Firelight at Mustang Ridge (8 page)

Rising, he held it out. “It's not perfect. Still pretty, though.”

Her fingers brushed his palm as she took it. She studied the flawed stone, then him. “You've got a good eye.”

“That, and decent luck when it comes to finding gems. Not so much with other stuff.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out over the river, then surprised himself by asking, “How much did Gran tell you about my dad?”

If she was startled by the change of subject, she didn't show it. “She said he was a popular guy, and that the only thing he loved more than prospecting was you.”

Ah, hell. Chest gone tight, he said, “And my mom. He loved her more than anything, I think. He never remarried, never even really dated. He used to talk to her all the time, too, like she was still there. On special days—my birthday, their anniversary—we'd go to the cemetery, leave a couple of our best stones, and tell her what we'd been up to. Just checking in, you know? Usually, it was all about how I was doing in school, or
the jobs he'd been doing in the shop. Then we found the diamonds.”

“And everything changed,” she said. Because of course she knew firsthand how fast the world could shift on its axis, for better or worse.

He nodded. “Things sped up, got complicated. Dad and I started the business, got into the eco-friendly R and D side of things, broke ground at Windfall. . . . After a while, though, it started feeling like it was all complicated, all business, so we decided to buy ourselves a couple of presents to go along with the work. I designed a game room for the new house, with plenty of bells and whistles, and he decided to upgrade his motorcycle from an old beater to a new Harley.”

Danny's quick indrawn breath said she'd made the connection.

“I was a stupid kid,” he continued. “High on striking it rich. I told him he had to buy the biggest, baddest machine in the place, the new V-Rod, instead of the touring bike he had his eye on.” One that would've ridden more like the bike he'd been tooling around on for years. “He'd only had it for a week when he missed the corner at Hangman's Curve and went over the guardrail.” His voice was flat, his blood gone cold. “I don't even know why he was on that road. He always told me to stay off it, that it was a killer.” He looked over at Danny, pretty sure he didn't deserve the sympathy he saw in her big brown eyes. “That was eight years ago today.”

Suddenly, his watch gave the little double beep that said
Right this moment eight years ago, Officer Blundt called to say, “I'm sorry to tell you this, son, but there's been an accident
.
”
Always before, the
beep-beep
had brought
him back to that moment—the wrenching grief, the disbelief.

Not this year, though. This year, the
beep-beep
spurred him to action, telling him to get on with it and take what he wanted. What he thought they both wanted. So, as the noise faded, he leaned in and kissed Danny like it made all the sense in the world. Which it suddenly did.

*   *   *

Sam's lips were firm, his cheeks and chin stubbled, and those big, beautiful hands came up to frame Danny's face as his lips claimed hers and his tongue slid in to touch, taste. Take. He tasted of grief and a sharp edge of loneliness that reached inside her and made her yearn. But at the same time the kiss lit her system, hammering heat into her veins.

Maybe she should have been surprised by the kiss, definitely by the timing, but they had been headed this way since he first yelled at her and she beaned him with that paperback. And death had a way of stripping away pretenses.

He had come to her, needed her.

Tenderness swept through her even as her neurons hummed as if she were climbing and had her belay ropes strung too tight. Not just because he was a heck of a kisser, but because it was
Sam
.

He shifted against her, slanted his mouth across hers and kissed her again, then again, their bodies straining together at the edge of a long, hard fall. Her pulse hammered in her ears; his thrummed beneath her fingertips when she touched his temple, his throat, the hollow of his collarbone.

“Danny,” he said as he broke the kiss, his voice a
harsh rasp that sent new vibrations down her nerve endings. “I'm—”

“Don't you dare apologize.” She didn't want to hear that he hadn't meant to kiss her, that it had been just a meaningless impulse.

“Trust me, that's the last thing on my mind.” He cupped her face in those big, rough-palmed hands. “But I really hadn't planned on making a move today. I didn't even mean to come here. It all just sort of happened. I don't want to rush things.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists and felt his solid strength. “I'm glad you did. And I'm good at catching up.” Even better at deciding how far she was willing to go, how deep she wanted to get.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “When can I see you again? Officially this time. Drinks, dinner, the works.”

Pleasure spun through her, but she said, “Honestly? I'd rather play with your rocks.”

His laughter echoed off the surrounding stones. “You've definitely been talking to Gran.”

“I have, and she's got me intrigued.” Plus, she was more interested in Sam the prospector than Sam the rich guy. “Take me rock hunting. Pretty please. I want to see what it's all about.”

O
n Saturday, Danny got to Mustang Ridge early enough to get a farewell strangle-hug from Christy and turn down a too-big tip from Sloan while Krista, Gran, and Rose led a conga line onto the shuttle bus, keeping the guests laughing and clowning around like they were just arriving for their vacations rather than leaving. Danny's ears were ringing by the time the shuttle doors closed, and part of her said,
Phew, peace and quiet
. But when she stood with the others, waving as the bus headed up the driveway, she felt a definite pang.

“Well?” Krista said. “What do you think after week one? Are you ready to head for the hills?”

Making a show of clearing out one ear, Danny said, “Well, they were a little loud there toward the end . . .”

“Danny!”
The whoop came from the other side of the parking lot, where a brunette flung herself out of a barely stopped Jeep. “You're here! I can't believe you're actually here!”

“Speaking of loud,” Gran drawled good-naturedly.

“Jenny!” Danny laughed as Krista's twin, who was identical except for having short, dyed-dark hair and a
sharper edge to her jeans-and-boots outfit, bulleted toward her. They met in a quick, excited hug.

“And here's Shelby!” Krista said as a sleek black sedan pulled in. Moments later, a woman emerged and headed their way.

With scarlet lipstick and painted nails, the newcomer might've been intimidating if it weren't for her wide, friendly smile and the way she reached out as she approached. “Danny! I can't believe we haven't met yet. Foster says the guests adored you. You're so wonderful to help out!”

Not sure which of those statements to focus on first, Danny returned the other woman's hand-clasp-cheek-kiss. “It's lovely to meet you!” She had been looking forward to this, too, after hearing Krista's stories about Shelby giving up a lucrative advertising career in Boston to marry Mustang Ridge's head wrangler and stay in Wyoming with her young daughter.

Shelby spun away to do quick hugs-and-kisses with Krista and Jenny, then announced dramatically, “You wouldn't
believe
the week I've had!”

“Let's hit the road,” Jenny urged. “You can tell us on the way into town.”

They piled into her Jeep, with Danny riding shotgun. She didn't know if Krista had done that on purpose—she'd had to 'fess up about the claustrophobia when it came to getting the canoe paddles out from their small, dark storage space beneath the boathouse—or if it had just worked out that way, but she was grateful to be able to crack the window and stretch out her legs.

“Let me guess, Shelby,” Krista said. “Your week from hell involved the Burpee Baby account.”

The other woman gave a dramatic shudder. “I knew I was in trouble the minute the client, Amanda, said she had lined up a dozen of her best customers and their little ones for the shoot, and that her husband would be taking the photos. That should've been my cue to exit stage left, let them flail, and then, after the fact, hire professionals to do it right. But—silly me—I sympathize that she's on a budget, and the setup sounded like it had the potential to be cute. So I caved when she asked me to direct the shoot.”

“And wound up covered in drool while juggling screaming human larvae?” suggested Jenny, earning a whack from her sister, who had texted Wyatt twice in the past half hour to check on Abby.

“The babies weren't the problem,” Shelby said. “It was the
mothers
. Every one of them wanted her special darling front and center of the shot, and a few of them didn't care what it took.” She rolled her eyes. “I even caught one of them making scary faces at the baby sitting next to hers, trying to make it cry. And Amanda's husband was no help. He just sat in a corner, surfing the Web on his phone and waiting for us to get the shot set up the way we wanted.”

“Sounds to me like the photog was the sanest one in the group,” Jenny put in. “As usual.”

“Anyway,” Shelby said, “some of the moms got pretty annoyed when I started saying stuff like, ‘What in God's name did you feed that kid this morning?' and ‘No, we're not changing little Suzie's outfit six more times and doing some solo shots for her portfolio, but I'm happy to give you Jenny Skye's contact info if you want to do a studio session.'”

“Gee, thanks,” Jenny drawled.

“What are friends for? In the end, though, we got the shots we needed for the print ads and online push we're planning for good old Burpee's Babies. Best of all, nobody looking at those angelic little faces will ever know that the photo was snapped in the single split second between little Billy picking his nose and baby Aimee projectile-vomiting on that cute little stuffed dog she's holding.”

Krista nodded. “Kind of like how, when you look at a horse-for-sale ad, you have to assume that the picture shows the horse on his best day ever, and might or might not be from this decade.”

“Or online dating,” Jenny put in, “where it's fifty-fifty whether a guy's profile picture bears any resemblance to the person who knocks on your door. Or so Ruth tells me.”

Remembering what Jenny had told her about her veterinarian husband's admin assistant—purple-haired, sixtysomething, and in love with life—Danny said, “I thought she was dating Nick's father.”

Jenny nodded. “True, but she's taken up mate-shopping for her friends.”

“The Bingo ladies?” Krista asked, amused.

“You betcha. A few of the guys, too. She loves browsing, and they're grateful that they don't have to wade through all the ads and figure out the hidden red flags. She'll even help with the first couple of e-mails, though they're on their own for the actual dating stuff.”

Shelby leaned back in her seat. “I am profoundly grateful that I don't have to worry about that anymore.”

“Hear, hear,” Krista seconded, and Jenny gave a fervent nod.

Then they all looked at Danny. Even Jenny, who was driving.

She put up both hands. “Don't look at me. Online dating is the last thing on my wish list.”

“So what
is
on your wish list?” Shelby asked with a wicked glitter.

“A perfect dress for me to wear to Krista's wedding. So give me some hints here. Are we talking eveningwear, ruffled calico, or what?”

“Ha!” Jenny hooted. “Subject change on Aisle Five!”

“And quite neatly done, too,” Shelby said. “Especially when it brings up something we really do need to discuss.” Fixing Krista with a look, she lowered her voice to intone, “Because
someone
doesn't have her wedding dress yet, which makes it awfully difficult to nail down the theme.”

“She . . . Really?” Danny gawked at Krista.

“Yes, really,” Shelby confirmed.

“It'll be fine,” Krista said firmly. “I'll find something, but I'm going to do it on my terms. I've let Mom have her way with the decorations, but there's no way I'm letting her pick out my dress. You should see some of the things she's bookmarked on my computer.” She shuddered. “They're like bad cake toppers come to life.” But there was a lick of panic in her eyes.

“I hate to be the one to point it out,” Jenny said, “since I'm usually the one who gets Mom going, but you may be cutting off your nose to spite your face on this one. It's one thing to prove that you can have an awesome wedding without custom making everything and spending
a gazillion dollars—especially, hello, when you own the perfect venue. But if you don't find a dress soon, you're going to be getting married in jeans and a Mustang Ridge polo shirt.”

“This is Krista and Wyatt we're talking about,” Shelby pointed out. “I could totally see them getting married in their riding clothes. Though I reserve the right to bling the heck out of mine.”

“No bling on the pockets or inseam,” Jenny cautioned. “It scratches the hell out of the saddle.”

Shelby nodded solemnly. “So noted.”

“What I don't get,” Jenny said, “is why you didn't drag us all into Laramie for the full-on
Say Yes to the Dress
experience five seconds after Wyatt proposed. I mean, you always wanted to play wedding when we were kids, right down to sneaking Great-Gramma Abby's lace tablecloth out of the sideboard to use as a veil. I would've thought you'd be rabid for a full-on princess dress.”

“I was four months pregnant when Wyatt proposed,” Krista said drily. “That's not exactly the right time to be trying on form-fitting dresses if you don't enjoy looking like a satin-covered sausage link.”

“You weren't that huge, and corset backs are pretty forgiving.”

“It's not that I'm
not
going to get a dress.” Krista scowled at the road ahead. “I just haven't found one yet. I'm looking, though, and I'll know it when I see it.”

“Have you asked Bootsy?” Shelby asked. “I know she runs the tack store, but she sells plenty of clothes, too, and she's got some serious style. She might have catalogs you could look through.”

“Been there, done that, too many doilies and ruffles. It's like the Western wear designers hear ‘bridal' and head straight for the 1800s, and not in a good way.” Krista shook her head. “Nope. I want something casual and comfortable, but that still says I'm the bride. Bonus points for pockets.”

Jenny snorted. “For what, your keys? Maybe a couple of sugar cubes?”

“Oh, shut up. It's the principle.” To Danny, she said, “As far as what you should wear, that's up to you. You're feeling floor-length sequins? Go for it. You'd rather rock a sundress? That works, too. Heck, jeans and hiking boots are fine by me. I just want you to be there and enjoy yourself.”

“Which is why we're here,” Jenny said cheerfully to Danny. “Along with wanting to hang out with you, that is. Because the way we see it, a wedding is a wedding, and that involves getting dolled up. So you're getting a dress whether you like it or not.”

“But that doesn't have to mean lace. For a little Western town, Three Ridges has some decent shopping options.” Shelby pointed to a storefront as Jenny pulled into a parking spot right by the front door. “Welcome to Another Fyne Thing!”

The wide main street had lines of cars parked on both sides and some bustling sidewalk foot traffic. Most of the storefronts were squat and square, with facades that seemed to be channeling an old gold-rush town, or maybe the set of a spaghetti Western. There was a saloon called Spurr's Bar and Grill, a bookstore-slash-teashop called Read Me/Eat Me, and a whole lot of tourists in brand-new boots and Stetsons, mixed in with locals in
their battered counterparts. The scene reminded Danny of Mustang Ridge, really, with tourist amenities layered on top of sturdy old structures that had seen the heyday of the cattle boom. Like the Disney version of the Wild West.

Seeing the magic words painted on the wide glass windows of Another Fyne Thing—
UNIQUE VINTAGE AN
D REPURPOSED ITEMS
—Danny grinned, relieved that they weren't headed for froufrou bridal land. “Rock on with the recycling!”

“I told you Danny is our kind of girl.” Jenny hooked an arm through hers. “Come on! Let's see what Della's got on the racks today.” She shot a glittering look back at Krista. “Who knows? Maybe you'll find a nice shiny polyester wedding dress with poufy shoulders, lots of sequins, and hoops you could fit a pony under. Mom would have a cow.”

“I'm not doing this to torture her,” Krista practically wailed. “I swear!”

A small brass bell gave a cheerful
ding-a-ling
when they opened the door and piled through, with Shelby calling, “Yoo-hoo, Della. Trouble's here!”

The store was bigger than it looked from the outside, with high, airy ceilings and thick beams that made Danny think it might have been a warehouse or factory at some point in the past. Now, though, the beams were wrapped with shirts and capris tacked up in disembodied hugs and high kicks, and mismatched sneakers hung from cables high above, dangling from their tied-together laces. One wall held a rack of hats and boots, another a long line of full-length dresses topped with signs like
CATTLEMAN'S BALL
,
FLOWIN
G AND FLIRTY
, and
DATE NI
GHT
. The center of the space overflowed with circular racks of hanging clothes, bookcases filled with folded jeans and paired-up shoes, and a glass-topped counter that held jewelry and a register.

The bell was still doing its
ding-a-ling
thing when a perky brunette in her late teens bounced through a doorway on the hat wall, wearing a screaming purple tank top, a ruffled skirt, and a pair of old-school leather hiking boots. “Mom's on the phone,” she announced at top volume, like she was shouting over music that the others couldn't hear. “She said she'll be out in a minute, and you guys should make yourselves at home.”

Shelby inflated her lungs as if to holler back, then grinned and exhaled before saying in a normal voice, “Thanks, Tiffany. We're looking for stuff to wear to a wedding. Any suggestions?”

“A dress, maybe? They're over here.” She led them to the wall, stopping between
SASSY SUNDRESS
ES
and
DATE NIGHT
.
“Would you like to try some on?”

“I think we'll look through them first,” Jenny said solemnly. “But then, yeah. Try-ons would be good.”

The teen waved vaguely to a curtained-off area in the corner, near where long mirrors were hung intentionally crooked and a row of secondhand boots sat beneath a long wooden bench. “Yell if I can help you with anything else.”

“Will do,” Krista said, giving a good-humored eye roll as the girl drifted off to the front of the store, where she stood staring out at the foot traffic like a kid who'd been grounded and couldn't go out and play.