For a weak, small moment, she was tempted to pretend she wasn’t home. Back in the condo she sometimes did exactly that, knowing that there was a very good chance that the person on the other side of the door was trying to sell her something, convert her, or both. Here, though, it wasn’t an option. For one, there were too many windows and she had her bedside light on. And for another, it was Foster.
“Give me a minute,” she called, letting him think she was covering up, when really she was trying to pull her head together.
It was Foster. And he hadn’t really done anything wrong.
Taking a deep breath, she found a smile and opened the door. “Hey.”
He was wearing the same jeans and shirt he’d had on earlier, but wasn’t wearing his hat, and looked tense and wary, like he was there to break bad news. “Shelby.”
Her stomach sank. She hadn’t been imagining things, after all. “What’s wrong?”
“Will you come for a walk?”
She hesitated, wanting to tell him to just say it, get it over with, and let her close herself back up in her safe place. Oh, Foster. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and stay there until morning. Instead, she nodded and turned back to grab her fleece off the back of the desk chair. “Okay, we’ll walk.”
But as the cabin door shut behind her, their boots thudded off the porch and crunched on the gravel path, and the darkness closed around them, she couldn’t help thinking of the other times they’d gone off together like this. She’d worn his hat, ridden his horse, and parked her boots under his bed. She hoped that she wouldn’t look back one day and think that sleeping with him had been a big mistake.
• • •
He’d scared her, Foster knew, as he hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and led her up toward the ridgeline, toward the backcountry, where things always made more sense. He couldn’t bring himself to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, though, because he didn’t know that it would. So they marched in silence, with him wrestling with what he wanted to say—even though he’d gone through it in his head on the way over—and her . . . well, he didn’t know what she was thinking, or how much she had picked up on earlier in the day, when one minute he was getting all Horse Whisperer with her kid, and the next, he was in full-on “Danger, Will Robinson” retreat.
“So . . . ,” she said as they headed up the incline. “Are we going someplace in particular?”
“Not really. I just . . . I needed to be moving.” He paused, then said, “I, ah, checked out on you today.”
She hesitated, then nodded, the move just visible in the cloud-filtered moonlight. “Yeah, you did. What happened?”
The cheap, easy answer would’ve been “I don’t know,” but that would’ve been a lie. “I spooked and bolted.”
“You what?”
“Like Brutus when he sees a shadow and thinks it’s a monster.”
Her voice went tight. “Who, exactly, is supposed to be the monster in this scenario?”
That was the problem with metaphors—sometimes a guy got trapped in them. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, which was part of what was making this so hard. “No monster. Just me not dealing with things like I should have.”
“Like how things got pretty intense last night, you mean?” She sounded resigned.
“No, it wasn’t that. Not in a million years.” He scrubbed a hand across his face, feeling the smoothness where he’d shaved before coming over, like that would change anything. “Being with you was . . . it was incredible. Planets-shifting-on-their-axes amazing. And if that was all of it, I’d want to do it again and again and again. But then this morning . . . I don’t know. One minute I was just fiddling around with Lizzie, showing her training stuff like I would any interested kid. Then the next, I’m in the middle of a family photo.” And he hadn’t known how to deal.
There was a pause before she said, “Stace was in the picture, too.”
They had reached the top of the ridgeline, where things flattened out and a trio of boulders marked the high point, marking the edge of the homestead. He stopped there and turned to face her. “Look, I’m not trying to back away from either of you, honest. I want to be your lover and Lizzie’s friend. But I also want to keep things separate and not have anyone get hurt at the end of the summer, when we go our separate ways.” He braced for the inevitable “what if we stayed in touch?” Heck, he’d even thought it himself. But he knew better than to start a long-distance relationship, knowing what the outcome would have to be. Better to end it cleanly in September.
To his surprise, she balled up a fist and socked him in the shoulder. “Hello? Earth to McFly. That’s what we already agreed to.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I didn’t change the rules. If you’re feeling any pressure, you might want to step back and ask yourself where it’s coming from. Because it’s not me.”
“It’s just . . .” Um. Well.
She waited, then made a satisfied hmph. “Well, you get points for thinking about it, at least. Look, don’t get me wrong, you’re not the only one who adds two plus one and gets ‘family’ here. But just because the math makes sense doesn’t mean the people do. You don’t need to push me or Lizzie away to prove it.”
He was silent a moment as surprise hummed through him—shock, really, along with shame and a huge, echoing relief—knocking off the rough edges he’d been fighting all day. He’d been expecting shouts, tears, and accusations, and he’d gotten put in his place, instead. Because she was right—he had talked himself into the spook, seeing imaginary monsters where there weren’t any.
Maybe he should lay off Brutus some. Apparently, he wasn’t any brighter.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again . . . you’re not like other women, are you?”
She laughed softly. “Lizzie isn’t the only one who’s put in her therapy time. When Patrick left and I found out what had been going on, I didn’t lose my marriage—that had been gone for longer than I’d realized—so much as I lost my faith in myself, in my own judgment. Between that and needing to be calm for Lizzie’s sake, I’ve had my head shrunk plenty. If nothing else, I’ve got a decent toolbox when it comes to knowing what’s going on in my head, and seeing when it doesn’t line up with what’s happening around me.”
“You sure do.”
“So . . . still friends?”
Suddenly, a day that had been seriously circling the drain got a whole lot better. He blew out a long, slow breath. “Friends and more, if you’ll still have me.”
“That depends. Got any Pixy Stix?”
“I might.” He paused, his pulse thudding in his veins as his body started to catch on that things between them might be okay, after all. The relief was huge, the pressure in his chest back down to a throb of need. “So, what do you say, my sweet, smart, and oh, so forgiving Shelby? Will you come home with me and fool around by the glow of my light saber wall lamp?”
Her teeth flashed. “There’s a metaphor there, and it’s not a good one. And yes, I’ll come home and fool around with you . . . but only if you promise not to freak yourself out again if the sex is transcendent tonight and my kid does something cute tomorrow.” She sighed theatrically. “Those are our burdens to bear.”
A few minutes ago, he would’ve said it’d be a long time before he laughed again. Now he proved that wrong. “From now on, I’ll do my best not to channel Brutus on a grain high.”
“I’d appreciate it. Right now, though, I’d appreciate it even more if you’d kiss me.”
“I can do that.” He wrapped his arms around her and brought his mouth down on hers in a kiss that was as much relief as passion, though there was plenty of that, too. Heat sparked and grew, and his body hardened almost instantly, recognizing hers as if they’d been lovers for months rather than just a day. “You amaze me,” he said against her lips. “More and more each day.”
When the kiss eased to an arms-intertwined embrace, she sighed agains
t his shoulder and nestled close. “I didn’t want this to be over. Not yet.”
He kissed her hair and held her tight. “It isn’t. It won’t be, not until you want it to be.” Or, rather, not until the end of the summer, when they both went back to their real lives.
• • •
The next morning, it was still pitch-black out when Shelby woke to the sound of the cabin door opening. Banishing sudden thoughts of grizzlies and coyotes—hello, door latch requiring opposable thumbs—she sat up in bed and reached for her flashlight. “Lizzie? Is that you?”
Before she could click on her light, another came to life with a double flash, then stayed on, showing her daughter’s pink hoodie and camping-out sweats. Her ponytail had gone lopsided, and her eyes were wide.
Shelby sat all the way up and clicked on the bedside light. “Hey, Dizzy Girl. You ready to spend a few hours in a real bed?”
But Lizzie came over and tugged on her arm, motioning come on, come on, come on!
Her head started to clear and her instincts did an uh-oh. “Is something wrong?”
“P-princess had her b-baby.”
“Oh!” That was all she could get out, such an insignificant word that failed utterly to capture the upswelling rush of emotions.
“Come see. P-p-please?”
The last word had more than a bit of Roger Rabbit in it, but that wasn’t what had Shelby choking up. “Oh, baby. You’re really talking.”
Lizzie sucked in a breath and her face went stricken. “Don’t c-cry, Mommy. I wanted to b-b-before. I j-just couldn’t.” Tears flooded her eyes, and one drop tracked down. “I’m sorry.”
Shelby’s own tears cut loose, fat and scalding, and not willing to be held back any longer. She wasn’t afraid of scaring Lizzie now, though. She was only afraid of not getting this right.
Pulling the little girl into her arms, she hugged her fiercely. “No, baby, don’t be sorry,” she said into the soft brown hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right, you hear me? You’re so brave. So, so brave.”
“I’m s-s-s-s . . . I can’t talk right.”
Shelby’s heart clutched at the ragged grief, the guilt and fear in those stumbling words. “Yes, you can. You just need some practice, that’s all.”
Lizzie hesitated. “I guess.”
Realizing that she needed more than just “it’ll be fine,” especially when things hadn’t been fine for a long time, Shelby eased back and waited until her daughter met her eyes. Then, channeling every shred of Zen calm she’d managed to come up with over the past few years, she said, “Elizabeth Michelle Brewster, you’ve beaten SM. Do you really think you can’t deal with a tiny little stutter?”
It took a few seconds, but then the narrow shoulders straightened and the gleam came back into her eyes. “I c-can do it.”
“Of course you can. You can do anything.” The waterworks started up again—or maybe they hadn’t really stopped—and her voice broke. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. And I love you so much.”
“I love you, too, Mommy.”
It had been years since she’d heard that, years since it had felt real. She wouldn’t start bawling, she told herself. She just wouldn’t.
Letting out a watery breath, she said, “Come on. Let’s go see the foal, and you can tell me all about watching it be born.”
She threw on a fleece and jeans while Lizzie waited impatiently, doing a little hurry up, hurry up dance that made Shelby’s heart sing. “I’m hurrying!” she said, laughing, and jammed her feet in her boots. “Okay, let’s go!”
“Whee!” The noise that came out of Lizzie as she bounced down the cabin steps sounded like one of the “I’m free!” squeals that Lucky liked to make when he and Sassy were turned out into the bigger paddock to play. And, like the foal, Lizzie scampered off away from her mother, then curved back around to grab her hand and tug her toward the barn. “Come on, come on. Sh-she’s already n-n-nursing!”
Tightening her fingers and letting Lizzie pull her into a jog, Shelby smiled so wide that her cheeks ached and her heart sang a happy, happy song. Because no matter what had happened in the past or would happen in the future, she had gotten this part right.
16
A few days later, Shelby watched the airport shuttle bump up the driveway, splashing a little in the winding down of a rain shower, and shook her head. “How is it Saturday already?”
The week had passed in a blur of cooking, word games, horses, and stealing time with Foster, and if she wasn’t sure where the days had gone, she didn’t mind. Not just because the guests—a group of execs from a big drug company who seemed to have missed the point of team building—had been particularly demanding, but because the weather looked like it was going to clear up after all, and it was time to ride.
When the bus finally disappeared, she glanced over at her daughter. “Hey, kiddo. Ready to— Lizzie?”
Her prodigal was already halfway to the barn, wearing the helmet cover that looked like a straw Stetson, and swaggering a little with her thumbs hooked in her front pockets.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Grinning, Shelby followed.
Foster already had Brutus on the cross ties, slicking him over with a soft brush. He looked up when she came in, and gave her a long, slow grin. “Hey there, Mama Bear.”
Her blood heated and her pulse kicked up a notch, but she gave back as good as she got, letting her eyes run over him and linger until his gaze went smoky. “Hey.”
Things had been great between them since the prior Saturday’s near flameout. He’d made time to show Lizzie how to work with Lucky on halter training and basic skills like picking up his feet on command and keeping his teeth to himself, while also arranging things so he and Shelby could be together for some adult fun. Today, though, he’d surprised her by suggesting that the three of them ride out together.
“Is Loco ready?” she asked archly.
“You wish.” He flicked her hat down over her eyes. “Groom your own critter, lady.”
Lizzie’s giggle was music to her ears.
Shelby moved down the aisle and laughed to discover that Loco was already brushed smooth, his tack neatly organized by his stall door. “I was kidding.”
Foster shrugged good-naturedly. “It’s my day off.”
She looked in on Princess and her filly, a petite redhead who was utterly gorgeous and knew it. “How’s our little girl doing?”
“A-plus. As for the gremlin . . .” He rolled his eyes in the direction of Sassy’s paddock, where Lucky was snoozing in a patch of sunlight, looking deceivingly angelic. “He figured out how to dump out his mama’s water buckets last night. Oh, joy.”
They traded quips and comments as they finished getting the three horses—or, rather, two horses and one small gray pony with a Napoleon complex—ready for the ride. Foster ran a last check of all the tack, just in case, and nodded his approval. “Let’s mount up and move on. Last one out is a rotten egg.”
As Lizzie hustled Peppermint out, Foster used Brutus’s body as a blockade so he’d be second in line. Shelby groaned in mock protest and called, “You two seem to be forgetting which one of us has lunch in her saddlebags!”
They mounted up and set off, and she filled her lungs as they broke free of the buildings and started up the gentle incline leading to the main trail. The rain had quit, leaving the ground wet but the air crystal clear. The horse’s hooves made sucking noises in the soft soil, counterpointed by the creak of leather and the jingle of their bits. In the distance, a rainbow arched from one mountain to the next, its colors deep and vivid against the whitening clouds.
Shelby stood in her stirrups, wanting to get that much closer to the spectacle. “Lizzie, look! A rainbow!”
Her daughter’s face split in a wide smile, and she held up two fingers of her free hand.
Sure enough a second rainbow echoed the first, fainter, but uninterrupted.
Foster rode close so his knee bumped against Shelby’s. “I’d
say that’s a sign of good things to come.”
“I like your thinking.” Gesturing to Peppermint, who was striding out in a nearly running walk that had him well in front of the horses, she said, “Are they okay?”
“He won’t get much farther ahead than that. If she’s not worried, then I’m not. And honestly, she’s probably safer in front of Brutus than behind him.”
And Lizzie didn’t seem worried at all. She sat straight and tall in the saddle, craning from side to side as if afraid she was going to miss something. The oversize straw hat made her look a bit like a satellite dish, but Shelby kept that one to herself. She was getting to know her daughter all over again, and had learned to watch the teasing.
Switching her attention to her mount, she said, “What do you think, Loco? You happy to be out of the arena?” She patted his neck and got a soft snort in return.
Brutus, on the other hand, was tossing his head and jigging in quick, mincing steps that were designed to jar his rider as much as possible. Foster just rolled his eyes. “And here I thought he could use a light day after working hard all week to keep the dysfunctional drug execs in line. Clearly, I should’ve run some of the oats out of him before doing the family trail ride thing.”
Shelby grinned. “Watch out or you’ll lose your bachelor cred. Family trail ride, indeed.”
“Okay, how about ‘trail ride with my two favorite ladies’?”
“That’ll work.” She liked that they could joke about it, liked that it hadn’t stayed a sore spot, liked . . . Okay, fine. She liked just about everything about him, which added a sparkling magic to being at Mustang Ridge with Lizzie.
In so many ways, she had made the right choice, coming here.
Peppermint reached the flat section at the top of the ridge, stopped, and turned back to wait for them without any obvious input from Lizzie, who was still in radar mode. Brutus gave a little crow hop and shook his head, annoyed at being beaten by the little squirt, but he settled when Foster reined him in beside the pony. Shelby pulled up on the other side of Lizzie, far enough away so Peppermint wouldn’t feel hemmed in, and they stood for a moment, looking out across the wide bowls that fell away on either side of the ridge.
Summer at Mustang Ridge Page 22
