Before she knew it, the waitress was clearing the last of their plates and asking if they wanted to see the dessert menu.
“No, thanks,” Nick said. “It was excellent, but we’ll take the check now.” As the waitress walked away and Jenny tried to decide whether she was annoyed that he hadn’t asked her—hello, chocolate cake?—he shot her a slow smile that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and said, “I’ve got other plans for dessert.”
13
When Nick steered the truck onto the snowy track leading to Makeout Point, Jenny shot him a sidelong look. “Dessert, huh? What are we having?”
“You’ll see.” He parked at the end of the lane, where the world seemed to fall away, and popped open the rear door to retrieve his duffel and a roped bundle of firewood.
Her eyes gleamed in the pale illumination from his flashlight. “I see you came prepared.”
“Like I said, I was a Scout.”
“Can I carry something?”
“I’ve got it. You lead.” They picked their way down the narrow track to the little alcove with its old-timey fire pit. It was colder than the other day, but he decided that the Arctic air made it extra satisfying to stack the wood in a careful teepee and tuck smaller sticks and curled slivers of pine underneath.
Jenny watched the proceedings from one of the log benches, huddling inside her ski jacket. “Here.” He stripped off his parka and draped it over her shoulders, leaving him relatively warm in the wind-blocking sweater he had pulled on in the truck.
“Thanks.” She tugged it closed around her neck. “A small part of me says I should go back to the truck for my own parka, but I’m going to have a little cuddle with yours first.”
The sight of her wrapped in his jacket made him want to peel it back off again, maybe sling her over his shoulder and carry her back to the truck for some— Focus, he told himself. If he was going to channel his inner caveman, he should at least prove he could make fire first. Clearing his throat, he said, “Hopefully we’ll have some heat going in just a minute here.”
Eyeing his duffel—high-end trekkers’ gear that wore its years hard—she said, “You’re not going to start the fire with a couple of sticks, are you?”
“I could if you want me to, but I was going to cheat.” He pulled out a barbecue lighter shaped like a dachshund. When she laughed, he held it up and pulled the trigger-tail, and a small flame came out of the dog’s mouth. “In my defense, it was a gift from a client.”
“If it lights the fire, I’m a fan.”
It did, indeed, and a few minutes later he had a respectable little blaze going, enough so he could add a couple of the larger logs. As he settled beside her, he could feel the first real tendrils of warmth starting to radiate into the little hollow. “I think we’re getting somewhere.”
She sent him a sidelong smile. “Yes, I’d definitely say we are.”
And darned if his heart didn’t take on a thick, heavy beat—the kind that said there was more going on here than he had meant for there to be. Or if there wasn’t already, they were on the edge of it.
Clearing his throat, he dug into his duffel and came up with the Tupperware and thermos he’d stashed right before leaving the clinic. “Double fudge brownie and white chocolate cocoa?”
She moaned at the back of her throat, making his body come to life. But her eyes were on the chocolate booty. “You baked?”
“I did the cocoa, which I don’t think counts as baking.”
“And the brownies?”
“Courtesy of Ruth.” Who had given him a I bet I know what you’re going to do with these look when she handed over the requested baked goods, but he didn’t figure Jenny needed to know that part.
“Gimme. Just don’t tell Gran I cheated on her with another woman’s brownie.”
“My lips are sealed.” He uncovered the sweets and held them out.
“Hang on.” She unzipped his parka and started worming her arms out of the sleeves. “I’m warming up.”
He shifted closer and wrapped an arm around her, tucking her close to his side. “Keep it. I’m fine, really. Like you said, the fire is doing its thing. And, besides, we’ve got chocolate.”
“That we do. You mind sharing the thermos cup?”
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
She took an experimental sip of the cocoa, then smiled. “It’s good.”
“I didn’t burn the water? That’s a relief.”
Her chuckle vibrated against him, making him very aware of her body tucked against his, and how well they fit together. “You’re not much of a cook, I take it?” she asked.
“My mom did her best with me, even had me cooking dinner once a week when I was in my teens. Only let me serve frozen pizza and salad once a month, too. The rest of the time I actually had to make stuff.” He grinned down at her. “I can rock spaghetti, burgers and Shake ’n Bake, thanks to good old Mom.”
“She sounds like a neat lady.”
“She was.” It was out there before he could call it back. Not that he wanted to, really. It was part of who he was, just not one he tended to talk about.
Jenny looked up at him. “Oh.”
He tightened his arm around her, giving an it’s okay squeeze, and for a moment they concentrated on their brownies and hot chocolate, and the hiss-pop of the fire as it ate away at the two bigger logs. The silence was friendly, but it said she would listen if he wanted to talk.
Caution said he should pull back, keep it light. They were just making time together, spending a few fun weeks while it was convenient. But that was the beauty, wasn’t it? They could say what they wanted to and be themselves, without adding expectations to the mix. And it felt strange sometimes, being back in his home state, yet surrounded by people who hadn’t known his family for decades and didn’t know the whole story. “We lost her just over two years ago,” he said. “Lung cancer, even though she quit smoking when I was just a kid. She . . . um.” He took a slug of the cocoa. “She went downhill fast. It wasn’t much more than a month after the diagnosis.” Which still seemed impossible, even though he had lived through it.
Jenny leaned into him, not saying a word. Somehow, though, the press of her face against his upper arm loosened the tightness inside him.
That made it easier to say, “I got the message in plenty of time, but it was the rainy season and travel was tough. Between breakdowns and flooding, it took me almost two weeks to get home. I made it, but . . .” He stared into the fire, seeing the sudden peace that had overtaken his mom’s face when he’d walked into her room, and feeling the guilt that still hung in there, even though he’d made it home in time. “Everyone who loved her got to say good-bye.”
The fire crackled in the silence that followed. After a moment, Jenny threaded her fingers through his, and squeezed. “I haven’t really lost anyone, so I don’t have the right words. But I think . . . I can imagine that on one hand the closure helps, but on the other hand it doesn’t help a damn bit, because you don’t want her to be gone.”
“Something like that.” Exactly like that, in fact, though he’d more or less dealt with the anger that used to grab him out of nowhere, making him want to put his fist through a wall. “After that . . . I guess I lost my taste for being overseas. It was just too far to fly if things went wrong back home.”
She eased back to look up at him. “And, I’m guessing, because your father needed you.”
“He and I kept his clinic going for almost a year before he called it quits. He didn’t want to walk in and see someone else at her desk, didn’t want to be around people who saw him and thought of her. Most of all, he didn’t want to be a vet anymore.” It was tough to say, tougher to remember those months, and not just because of his dad’s retirement.
“Lots of changes,” she said softly.
He cleared his throat, not wanting his voice to go gruff, though he was feeling it suddenly. More than he would’ve expected. “There was another clinic in town. Doc Sharma wa
s happy to take his patients, as it gave her an excuse to add a second vet to her practice and upgrade some equipment. Dad sold the house and bought a hunting lodge in the foothills north of Three Ridges, so he’d be within shouting distance of me.” He nodded to the dark bulk of the mountains on the horizon beyond the fire. “He lives there year-round now, and he’s doing okay. Better than okay. He’s happy.”
“And you?”
He tipped his head back and watched a couple of sparks head for the stars. “I like it here. More than I thought I would. And if Dad needs me, I’m just a couple of hours away.”
She shifted away from him, and when he looked over, he found her shaking her head at him.
“You don’t think I’m happy?” he asked.
“You’re the only one who can make that call. I was more thinking that you’re one of the good ones, Doc. And you’re way out of my league.”
He snorted. “On what planet?”
“On the one where you traded Africa for Three Ridges because your father needed you.”
“You would’ve done the same thing.” And he didn’t want her to think he was any kind of hero. He was just doing what needed to be done, making the choices that needed to be made, and doing his best to find things to like about his new life rather than missing the pieces he’d left behind.
“I practically have to be bribed to spend some time with my mother,” she pointed out.
“You rearranged your life to come home when Krista needed you.”
“Only temporarily.”
“It counts.”
Expression softening, she tugged off a glove and reached up to lay her palm on his cheek. “And here you are, trying to make me feel better.”
Still not a hero. Not wanting to look too closely at why the idea bothered him, yet stirred by the light in her eyes, he captured her hand and held it against his face. “I have an idea about making you feel even better.”
Her lips curved and her fingers flexed beneath his touch. “Oh, really? I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me show you.” He leaned down and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that surrounded him with warmth, the taste of chocolate, and the sense of being exactly where he was supposed to be. Which shouldn’t have made any sense with them sitting outside in the bitter cold, huddled together over a fire, but somehow made all the sense in the world.
14
The next morning, instead of being exhausted from her and Nick having put Makeout Point to good use until the wee hours of the morning, Jenny was up early, bubbling with an energy that sent her dancing into the kitchen with Rex bouncing along beside her. “Treats! We need treats!”
Gran looked up from her recipe box, face lighting with amusement. “I take it we’re celebrating a successful second date?”
“What date? I’m excited about getting back to my video clips. You should see Big Skye on the screen. He’s such a handsome devil.”
That got an eye roll. “Devil is right, at any rate. He was on the phone first thing this morning to see if the doctor could fit him in any earlier. Though I won’t be sorry to get him out of the house and back out riding the fences. Do us both some good, that will.” She wagged a finger at Jenny. “But you’re trying to change the subject.”
Maybe a little, Jenny realized, which in itself was a surprise. Where usually she would be happy to pour herself a cup of coffee and postmortem a date, now she hesitated, rummaging in the dog-shaped cookie jar to buy herself a minute.
Rex happily scarfed the biscuits, then galumphed over to Gran, tail wagging in happy swipes that were getting faster by the day as he healed, projecting the doggy version of Got anything good? I like muffins, you know.
“They’re yesterday’s,” Gran warned, breaking off a piece of apple cinnamon for him.
“Like that’ll slow him down?” Jenny headed for the fridge and pulled out some nonfat yogurt and blueberries, figuring she should take a stab at a healthy meal. Then, knowing Gran would read too much into it if she kept quiet, she said, “It was a really nice night. We went to the Steak Lodge, got heckled by a mechanical buffalo, and talked pretty much nonstop through dinner.”
“And?”
“And what? We had a nice time. He’s a nice guy.” And she needed to stop saying “nice.” It didn’t even come close to describing the reality. And, like silence, probably said way too much about how it had felt to be wrapped in layers of him—his parka, his arms, his kiss . . . Her lips curved and her body heated a couple of notches at the memory.
“Late night for just dinner,” Gran remarked.
“You want details about our trip to Makeout Point?” Jenny quipped. “Maybe some video?”
That got a girlish giggle and a flip of a kitchen towel. “Oh, you. Fine. Don’t tell me where you really were. See if I save you any macaroons.”
“Macaroons?” Jenny straightened, looking around. “Where?”
“Not yet, but check back this afternoon. If all goes well at Dr. Moore’s, I’m going to be celebrating the liberation of my living room.”
• • •
By the time Jenny had finished uploading the final version of Rose’s Boudoir—yeesh on the title her mom had picked, but whatever—it was midafternoon, with the wan sun on its downslide toward the quick winter dusk. Pushing away from the desk, she gave a shoulder-popping stretch and exhaled. “Okay. Next crisis.”
Actually, it had been a pretty tame day, with only a few eye-roll-worthy calls and an email exchange that had left her wondering if the sender was actually a psych student testing to see how many times she could ask the same four questions before the answers started getting snippy. So far, they were up to three rounds, and Jenny hadn’t even let fly with an “As I already mentioned.” She was giving herself points on that one.
Rex, sacked out on his blanket nest in midafternoon nap mode, acknowledged her with a single tail thump.
“I’m sorry. Am I disturbing you?” She scooted around in her chair to reach down and ruffle his belly fur, just as the landline started ringing. “Hold that thought,” she said, and grabbed the phone. “Mustang Ridge, this is Jenny. How may I help you today?”
“By telling me you’re nice and toasty warm in that office,” Nick said wistfully, his voice muffled by a bad connection and engine noise.
Heart giving a giddy thump, she tucked the receiver close to her face. “Is that code for ‘what are you wearing’?”
That got a chuckle. “It wasn’t, but now I’m curious.”
“Sorry. Wish I could say something about a bath and a layer of bubbles, but at the moment you’ll have to settle for jeans, fleece, and bunny slippers. You headed out on an emergency call?”
“Just finished with one,” he said. “Turned into a long day.”
“After a short night,” she agreed. “I recommend hot chocolate, or a beer. Possibly both, though I don’t recommend mixing them.”
“What, you’ve never had chocolate beer?”
“Ew, no, and as far as I’m concerned, chocolate goes with almost anything. In fact—” She broke off at the sound of her name coming from the front of the house. “Hang on.” Putting her hand over the phone, she raised her voice to call, “Gran? Is that you? I’m in the office.”
“Jenny!” Gran hurried into the office still wearing her boots and coat, and trailing snow. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sweetie, but have you seen your grandfather?”
“No, not since this morning. Do you need help with something?”
“Yes. Finding him.” Gran clutched her hands together in front of her body, suddenly looking very small and pale. “I’m probably overreacting, but he’s been so sick. After the doctor’s appointment, he said he was just going out for a short ride. An hour, maybe two.”
Jenny rose to her feet, but it felt like her stomach stayed put in the chair. “When was that?”
“Right before lunch.”
Oh, that wasn’t good. Not good at all. Unbidden, her eyes went to the cold
white world beyond the window. “Did you check the barn?”
A shallow nod. “Bueno isn’t in his stall.”
“Jenny?” a tinny voice said from the phone. “Can you hear me?”
“Oh!” She raised the handset as her stomach gave a nervous churn. “Sorry. I’m sorry. There’s . . . a situation.”
“I heard. Hang up and start looking for him. I’ll be there soon to help.”
“You . . .” She wanted to tell Nick not to bother, that it was some sort of mistake. But the words wouldn’t come. Not when Gran was standing there, looking on the verge of panic while beyond her, through the window, a gust of wind kicked up a whirl of white along the ridgeline. “Okay.”
He hung up, or maybe she did—her priority was Gran, who was too pale, her eyes too big. “Nick is on his way. Who else is here?”
“Nobody. Foster went home, Rose and Eddie are out, and everyone else is done for the day.” Gran’s voice trembled slightly. “If he fell off Bueno and hurt himself—”
“He didn’t,” Jenny said. “I bet he just lost track of time.” She hoped. “Does he have his phone with him?” It was a house rule that everyone had to carry a cell, especially when riding out alone—even with sketchy reception, the phones were better than nothing—but she wouldn’t put it past Big Skye to “forget” his.
Sure enough, Gran shook her head. “No. It’s still in the cottage. He probably figured he was just going for a short ride . . .” She swallowed, eyes filming. “I need to get a grip.”
But her worry was fueling Jenny’s. “Maybe he already came back, stripped Bueno down, and turned him out to have a roll in the snow. Let’s take a look. Come on, Rex. You’re on bloodhound duty.”
“Whuff!” The dog wagged his tail as hard as she had seen him manage so far, his eyes glued to her and Gran like he was trying to promise that whatever suddenly had them so worried, he was there to help.
Winter at Mustang Ridge Page 12
