Sunset at Keyhole Canyon: A Mustang Ridge Novella (2 page)

Then again, he was ignoring her more thoroughly than she was ignoring him. Which should’ve been a relief, but wasn’t.

“Ugh,” she said, and stuck a big forkful of eggs in her mouth.

Traci raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘good eggs.’ ”

Her friend grinned. “Sure you did.”

“Everyone? If I could have your attention?” The amplified voice cut through the conversations and brought the noise level down. Moments later, a pretty blonde stepped up onto the low risers that formed a stage at the far end of the room. She was carrying a handheld mic and wearing a dark green polo shirt emblazoned with the Mustang Ridge logo. Grinning, she lifted the mic and said, “I know you’ve heard it before, but I’ll say it again. Welcome to Rustlers’ Week at Mustang Ridge Ranch!”

That got a few excited whoops and scattered applause.

When it died down, she added, “I’m Krista Skye, and I’m one of the owners here. I’ll be riding along with you this week, so if you have any questions or issues, please don’t hesitate to come find me! I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you guys yesterday, but I’m sure Stace and Gran did a great job with orientation. Which means that I can jump right into the fun stuff.” She looked around the crowded room. “Who here knows what ‘rustler’ really means?”

A few hands went up, and she pointed to a kid near the front. Maybe ten or so, wearing braces and a baseball hat, he answered, “Someone who stole cows back in the olden days.”

“Yep, that’s right. Back then, herds ranged pretty freely, and the only way to tell who owned a cow was by reading the brand. If a cow wasn’t branded, then it was fair game for anyone to claim . . . which also meant that there were plenty of ranchers and hands who got very good at laying their own brand over other marks. Back in the day, a cattle drive might leave the ranch with fifteen hundred or so cows, suffer a few losses along the way, and show up at the stockyard with over two thousand head. Which is a kind of rustling, really. But this week we’re talking about the other kind—the Butch Cassidy, Hole-in-the-Wall Gang, kind of rustling where outlaws would make off with whole herds and run them down to Texas to sell for beef. Here at Mustang Ridge, we had our own local version, called the Keyhole Gang. They liked to take a few dozen head of cattle here, a few dozen there, and stash them out in a box canyon near here. It’s almost perfectly hidden from view, and the only way to get into it is through a small rock formation called the Keyhole.”

“Can we hike to it?” asked a woman in the front.

“Forget hiking, we’re going to ride out there today!”

That got a cheer and a couple of “yee-haws,” and the noise level bubbled back up. Even Nina gave a whoop as her earlier excitement reignited. It was easier to ignore Ben when she had cowboys on the brain. “Do you know how to ride?” she asked Traci.

“Sort of. I took lessons for a couple of years when I was a kid. You?”

“Same. It was my horse-crazy phase.” They shared a grin that made Nina very grateful for her new friend. Things would no doubt be a lot weirder without her.

“Before we retrace the hoofprints of the Keyhole Gang, though,” Krista continued, “we need to make sure everyone knows the basics of safe horse handling and riding. So let’s head out to the barn and get started!”

The next few hours were a pleasant blur of horses, instruction, and getting some Wyoming dust under the fingernails, as Krista and her wranglers ran the dudes through the basics and assigned them their mounts for the week.

Nina was paired up with a dark bay gelding who was named Moon, after the crescent-shaped white marking on his forehead. He was maybe fifteen hands, with solid hooves, a Roman nose and a Bureau of Land Management freeze brand on his neck. The trail boss, Foster, introduced him to her with a fond pat, saying, “This guy came off the range a few years ago and hasn’t put a foot wrong since I started him under saddle. He’ll take good care of you if you stay out of his way.”

She grinned, liking the cowboy’s blunt honesty. “I’ll do my best. Thanks.”

He nodded and moved on down the fence line, where the horses were tied at intervals, enduring patiently while the dudes fumbled with brushes and tack.

It turned out that Nina remembered more than she had expected to, and before long she had her mount tacked up. When she swung up onto Moon’s broad back, the ground seemed further away than she remembered. But by the time she had walked a few laps of the fenced-in arena under Krista’s watchful eye and reminded herself how stop-go-left-right worked, with a combination of rein and leg aids, she was feeling right at home. Moon’s gaits were smooth, his vibe calm, and if she had to give him a few heel nudges before the “go” actually worked, that was fine by her. She’d rather have more “whoa” than “go,” thank you very much.

“Looking good!” Traci said, pulling up beside her on an Appaloosa mare with one blue eye and one brown.

“How’s it feel?”

“Like I’m twelve again, at pony camp for the summer.”

“But old enough for a beer later.”

“Amen to that.” They shared a laugh as Foster and the four assistant wranglers mounted up and signaled that the group was ready to ride.

From her position over by the double-hung gates that were the last things separating them from the great wide open, Krista called, “Everybody got their heads higher than their boots?”

That got a laugh and a general “Yes!” along with a couple of excited whoops. The horses shifted in place or walked little circles, most with their ears pricked in the direction of the high country, clearly familiar with the routine. But while it might be old hat to them, Nina saw her own excitement reflected on plenty of other faces.

“Then let’s ride!” At a nudge, Krista’s flashy gray sidled sideways to parallel the gate while she worked the latch, and then pivoted neatly around so she could push the double doors open. She turned back, lifted her hat in the air, and waved them on. “Follow me to the stomping grounds of the infamous Keyhole Gang!”

•   •   •

Despite a few more whoops and cheers, their actual departure didn’t resemble a cavalry charge so much as the start of a walk-a-thon, with the frontrunners striding off purposefully while everyone else milled around, waiting for their turn to pass under the Start banner. Within a few minutes, though, the twenty-one dudes and six outriders were underway, filing out of the corral in a ragged line of twos and threes onto a dirt roadway that led up to the ridgeline.

The sight of the horses and riders against the flower-specked grass, with the mountains and seemingly limitless sky in the background, tugged at something deep inside Nina, as did the rhythm of Moon’s hoofbeats beneath her.

“Can you believe this?” Traci enthused, tugging on the reins to hold back her mare’s longer stride to match Moon’s slow amble. “Two days ago, I was up to my elbows in paperwork and scheduling, trying to get things squared away at the tattoo shop so I could leave without the place coming down around my ears.”

Nina rolled her eyes. “I was playing phone tag with one of my craftsmen.” At Traci’s raised eyebrow, she added, “In addition to vintage one-of-a-kind pieces, I also offer a couple of lines of good new pieces in the right style. One of my best clients asked for a custom daybed from my chrome-and-leather guy, who took the order but now appears to be flaking on me. Which makes me look bad, holds things up for the client finishing up a decorating job, and irritates the client’s client. It’s the trickle-down theory of bad business.”

“Maybe it’ll come in while you’re away.”

“I certainly hope so. And I now declare a moratorium on talking about work.”

“Agreed. We’re on vacation!” Traci tugged on the reins again, but the appy shook her head and gave a few steps of a bouncy trot, starting to look annoyed.

Remembering Foster’s advice about letting Moon do his thing, Nina said, “Don’t feel like you have to slow her down to stick with me. I have a feeling Moon here is in ‘we’ll get there when we get there’ mode.” The wranglers were unobtrusively working the line of horses, making little adjustments and suggestions here and there. So far, they hadn’t told her to kick along and keep up with the faster riders, so she figured she would leave her horse alone.

“Good point. I guess I’m the last one who should insist on walking in lock step.” Traci gave the mare a pat and loosened her reins. “Okay, Lots-of-Spots, let’s go.” As the mare powered up and headed off at nearly a running walk, Traci called back, “I’ll circle back in a bit!”

“See you then.” Nina waved her off.

Over the next half hour or so, Moon drifted contently to the back of the pack. When Nina glanced at Foster and raised an eyebrow, though, he just sent her a nod that she took to mean she should keep doing what she was doing. In other words, sit there, breathe in the thin, high-altitude air, and watch the glorious scenery go by.

They reached the top of the next ridge and turned off the dirt road to follow a worn trail leading down the other side. The sun was warming things up, lifting the scents of flowers and grass.

“Does that smile mean you’re happy to see me?”

An electric current ran through her at the sound of Ben’s voice, then pooled in her belly when she turned and found him coming up beside her. Mounted on a glossy bay horse with a long, arched neck and a silky black mane, he looked like something out of a modern-day Western, with his hat pulled low on his forehead. Sitting easily in the saddle—straight, tall, and relaxed—he guided his mount with small moves of rein and leg, and looked fully at home in the saddle.

Determined not to let him know there was a one-sided zing, she pasted what she hoped was a politely neutral expression on her face. “I thought you were riding up near the front.”

“I looped back.” He patted his horse’s neck. “Justice here seems content to go where he’s pointed and dial his speed to suit.”

“I suspect that has something to do with his rider.”

He shrugged. “I played a little polo in college.”

Of course you did
. “Hm.” She glanced around, found them near the back of the pack, alone, and nudged Moon in the ribs with both heels.

The gelding flicked an ear back, but didn’t speed up.

“I talked to Cheryl.”

She glanced over at Ben, annoyed when her heart gave a muted
thudda-thudda
at the sight of him. Hello, gorgeous, indeed. But why had he dropped back to ride with her?
Probably feels bad that his sister messed with my vacation
, she thought sourly. Then she sighed, trying to let go of the irritation, because none of this was his fault, really. “Oh? I tried to reach her, but she was screening.”

“Ditto, but I’ve got leverage.” He paused like he was waiting for her to ask. When she didn’t, he said, “She’s sorry for messing with us.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Okay, maybe not. But she means well.”

“That, I’ll believe.”

Cheryl might be selectively blind when it came to her brother’s shortcomings, but she had a huge heart, and was utterly convinced that he and Nina would hit it off gangbusters if they just gave it another chance.

“It was the Fourth of July that did it.”

She looked over, confused. “What?”

“The reason Cheryl is going to apologize to you when she sees you next, and why she’s going to stay out of our business from now on. I told her if she didn’t, then I’d tell Mom about the time she forgot Danny at my house after a family barbecue, and then broke in through a back window to get him so nobody would know about it.”

Surprised laughter bubbled up. “She didn’t.”

His teeth flashed in a devilish grin. “Oh, she most certainly did. Might’ve gotten away with it, too, except she was six months pregnant with Syb, and got stuck coming in through the window.”

“You’re kidding!”

He held up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“I love it.” Awkwardness momentarily forgotten, Nina grinned at the image. “I’m so going to use that against her one of these days.”

“Please do. And make sure to mention how I had to create a distraction so she could use the bathroom and escape.”

She couldn’t stop the chuckle. “You did?”

“Hey, what are big brothers for? I grabbed a beer and gave a rambling toast about patriotism and family, keeping it up until I heard her car pull away. So she owes me. And now, by extension, she owes you. Which is only fair, considering that she stuck you here with me.”

The reminder dug a little, but it didn’t totally dispel the warmth that came from his obvious affection for Cheryl and the other members of his family. She liked how he didn’t say anything about his sister’s two failed marriages or single-mom status, or the admittedly questionable decisions that had gotten her to that point. He just accepted her, cared for her. Loved her.

Glancing away from him, she was surprised to see how much the scenery had changed already. The grass was sparser, with fewer flowers and more rocks, turning things rugged and wild. Up ahead in the middle distance rose a hulking rock that looked like a chopped-off mountain, and a scattering of smaller shapes might’ve been a group of ramshackle cabins near the shadow of a cave mouth.

She gestured to it. “Think that’s where we’re headed?”

“Could be.” He scanned the horizon. “Seems strange, doesn’t it, thinking about moving stolen cows across wide-open country like this? No satellites, helicopters, or infrared search technologies to worry about, just whether or not you could get from point A to point B without anybody seeing you and your horse.”

“And a whole bunch of cows, plus their dust trail.”

“There’s that. And get a load of those cabins compared to the ones back at the ranch. One room each, no bathrooms or amenities. . . . I’m betting the guys who lived there didn’t have much in the way of wives.”

“Or second dates.”

The look he shot in her direction made her wish she’d kept her mouth shut. Nothing said “I’m not over what happened” like making little digs about it.

“Yeah. About that.” His tone was suddenly serious.

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “That was supposed to be a joke, not a hint, or whatever. Let’s not go there. Please. I promise that I won’t say anything else on the matter if you won’t.”

“What if I want to?”

That brought a little shimmy to her belly. “Why would you?”

“Maybe because I wish things had turned out different.”

And maybe he did, but only because Cheryl had stranded them together, making it convenient. “If you really meant it, you would’ve called six months ago.” She took a breath, and was surprised to feel steadier, like she had needed to get that out there. “Not every good first date is meant to go anywhere.”

“It was a great first date,” he said firmly. “And we never had a chance to see if it could’ve gone further because I didn’t make enough of an effort.”

She blinked at him, thrown suddenly off balance even though Moon was steady beneath her. “Um . . .”

“I made you feel like I didn’t have time for you, like you would have to take what I was willing to give.”

Moon sped up, though she wasn’t sure if that was because she’d unknowingly kicked him, or if he was picking up her inner turmoil. “Ben . . .”

“Let me make it up to you. No, strike that. Let me have another chance. A do-over, a Mulligan, whatever you want to call it.”

Two days ago, if anyone—except maybe Cheryl—had told her she would be riding out in the Wyoming countryside next to Ben Sullivan, with a request for a do-over hanging in the thin, crisp air, she would’ve said they were nuts. More, she would’ve said there was no way she would even consider it.

It was crazy, reckless, potentially stupid . . . but she was on vacation, darn it. And her whole plan coming out here was to throw herself headlong into any and all activities that sparked her enthusiasm, no matter how far they were from her usual routine.

Looking over at him and suddenly feeling like her boots and Stetson were broken in and she really belonged in the Wild West heading for a rustlers’ hideout, she shot him a slow smile from beneath the brim of her hat and said, “What did you have in mind, cowboy?”

He grinned. “Let me buy you dinner tonight.”

Her laugh felt breathless, her body like it was floating up and off the gently rocking saddle. “Rustlers’ Week is a package deal. Dinner is included.”

“Then let me get it to go, and we’ll find someplace private, just the two of us.”

“A second date?” She tried to make it sound like a joke.

“Let’s call it date one-point-five. I think I should have to work for date number two. You know, back in the real world.”

“Does that mean you’re not just looking for a vacation fling?” There, she had said it.

“We’ll have to see how things go, won’t we? Starting with tonight.”

Tonight
 . . . Taking a breath, she nodded. “Okay, yes. Dinner.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

The word shivered through her, but she didn’t let him see how much it mattered. Instead, she waved at Traci, who was beelining in their direction on Lots-of-Spots. “Here comes Traci, no doubt wanting to make sure you’re not hassling me.”

“Only a little, I hope.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her you were a total gentleman.”

“Appreciate it.” As Traci drew near, he leaned in close to Nina, and said in a low voice, “Meet me by the boathouse at seven tonight.” Then, tipping his hat to Traci with a polite “Enjoy your afternoon, ladies,” he rode away, sitting tall in the saddle like he spent eighty hours a week out on the range rather than in the hospital, and looking utterly at home in his own skin.