Harvest at Mustang Ridge (24 page)

Krista traced the writing and let out a soft breath. If this wasn’t a sign from the universe, a Big Foam Finger saying
yes, you know what you have to do,
then she didn’t know what was. Because the situations weren’t identical, but the message was clear, at least to her.

Family was what you made it, as was love. And sometimes that meant breaking the rules.

Pocketing the photo, she stuffed her feet in her boots and struck out along the trail, needing the air and the wide open. When she crested the hill and saw the bunkhouse, though, the air went thin and the wide open suddenly felt like it was crowding in. She made herself keep going, pushing herself up onto the porch and forcing herself to knock, even though he’d said he would leave the door open.

There was a scuffle and a “whuff,” then the sound of boots on the floor. Moments later, the door swung inward to reveal Wyatt, still dressed for the workday.

“Hey!” His face brightened. “You changed your mind!” He tugged her in for a kiss that started soft and gentle but heated quickly, until she was pressed up against him with her arms twined around his neck and a voice inside her saying,
You don’t have to do it tonight. You can wait. Enjoy the end of the season. Get through the ride-off. Get used to the idea yourself.

But she couldn’t, she knew. It would be too much like what he had done to her, back in the day.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked against her lips, then pressed a kiss to her cheek, her temple. “Or did you come for that cup of tea?”

“Actually, I came because there’s something I want to show you.” Then, God help her, something she wanted to tell him. And after that? Well, they would see. Because this was about to become either one of the best days of her life, or a complete train wreck.

“Y
ou found them!” Wyatt grinned at the picture that Krista had laid on the breakfast bar, then flipped it over and read the inscription on the back again. “I can’t believe you actually found them. What are the chances? We should ride up to the waterfall in the morning and see if we can find their names. Seamus, at least, should be up there.”

“I think he might be,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so normal when part of her was standing aside and looking at him, thinking,
This is the father of my unborn child
.

“You guys had it right all along, didn’t you?” he enthused. “Gran said you figured they were a few years younger than Jonah and Mary, but not Jeremiah’s generation. Except for the baby, of course.” His lips curved. “Blessing. That’s a nice name. I wonder what her story was, how she ended up left at the church? Seems like she got lucky, winding up here.”

“She lived here her whole life, with Jeremiah.” Her one and only. When had Blessing finally realized she
loved him? Or had it been part of her all her life, like the shape of her nose and the color of her eyes?

Something must have come through in her voice, because he glanced over. “How about that tea?”

“I don’t need tea.”

“Wine, then. Or cookies. You’re pale.”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.” He turned to face her and slid the photo aside, then pulled out the barstools at the kitchen counter. “Sit. I’ll get some wine.”

“Water’s fine.” It seemed like some sort of cruel cosmic joke that alcohol was off limits at a time like this.

The ice maker’s buzz was loud; the sound of water going into the glasses reminded her of the waterfall. And by the time he set her glass in front of her and took the other seat, with their knees bumping and his hand stretching across to the arm of her chair, his expression had gone serious, his eyes wary. “You can ask me anything, Krissy, you know that.”

She did. Just like she knew he would tell her the truth now, even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “If you close your eyes and look five years into your future, what do you see?”

To her surprise, he closed his eyes and thought about it for a few seconds, giving her a moment to watch him. A moment for her heart to shudder in her chest.

She didn’t want to do this. But what other choice did she have?

His eyes opened and found hers, and in them she saw regret. “You want me to tell you that you’re in the
picture, but I can’t say that. I can’t say much, really. I see myself still sculpting, maybe dancing with Ashley at her wedding—hopefully not to Kenny, but if that’s what she wants . . .” He lifted his hand from the back of her chair to touch Krista’s cheek. “I thought we were having fun. Can’t this be enough?”

She would’ve given anything to be able to say yes, but that second little pink line had changed everything. “I’ve tried to tell myself it’s enough.” She caught his hand and flattened his palm against her cheek, held it there. “It’s more than I’ve had before, and I don’t regret a second of the time we’ve spent together. I need you to know that. I need you to know that I”—
love you
—“care deeply for you. That’s not going to change, and neither will the memories we’ve made this summer.”

He was pale now, the stubble turned to a dark line on his tense jaw. “But you need the words, the promises.”

“I need to know there’s some potential for a future. I want a husband, Wyatt. Children. I’d give anything for you to be that husband, for those children to be yours.” Guilt stung as she skirted the edge of honesty, but she’d be damned if she trapped him. She would give him this one chance, and if he didn’t want her for her own sake, she would cut him loose. Then, later, she would tell him about the baby and they would make the necessary arrangements.

Arrangements.
Gawd, what a terrible word. And how she hated knowing that she’d be bringing her child into the world already saddled with things like visitation
and custodial agreements.
Don’t cry. Hold it together. You can do this.

“Krista . . .”

Her heart sank as she heard the answer in his voice, saw it in his eyes. “It’s okay. We had a deal.”

“It’s
not
okay.” He took her hands, gripped them hard. “I don’t want to promise you something I can’t deliver.”

“The future or the children?”

“Both.” He shook his head. “I’m not in the right place for this. Maybe in a few years. . . . If we could just keep bumping on the way we are for a while, and see how things go . . .”

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. But that wasn’t an option anymore. Voice cracking, she said, “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t be with you, loving you like I do, and know that you’re not on the same page.”

Love
. The word registered in his eyes.

She nodded. “I love you. Please don’t say it back, even if you think you might feel it. Please don’t say anything about it. Please, just . . .” She swallowed a sob, knowing tears would make it worse for both of them. “Say thank you or something.”

“Thank you.”
He leaned in and kissed her, long and hard, and with a desperate edge that sparked the same greedy need inside her.

But that would only make things worse, she knew. So she put a hand on his chest and eased him away.

His eyes met hers, searching for something she didn’t think she could give him. “What happens now?”

“Now . . .” She swallowed hard, feeling her heart rip raggedly in her chest. “I think you should leave.”

*

Wyatt sat stunned—by the words
you should leave
, by the way they cut into him, and by the part of him that bellowed like a wounded bull, even though he usually lived his life with one foot out the door. She had told him she loved him. Now she was kicking him out.

He wished he could say he didn’t deserve it, that there wasn’t anything he could’ve done different, but they both knew the truth. “Can I stay through the ride-off?” Was that his voice? It sounded like hell.

She wanted to tell him no; he could see it in her eyes. But she said, “If you want. Don’t feel like you have to, though. I can get someone to fill in for the freestyle.”

The walls were very close, pressing in on him and making it hard to breathe. “So that’s it, then.” Anger edged his voice. “Thanks for the help, Wyatt, now buzz off?”

She paled. “I’m sticking to our original agreement, just ending it a little early. Don’t worry. You’ll get your full pay.”

He almost told her where she could stick his pay. “This isn’t about the money. It was
never
about the money.”

“No,” she agreed. “It was about bringing things full circle. I think we’ve done that, only this time I’m cutting you loose rather than waiting around for you to bail. Can you really blame me?” But his heart turned over at the catch in her voice.

What the hell was he doing? She had given him the choice, told him what he needed to do to stay. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t commit, even to the one woman who made him wish he could. “No,” he said. “I don’t blame you.” He pushed his chair back with a wood-on-wood screech. “I’ll be gone by morning.”

*

Krista didn’t know how she made it out of the bunkhouse when all she wanted to do was stay, didn’t know how she took the path when her eyes were drenched with tears. Somehow, though, she found herself back at the ranch, standing in the parking lot and staring up at the stars.

Most of the time, she could tip her head back, think of the generations of Skyes that had looked up at the same stars, and remember that her problems were small in the grand scheme. Not tonight, though. Tonight, the sky just looked bleak and cold, and the stars looked very far away. Even the main house seemed big and black in the darkness, like a fortress, her bedroom cool and empty. The barn was the only place that seemed alive, with rustles and thumps echoing as the horses picked at their hay and shifted in their stalls.

She dragged her feet down the aisle, trying not to think that she wouldn’t hear Wyatt’s voice coming from the tack room tomorrow morning, wouldn’t see him at the head of the line when they rode out. Wouldn’t wake up beside him, feel him moving over her, inside her.

Ever. Again.

That stopped her in her tracks, made her fight for breath. She struggled for control, hearing a strange, wounded-animal noise and knowing on some level that she was the one making it.

Staggering, stumbling, she bypassed Lucky and Jupiter and made for the second stall from the end, where the knee-high stall guard contained the barn’s smallest occupant. Fresh tears gathered as she said, “Hey, Marshmallow. Can I hang with you for a while? I could use a friend.” One that wouldn’t ask questions or make suggestions, wouldn’t ask what had gone wrong.

Gathering a couple of flakes of hay, she spread it in the corner and lay down on the nest it made. And, curling up in a tight ball, she put her face in her hands and let go.

The sobs that tore from her throat, raw and feral, sent the pony scampering to the other side of his stall. Krista couldn’t stop them, though. They poured out of her in a ragged, hurting wave that crashed over her, held her under, and left her helpless to do anything but remember.

She wept for the moment she added up the symptoms and realized that her life would never be the same, for the flash of panic on Wyatt’s face when she said
love
, the sharp grief when she told him to go. She cried knowing that she would be getting huge and awkward, and doing it alone, going into labor alone, learning how to be a mom alone. Surrounded by family, yes, but still very alone.

The hay rustled nearby and a soft muzzle touched her hand, blowing warm breath on her skin. Then, spurred by the same instinct that made him move so slowly around the scared or physically challenged kids, the one that spurred him to nuzzle the ones who needed him the most, little Marshmallow gave a sigh, folded his stubby legs, and collapsed into the bedding beside her.

“Oh.” Fresh tears scalded her eyes—at the gesture, at the knowledge that this was her best option for cuddling, starting now—she wrapped her arms around the sturdy neck, buried her face in the pony’s thick mane, and wept while the man she loved packed up his bags and drove away. Again.

*

It felt wrong, how little time it took Wyatt to clear his things out of the bunkhouse and load Old Blue with his tools and scrap. Forty-five minutes from start to finish, and he had his bags in the cab and Klepto standing near the couch where his bed used to be, looking up at Wyatt with a canine expression of
what gives?

“We’re hitting the road.” At least he wasn’t leaving a note this time. But the hollow ache in his chest and the burning in his eyes were the same. Worse, even. Because this time he wasn’t just leaving behind a college relationship built on a whole lot of what-ifs and future stuff. He was leaving behind a beautiful, brilliant woman who impressed the hell out of him on so many levels. She challenged him, went toe-to-toe with him, made him want to be a better man.

He wasn’t though. He was the same guy he’d always been.

“Come on.” He whistled for Klepto. “Get in the truck.”

He hated closing the door, knowing he’d never again open it and hear her voice. Never again soak in the hot tub with her, or sit on the porch and watch the sun go down. And he’d never again carry her up the stairs to the loft and toss her on the big bed and follow her down, or wake up to her kiss and a round of lazy lovemaking before getting started with their days. He would miss the work, miss the horses—especially Jupiter—miss the ever-changing parade of personalities that came through the swinging doors of the dining hall wearing their starchy new shirts and unscuffed boots.

“Damn it.” Now the burn had turned to moisture, wetting his cheeks and making him feel like a fool. For coming. For staying. For leaving.

All of it.

Turning on his heel, he strode down the porch steps and got in Old Blue. Firing the engine, he drove off, doing his damnedest not to look back at a long, narrow log cabin that hadn’t ever been his to keep. And, as he turned onto the road and rolled past the main entrance, where big solar lights illuminated the stone pillars and threw slivers of light on the metal archway, he found himself thinking he should’ve made it two-sided, so the people on this side would see a different message.
NOW LEAVING M
USTANG
RIDGE
.
Which he’d always meant to do, after all.

Klepto, curled in a ball on the passenger side, packed in with the bags, gave a low, anxious whine.

“It’s back to just you and me, buddy. How does home sound?” Even as he said it, he knew it sounded wrong—Denver wasn’t home any more than his and Sam’s apartment during college, or any of the other spots he’d put down his shallow excuse for roots over the years. Just places, a set of GPS coordinates he could call his own until it came time to move on again. “Maybe it’s time,” he said. “How does California sound to you? Not LA, of course. Maybe the desert.”

The dog didn’t answer, just sighed and plopped his head back down.

Traffic was light and Wyatt’s foot was heavy on the gas, and he did the four-hour drive in two and a half despite the heavy load in the back of the truck. When he pulled in, the motion-activated lights did their thing, illuminating the cabin and adjoining workshop. He hit the garage door remote and the big door accordioned up, giving him plenty of room to pull the truck inside.

The door rolled back down as he got out of the truck, leaving Klepto to sleep, and when the panel sealed shut, it was like he’d just closed out the rest of the world. The insulated walls blocked the sounds of the nighttime forest and the blowers came on automatically, stirring the air and adding a neutral white noise he usually found soothing.

Now, it set his teeth on edge. So did the overhead lights, with their cool fluorescents and almost complete lack of shadows. And the way it was too damn easy to
swing the block and tackle over his truck and unload the heavy pieces.

It was all smooth and calibrated, exactly as he’d built it to be. It shouldn’t have felt soulless, like it was the exact opposite of the pioneer spirit, with none of the danger and adventure that came from making something out of nothing.