Pleased with Geoff’s progress, he let himself out of the stall, turned toward the main barn doors—
And caught sight of a goddess coming toward him, bearing a plate of birthday cake.
Backlit by the sunlight showing through the open barn doors, Ashley was wearing a floaty skirt that showed the shape of her legs in tantalizing silhouette. Her hair flowed around her, warm honey against the soft white of her shirt, and her silver-tipped boots rang on the concrete surface of the aisle. She looked like a country girl on the way to a square dance, only better, and the sight of her did something strange to his insides.
He had left her bed some eight hours earlier, but it could’ve been eight seconds, the way she had stayed at the edge of his mind all day. At the same time, it could’ve been days since he had touched her, kissed her, the way his body revved at the sight. He had only known her—what, a couple of weeks? But she was definitely under his skin.
“Ashley.” He crossed to meet her. “Hey.” Giving in to the urge, he leaned in and brushed his lips across hers, catching a fleeting impression of her generous warmth and the smell of springtime. “Things go okay at the party?”
She gave a so-so wiggle with her free hand. “About as well as I expected.”
“That bad, huh?”
“He’ll come around.”
“I don’t want to make trouble between you two.”
“He should be the one worried about making trouble.” She looked past him. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.”
“We’re just finishing up. I was doing a little extra with Marybeth here and Geoff . . .” Ty gave the aisle a quick scan. “Geoff?”
“I’m in here!” the boy called from a half-open doorway farther down the way.
It was Betty Crocker’s stall.
Hell. Picturing a one-cow stampede, with little Geoff trampled and Betty hightailing it for Gran’s kitchen, Ty double-timed it toward the door, with Ashley right on his heels. “Come on out of there, Geoff,” he began, but then stopped, rocking back on his heels at the sight of the boy standing there with his arms wrapped around Betty’s neck and a huge grin on his face.
What was more, standing there with her lips doing a little nuzzle-nuzzle-nuzzle against the tail of his T-shirt, Betty didn’t look anything like the depressed, dispirited animal he’d been dealing with, or the fire-breathing demon-cow Krista had warned him about.
She looked . . . normal. Sweet, even. And Geoff had gone still, intense. And very, very gentle.
“Awww,” Marybeth cooed. “What’s his name?”
“Her name,” Ty corrected. “It’s Betty Crocker.” He studied Geoff for a beat as a suspicion that’d taken root the other day gelled to a near certainty. More, he had an idea. “You know, Geoff, she could probably use a friend like you. She’s had a pretty hard life.”
Brown eyes flicked to his. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. However it happened, she wound up wandering out in the middle of nowhere, all by herself, until somebody saw her and called Animal Control. They’re like Child Services, only for animals. And they called us.”
Geoff studied the big head that rested so close to his own. “So she’s a foster, too?”
“Of a sort. But lately she hasn’t been eating much, and we’ve been worried about her. I wonder if she might eat if you asked her to, though. In fact . . .” He glanced over at Ashley, and nodded to the cake. “Do you mind?”
“She likes cake?”
“Worth a try. She sucked down one of my muffins the other day, and I figure that if Gran did the baking, it’s all-natural, or close to it.” He shrugged. “Big cow, little cake, can’t do much harm and it might do some good.”
“Then let her eat cake.” Ashley handed over the plate.
Using one of the spoons, he busted up the two generous slices of birthday cake into thumb-size pieces, then held out the plate. “Here you go, Geoff. Give her a piece or two. Flat hand, like we talked about, and keep your fingers away from her teeth.”
Betty’s ears flapped, and she let loose with a mournful-sounding “Moooo.”
Bracing himself to jump in there if things went south, Ty cautioned, “If she gets grabby, just let her have . . .” He trailed off. Because darned if the big cow didn’t lip a small blob of icing from the kid’s palm as gently as he’d ever seen, then wait, with her eyes bright, her ears up, and her stringy cow tail flapping like she was a brand-new calf that’d just gotten its first taste of its mama’s milk. “I’ll be damned,” he said, then, “Sorry.”
“Go for it,” Marybeth said, grinning. “Look at you, Geoff. You’re a regular cow whisperer.”
And darned if the kid didn’t shoot them a big, beautiful smile. “She likes me!”
“Okay,” Ty said, “next step. Try tossing a couple more pieces in that pile of hay over there. See if she’ll eat it.”
The cow butted him gently, but Geoff nudged her away. “No, Betty. Ty says you need to eat some hay, too.” He led her to the corner and tossed a blob of cake into the pile.
As Betty considered the hay with little enthusiasm, two new sets of bootfalls sounded in the aisle.
Ty craned around and caught sight of Krista coming toward them, with Abby propped on her hip, clutching a stuffed toy. Wyatt was right beside them, his eyes going flinty when he caught sight of the other man standing beside his sister. Ty put a warning finger to his lips. “We’re having a moment here.” And if you want to start something, let’s take it outside.
“You’re— Oh!” Taking in the scene with one quick glance, Krista started forward. “I don’t think that’s such a good . . .” Her steps faltered, though, and her expression took on a hint of wonder as Betty nudged Geoff’s leg with her head, then condescended to forage for the treat he had just tossed, getting a mouthful of hay in the process.
Ashley caught Ty’s hand and squeezed. “Look! She’s eating!”
Wyatt just scowled at her. “Hmph.”
Shifting closer to Ashley—Yeah, that’s right, deal with it—Ty said to Krista, “Seems like you guys had it wrong, trying to keep her penned up in the high country.” He nodded to Geoff, who had started alternating bites of cake—one for him, one for the cow. “Look at those two.”
“I’m looking,” Krista said. “I’m just not sure I believe what I’m seeing. We talked about trying her in the pet enclosure with the goats, but we were afraid to have her that close to the main house. And given the way she was behaving with adults, we didn’t want to try her with kids and risk them getting hurt.” A headshake. “She must’ve been raised around kids, though, probably went in and out of the house with them when she was little. I wish we had known sooner. We could’ve— I don’t know. Handled things differently.”
This time, when Geoff stuck a bite of cake in his mouth, Betty grabbed a mouthful of hay. Watching them together, Ty said, “Hey, Marybeth, would it be okay if Geoff helped me with Betty for the rest of the week?”
She nodded quick permission. “Fine by me.”
“What do you think, Geoff?” Ty asked. “You’d need to be here at seven in the morning, before your breakfast, and then again after the riding is done for the day. She would be your responsibility.”
Glancing shyly at Marybeth, the boy asked, “Would Lawrence mind, do you think? He said we were going to go fishing tomorrow morning, early.”
You would have thought he had just run across and thrown his arms around her, the way her face lit. “I don’t think he would mind at all, Geoff. You two could have your guys-only time after that. He might even like it if you brought him in here and introduced him to Betty.”
“Okay.” The boy looked sidelong at Ty. “I’ll do it. And, um, I’m sorry for going into Betty’s stall without permission. I won’t do it again.”
He probably would, Ty knew, just like he’d get mad again, get frustrated with himself and the people around him.
The animals. Maybe even with Betty. But it was a start, and a good one. “Want us to give you a few minutes to tell Betty that she needs to finish her hay like a good cow, and you’ll see her in the morning?”
At the boy’s nod—maybe even with a hint of gratitude in those wary brown eyes—Ty tipped his head and gestured for the others to give them room. It was also a test of sorts. At least this way, if Betty decided to make a run for it, they could head her off pretty quickly.
She didn’t, though. She just kept picking through her hay for the last of the cake scraps while Geoff scratched her shoulder and spoke to her in low, serious tones.
As they moved out into the aisle, Ashley hooked her arm through Ty’s and gave his forearm an approving pat. Seeing Wyatt’s eyes narrow, he slipped an arm around her waist, then offered a finger to the baby. “Hey, Miss Abby. How does it feel to hit the big one-point-oh?”
The kid gave him a drooly smile.
He wiggled the stuffed toy. “Who do you have here? He looks a little like your aunt Ashley’s cat, Poltergeist.”
Ashley sniffed. “The cat’s name is Petunia, which you very well know.”
“You should cut the poor guy a break and try again with that one. Poltergeist works, don’t you think? You pretty much never see him, until suddenly stuff is flying off the shelves.”
As they grinned at each other, Wyatt cleared his throat.
Ty looked over, locked eyes. “Problem?”
“Nope,” Krista said, hooking her free arm through her husband’s. “In fact, I think I hear Mom calling from the main house. We should go see what’s up.”
Wyatt looked from Ty to Ashley and back again. Then, as if the words were being dragged out of him by a good cow horse and a long rope, he said, “There’s more cake in the kitchen, since yours went to the cow. Pulled pork and corn bread, too, if you want to join us for dinner.”
As peace offerings went, it was pretty grudging. But Ty figured it was a start.
• • •
Later, with her stomach full of good food and her head buzzing from the lively conversation, Ashley accompanied Ty back to his above-barn apartment, feeling a butterfly flutter of anticipation as she followed him through the door.
Up to this point, they had always been in her space, doing her stuff, and mostly talking about her world, her experiences. She was looking forward to getting to know him better.
Far from utilitarian, the apartment was elegant and thoughtful, with lots of exposed wood and a rustic log cabin feel. The open-concept main room was divided into kitchen, dining, and living areas by wooden partitions that mimicked the stall doors down in the barn, and a hallway led off, presumably to the bedroom and bath. The decor was sparse and unisex, with practical canvas and leather on the furniture and braided rugs on the wide-paneled wood floors, all in muted earth tones. The framed prints on the walls were Old West, the throw blanket on the big sofa was thick and soft, and the pillows provided pops of color.
Like the rest of Mustang Ridge, it smacked of high-end luxury, done the cowboy way.
“Nice,” she said. “I haven’t been inside since they finished renovating.” At the time, Krista had been aiming it as an additional guest suite. Ty, though, had gotten it as a job perk.
“It’s a big step up from the old bunkhouse I used to share with Foster—that’s for sure.” He hooked his Stetson on a rack near the door, tugged off his boots, and set them on a mat nearby. His socks went inside one, his feet into a pair of worn rope sandals.
The small actions put a quiver in Ashley’s belly, feeling strangely intimate, considering that they were lovers. She had seen him wondrously naked, yet found herself staring at his feet, with their long, almost prehensile toes and sparse, wiry hair.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, seeming not to notice her sudden foot fetish. “Wine? Coffee? Or there’s soda downstairs in the tack room fridge.”
“Coffee would be good. Decaf would be better.”
An eyebrow winged up. “Since when?”
“Since the fashion show is over. Time to detox and get some sleep.” Not that she was tired just then—far from it. Quiet energy hummed beneath her skin, coming from the moment, the man.
“Decaf it is, then.” He moved around the kitchen with the assurance of a man who knew his way around the high-end coffeemaker, reaching into a cabinet for a pair of heavy earthenware mugs and snagging creamer from the fridge, sugar from a small jar on the counter. His moves were powerful and precise, those of a man who was very comfortable in his own skin.
Aware she was staring, she turned away to study the space again, this time picking out the hints of him amidst the professional design. There wasn’t much yet—some wet-weather gear hung on pegs near the door, a laptop open on the coffee table, a couple of dog-eared paperbacks by Louis L’Amour. He had been there only a couple of weeks, though. No doubt he would put his mark on the place in time.
“Madame’s decaf.” He handed it over, then leaned in to claim a kiss that curled her toes and made things go a little unsteady beneath her boots. “Let’s take this out onto the back deck.” He nudged the slider open and guided her through with a warm hand flattened at the small of her back. “There’s a heck of a view, and a sofa that’s perfect for two.”
“Hey, that rhymed.”
“I’m a poet and, well, you know.” Her boots sounded on the thick wooden planks that made up the sturdy deck. At the far end, two chairs and a small sofa were thickly padded with pillows and clustered around a low table, all done in stained wood and waterproof upholstery the same blue as the sky.
Beyond the decorative iron railing, fences lined the sweep of green grasslands that rolled down from the barn and up to the ridgeline that formed the edge of the homestead valley. Horses and cattle dotted the landscape; the closest few raised their heads as the humans crossed the deck, then went back to cropping the grass. The sun was mellow, the air laced with the scents of livestock and baking earth. It was all very warm, very peaceful. With purple foothills in the middle distance and the loom of the craggy mountains beyond, the landscape seemed to go on forever. More, it seemed like it was theirs alone.
Ty tugged her down beside him on the couch and curled an arm around her shoulders, fitting their bodies together. “There,” he said against her temple, following the word with a kiss. “That’s better.”
Sighing, Ashley relaxed into the thick cushions and the warmth of his body against hers. Taking a first sip, which was thick and rich and put Mr. Coffee to shame, she said, “It’s gorgeous. I love that you can’t see the main house or any of the cabins. You can almost forget that we’re surrounded.”
“By buildings, you mean?”
“Buildings, people, take your pick. Let’s just say I’ve got huge respect for your ability to stay charming with the guests. If I had to ride out on the same trails day after day, year after year, answering the same questions over and over again, I’d go mental.”
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “How is that any different from what you do at the store? Except plug in watching women try on the same outfits day after day.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Most of my vintage pieces are one of a kind, buster. And even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t be the same at all, because the people would be different. Their stories are different. Take Gilly, for example.” She told him about the teen, the family’s loss, and how the girl was trying to put the pieces back together. “Her mother didn’t come to the fashion show, which was too bad, but Gilly and Sean left together. Seeing her walk off with him, and the way he was looking at her like he’d never seen her before . . .” She grinned. “That was pretty special. And when I sell the dresses she wore at the show to someone else, it’ll be an entirely new experience. Different woman, different story, you know?”
“Yeah.” He toasted her with his mug. “I do know.”
She huffed out a brea
th. “I just made your point for you, didn’t I?”
He nodded. “Each set of guests brings something different to the ranch. Sometimes it’s a bad attitude, the need to be a total pain in the ass, or the occasional lady fixed on getting a real-live cowboy into her bed. Most times,” he continued before she could ask how often that worked, “they’re fine people looking to get some miles in the saddle and have a good time, maybe even learn a thing or two. They’re the ones that make it easy to give a little extra.”
“Like today, with Geoff.” Something soft and sweet moved through her. The look on the boy’s face had been precious as he cradled the old cow’s head. “You were good with him.”
“He’s okay. Or at least he will be, I think.” His voice lowered, roughened. “He’s got a better chance than most, got lucky with Marybeth and Lawrence. The foster system . . . it can chew up kids like him, spit them out tougher and meaner than they should’ve been.” He stared out over the hills, but she got the sense he wasn’t seeing the mountains beyond.
She hesitated, not sure if he wanted her to ask. But she wanted to ask, wanted to know where he came from, where he was going as he passed through her life. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”
A sip of coffee bought him a moment, making her think he would change the subject. But then he nodded, and said, “I get Geoff because I was him. Except I didn’t get a foster family. I just got the system.”
17
The crapstorm that had been Ty’s younger years—his personal song, as one overwrought music blogger had put it—wasn’t a state secret, at least on the surface. Even a guy strumming a guitar in the background got some notice when you were talking about a name brand like Higgs & Hicks, and a handful of pseudojournalists had gone digging and latched onto his so-called tragic beginnings when he’d first joined the tour. That had died down quickly, though, and in the past few years he could count on one hand the number of people he’d told personally.
Coming Home to Mustang Ridge Page 18
