Winter at Mustang Ridge (5 page)

“Mostly TV these days. It’s steady work and the location rocks.”

“Belize?”

“How did you . . .” Her frown cleared and she actually cracked a smile, which he considered progress. “Right. The fleas. Yes, I’ve been rain foresting it for the past few years. The next go-round starts taping in seven weeks, and I plan to be there.”

“What’s the quarantine like?”

“Why . . . Oh, I get it. No, when I head back our newest family member will stay at Mustang Ridge, aka Doggy Paradise.” Her expression softened. “Krista and I had a goldie when we were kids. I’m pretty sure I’m speaking for everyone back home when I say it’ll be nice having another one around.”

And the universe had put the dog in the right place at the right time, Nick thought, grateful that he wouldn’t have to scramble to find a home for yet another stray. “Well, then, I guess there’s only one thing left for me to say.”

“Which is?”

“Congratulations on your new dog.”

B
y midmorning the next day, Jenny had gained a new level of respect for her sister’s ability to keep her cool.

“Okay, then,” she said into the phone. “I’ll check on that and get back to you.”

“Can’t you just fix it now and send me a new confirmation email?”

“As I already explained, I need to run this change past our head of guest services.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, young lady.”

Don’t tempt me
. Trying to find some amusement in being “young lady’d” by someone she suspected wasn’t much older than she was—or at least she sure didn’t act it—Jenny said, “That’s absolutely not my intention, ma’am.”
Ha, I’ll see you a “young lady” and raise you a “ma’am” or two.
“However, the week you wish to switch your reservation to is already at capacity.” She managed not to tack on, “as I already explained.” Stifling a sigh, she tried again. “If you could come the following week instead—”

“No, no, that won’t do at all. This is for our anniversary.”

Then maybe you should’ve gotten the date right three months ago when you made the reservation
. If Krista had been sitting in the chair opposite her, they could’ve traded eye rolls. As it was, all Jenny could do was stare out the window while Missy Mackey explained for the third time about plane tickets and childcare, like that was Jenny’s problem.

Then again, it kind of was, because she had Krista’s voice in her head, reminding her that the customer was always right and it was up to her to make nice. So when Missy finally ran down, she said, “I understand your situation, really I do. But I don’t have the authority to make the change. I’ll work on it and get back to you.”

There was a chilly pause. “I’d like to speak with your superior.”

It was tempting to transfer the woman to Big Skye, but that definitely didn’t count as making nice with the guests. “This is a family organization, ma’am, and I’m the ranking family member currently available. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for a call back.”

“This simply won’t do. Your brochure promises satisfaction guaranteed.”

“What can I do to satisfy you, ma’am? Would you like to cancel your reservation?” Okay, so that wasn’t exactly making nice, either, but what else could she do? She wasn’t about to overbook the cabins or try to move people around without talking to Krista first.

“I . . . No. No, don’t do that.” Missy gave a put-upon sigh. “You’ll have an answer for me this afternoon?”

“If not today, then tomorrow at the latest.”
As I already said
.

It took Jenny another five minutes to get the woman off the phone, and the moment she had the handset back in its cradle, the darn thing started ringing again, like it had been doing pretty much all morning.

She didn’t know how Krista did it. She really didn’t.

Summoning a cheery tone that made her molars ache, she answered with, “Mustang Ridge. This is Jenny Skye. How can I help you?”

“You’re not answering your cell phone.”

Her stomach lurched as she placed the resonant male voice. A glance at her cell had her scowling. “Darn it, no bars. Sorry, Doc.”

“Nick.”

“Nick, then. Anyway . . .” She took a deep breath to beat back the sudden flutters. “How’s our patient doing?”

“He’s good. Actually, I’d say he’s better than good, maybe all the way up to rock star status. He’s alert, hungry, heartworm negative, and friendly as all get out, especially once he figured out that Ruth and I come bearing biscuits.” He paused. “Now we just need to cross our fingers that he’s housebroken and doesn’t like to eat drywall.”

Warmed by the good news and the sound of his voice, she tucked the phone tighter to her cheek and made a teasing
pffft
sound. “Drywall? Please. This is Mustang Ridge. We’re all about lumber and cowhide.”

He chuckled. “What was I thinking? Anyway, I’d like to check him back over later this afternoon, and if everything looks good, you can pick him up this evening. Sound like a plan?”

“Absolutely. Gran and my dad are eager to meet him.” Her grandfather, too, though Big Skye had grumbled about retrievers having no business on a working ranch, and why couldn’t she have found a cattle dog or a collie? “When can I spring our new family member?”

“Let’s aim for six. That’ll give Ruth time to work her grooming magic, and me time to finish up his lab work and discharge instructions. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

It wasn’t a date, shouldn’t have felt like one. But it gave her a buzz to say, “I’ll see you then, Doc. Oh, and you’d better use this number if you need to call. Apparently, Krista’s office is a cellular void.”

“Ah, well, dead zones happen . . . usually at the most inconvenient time possible. You know, like when you break down twenty miles from civilization.”

“With your provisions limited to half a granola bar and a can of Coke.”

“In the middle of the desert at high noon.”

“Wearing a cocktail dress and four-inch heels,” she finished, grinning.

“Hey, have you been stalking my blog?”

“Are there pictures?”

“If there were, Ruth would probably have them front and center on the clinic’s Web site. And speaking of Ruth, I need to hit the road before she comes looking for me.”

Jenny suffered a bump of disappointment, like she was a teenager and her mom had just come in and booted her off the phone in the middle of some juicy gossip. “Good luck with, well, whatever you’ve got on your to-do list.”

“Four spay and neuters, three ailing heifers, two lameness rechecks—”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she singsonged.

“A healthy one, please. Birds hate me.”

She laughed. “Bye, Doc.”

“I’ll see you at six.”

Fortunately, there was nobody there to see her goofy grin as she disconnected.

•   •   •

Nick was whistling as he came out of his office. “I’m off to play large-animal vet. Be back in a few hours.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “Somebody took a happy pill. Do I want to know what you were doing in your office just now?”

“Can’t a guy be in a good mood?”

“Sure, but there are good moods and then there are
good moods
, if you know what I mean.”

He was pretty sure he didn’t want her to explain the difference. And, besides, it had just been a quick conversation. Nothing earth-shattering. Just . . . fun. So he said, “Guess that second cup of coffee is catching up with me.”

“Or maybe you got a sext you don’t want me to know about?”

“A what?”

“A sext. You know, a sexy text message.”

He didn’t know which was worse—that she knew sext was a word, or that he didn’t. Clearly, he needed to watch more TV. Or hang out at Wednesday Bingo. “Nope, no, er, messages to speak of.”

“If you say so.” Grinning, she waved him off. “Drive safe and watch the ice. Call me if you get lost.”

“Count on it.” He pulled on his parka and gloves, and shot her a wink as he headed out the door, suddenly in a hurry to get through his day.

•   •   •

By midafternoon, Jenny had dealt with most of her to-do list and needed a break, so she bundled up and followed the path down to the neat little split-log cabin at the bottom of the valley. She let herself in through the kitchen door, calling, “Knock, knock.”

A gruff voice called from the next room, “Who’s there?”

“Bear,” she said as she crossed the kitchen and tiptoed into the living room, where Big Skye was kicked back in his recliner, facing the sliders that looked out on the snow-covered ridgeline and the mountains beyond.

“Bear who?” he demanded.

She put her hands over his eyes and leaned in to say, “Bear with me while I come up with a better punch line.” Then she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek before she let go and danced away.

“Ah, go on with you.” He made a face and swiped at the spot she had kissed. “And if you catch this lung crud of mine, don’t say I didn’t warn you to keep your distance.” But his voice was stronger than it had been a few days earlier, suggesting that the antibiotics were doing their job against the sinus infection that had knocked him off his boots.

Grinning at him, she tossed her coat, hat, and gloves onto the floral sofa, and perched on the arm closest to him. “Was that the official diagnosis? Lung crud?”

“Close enough.” His eyes went to the window. “Nice day. Looks like it’ll stay that way for a bit.”

With anyone else, that would’ve been small talk. With her gramps, it was sixty-some years of reading the sky and the way the sunlight fell on the mountains. “Think we’ll get a melt?” she asked.

“In January?” He looked at her like she had just suggested he trade his rigging for a sissy English pancake saddle.

“Right. What was I thinking?” Wishing, more like it. She had shivered awake that morning, despite a space heater and pile of blankets. Maybe Krista was right about her needing to get some Wyoming back in her blood. Temporarily, anyway.

“Jenny?” Gran poked her head in from the back hallway. “Hello, sweetheart. Are you visiting, or did you need me?”

“Both, actually. I’ve got a guest question for you.”

Big Skye harrumphed. “Dang foolishness, all of it.”

“Foolishness that’s keeping this family together,” Gran said with a definite edge to her voice, suggesting that he wasn’t the only one feeling cooped up with him riding a recliner rather than a fence line. To Jenny, she said, “Come into the kitchen, sweetie, and tell me all about it.”

The invitation was as familiar as the spindle-leg piano beside the kitchen door and the decorative cast iron trivets that hung near the ceiling. The cabin was only five or six years old, built to give Gran and Big Skye a one-level refuge from the guests, but to Jenny it seemed that they had never lived anywhere else, like they had transplanted everything that mattered—and not just the furniture and stuff—from their former rooms in the main house.

Jenny paused just inside the kitchen, where her grandmother already had the kettle on, the oven preheating, and her head in the fridge. “Can I help?”

“Poosh, no. You just sit and relax a minute while I get these guys going.” Gran pulled out a mixing bowl and slicked off the wax-paper covering to reveal chilled cookie dough, golden brown and loaded with chocolate chips.

“Mmm,” Jenny said, picturing them warm, right out of the oven. But then she cocked her head. “Don’t you get enough of cooking up at the main house?”

“Not during the wintertime. Besides, where do you think I test my recipes before they go on the menu?” Blue eyes dancing, she tipped her head toward the living room. “Don’t tell him that, though.”

Jenny grinned. “It’ll be our secret.”

“Here.” Gran set a mug of tea in front of her, blue earthenware in a matching saucer. The tea ball was another old friend, as were the scents of the herbs she dried herself.

“Chamomile and lemon,” Jenny said, inhaling the fragrant steam. “Guess I must look pretty stressed out.”

“Maybe not on the surface, but it’s in there.” Gran retrieved two cookie sheets from the cabinet to the left of the stove, just where they had been in the old kitchen up the hill. She lined up the sheets on the counter and, using two spoons so gracefully they could’ve been extensions of her fingers, began dropping perfect teardrop-shaped clumps of dough in ruler-straight lines. “Tell me about this guest. What’s the issue?”

“Her name is Missy Mackey, and she’s . . . Well, let’s just say that if we met at a party, we’d probably annoy each other. Anyway, she booked a romantic getaway for her and hubby’s third anniversary, and just realized she put in for the wrong week. Now she wants us to fix it. And by ‘wants’ I mean ‘will likely trash us on every review site known to mankind if she doesn’t get her way.’ Problem is, her anniversary falls on the one week next summer that Krista is already fully booked. First week in June.”

Gran made an “ouch” face. “Ricci-Norris week. Doesn’t that just figure?”

“What’s a Ricci-Norris?” Jenny had thought she knew all of the theme weeks Krista put on to help entice guests to the ranch, everything from Singles Week to Rodeo Week, but she’d never heard of that one.

“Not what, who. Antonia Ricci and Dale Norris. It’s a wedding.”

“A . . . oh.” She took a sip of tea, remembering her sister’s enthusiasm over the idea of adding wedding planning to the ranch’s repertoire last year.
Shudder
. “Good for Krista.”

“But too bad for Missy.”

“Who is
not
going to be happy about this. Ten bucks says she cancels, demands her nonrefundable deposit back, and then complains to anyone who’ll listen.” Which could mean a hit to the ranch’s rep, given that most people would rather read a scathing rant or watch idiots scheming against one another for a million-dollar prize than read a complimentary review or watch a solid documentary.

“So give her a reason to stick with her original reservation and be happy about it.”

That brought Jenny’s head up. “Like what? A discount?”

“I was more thinking along the lines of up-charges.” Gran slid the cookie sheets into the oven and set the timer. Then, cupping her mug in both hands, she leaned back against the counter, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Is her current reservation a week early or a week late?”