whipped cream he and Shelby had emptied a couple of nights ago later, he found the phone under his nightstand.

He powered it up, mildly surprised that the battery still had a charge, and took a minute to remember how the menus worked.

Tish answered on the third ring, with a cheery “Hey, little brother. What’s cooking?”

“Ah . . .” He hesitated, suddenly not sure he was ready to talk about it, even with her. “Nothing much. What’s up with you guys?”

“Oh, you know. Summer leagues, barbecues, pool parties, episode number four hundred and two in the ongoing saga of ‘no, you can’t have your own phones at the ages of seven, six, and four’ . . . In other words, business as usual.” She laughed. “Which probably makes the single thing sound pretty good right about now, huh?”

Before, that would’ve gotten a “You know it.” Now, though, it brought a pang. “I guess.”

Her voice shifted. “Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t okay. He was torn up over losing what had seemed like the perfect relationship, and hated knowing that Shelby was hurting, too. And worse, that he’d been the one who’d done the hurting. Part of him wished that he could’ve felt elation rather than panic when she dropped the “I’m falling for you” bomb. He wasn’t that guy, though, couldn’t be that guy.

Problem was, if he told Tish the whole story, she would march up one side of him and down the other, and demand that he make it up to Shelby and ask her to give him another chance. So instead, he said, “I’m fine. Just wanted to say hi, check in on the spawn, that sort of thing.”

She wasn’t buying it. “Seriously, Foster. What’s wrong?”

“I sent Old Winslow another offer the other day, and for a change he didn’t tell me to go pound sand right off the bat. Told me to give him a week or two to think about it, and he’d get back to me.”

“That’s great news! I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

“Keep ’em crossed for all of us, not just me. This is a family thing. It’s going to need a little work, of course.” Okay, lots of work, but he was up for it. “You and the kids could come out, and Mom and Dad. It’ll be like old times. All of us back where we belong.”

“Whoa there, Sparky. No offense, but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again . . . You need to be doing this for you, not the rest of us.”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. Like it or not, you’re the only cowboy in the family. Mom and Dad are happy being condo dwellers, and I’ve got myself a white picket fence here in the burbs. Don’t get me wrong—I respect what you’re doing, but please tell me you’re doing it because you want the Double-Bar H for yourself, not because you’re trying to make something up to the rest of us, or Grandpa’s memory or something.”

Had the air suddenly gotten thinner all of a sudden? “It’s the right thing to do. I’m the one who lost the family’s ranch, so I’m the one who needs to get it back.”

“Family isn’t a piece of land. It’s family.”

“I know that, but the Double-Bar H is important, too. I don’t want us to lose those memories.”

“They’re memories. They stick with us wherever we go.”

“Ugh. Have you always been this annoying?” He kept his tone light, but something had gone shaky inside him.

“You only call me annoying when I’m telling you stuff you don’t want to hear.”

“Which is often. Admit it, you dig playing devil’s advocate.”

“Maybe, but only because I want what’s best for you.” Her tone went serious. “It’s because I love you, Foster, and I want you to be happy.”

“I . . .” He stalled out, not because he didn’t usually say it back, or because he was mad at her, but because the idea had suddenly gotten complicated. “Thanks, Tish, and right back at you. For now, though, I think I’m going to beat a retreat from this conversation. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure thing. Better yet, come visit.” She paused. “And, Foster?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me when you’re ready to talk about what’s really bothering you, okay?”

His chuckle felt rusty. “I will.” But after he disconnected, he stared at the phone for a long time, replaying the conversation, aware that while she had told him before not to buy back the Double-Bar H just because he thought he owed it to the family, this was the first time it had resonated a little.

But if he didn’t buy the ranch, what else would he do with himself?

He scowled around the bunkhouse, which was nice enough but hadn’t ever been intended as his final stop, and then out to his truck, which sat in the drive with its nose pointed down the road, as if saying
let’s go
.

“Heck with it.” He told Vader to stay put and headed for the truck, but not because he was hitting the road. No, he was headed for the barn. Horses made sense, even when nothing else did.

When he flipped on the barn lights, he got a chorus of hopeful whickers from the stalled horses, and felt, for the first time since Shelby came up on his porch and he got a look at her face, like he could breathe. Bypassing Brutus, he made straight for Loco’s stall. “Hey there, partner. You up for a ride?”

•   •   •

Shelby got Lizzie settled for the night, which wasn’t easy given that she was overtired, wired from the trail ride and too many cookies, and really wanted to sleep in the barn even though there weren’t any more foals due. On the plus side, though, Lizzie was worked up enough that she didn’t notice that her mother was on another planet, and not a happy, green-and-blue one. Something more like Mars—bleak, windy, and a weird color.

It was past eleven by the time Lizzie finally conked out. But even though Shelby’s body was exhausted, her head was far from ready to quit for the night. Her thoughts spun and her chest ached, and if removing her heart and setting it aside for a little while had been an option, she totally would’ve gone for it.

Unfortunately, she was stuck with her heart, and the ache that came with it. How had she let this happen? She didn’t want to be in almost-love, and if she did, she would’ve done it with someone who made more sense.

Right?

Finally giving up on the idea of sleep, she found her flip-flops and headed for the kitchen. Maybe she could eat herself into a sugar coma or, failing that, at least reorganize things for breakfast in the wake of Hurricane Rose and the Kitchen Gadgets of Doom.

Hey, that was almost a slogan. Or how about
Welcome to Mustang Ridge, where strangers are family and some of the family members are strange
?

She managed a tired chuckle as she came up the back stairs to the kitchen, but it was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. “This is stupid,” she told herself. “You should be in bed.”

“Amen, sister.” Krista lifted a fork. “Join the midnight snack club.” Seated at the butcher block counter, she had a messy plate in front of her and a glass of milk off to one side.

Shelby missed a step in surprise, but then gave a big sigh of relief as some of the terrible tightness loosened in her chest. “Bring it on. What’ve you got?”

“It’s one of Mom’s Napoleons. Don’t tell Gran.”

“Tell her what? As far as I see, you’re just getting rid of something that’ll upset her.” Snagging a fork from the drying rack, Shelby took the chair opposite her. “Make that
we’re
getting rid of it.” She dug in, feeling like she could finally breathe again after far too long. The first couple of forkfuls were just a chocolate binge, but eventually the taste worked its way past her misery. “Hey, this doesn’t suck.”

“Decent, huh? It’s no Herman, granted, but it’s got some texture.”

“Herman.” Shelby took a guilty look over her shoulder at the cold room. “Shoot. I need to feed him. Can’t believe I almost forgot.” Actually, she could.

“Gran didn’t do it?”

“She was pretty distracted this afternoon.” They both were.

“Yeah.” Krista grimaced. “This just in . . . they’re staying.”

It took Shelby a moment to reorient, but in a way she was grateful to focus on something other than the part of her that was labeled “Foster” and kept saying
I can’t believe I fell for him, I can’t believe I told him, I can’t believe I broke up with him
. “Your parents?”

“No, the cartoon chipmunks. Of course my parents.” She made a face. “Sorry for sniping. I’m in a mood, obviously. Anyway, it turns out that my mom has been wanting to come back for a while to—ahem—
share
her new culinary expertise with the guests, and she decided that now was the perfect time, what with Bertie going on maternity leave.” She paused. “And I’ll admit that after you and I talked about Gran, I mentioned to my dad that it’s getting to the point where she can’t do all of it on her own, even with a stellar assistant. But this wasn’t what I was thinking. No way, no how, and certainly not as a drop-in ‘Hi, we’re here, where should we put our six tons of luggage and kitchen crap?’ kind of thing!”

Shelby hesitated. “What did your dad say?”

“Not much. He’s happy to be back in his workshop and hanging out with Gramps, and isn’t going to go to war over this. Which means, yippee, I’ve got my parents back, indefinitely.”

“Um . . . congratulations?”

“Yeah. Not so much.” Krista sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. My dad is great in his own, nonconfrontational way, and I do love my mom. She was the first one on board with the dude ranch idea, and she helped me bring the others around. But when we actually sold off most of the stock and started building the cabins, she just . . . I don’t know. Decompressed or something. It doesn’t bother my dad—he’s just happy he’s got time to fiddle with his gadgets now—but even he admits that she’s changed. She used to be in charge of the books, while Gran did most of the cooking. Now she doesn’t want anything to do with the paperwork. She wants to be Emeril.”

“It can’t have been easy, being the daughter-in-law most of her life.”

“You’re right. And Gran . . . well, she has her ways. I sympathize with my mom, I really do. But that doesn’t change the fact that Gran’s an awesome ranch cook and she’s got a great system that works for the guests. Even Herman adds a little je ne sais quoi to things.”

“Yes. Yes, he does”

“Meanwhile, Mom . . .” Krista regarded a forkful of Napoleon. “She has flashes of brilliance in the kitchen, I’ll admit it. But she also has plenty of ‘what the hell is this?’ moments and routine flake-outs that weren’t a big deal when it was just us, but became a big problem when people started paying us to feed them at regular intervals.”

“I take it you can’t ban her from the kitchen?”

“Nope. She and Dad have equal shares in the ranch, along with my grandparents, Jenny, and me.” She grimaced. “And honestly? I don’t want to tell her she can’t be in the kitchen. She’s my mom, and she really loves cooking. I know, I know, this is business and I have to protect Gran. But still. I’m hoping we can come up with some sort of middle ground. Maybe Mom could do family meals and Gran can handle the guests . . . though that’s assuming they can find a way to share the same air.”

Shelby took a pointed look around at the pink plastic bins stacked haphazardly in the corner near the freezers, the as-seen-on-TV appliances that crowded out Gran’s enameled mixers and blenders, and the various jars and bottles, not all of them labeled, that had appeared on the storage shelves. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“Probably not.” Krista sighed. “I won’t ask you to run interference.”

“You don’t have to. It’s in my job description.”

“Not the way I remember it.”

“Please. You and Gran have done more than Lizzie and I can ever repay. You took us both in, gave her all the time and space she needed. Then you did the same for me when I didn’t even know I needed it, and . . . Darn it.” Shelby hung her head as her eyes filled. “Sorry. I . . . Shoot. I thought I had it under control. Sorry, ignore me, please.”