Winter at Mustang Ridge (22 page)

Handing the camera over, she said, “Just remember, you drool when you sleep, and I have Ruth’s email address.”

“More blackmail!” said a voice from the mudroom doorway. “That’s perfect!”

Startled not just by Bill’s appearance—and the flush that came from knowing he had heard the part about Nick drooling in his sleep—but also by his enthusiasm for the subject, Jenny turned. “Wait. What?”

“You want blackmail ammo, I’ve got some for you. It’s waiting on the breakfast bar, along with coffee and dessert.”

Nick’s heartfelt groan came from behind her. “Not the photo album!”

Jenny went on whole-body alert. “Are we talking about family pictures here?”

“You betcha.” Bill thumped an album lying on the wooden counter. Arrayed around it were a trio of steaming mugs and a plate piled high with brownies. “Come and get it.”

Grinning, Jenny headed for the kitchen, not even minding the
clicka-clicks
anymore. “Tell me there are baby pictures.” Not because she was particularly into babies, but because she had a feeling it would make Nick squirm.

“And the year he was a Ninja Turtle for Halloween.”

“Awww.”

“Kill me now.”

She spared Nick a glance as she took her seat at the breakfast bar. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m willing to share a really bad prom picture.”

“No Halloween Barbie?”

“Nope. Krista and I had Halloween down to a science from an early age—she was always a cowgirl and I was a paparazzo. Not sure if that was life imitating art or the other way around.” She grinned over at him only to be met by the business end of Old Faithful and the familiar
clicka-click
. “Stop that.”

“Nope. My turn, remember?”

She sniffed and turned to Bill. “I can’t tell you how much I’m going to enjoy this.”

His dimples deepened. “This is just my collection of favorite Nick pics. If you’re a glutton for punishment, I’ve got a couple more boxes under the bed.”

Nick’s groan nearly drowned out her exclamation of “My hero!”

They spent the next half hour going through the album, which went chronologically from baby pictures to school photos and graduation snapshots, mixed in among candids that gave her glimpses of Nick as a jock, Boy Scout, and animal lover.

When she lingered on one of Nick as a young teen bottle-nursing a wobbly calf, Bill said, “He was never one to skip from one dream job to another. With him, even if he played with the idea of being an astronaut or a rock star, being a vet was always on the list.”

Jenny eyed Nick. “I can see the astronaut. But a rock star?”

“I had an earring. Briefly.”

Bill paused on a photo of Nick with a dark-haired beauty with a kind smile and eyes that reminded Jenny of her gran, where happiness mingled with humor. “This is Nick’s mother, Mandy. She loved wildflowers, watercolors, and rooting for the Boston Red Sox, even when they stank.” He cut a look in her direction. “She would have liked you.”

That brought a pang, but Jenny kept her smile firmly in place and said, “She’s a lovely woman. I wish I had gotten a chance to meet her.” She didn’t look in Nick’s direction.

Through it all, he kept Old Faithful close at hand, clicking away, until Jenny more or less forgot about the camera and concentrated on the fun of poking at him for a couple of boy-band haircuts and the infamous earring. The photos got sparser once they passed the college years, with just a few from his years in vet school.

By then, she could hardly sit still. “Tell me you’ve got Africa pictures.”

His father’s face lit. “You want pics of Nick in Africa? You got ’em.” He flipped the page to reveal two huge-seeming eight-by-tens of the same arrow-straight dirt roadway on a flat, dusty plain, with a baobab tree on one side and a small collection of thatch and plywood huts on the other. One was taken at dawn, with the pale blue sky dotted with pink-tinged clouds and a trio of skinny goats dozing near the houses. The other was taken during a gorgeous red-and-orange sunset that seemed to set the plains ablaze. “He sent me these the first week he was there. Took ’em himself.” He skimmed his fingertips over the snapshots. “I thought they were damn fine.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said truthfully. “Magical.”

“It’s hard to screw up an African sunset,” Nick said dryly, but set aside the camera to lean over the pictures.

There were more photos of him in Africa than there had been from his school years, as if he’d been trying to make up for being abroad by sending lots of emails. She sure knew how that one worked. She marveled over pictures of him with friends, patients, and coworkers, and treating everything from a young goatherd’s dog to a baby gazelle with a broken leg.

“This is my favorite.” Bill turned to a two-page spread clipped from a magazine. Entitled “The Long Road to Twenty-Thirty,” the article led with a half-page picture of a dozen or so men and women wearing Twenty-Thirty Project T-shirts and mugging for the camera, standing in front of a huge baobab tree—possibly the same one from the other pictures. In the middle, flanked by a blonde on one side and a dark-haired guy with a flyaway beard on the other, was Nick.

Jenny read the article, fingertips trailing over before and after pictures of a village, showing new livestock enclosures, tighter houses, and a working well. According to the article, those improvements were just the tip of an iceberg that included more productivity from the crops and animals, better schools and unprecedented access to health care. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she said, “You changed people’s lives.”

He shrugged, doing an aw shucks. “It was—”

“He sure did,” Bill said proudly, tapping his son’s image, and then that of the pretty blonde beside him. “And Lily, of course.” He said it like Jenny should know the woman.

Had Nick stiffened, or was she imagining it?

Cool fingers walked down the back of her neck and her stomach tightened.
Leave it
, she told herself. It wasn’t her business. They were just having . . .
Damn it
. “Who’s Lily?”

Nick hesitated before he said, “She was—still is—a hydroengineer in the Twenty-Thirty Project.”

The quivers didn’t go away.

Jenny studied the clipping, seeing the way Nick and the woman leaned into each other. “She was your girlfriend, I’m guessing.”
I’m not jealous, I’m not.
She didn’t have any right to be jealous, didn’t have any claim to him beyond a winter-break fling.

Nick glanced away. “We were engaged.”

Scratch that. She was totally jealous.

N
ick got them out of there soon after, pleading a long drive and an early morning, and waving off his old man’s apologies for having stepped in it.

Jenny had done her best to cover her surprise at the whole ex-fiancée thing, but she had obviously been rattled. And, just as obviously, Nick had screwed up by not telling her. His father had buttonholed him and made that one clear, in no uncertain terms.

“Sorry about that,” he said as they trudged to the Vetmobile, with their shoulders bumping but their hands in their pockets. “I should’ve mentioned Lily before now. I just—”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m the one who’s sorry. Your exes are none of my business.”

“Then why are you mad at me?”

She stopped and turned to face him, expression earnest. “I’m not mad at you, truly. I’m mad at myself for acting like this. And to be honest, I’m trying to figure out where it’s coming from. It’s not like I thought I was your first or something.” She hunched her shoulders. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I need some time to think.”

“Whatever you want to know, just ask.”

“Not yet.” She turned and set out for the truck once more. When he caught up and got her door for her, she said, “Thanks. Now I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“Anything. Well, within reason, anyway. I’m not too keen on walking home.”

She rewarded him with a wan smile. “Could you give me the drive to figure it out? Normally when my brain gets all jammed up like this, I take a walk, have some alone time, and get my head straight. I don’t want to leave things weird between us overnight, though, so I’m just asking for the drive time.”

Something shifted in his chest. He moved in, hunkering close to her. “Jenny, sweetheart. You can have . . .”
Whatever you want
, he started to say, but that would’ve been too much, too soon, so he substituted “All the time you need.” And even that wasn’t entirely true, because their remaining days were numbered.

Her breath puffed out white in the chill air. “Thank you.” She eased up and brushed her lips across his.

He didn’t let himself think it was a good-bye kiss. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure what to think. Did she feel betrayed, or was she truly mad at herself?
She’s not a game player
, he reminded himself as he fired up the engine.

To his relief, the silent drive wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it gave him a chance to settle down, too, and get his own thoughts in order. And, he realized, consider what Jenny might be thinking and feeling, not just about Lily but about him. About them. By the time he pulled into the parking lot at Mustang Ridge, he thought he had it figured out, thought he knew what to say.

Killing the engine, he popped off his seat belt and turned to face her. “I’d like to say something.”

Her eyes widened. “I’m the one who owes you an explanation.”

“Maybe not.” He took one of her hands, pressing it between both of his, partly to warm the faint chill of her skin and partly for emphasis. “I think I know where you’re coming from, Jenny, and I need you not to worry. So I’d like to tell you about Lily and me, so you’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure—”

He squeezed her hands. “Please.”

She subsided. Nodded. “Okay. Go ahead.”

He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Lily and I went through the Twenty-Thirty Project’s version of boot camp together and hit it off. We were posted to different rotations, but kept in touch now and then. A few years later, and who walks into camp, but Lily. I found out later she had requested the transfer. Anyway, we got involved, got serious, got engaged. It was . . .”
heady, amazing, simpatico
, “easy when we were traveling together. We worked together, played together, explored together.”

“In Africa.” Jenny sighed. “It sounds like heaven.”

“It was, in a way.” In lots of ways. “We weren’t in any hurry to get married, but after a couple of years it felt right. We planned to have a simple ceremony before the end of our rotation, with our teammates and village friends as guests.” He paused. “Then I got the call.”

Now he saw a hint of sympathy. “That your mother was sick, you mean.”

“That she was dying.” The ache had mellowed some, but the scars still tugged, as did the memory of his frantic race home and that first sight of his mom, wan and shrunken, eyes dark and hollow with pain. “Lily and I decided to postpone the wedding. She visited a few times, and things were good when she was in town, but . . .” He shifted, trying to get comfortable on a truck seat that usually didn’t bother him one bit. “I wasn’t the same person anymore.”

Instead of giving him the “yeah, I know how that is” that he halfway expected from her, Jenny frowned. “Well of course not. You had to prioritize your family for a few months. Surely she understood that.”

It was hard now to remember back to those days, not because they were painful, but because they could’ve happened to someone else, another guy who had wanted to escape but got cut off at the pass. “Yes, she got that part. She stood by me, even flew back for the funeral with her project in a really tricky spot. But a few days later, when she started talking about us getting back out in the field, I couldn’t see it.”

“Your father needed you.”

“At first. Then, I don’t know. I got used to being home. Before, I wanted to get away from the small-town thing. Now, I dig it.”

She looked bemused. “More than Africa?”

“Yes and no. I miss it. The country, the animals, the people . . . they’re amazing. But so is Wyoming, and I can’t have both.”

“Or Lily.” Her expression had gone shuttered.

“Right. What we had worked while we were out in the field together, living the same lives. I asked her to move here, but . . .” He shook his head. “We tried the long-distance thing, but finally broke up a few months later. And, well, that’s the end of the Lily-and-me story.” He lifted her hand and kissed Jenny’s knuckles, adding, “But this isn’t even close to the end of the you-and-me story, I hope.”

She straightened. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

But he kept going. “You need to know that I’m not hung up on Lily—it’s over, truly. We still email every now and then, but like old friends. Nothing more.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.” Her voice sounded funny, though, like that might not be the whole story.

“Okay, then, how about this? You also don’t have to worry that I’m looking to get married, settle down, start a family, any of that stuff. Yeah, I was engaged, but that experience taught me just how tough it is for two people—especially two people who are driven by their careers—to make a life together. It also taught me not to ever expect someone else to change who they are for me—and that it’s not fair for me to even ask.”

Her shoulders dropped, but she didn’t say anything.

Relieved that she was relieved, he continued. “So you don’t have to worry. Yes, things have gotten pretty intense between us, but I’m not asking for anything here. When it’s time for you to go, we’ll say good-bye. No hard feelings. Just good memories.”

She swallowed, then nodded. “Okay. I . . . Okay. That helps put things in perspective.”

“Like I said, I figured you needed to hear that before you made any decisions to, you know, cut things off early.” He wanted to keep touching her, but let go of her hand instead, giving her room. “I hope you won’t. We’ve got twelve days left, nearly down to eleven now, and I don’t want to miss out on any of them.”

“Eleven days.” She repeated the number with faint surprise, like she hadn’t been doing the countdown.

“Almost. So . . . what do you say? Can I see you tomorrow? Or—and I’m probably pushing it—do you want to follow me back to the clinic?”

“Yeah, that’s pushing it.” But there was a flash of humor in her eyes, like she didn’t mind that he had tried.

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll think of something fun. Pick you up at seven?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you then. And, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for telling me about Lily. I’d say I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but that would be a lie.” She leaned in and cupped his jaw in her cool, soft hand. “I wouldn’t trade the past few weeks for anything.”

He touched his lips to hers. “Me, either.” And—thank God—it didn’t feel like a good-bye kiss, after all. It felt like a see you tomorrow.

•   •   •

Okay. You’re okay
. Safely inside, Jenny leaned against the door and concentrated on breathing as the sound of Nick’s footsteps faded on the path.
You can handle this
.

She hadn’t thrown herself at him and clung, and she hadn’t busted out with a chorus of “Why don’t we stay in touch after I leave?” the moment they hit the driveway, which had more or less been her plan. In fact, she should be grateful that he insisted on going first in the explanation department, because his side of things had negated most of what she had come up with. All of it, really.

“Did you have a nice time?” The question came from the living room.

She looked over to find her mom sitting next to the fire with Rex at her feet, a book in her hands, and an empty wineglass at her elbow. Rose was still dressed for the day, in gray pants and a dusty pink sweater, with her hair up in a French twist that was only a little wispy around the edges. “Hey,” Jenny said. “Is everything okay?” Was it bad that she was hoping for a problem? Ranch stuff would be a welcome diversion right now.

“Everything is fine. Can’t I wait up for my girl?”

Roused from his fire-warmed nap, Rex padded over to Jenny, gave her a perfunctory sniff, and then did a doggy double take when he caught Molly’s scent. Jenny patted him while he wriggled around her, his ridiculousness easing the tight knot in her chest.

Setting the book aside, her mom rose and headed for the stairs, beckoning with a sudden air of suppressed excitement. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”

“Now?” A glance at the grandfather clock in the dining room clued her in that it wasn’t nearly as late as it felt, closer to ten o’clock than midnight. “Okay, sure.”
Please, no more painting
. She needed some time to herself, not another project.

The treads gave their familiar creaks beneath them both, seeming unusually loud, and Rex’s toenails clicked a little on the wood, making Jenny think they were about due for a trim. Because it was easier to think about stuff like that than things like “I’m not asking for anything” and “When it’s time for you to go, we’ll say good-bye.”

“Well?” her mom said. “Are you ready to see it?”

Jenny blinked, surprised to find them standing outside her bedroom door. “Ready to see . . . You mean it’s finished?”

“An hour ago. Isn’t it exciting?”

Guilt stung, because she didn’t have an ounce of excitement inside her just then. “Don’t you want to wait for Dad and the others, and we can film things and make a big deal about it?”

“We can do that tomorrow. I want this first time to be just the two of us. So go on . . . close your eyes.”

“But—”

“Close ’em, or I’ll do it for you. And keep your voice down. Your father is asleep.”

Trying to get into the mood—her mom had put in a ton of work, after all, and deserved the
ta-daa
moment—Jenny put her hands over her eyes and nodded. “Okay. They’re closed. Bring it on.”
Be happy. Be grateful
. It wasn’t her mom’s fault that she and Nick had hit a fork and gone in completely different directions.

She heard the door swing open, and then her mom grabbed her arm and tugged, saying, “Come in, come in!” much as Nick’s father had done when they arrived at the cabin.

They stepped inside the bedroom, which smelled like paint, fabric, and
eau de
day-old glue gun fumes, more like a craft store than the place where Jenny had spent countless hours hunched over her laptop, doing equal amounts of homework and instant messaging, or sitting cross-legged on the bed with Krista, deep in discussions of boys, music, and horses. Even the floor felt different, with thick padding beneath their feet, so the creaks stopped once they were past the threshold.

The door thunked closed, and then her mother said in a hushed voice, “Ready? On three. One . . . two . . . three!”

Jenny dropped her hands, opened her eyes, and blinked around in relief.
Hey, what do you know? This isn’t half bad
. Despite her fears of tie-dye and shag, she had gotten a thick beige area rug and a padded brown-and-blue ottoman that worked really nicely with the pale cream walls and white trim. The pictures were gone from the mirror, but her photos of the storm had been mounted in shadowboxes and hung on the wall, and a small album on the desk was open to the crazy blueness of her prom dress.

The bed wore the pretty yellow spread and the yellow-and-blue pillows she had picked out, and the curtains were printed with yellow-centered daisies with curling green leaves. And standing there on the dresser was the crazy-ass ceramic horse from her mom’s first design, only in mustard yellow rather than fire-engine red.

Darned if it didn’t look kind of cool, the way she had it.

“Well? What do you think? Do you love it?”

“I . . .” Tears threatened out of nowhere, closing her throat and robbing her lungs of air.