So ... I had totally intended to finish the story of Grampie's plane this week (click here for part one and part two), but between car troubles, a busy weekend, and being committed to finishing the first draft of a book this week, I can't give the story the attention it deserves. So ... can I give you the first chapter of Winter at Mustang Ridge instead? Please? LOL! Read on ... and I will randomly choose two commenters to receive signed sneak-peek copies of Nick and Jenny's book :)
Chapter One
Jenny woke to a quiet so profound it blasted her
eardrums, shocking her with the lack of parrot screeches and “get your butt out
of bed” shouts from the other members of her film crew. But as she blinked
around at the familiar yellow curtains and glossy white furniture of a room
decorated in Early Teen, she realized it wasn’t all the way silent. The old
bones of the ranch house creaked a little in the cold, and muted noises from
downstairs said she wasn’t the first one up.
“Guess we’re not in Belize anymore, Toto,” she said, half
expecting Jill to groan from the other side of the tent and tell her to shut
up. But she didn’t have a roommate here, or a layer of mosquito netting draped
around her bed. Which was just weird.
Ask any other member of her family, though, and they’d say
it was the other way around. To them, this was normal. This was home.
A glance at the phone she’d dumped on the bedside table
said it was just after eight, and the scents of coffee and cinnamon said it was
time for breakfast. Her body wasn’t sure what country it was in, never mind
what time zone, but she levered herself out of bed anyway.
Because, hello, breakfast.
No stranger to cat naps, round-the-clock shifts and other
o’dark thirty stuff, Jenny was clear-eyed by the time her feet hit the floor.
She had slept in sweats and thick socks, but the cold cut through them, making
her shiver as she dragged on another sweatshirt and stuffed her feet into a
pair of sheepskin slippers.
“Brr.” She headed for the dresser and snagged a fluffy red beret
off the corner of the mirror, glancing at the photos her long-ago self had
tucked in the frame.
She might want to deny that she’d ever curled and sprayed
her hair so big or worn that shiny blue monstrosity to prom, but she was still
darned proud of the six pictures she’d snapped during a summer storm when she
was fifteen, one after the other, showing slashes of lightning spearing across
Mustang Ridge. The photo series had won first prize at the local fair and made
it all the way to state before getting beat out by a still life of fruit and
old boots. Which had been seriously lame, but whatever.
Surprised by a kick of warmth that didn’t have anything to
do with fleece and cashmere, she grinned at herself in the mirror. “Welcome
home, kiddo.”
Granted, “home” for her was more of a base camp than a
long-term residence, but it was where the big things stayed the same, year
after year, and where she knew she’d find a hug and a hot meal no matter what.
She was lucky. Not everyone had something so rock solid to fall back on, thanks
to a family dedicated to making sure it stayed that way, not just for her, but
for all the people and animals that called Mustang Ridge their home.
The door to her room gave off the same three-note squeak it
always had, and the wide floorboards in the upstairs hall creaked under her
weight, making her feel like a rhino even though they’d been making those same
noises since she was eight.
A moment later, there was a flash of movement at the bottom
of the stairs and a familiar figure appeared, frowning up. “Did you hear—”
Krista gasped, face lighting. “When did you . . . Why didn’t
you . . . Oh!” She flew up and grabbed Jenny in a huge hug.
“You’re here!”
As always, Jenny felt a shock of recognition at seeing
herself in Krista, like she was looking into a not-quite-funhouse mirror that
distorted things only slightly, giving her a long blond ponytail, coloring her
high cheekbones with a flush of excitement rather than a sunblock-defying tan,
and turning her into a country girl.
But then, as always, within those first few seconds
everything clicked back into place, and something inside Jenny said, Duh. They were twins, after all.
Laughter bubbled up, and she hugged her sister, hard. “You
sound surprised. Did you think I was going to bail on you?”
“No, never. But seeing you makes it feel like this is
really happening!”
“I’m here, and it is.” Jenny held Krista away. “But are you
sure this is what you want to do with your time off? You’re long overdue for a
real vacation. You know, the kind with fruity drinks, pool boys, and sand?”
“Trust me, this is a real
vacation.”
“Six weeks of classes? Are you nuts?”
Krista grinned. “Four weeks of classes in a big city plus
two more interning at one of the biggest dude ranches in California, which I’m
guessing has fruity drinks and pool boys, and hopefully some tips on how to
improve our services here. Maybe not to you, but it sure sounds like paradise
to me.”
“At least take an extra week for yourself on a beach
somewhere. I’ve got the time before we start shooting the new season of Jungle Love.” Barely, but she would make it work.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that when you’ve already
rearranged your life to ride herd on this place while I’m gone.” Krista hugged
her again, tight enough to strangle. “I can’t believe you’re really here! When
did you get in? I was heading out to pick you up in an hour!”
As a belated exclamation and some chair scrapes came from
the dining room, Jenny said, “I caught an earlier flight and found a taxi
driver who was willing to make the trip.”
“That must’ve cost a fortune!” Krista socked her in the
arm. “You should’ve called me.”
Their father appeared in the archway leading to the dining
room, saving Jenny from trying to explain a reluctance she wasn’t even sure she
understood. Heading toward him with Krista in tow, she stretched out her free
hand. “Dad!”
His hug was big and burly, and carried a fresh-sawdust
undertone that said he’d put in some early hours in his shop. But despite that
familiar smell and the fact that Jenny had known her parents were back at the
ranch, there was a moment of disconnect.
Easing back, Jenny grinned. “Hey, big guy. I see you’re
back to rocking the lumberjack look.” The last time she had visited her
parents—a stopover at an RV campsite on Cape Cod—he’d been sporting loud
prints, boat shoes, and a big hat, and looking as relaxed as she’d seen him in
years. Now he was wearing a plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of thick
wool socks that could’ve been holdovers from her childhood.
“When in Wyoming,” he intoned, but then shot her a wink
that said, It’s all good.
“Where’s Mom?”
“She left last night, headed for an estate auction on the
other side of Laramie, with some stopovers at a few antique places along the
way. She’ll be gone a few days, but said to tell you hi and that she’s sorry
she missed your first day back.”
Just not sorry enough to change her plans. “An estate sale?
Antique stores? When did Mom go American Pickers?” Last
she knew, her mother had been into French cuisine and the Food Channel.
“The write-up on the auction said they’re selling some nice
Depression-era glass,” her father said in a good-natured nonanswer.
“Speaking of rocking the lumberjack
look . . .” Krista gave Jenny’s sweats-on-sweats outfit a
pointed up-and-down. “What are you wearing? Everything?”
“Shut up, it’s freezing in here!”
“Pansy. I was just getting ready to open a window and let
out some of the cooking heat.” Krista looked perfectly comfortable in yoga
pants, a tank top, and flip-flops.
Beneath her fuzzy hat, Jenny scowled. “Try it and I’ll toss
you in a snowbank.”
“No you won’t. That’d mean going outside, and there’s no
way you’re setting foot beyond the front door without more clothes.” Krista’s
grin took on an edge. “Like, you know, one of those survival suits they use in
the Bering Sea.”
“Ha. You willing to bet on that?”
“Time out.” Their father made a T sign with his hands.
“Breakfast first, then snow fights.”
“Aw,” Jenny and Krista said together, harmonizing, and then
laughed and hugged again as the three of them trooped into the main room with
its exposed beams and tasteful—if you were into that sort of thing—taxidermy.
It didn’t look exactly the same as it had when they were
kids, but it wasn’t all that different, either. The couches and chairs were new
and overstuffed, the carved wood mantel over the fireplace held landscapes
rather than family photos, and just inside the door was a polished wooden
counter-slash-computer stand that served as the registration desk and hub of
guest services. The comfortable jumble was gone, the afghans folded, the
pillows plumped, and the corners neatly swept, but the homeyness was still
there, and not just in the welcome smell of coffee and muffins.
There was still a dog bed near the fire—it had been a while
since their last house pup passed on, but a few of the wranglers had working
dogs that occasionally snuck in for a nap—and the twelve-person dining table
still took up the back half of the room, sheltered by big bookcases that gave
the dining area some privacy without cutting off the straight-through view of
the snow-shrouded fields, distant mountains, and leaden sky.
During the summer, most everyone ate in the dining hall
that had been added on to the other side of the expanded kitchen, leaving the
dining area for the occasional special event. In the winter, though, the dining
hall was closed off and meals were held at the long, wide-board dining table.
Krista, Jenny, and their father sat together at the end nearest the fireplace,
where the open hearth held a gray soapstone stove that gave off mellow waves of
heat.
Jenny snagged a mug off the sideboard and poured herself a
cup of thick, black coffee that practically stuck to her teeth when she took
her first sip. She sighed in appreciation. “Mmm. Hello, caffeine. I’ve missed
you.”
“They don’t have good java down south?” Krista asked.
“It’s not cowboy coffee.” After a second deep swallow that
burned its way along Jenny’s throat and heated her stomach, she set down her
cup and motioned to the hallway that led to the big commercial kitchen. “I’m going
to go say hi to—”
“Jenny?” A figure bustled through the arched doorway,
nearly lost in a ruffled blue apron. Bird-small and delicate, with silver hair
and quick eyes, she brought with her a gush of sugar-laden air and a bright
smile. “I thought I heard you out here! Oh, sweetie!”
“Gran!” Jenny met her halfway and leaned into the embrace.
Inhaling the scents of baking and lavender bathwater, she sighed and breathed
out a tension she hadn’t even been aware of. This, she
thought. This was what she had missed the most. Emails and Skype just weren’t
the same as a hug that smelled like a bakery and stayed tight, like it wasn’t
ever going to let go.
Then again, that was Gran. She was the glue behind the
scenes of Mustang Ridge, sticking them together with love, stubbornness, and
baked goods. She had been the first one to see that the old ways weren’t
cutting it anymore, the first one to throw her support behind Krista’s
crazy-sounding plan to herd dudes instead of cattle. And, bless her, she had
been the only one who hadn’t seemed surprised when Jenny announced she was
leaving. Instead, when the time came, Gran had hidden a Ziploc bag full of
cookies and five hundred dollars in her luggage, and hugged her good-bye.
Now they hugged hello for the first time in more than a
year.
“Let me see you!” Gran drew back and frowned. “You look
tired, baby.”
“I am, but it’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix. My
body isn’t sure what day it’s supposed to be, never mind what time.” She looked
past her grandmother. “Where’s Big Skye?” Her gramps wasn’t a fan of crowds—or
the transition from cattle station to dude ranch—but given that it was the off
season, she would’ve expected him to be either bellied up to the table or
mooching bacon out of the pan, giving Gran a wink and a kiss when she scolded
him.
“He’s got a cold, which has him stuck in bed and cranky as
a mustang with a burr under his saddle. But he’ll want to see you, if you can
stand it.”
“I’ll walk down to the cabin after breakfast.” Cranky or
not, Big Skye was always a hoot to be around, with a caustic wit and a story
for every occasion, most of them starting with, “There was this one
roundup . . .” or “I was in this honky-tonk one
time . . .” Some of them were even true, though she didn’t have
any problem calling him on the tall tales.
Funny, wasn’t it, how families worked? She could spar with
her grandfather all day long, but five minutes with her mother in hobby mode
put her seriously on edge. Krista, on the other hand, would bend over sideways
to keep the peace with their mom, but did the duck-and-shuffle with Big Skye.
Gran patted her cheek. “You’re a good girl. Sit and relax.
I’ll be right out with the food.”
Knowing it was no use offering to help—the kitchen was
Gran’s domain—Jenny sat. Warmer now, thawed out by family and the heat of the
wood stove, she pulled off her hat.
Krista froze with her mug suspended midair. “Ohmigod, did
you dye your hair?” She might as well have said “You
got a face tattoo?” or “You ate a puppy?”
There was that much horror in her voice.
Resisting the urge to put the hat back on, Jenny gave a no biggie shrug. “Why? Don’t you like
it?”
“It’s not that. It’s just . . . Wow, it’s so
dark! And short!” Krista reached over and rubbed a couple of strands between
her fingers. “It makes you look so different. Like, I don’t know. A movie star
or something.”
Jenny batted her hand away. “Knock it off. It’s no big
deal.” Or maybe it was; she hadn’t decided yet. She’d only had the new hairdo
for a couple of days, and the brunette color was a far cry from their natural
blond. Maybe it had been a last act of defiance before coming home. . .
or maybe self-defense. Either way, she hoped it would make the locals stop and
think before confusing her with her sister.
“Hello. It’s a big deal to me.” Krista’s eyes lit. “Did you
do it for the show?”
“No way.” Jenny almost laughed at the idea. “As long as I’m
more or less presentable, they don’t care what I look like. I’m behind the
camera, remember?”
“You don’t need to be. I bet they’d take you as a
contestant in a heartbeat. Especially looking like this! It’s got total wow
factor.” Krista made another grab for her hair.
Jenny waved a fork to fend her off. “I’d let parrots peck
my eyes out before I signed on for Jungle Love.” It was
one thing being a cameraman for the exotic reality dating show. It was quite
another being a contestant—she didn’t know which would be worse, dealing with
the people or being on the wrong side of the camera.
“Then why’d you change your hair?”
“Because I felt like it. And stop touching me.”
“Am I going to have to separate you two?” their father
asked mildly over his coffee.
“Nope, because here’s the food.” Jenny sniffed
appreciatively as Gran appeared pushing a server loaded with berry pancakes,
scrambled eggs, and crispy bacon. “Mmm. I’m starving.”
“Come on,” Krista said. “What have you got against going on
the show? I mean, Mike and Niki from season two are engaged. It can happen.”
As far as Jenny was concerned, Mike Neils was a jerk, Niki
French had more mileage on her than the average commercial Boeing, and their
engagement was as fake as Niki’s boobs. But her contract was very clear on what
would happen if she leaked, so she went with a noncomittal: “I’m not interested
in dating on national TV.” And it wasn’t like her occasional hookups would be
good fodder, anyway.
“But it could be fun. You’d get to go cave diving, treasure
hunting, riding in the rain forest . . .” Krista ticked off the
made-for-ratings group dates on her fingers, sounding dreamy.
“Live with eleven other women who want me dead,” Jenny
added. “That’s assuming, of course, that I didn’t get kicked off in the first
episode.”
“With that haircut? You’d totally score.”
“We could take a swing by Harry’s later, get you one to
match.”
“I—” Krista lifted a hand to her ponytail. “Um.”
“Didn’t think so.” Jenny grinned as Gran took the seat
opposite her, and added, “Besides, I’m not here to talk about the show. Rumor
has it that I’m in charge of the guest stuff for the next six weeks.
So . . . what do you guys say? You ready to bring me up to
speed?”
***
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