Winter at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  After a pause, Jenny said, “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” When her mom glanced over, she risked a small smile. “Been there, done that, recognize it. You . . . ah, getting bored with retirement?”

  “Retirement.” Rose made a face. “What kind of a word is retire anyway? Go to bed, leave the field of battle, withdraw from an argument . . . none of those definitions work for me. But your father loves it, doesn’t he? He loves traveling, loves the Rambling Rose, loves meeting new people, seeing new things, going where the road takes us . . . And that’s the problem.”

  Jenny’s stool felt tippy, like one leg was shorter than the others. Centering herself and trying to find the right balance, she said, “Because you don’t want to travel anymore and he does?”

  “Because I don’t know what I want anymore! I thought I did.” She gestured around the room with her wineglass, sloshing the pale yellow liquid. “I thought I wanted to be in here with your grandmother. But it turned out I don’t really want to cook.”

  “You don’t?” Krista would undoubtedly be relieved, but Jenny was just confused.

  “No. I want what your Gran gets out of cooking.” Rose shot Jenny a sidelong look. “And if you ever tell her that, I’ll deny it, and then get you back somehow. That’s a promise.”

  “You . . . right.” Jenny shook her head, not sure whether she was trying to clear it or rattle some of these revelations into place. Her mom might be a little buzzed, but this had the ring of truth. More, it made sense. Sort of, at least. “What about the decorating?”

  “It’s okay. I thought . . .” Rose shook her head, drained her wine and went for a refill. “I don’t know what I thought I would get out of it. Doing the master bedroom was fun. So was your room, until . . . I don’t know. I got caught up and went overboard, just like I did in the kitchen over the summer.”

  Jenny didn’t dare agree with her on that one, but she wasn’t going to argue, either. “Maybe something else, then?”

  “What, like quilting? Stained glass? Write a book?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I wish . . .” Rose glanced out the window, though there wasn’t anything to see but blackness. “I wish this winter was over. Everything always seems easier in the springtime.”

  Impulsively, drawn by the sadness in her mother’s voice, the slump of her shoulders, Jenny reached across and took her hand. “You’ll figure something out. You always did.”

  “That was before. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

  “Sure you are.” Jenny squeezed their joined hands. “If you want a reminder, I can go back outside and pretend to be just coming home way past curfew, so you can ground me.”

  “Hmm.” Rose considered it for a moment, then shook her head with a faraway smile. “I’ll pass. Thanks for the offer, though.” Her eyes went to the yellow horse. “Poor guy, missing his leg.”

  “I’ve got it right here.” Jenny produced the broken-off piece from her pocket and set it on the table between them. “And for the record, I really do love my room. It’s amazing. I was in shock seeing it, I think, and caught up in my own problems. I’m sorry I didn’t say the right things.”

  “Problems?” Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Did something go wrong with Nick? It seemed like you two were doing so well.”

  “He . . .” Maybe it was seeing glimpses of the mom she remembered, maybe it was the wine, but Jenny found herself swallowing past the sudden pressure in her throat to say, “We drove out to visit his dad today, and were having a great time until the subject of his ex-fiancée came up and things got weird.” She stared glumly at her glass. “I think it wasn’t so much jealousy, really, or the way it reminded me of how much I don’t know about him. It was more . . . I don’t know. Like it brought home what it looks like after things are over.” And how they would soon be headed in that direction.

  “Oh, sweetie.” Her mom reached out and gripped her fingers. “Do you want me to be mad at him? I will, if you want.”

  Jenny’s lips curved despite the sad echoes inside her. “That sounds like something Krista would say.”

  “Where do you think you two came from, a vegetable garden? Seriously, though, I’m sorry things got weird. Did you guys work it out?”

  “I think things are going to be okay.” As long as she played by their original rules. And she so didn’t want to dwell on that right now. So she squeezed her mom’s hand. “And none of that is an excuse for my flatlining when you showed me my new room.”

  Her mom hesitated. Then, apparently deciding to let her change the subject, she said, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

  “Yes, it is a biggie. Thank you. Truly. It’s wonderful.”

  “Well then.” Lips curving, her mom focused on the horse. “I guess this guy’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” She paused. “My .38 is upstairs. We could take him out back and shoot him. Might be a fitting way to end the evening.”

  Jenny snorted so hard she sucked wine up her nose, where it fizzed and burned. Coughing, laughing, she waved off the napkin her mother held out, and grabbed her own. “I was thinking more along the lines of Crazy Glue.”

  “Do you think it would work?”

  “Worth a try. Better yet, we can give him to Dad and let him experiment. He’s probably got some NASA-level epoxy he’s been dying to use on something.”

  “Probably.” But her mom gave the maimed statue a dubious look. “I could get you another one.”

  Jenny shook her head. “I like this one. Just think of the story we’ll be able to tell about him, years down the road when your grandkids ask what happened to his leg.” Her voice tried to wobble on the part about grandkids, but she didn’t let it. She needed to get this right.

  A smile bloomed on her mother’s face, gentle and genuine. “Thank you for that, sweetheart.” She stroked the gleaming yellow glaze, trailing a fingertip along the broken spot. “Yes. That’s exactly what we’ll do. We’ll tell them that you had a tantrum and broke the horse.”

  Jenny laughed. “Oh, fine. Be that way.” But inwardly, she thought, Finally. Finally, she had said the right thing at the right time, and she and her mother had managed to have a real conversation. Given how the rest of the day had gone, she would totally take it.

  24

  The following week passed in a blur. Jenny spent her days holed up in Krista’s office and her nights at Nick’s place. They went out some evenings, stayed in others, and put some serious mileage on his mattress. It was fun, easy, and everything she had thought she wanted six weeks earlier.

  Now, though . . . she didn’t know what she wanted.

  “Five more days,” she told Rex, feeling a sting that should’ve worn down by now, for all the times she had probed at the sore spot.

  His tail thumped. You’re talking to me but it doesn’t look like you’re moving, so I’ll just stay here if that’s cool with you.

  “I’m going to miss you, buddy.” She was having a hard time imagining a day without his cheerful floppiness and imagined backtalk.

  He cocked his head.

  “I’m not sad. I just . . . I don’t know. Maybe I need to eat something.” It was almost lunchtime, and her latest video edits were compiling. “Want to go find Gran?”

  Rex leaped to his feet, tail whipping side to side. Oh, boy, cookies!

  There was a tap on the door. “Jenny, dear?” It was her mom’s voice, which was a bit of a surprise. Her parents had left midweek for a buying trip that she suspected was more of a clear-the-head getaway for her mom, who had been almost eerily reserved in the days following their heart-to-heart.

  Jenny swung open the door, releasing Rex to dance around her mom’s legs. “Hey! When did you guys get home?”

  “Just now. Do you have a few minutes?”

  “I was just going in search of food.”

  “Lunch is going on the table now, all hands on deck.” Rose leaned down to ruffle Rex’s fur. “Paws, too.”

  “As in, family meeting?” Jenny gave her mom a
n up-and-down, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “Is everything okay?”

  “Absolutely. Come on, I’m starving.”

  Bemused, Jenny followed her mom into the dining room. Her father was at the sideboard, building a leaning tower of a sandwich from the sourdough and fixings that were laid out. Gran was in the living room, where she settled Rex next to the fireplace with a treat, and Big Skye was already at the table with a sandwich and mug of coffee.

  Rose marched to the sideboard and started assembling an open-face sandwich. When Jenny hesitated, her mom looked back over her shoulder. “Come on. You said you were hungry.”

  She had been. Now she was just confused. “What’s up?”

  Gran came up behind her and gave her a nudge, saying in a low voice, “Whatever it is, I expect it’ll go down easier with a sandwich.”

  “Words to live by,” Jenny decided, and headed for the sideboard.

  Ten minutes later, with everyone seated and lunch under way, Jenny’s mom pushed her plate aside, dabbed her lips with a napkin, folded her hands atop the table, and said, “So.”

  The word hung there for a moment, seeming to require a response. Since nobody else stepped up, Jenny said, “Should we fire up the Skype and get Krista involved in this?”

  “She knows,” her father said. “Your mother and I took a ride over to Cali and ran this by her first.” He was halfway through the first of two skyscraper sandwiches, suggesting that whatever game was afoot, he wasn’t bothered by it. Unless he was stress eating.

  “Well, then,” Gran said, “what’s the big news?”

  Jenny said, “Mom?”

  Rose pushed back her chair and stood, looking even taller than she usually did. She had her steel-dust hair pulled back, but was wearing jeans and a cable-knit sweater instead of her dressier outfits. Her shoulders were square, her eyes bright but not manic, and she looked like a very different person from the one who had wept over a broken ceramic horse.

  With a quiver, Jenny realized that she looked like Mom.

  After taking a long look around the table, lingering on Big Skye, Rose said, “First, I want to apologize for my recent behavior, especially to you, Barbara.” That was aimed at Gran. “You’re a truly amazing cook, and we’re lucky to have you here. We always have been.”

  Gran blinked. “Why . . . thank you, Rose.”

  “No, thank you.” She turned, focusing on Jenny, who froze midchew. “And Jenny, darling, I want to thank you for doing what you do best—providing an outside perspective on things.”

  She swallowed. “Um. What?”

  “It wasn’t until the other night, when I saw myself through your eyes that I realized how out of whack I had gotten. After that . . . well, I called Shelby, who knows the local therapists and recommended a woman I could go talk to. I had several sessions and then Eddie and I talked about things, and we went out to run them by Krista. And we’ve all agreed to make some changes.”

  Changes? A therapist? Jenny could only stare. But her father was working on his second sandwich, looking relaxed, even happy.

  How had she missed this? Had she been so caught up in Nick and the videos that she had been oblivious to such a massive undercurrent? But maybe that was okay. This wasn’t her deal, really. It was her mom’s.

  Rose pressed her fingertips into the smooth tabletop in a move that betrayed a hint of nerves. But there was no hesitation when she said, “So here it is. I ran the business end of this ranch for more than twenty-five years, and during that time I raised two wonderful daughters. I worked my butt off doing it, though, and when Ed first brought up the idea of the Rambling Rose, it sounded like paradise. I never really stopped to think about what it was going to mean for me. And I never really asked myself if I was ready to retire. Well, I’m not. In fact, I’ve decided that I’m going to un-retire.”

  Jenny wasn’t sure whether to eat or gape. “You’re going back to work?”

  Humor glinted in her mom’s eyes. “It’s either that or pick a new hobby.”

  Yegad. “Do you know what you want to do?”

  “That depends on you and your grandparents. Krista and your father have already given the okay, but this is a family ranch, which means a family vote.” She looked around the table. “I want to create a new position: Head of Special Services. I would handle the weddings and other special events, centralize the extras, and add new services as they make sense.” She folded her hands, as if to keep her fingers still. “Assuming the vote is unanimous, of course.”

  Jenny had given up on eating. Her mouth worked a couple of times before she managed to say, “That would be . . .” She blinked. “Perfect. You’d be amazing at it, and give Krista room to focus on other things.” Wow. How hadn’t any of them seen this? It was the right solution in so many ways. Except . . . “What about the Rambling Rose?” What she was really asking was: What about Dad?

  Her father shot her a fond look that said Don’t worry about me. It’s all good. But she didn’t just want good for him. She wanted the best.

  “Your father and I will live here during the guest season, when the workload is heaviest. Probably March through October, or thereabouts. Then, come winter, we’ll hit the road and head south until we don’t see snow anymore. I can work remotely, with Krista backing me up.”

  “You’re going to be snowbirds.” Jenny’s smile widened. “Mom, that’s . . .” She had already said perfect, hadn’t she? “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Is that a yes vote?”

  “Absolutely yes.”

  Her mother turned to the other end of the table. “Barbara? Arthur? I’d really appreciate your support.”

  “You got it,” Big Skye said. “You never let me down back in the day, Rosie. How could I let you down now?”

  Jenny flashed back on memories of the two of them hunched over the accounts, or wrangling over the purchase of a new bull. This, she thought. This was what had been missing.

  “Barbara?” Rose held out a hand. “Again, I’m sorry for being such a beast to you. I hope we can work together going forward.”

  Gran stood, rounded the table, and pulled her into a hug. “Of course, Rosie. How could you ever worry about it? Family is family, even when we drive each other nuts. As long as you stay out of my kitchen, we’ll get along fine.” Her bright, happy eyes went to Ed. “And you a part-timer! How perfect.”

  “I’m not a big fan of winter—that’s for sure.” Ed touched his wife’s hand. “But I’ll always be my Rosie’s biggest fan. I think it’s a marvelous idea.”

  The vote was unanimous, with even Rex chiming in with an outdoor-voice bark when they all started cheering the new plan. Lunch turned into a celebration after that, with Gran producing a plate of berry tarts that had been earmarked for the senior center, and Big Skye popping the cork on a bottle of champagne he and Gran had gotten for New Year’s and never gotten around to opening.

  Lifting a half-full flute, he said, “To Rosie!”

  Jenny’s mom lifted her glass in return. “To Mustang Ridge and the Skyes, may they ever adapt when the situation requires it!”

  • • •

  The celebration wound down midafternoon, leaving Jenny with a slight buzz and zero motivation to keep working. On the pretext of taking pictures, she looped Old Faithful’s strap around her neck, pulled on snow pants and boots, whistled up Rex, and headed out into a clear, bright day.

  He barked and bounded ahead of her. Oh, boy, we’re going for a walk!

  Instead of following one of the plowed pathways or the trail that the wranglers’ horses had packed leading up to the ridgeline, she set off across virgin snow. Her wide boots sank deep before finding any purchase, leaving her slogging along nearly to her thighs.

  Rex wisely followed in her wake, letting her break a trail down past the guest cabins to the lake, where the wind had blown the snow off the ice and the frozen beach, and the action of a small spring kept a section of water open.

  “Don’t you dare fall in,” she
warned Rex, but he didn’t seem interested in exploring. Instead, he stuck to her heels, tail waving gently.

  She made for the small log boathouse, where the floating dock had been pulled up for the winter and lashed in place, and the windows had been covered with plywood. Plonking down on the steps, she leaned back against the door with a sigh. “Today was a good day, Sexy Rexy.”

  He leaned against her leg and stared out across the lake, and she looped her gloved fingers in his thick fur, reminded of the many times she and Rusty had sat together like this, back when she was a teenager and trying to figure out why she didn’t fit in at Mustang Ridge, why she couldn’t be content to stay put like all the others had. Now, as she stared out across the snowy fields to the distant mountains, she wasn’t sure what she was trying to figure out. She had a great life, and she would be leaving her family in better shape than it had been when she arrived. Not that she was taking any credit there, but still.

  “So what’s the problem?” she asked herself.

  Rex looked back over his shoulder at her. “Whuff?”

  “That was rhetorical, more or less.” Especially since she knew darn well that her problem was with a certain veterinarian, and the fact that she didn’t want to lose what they had. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure how she could have that particular cake and eat it, too. She couldn’t stay, he couldn’t go, and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t in the market for a long-distance anything. And maybe that was where she had gotten herself in trouble—she had seen how he was mostly camping out in his place and assumed his roots didn’t go that deep, or that having lived the life, he’d be open to staying in touch. Maybe he had it right, though. If it hurt this much to think about being away from him, why prolong the pain? Then again, wouldn’t it hurt less, knowing that she had calls to look forward to, emails to read, visits to make?