“Tough day?” Krista’s voice held a thread of amusement.
“I’m not the one who was sitting in the kitchen on a midnight date with our boys B and J.”
“You would’ve been if I came down fifteen minutes later.”
“Good point.” Shelby looked up at the sky. The moon was on its downswing, the stars more prominent than before. “You were there first, though. Everything okay?”
Krista dug into her sundae. “Yeah, I was just . . . I don’t know, thinking things through.”
“Ranch things?”
“Ranch things. Family things. Guy things.”
“You’ve got a guy? Why didn’t I know that?”
“Because he’s not my guy anymore.”
“Ah. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” But she dug into her bowl with a vengeance. Then she exhaled and set her spoon aside. “Okay, maybe I’m sorry, but more that I put so much of myself into something that I should’ve known wasn’t going anywhere. Things worked so well between us in college that I thought . . . I don’t know. That it would work in real life, too. Only it turned out that our ideas of ‘real life’ were too far apart.” She shook her head. “It’s so obvious now, I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”
“Don’t.” Shelby wanted to reach out to her, but wasn’t sure exactly how, so she took a bite of ice cream, instead. Then, as her temples throbbed with impending brain freeze, she said, “Trust me, it’s not worth doing the hindsight-is-twenty-twenty thing. Or only a little, to try and take the lessons learned, and then move on.”
Krista shifted to look at her in the darkness. “Is that what you’ve done?”
“More or less.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, spooning up calories and appreciating the dark, quiet night, before Krista said, “So, tit for tat. What brings you out for therapeutic ice cream this evening?”
Shelby hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m just feeling . . . unsettled, I guess.”
Krista glanced at her. “Homesick?”
“No, it’s not that. At least I don’t think so.” Home was just . . . home. She didn’t miss it, didn’t really think about it. Which should have surprised her more than it did.
“Are you worried about Lizzie?”
“Always.” But she sighed. “It wasn’t her today, at least not directly. It was me. I got irritated with her and took it out on Foster.”
“Foster? I thought Stace was teaching you.”
“She had something to do, so he filled in.” She was guessing there, but it seemed the most likely explanation. “I guess I owe you a ‘you were right and I was wrong’ on Foster. He really is sweet, deep down inside. He sure put up with my Cranky McBitchy Pants routine like a trouper.”
“What did I tell you? He’s the best. He’s been working here six, maybe seven years now, since the first summer we went dude. I’ve never seen anyone better with the horses and cattle, and the guests love the strong, silent routine.”
It took an effort, but Shelby squelched the urge to ask anything more about him, partly because she wasn’t a big fan of gossip, and partly because she didn’t want to give Krista any ideas about her and Foster. “Anyway, he handled himself really well, even when I tried to bite his head off after the lesson.”
“How was the ride up to that point?”
“Fun. Loco is an absolute doll.”
“Duh.”
“I know, right?” Shelby could finally laugh at herself a little. “Here’s poor Foster, trying to help me out by putting all this thought into how we can get Lizzie comfortable with the horses. He lets me ride a lovely babysitter of a horse and does his best to make me look like a star in front of my kid, and how do I thank him? I snarl at him for doing exactly what we’d agreed, which was to get Lizzie involved in my riding.”
“Aw, Foster’s tough. He can take it.”
Shelby thought about that V of skin at his throat beneath his snap-studded shirt, and how he wore the shirt because it would peel off easy if he got in trouble. Which got her thinking about the noise those snaps would make, the feel of them giving way beneath her fingers . . . And he’s doing you a favor. Don’t complicate things any more than you already have. “He shouldn’t have to take anything like that from me,” she insisted. “I need to do better. Lizzie needs to know she’s safe, no matter what.”
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“When do you get to feel safe? Or, heck, when do you get to do something for yourself?”
Though sorely tempted to take a monumental bite of her melting sundae, Shelby sighed and let the spoon clink against the side of her bowl. “I do plenty for myself back home. Lunches out. Pedicures. The occasional chocolate binge.”
“Dates? Vacations?”
“Hello, pot? This is the kettle.”
“We’re not talking about me anymore.”
“I vote we backtrack.”
“Overruled.” Krista grinned. “Look, I know you’re here for Lizzie’s sake, and this probably wouldn’t be your first choice for an extended summer vaca.”
Shelby fidgeted with her spoon. “I like it here.”
“Glad to hear it, but that doesn’t change my point. Even though this summer is about Lizzie, it can be a little about you, too. In fact, it might be better that way. It can’t be easy for her, knowing you took the whole summer off from your job and came all the way out here just so she can be around the horses. That’s its own sort of pressure, don’t you think?”
“She doesn’t have a clue that’s what’s going on.”
“Are you sure? Kids understand more than you think sometimes.”
Shelby almost said, “Talk to me when you’re a mom,” but she held it in. “If she knows that much, then she knows there’s no pressure.”
“Sometimes there’s a difference between knowing something and believing it, deep down inside.”
Shelby frowned. “You’re assuming she knows how much of this summer is aimed at her. I never put it that way, never even hinted at it.”
“She’s a thinker.”
“She’s nine.” But how much did she really know about how her daughter’s mind worked? The last time they’d had a real, back-and-forth conversation, Lizzie was seven and Mr. Pony was brand-new. The knowledge ached like a pulled muscle.
“All I’m saying is that it can’t be easy being the focus of all this attention, even if it’s subtle.”
That resonated, and not in a good way. “So I should . . . what? Ignore her half the time?”
“Now you’re being snippy.” But Krista didn’t sound offended. “I’m just saying it might be good for her to see you doing something for yourself here, too. You know, having a little fun, getting out, enjoying yourself.”
“Riding was fun.” Surprisingly so.
“But not your choice to start with. Try again.”
“Softball with Stace?”
Krista laughed. “Not if it makes you sound like you’re suggesting a recreational root canal. Look, you don’t have to come up with anything right now. This isn’t a test and you’re not being graded. I’m just saying you should think about getting out a little, having a little fun.” She nudged her with an elbow. “Being a little naughty.”
“Watch it, or you’re going to get me in trouble with Rule Twelve.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
• • •
Between work, riding, a trip into town, and exploring the ranch’s activities with Lizzie, the week flew by so fast that Shelby was startled to hit the kitchen for her afternoon shift and see wings, burgers, pulled pork, and corn bread listed on the master wipe board.
There was no sign of Gran, but the familiar blue-and-white bowl sat on the steel counter, covered with its saucy red-checked towel, so she said, “Hey, Herman, what gives? I thought barbecue night was on Fridays.”
“It is,” answered a deep, booming voice.
Shelby jolted, then la
ughed back over her shoulder. “For a second I thought I was going over to the dark side.”
Gran stepped in from the hallway and said in her normal voice, “Talking to the sourdough, you mean?”
“I don’t mind that part. It’s him talking back that worries me.”
“Give it time. We all go a little crazy out here—it just takes different forms, depending on how you look at the world. I chat with my bread, Arthur pretends it’s still the ’seventies—minus the shag rug and all his hair—Eddie married Rose, and Krista has her rescues. Who knows how it’ll show up in you?”
“Fortunately—or unfortunately, I suppose, depending on how you look at it—Lizzie and I won’t be here long enough to contract full-blown ranch-itis.” Though she had a feeling the place would stick with them long after Labor Day. Maybe not the way she had hoped in terms of the horses—over the past week, Lizzie hadn’t done much more than sit on the bleachers with her whistle, playing on her iPad while Shelby rode—but they’d had some other fun mom-daughter adventures, storing up experiences they never could’ve gotten in the city.
“Poosh.” Gran waved that off. “Look at Eddie and Rose. Last I heard, they were taking drag racing lessons—drag racing!—at some track in Ohio. And Jenny is down in Belize, living in a tent and eating bugs or something while filming one of those reality TV shows. We’re not normal, I tell you.” She grinned evilly at Shelby. “You’re already losing track of the days. That’s the first symptom of ranch-itis, and once you start the slide, there’s no turning back.”
“Is it really Friday?”
“All day.”
“Jeez. Guess I must be having fun.” And she was, really, but just not in the way she’d expected. She liked riding Loco, liked having the huge outdoors to wander with Lizzie, seeing everything from purple flower-filled fields to the neighboring ranch’s buffalo and ostrich, and the occasional tantalizing glimpse of the free-ranging horses that gave the ranch its name. She hadn’t seen any predators yet, but Krista had mentioned finding mountain lion prints the other day. In a weird way, though, it didn’t feel all that different from the city. Shelby carried her pepper spray, stayed aware of her and Lizzie’s surroundings, and made sure someone back at the main house knew where they had gone on their rambles. And even though Lizzie hadn’t made the big breakthrough they both wanted, Shelby thought she was making more eye contact, smiling more.
Maybe. Hopefully.
“So,” she said to Herman. “I guess that means it’s barbecue day?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gran said in her Herman voice.
Thinking it sounded like Cookie Monster after he’d been kicked in the nuts, Shelby stifled a grin. “Want me to get started on the wings?”
“Sounds good. We’ll work on the corn bread.” Gran tucked Herman under her arm. “And don’t forget the bonfire later tonight. Marshmallows and gossip, be there or be square.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for all the s’mores in the world. We’ll be there.”
But by the time the stars came out and the bonfire was under way, Lizzie was tired and withdrawn, and after a brief debate with herself, Shelby left her daughter with her phone close at hand and a horse movie on her iPad, and went down to the party alone for the second week in a row.
And, for the second week in a row, she found herself hesitating at the edge of the lake. This time, though, it wasn’t because she was ducking Krista and the others. It was because she wanted to see someone else more.
She wasn’t sure if Foster had been avoiding her, or if he’d just been busy with his normal duties and hadn’t had the time to find her and say hi. Not that he would’ve had any real reason to come find her. Unless he’d wanted to, in which case he would have.
Right?
“Note to self,” she said. “Get a grip.” She wasn’t the silly sixteen-year-old version of herself who’d fallen stupid in love with the captain of the football team two towns over, only to find out too late that he had girlfriends in three different high schools. And she wasn’t the starry-eyed romantic she’d been at twenty, when she’d fallen for Patrick because he’d been everything her father wasn’t, or so she’d thought. No, she was a grown-up and a mom who had learned that her hormones had some seriously bad judgment in the guy department. Or maybe they had wised up, too, because there was no arguing that Foster was a good man. He was quietly thoughtful, good with animals and kids, and responsible as the day was long. But even if she was interested in more than a “what if” sort of way, she didn’t have any reason to think he felt the same sort of va-voom she did. He’d been nothing but professional.
Which made him a safe crush, come to think.
Hello, head case.
Laughing at herself, she headed for the dock, shucked off her boots, and stuck her feet into the water, shivering as the cold bit in. It felt more refreshing than painful this week. Did that mean it was getting warmer, or was she cowboying up?
“Ready for a swim?” Foster asked from close behind her.
This time she managed not to jump out of her skin, barely. Hoping he couldn’t see her blush, she twisted back to grin up at him. “Not unless this pond comes with a heater. I like my creature comforts.”
Don’t babble, she told herself, and stifled an inner laugh. When was the last time she’d gotten flustered talking to a guy? She worked with men all the time, from the hot UPS guy all the girls in the office drooled over to the high-rolling creative directors of huge companies, and they didn’t get to her one bit. This guy, though—this cowboy—had her tripping over her words.
It’s the atmosphere, she told herself, and the fact that there’s a limited pool of Y chromosomes here. If she had met him in the city, he would’ve blended into the crowd.
Okay, maybe not.
The silence had stretched out long enough to get a little awkward, so she added, “I didn’t hear you this time, either.”
“I invoked my supersecret ninja mode.” He gestured down.
There was the humor she’d suspected, thought she’d seen, only to have him hide it, as if he didn’t want her to notice. “Ah,” she said, following his gesture, “no boots. Ninja, indeed.” And darned if she didn’t get a little charge out of seeing his bare feet and rolled-up jeans. One of his big toes was crooked, and his ankles and the tops of his feet were lightly dusted with short, wiry hairs and a few surprising freckles, just visible in the muted moonlight. “I, um, guess that means you’re ready for a swim?”
“Not so much, but if a city girl can hack it, so can I.” He sat down and swung his feet around to drop them into the water with a sigh. “Ah. Balmy.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Sort of, only she wasn’t feeling the lake’s chill anymore. He’d left a good distance between them, so it didn’t make any sense that she could feel the heat from his body. Or that when he shifted to brace one hand between them at the edge of the dock, it was as if he’d touched her, even though he was still several inches away.
Hello? A grip. Get one. It wasn’t even like he’d come to see her, not really. Like any good trainer, he was checking in on the week’s progress.
“I should thank you again for letting me ride Loco. He’s been incredibly patient with me. I’ve gotten to where I can just about complete the pattern at the trot—um, I mean ‘jog’—and I can sort of fumble through it at the lope, though it’s not pretty.”
Foster just nodded. “And Lizzie?”
She squelched the ingrained instinct to give him the standard she’s fine, everything’s fine. “Not much progress to report, I’m afraid. She’ll sit outside the stalls all day with the guards up, feeding wisps of hay one at a time, but she won’t set foot inside the barn if there’s a horse on the cross ties.”
“It’ll come.”
She wished she had his confidence, but while he knew horses, she knew her kid. “Stace has been great—she’s swapped over to unmounted lessons, teaching her about the parts of the horse and all the equipment, and explaining some of the theory of riding, and esp
ecially how to read their body language and stay safe around them.” And Lizzie, in her own way, was eating up the lessons. She stayed focused and quiet, even nodding to herself from time to time. But when Shelby brought up the idea of her riding, or even helping brush the saintly Loco, she shut right back down.
“Stace knows her stuff. And she knows when to push, when to lay off. You’ve got plenty of time yet, Mama Bear. Don’t let it get you down.”
She blew out a breath, trying to stem the prickles of irritation. “I know you’re right, and that’s what I keep telling myself. Only it’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past two years.” Longer, really, because before Lizzie’s problems, things had been going from bad to worse with Patrick, with her waiting it out and telling herself to be patient, that things would get better. Only they hadn’t, not on either front. “I just wish—” She broke off, suddenly aware that her pulse was too quick, her fingers wrapped around the edge of the dock hard enough to hurt. “I wish it could be different, that’s all.”
“Getting frustrated’ll just make things worse.”
The blush got a thousand times worse. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re—” She bit it off and made herself count to ten, concentrating on the chill of the water . . . and, after a moment, the knowledge that she was only annoyed because he was right. This wasn’t about Patrick or the past two years. She needed to focus on today, and the knowledge that Lizzie had made some progress since they’d come here. “Darn it. I’m not mad at her. It’s just . . .” She sighed. “I’m not. I love her like crazy, no matter what.”
Had she said that enough recently?
He nudged her with his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up. We all have those days. It’s not about never getting frustrated, whether it’s with a kid, yourself, a horse, a job, or whatever. It’s about holding it together until you get someplace where you can blow off some steam without it setting things back.”
Summer at Mustang Ridge Page 9
