“He serenaded you down by the waterfall?” Danny put a hand to her forehead. “Ohmigosh. I think I’m having a quarter-life hot flash. Please tell me you guys did the nasty right out there in the open, and it was awesome.”
The Rope Burn was Thursday-night busy, with the noise level up and the mechanical bull whirling beneath a steady stream of tourists. Still, Ashley glanced around before she said, “It wasn’t out in the open, and it wasn’t nasty. It was . . .” Perfect.
“It was . . .” Krista prompted, eyes alight, and Jenny and Shelby leaned in. “Come on. You can’t just leave us hanging—”
“Or we’ll just make up our own details,” Jenny finished for her. “And we’ve got good imaginations.”
So does Ty. Ashley compressed her lips together so as not to say that aloud. After a short set of old-timey cowboy songs, he had wiped off the Martin and tucked it into its carrying case, then spread a doubled-up sleeping bag on the soft sand near the fire pit. Champagne and strawberries struck a perfect note, making her heart sing as he lay down with her. Kissed her . . .
Made love to her.
“Drinks!” The waitress appeared with a spur jingle and a loaded tray, and divvied up the three beers, one wine, and one happy pink cosmo in a blinky glass. “Your apps will be out in a few minutes.”
As she bustled off, Ashley said, “Okay, you guys want the four-one-one? Here goes.” She gave them an edited version with just enough steam to heat her face and have their eyes going round.
Krista sighed and fanned herself. “Gotta give him points in the romance department. Who would’ve guessed?”
The other three raised their hands, grinning.
“Good call,” Ashley said. “Because, wow. Anyway, we stayed there for a bit”—made love on a blanket beside the river—”and then rode home. Back to Mustang Ridge, I mean.”
“And . . .” Krista prompted with a wicked twinkle.
Ashley lifted her blinky glass in a toast, took a sip, and said, “I stayed over at his place . . . and we didn’t get much sleep.”
Shelby lifted her wine. “To good loving!”
Jenny followed with her beer. “To sunset trail rides and serenades down by the river.”
“To wanting to be with your guy, wherever, whenever,” Krista added.
Danny scoffed. “Wimps.” Fixing Ashley with a gimlet look, she lifted her beer and pronounced, “To finding Mr. Right.”
“Hang on there!” Ashley put up a hand that didn’t do much to muffle her friends’ good-natured cheer. “Whoa. It’s not like that. We’re just having a good time.”
“Of course you are, because he’s crazy about you. Why wouldn’t he be? You’re smart, funny, determined, loyal, and wickedly creative. You’re the total package, girlfriend. He’d be stupid not to see that, and Ty isn’t a stupid guy.”
Was that how her friends saw her? God, she loved them, loved that beautiful didn’t top the list by far the way it did for so many men, or even with her mother. That didn’t mean they were right about Ty, though. “Look, I get that you’re happily married”—she nodded to Danny—“or happily engaged, and all to wonderful men. And, yes, Ty is amazing.” It was the sort of statement that didn’t deserve to be followed by a but. “But he and I have been up-front with each other from the very beginning that things between us couldn’t get serious.”
Shelby studied her across the rim of her glass. “Is it just the timing? Because that’s the sort of thing you can’t dictate.” One corner of her mouth kicked up. “Ask me how I know. Or talk to Jenny. She had a return ticket to Belize when she and Nick got together.”
“It’s true,” Jenny confirmed. “Of course, I didn’t just chuck the rest of my life because I fell stupid in love. I brought Nick with me when I went south, and we did the long-distance thing for a while. Eventually, though, I decided I’d rather be here with him than anywhere else without him. That wasn’t timing, though, so much as my priorities changing.”
“It’s not the timing,” Ashley answered, but then shook her head. “Okay, it’s partly the timing, at least for me. I’ve got too much on my plate right now to be in a serious relationship.”
“Says who?” Krista inquired. “Seems to me you guys are doing just fine. Maybe Ty has had a few mornings where he yawned his way through breakfast or drove in fifteen minutes before the guests were due in the barn, but there’s no harm in that. Human beings aren’t wired to exist on work alone—there needs to be some balance with fun and family, too, and love comes wrapped up in that.”
“In the long term, sure.” Ashley wouldn’t let herself yearn, not now. She had too many plans in play, too much riding on them. “But there are times that your hypothetical human being—in this case, moi—needs to buckle down and focus on work. When that happens, she doesn’t have time to juggle a real relationship.”
“Hello, McFly.” Danny reached over to rap a gentle knuckle on Ashley’s head. “Don’t you get it? You’re already doing that. You’re working killer hours at the store, sure, but you’re making time for Ty, too. You guys are alternating a couple of nights a week at each other’s places, doing chores together sometimes rather than just going on date-dates—”
Panic sparked deep inside. “That doesn’t mean anything. We’re busy people and we like being together even if it’s not a date-date.”
“Hello, functional relationship.”
Those three words probably shouldn’t have made Ashley want to hurl her blinky drink at the nearest table of loud-and-half-drunk guys, and use the ensuing commotion to cover the sound of Bugsy’s tires peeling out. She and Ty weren’t having a relationship. They were just having fun. “We’re getting off track here. It’s not just about my schedule—Ty has his own stuff going on, too.”
“Like what?” Jenny demanded, no doubt ready to demolish each point with a reasoned argument and the desire to see her friend happily paired off with a double-date-worthy guy.
Ashley hesitated. When they came down to it, Krista was still Ty’s boss. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I don’t think he sees Three Ridges as his final landing spot. And—hello—his fiancée cheated on him and broke things off. I think it’s good that he’s not looking to rush right back into things.”
“He’s been here off and on for nearly a decade,” Shelby pointed out. “And Brandi was a spoiled brat who was more interested in planning a big wedding than working on her relationship, and who, when things started going downhill, hooked up with an ex-boyfriend because it was easier than fixing things with Ty. She didn’t deserve him. You do.”
“You may have to work at it, though,” Krista pointed out. “Cowboys are a stubborn breed. Once they’ve got their mental hooves planted on a certain trail, it can be hard to get them going in a different direction.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to have to work that hard.” It wasn’t until it was out there that Ashley realized how true it was. And how awful it sounded. “I didn’t mean—” But that was the thing. She did mean it.
“It’s okay.” Krista patted her hand. “I get it. You want someone to chase you, not the other way around.”
“Well . . . yeah.” And put so much better than Ashley had done. “Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not. I’ve met your mother.” Krista gave their joined hands a squeeze. “But the thing is, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Pushing for what you want and making the guy work to get you, I mean. Ty is a straightforward guy—left rein means go left, right rein means go right, and both reins means stop. You may have to spell it out for him that clearly one of these days, make sure he knows what you want from him, what you need. Then you can sit back and see if he’s willing to deliver.”
Her mouth dried up despite the drink in her hand. “What if he’s not?” Not that she was going to ask.
“Then you’ll have your answer,” Shelby said. “I’m betting, though, that it will go the other way—that is, if you want it to. He adores you, and when it comes to Three Ridges, he was ready to settle down here once before, and he circled back around even after things went bad with Brandi. He’s kidding himself if he thinks this isn’t his home base.”
Part of Ashley—a large part—wanted to agree, wanted to believe it. But she didn’t dare. Pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to squelch the sudden mental churn, she said, “I can’t handle this right now. Not with the parade a week away.”
“Here are your apps!” the waitress announced cheerfully, flourishing a loaded tray. “One order of Commitment-Phobe Buff Wings, and the Two Kids, A Dog, And A White Picket Fence Nachos, hold the sour cream.”
“Admit it,” Danny said. “You make up the names as you go.”
The waitress winked. “I’ll never tell.”
As she jingled off, Ashley took a deep breath, settling herself. There’s no pressure, no rush. At least not where it came to Ty. They were riding along the same trail for now, but she knew there was a fork up ahead somewhere that would put them on new trails heading for different destinations. And she was okay with that.
Cowboy metaphors. Sheesh.
“Speaking of the parade,” she began.
Danny blinked. “Were we?”
“We are now,” Ashley said firmly. “Because in case you’ve lost track—trust me, I haven’t—it’s a week from tomorrow. I could use some help from you guys, brainstorming the perfect display.”
“You don’t have any ideas?”
Ashley whipped out her Window List, slapped it down on a tiny bare spot on the table. “Tons of ’em. That’s the problem, and it’s why I called you guys.”
Danny pouted. “I thought you wanted to talk about Ty.”
“We did that. Now we’re moving on to the brainstorming part of tonight’s entertainment. Because, short of a three-ring circus, I don’t know how I can be sure my window will beat Betty’s brownie bribes.”
“Hey,” Krista said, “that’s got a ring to it.” Pitching her voice to a singsong, she followed the beat of the bar music as she said, “Beating Betty’s brownie bribes, beating Betty’s brownie bribes . . . Say that six times fast!”
“Not helping,” Ashley said quellingly. “What would help is for you guys to tell me which of these ideas make you sit up and go, Oooh.”
But as the others put their heads together over her list, she found herself wondering if a third drink would be too much, when one was usually plenty. She was churned up, riled up, and not really sure how to bring herself back down to reality. What she and Ty had together was working, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by buying into too much girl talk or losing track of her genetic predisposition to grab onto a man too hard and fast. There was absolutely no reason to mess with her and Ty’s success, or risk complicating things with the sort of emotions they had agreed to avoid.
Right?
“This one.” Shelby tapped the page. “It’s perfect.”
Reorienting, Ashley followed her fingertip. “You like the game show one?”
“Like it? I love it. It’s got all the bells and whistles—pop culture, digital displays, and the opportunity for the audience to play along and win discounts.”
“And,” Jenny added, “the visuals could be super awesome if you put it together right. Which you totally will.”
“You’re darn right I will. Or,” Ashley added with a grin, “die trying.”
“Please don’t do that. We like having you around. Okay.” Shelby flipped over the list and produced a pen. “Time for a new list. First item, funny trivia categories. How about Favorite Cowboy Sayings?”
“Bad Hair of the Eighties,” Jenny put in.
“Things That Don’t Rhyme with Orange,” Danny offered.
And they were off and running.
• • •
Late that night, Ashley rolled down the drive to Mustang Ridge. She parked next to Ty’s truck, waved at the main house in case anyone was looking, and let herself into the barn, closing the doors behind her. It all felt very natural, very right.
She might have credited the cosmos or the brainstorming session for the warm glow in her belly, but she was plenty sober and had a new Big List to go along with her window plan. Besides, the buzz of anticipation didn’t come from alcohol or work-related stuff.
It was all for Ty, and the night ahead. She was determined to set aside the bar conversation and stick to her plan, to their agreement. To having fun, darn it.
He had called earlier and invited her to come on over after they were done at the ’Burn. “Don’t worry if it’s late,” he had said with a low growl that left no doubt where his mind had gone. “I’ll wait up.”
Sure enough, that sounded like fun to her.
The stairwell lights were on, and the door to his apartment was cracked open in welcome. After pausing a second to run fingers through her hair and tug at the front of her shirt, she knocked gently and pushed open the door, calling, “Knock-knock? Hope I’m not too late!”
When she didn’t get an answer, she stepped through into the main room, expecting to find Ty asleep on the couch. He wasn’t there or in the kitchen, but the small flat-screen TV was on and turned down low, and a mug sat on the coffee table next to his laptop, which had a country music forum on the screen. It looked like he had just stepped out of the room. But to where?
“Ty?” She poked her head in the bedroom, then the bathroom, but she was alone in the apartment. She hadn’t seen him in the main barn, suggesting that he was checking on one of the horses in the back barn, or maybe up at the main house, raiding the snack fridge.
Figuring he’d be back soon, she sank onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her as she leaned forward to snag a catalog off the coffee table. It was Western wear, granted, but you never knew where you’d find something unexpected.
Beneath the catalog was a new-looking blue folder, only slightly worn at the corners. It was heavily paper-clipped across the top and unmarked save for the upper right-hand corner, where it bore a sticker from Pendergast Private Investigations and a name written in ballpoint ink: Priscilla Reed.
At the sight, Ashley stopped breathing. Reed was Ty’s last name, but who was Priscilla?
“Ashley, hey!” He came through the door with a six-pack in one hand and a wrapped bundle in the other that smelled like fresh brownies. “I saw your car. Just ran up to the house to get us a snack.”
The sweet scent had her stomach dropping. She hadn’t heard him on the stairs, didn’t know what to say to him now. So she said the only thing she could. “Who is Priscilla?”
His eyes went to the folder, and his expression shut down like someone had turned out the lights.
Tell me you’re looking for information on your mother, maybe her family. An aunt. Tell me that being around the Skyes made you want to reconnect. But he didn’t. He just looked at her as if she had just backed him into a corner, even though the door was still open behind him. Voice trembling, she said, “You don’t have a daughter, do you?”
He would have said something, right? They had talked about it, about how there was nothing lower than a father who would walk out on a child. He knew about Wylie. He would have said something, then, if there was a child out there with his name, his face, but somehow so far gone from his life that he needed to pay for information.
Right?
“You didn’t open it.” His voice was flat, his eyes dead. But the not-quite-a-question wasn’t a denial. Exactly the opposite.
Her chin came up; her hand hovered. “Should I?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” There was no hesitation, no offer to explain. There was just the slamming of a mental door with her on the outside.
Had she thought before that she couldn’t breathe? How wrong she had been, because it hadn’t been anything like this—there was a vacuum in her chest, a sucking emptiness that made her want to curl in on herself. Not because of the folder or even what it might mean, but because of the cold deadness in his expression, the sudden loss of the easy affection between them.
Oh, God. What was happening? Who was the man standing in the doorway? It looked like Ty, but it couldn’t be.
Except that it could. It was.
She stood, legs gone rubbery. “I should . . . I need to go.” Away from him, away from there.
Something flickered in his expression. “Ashley—”
“No, don’t. It’s okay. I’m fine.” But then she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the sudden chill, chafing the gooseflesh on her arms. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m not fine, but it’s not your problem, just like whatever is in that folder is none of my business. You never promised me full disclosure.” He hadn’t promised her anything, really, except that he wouldn’t disappear on her the way Wylie had by walking out on his job at the ranch without warning. But while he might be physically present right now, he had disappeared nonetheless. “I’m going to go,” she said again, heart drumming miserably against her ribs. Please stop me. Please talk to me. Please help me understand what is going on here.
How had they gone from making love beside a waterfall to this?
He didn’t stop her, though. He shifted aside, so he was no longer blocking the door.
Vision blurring, not meeting his eyes, she hurried past him and down the stairs. The barn aisle seemed endless, like one of those dreams where she was in a long hallway and the door at the end kept getting farther and farther away as she ran. She passed Justice’s stall, saw Brutus’s zigzag blaze, Betty Crocker browsing on a thick pile of hay. Then she was through the doors and out into the night, sucking in huge lungfuls of air.
You’re freaking out. Overreacting. All he did was refuse to share something private. But the look on his face . . .
Bugsy was a welcome sight, so bright and foolish with his spring-loaded antennae and lash-fringed headlights. She got the door open, dropped into the driver’s seat, and closed the door, cocooning herself in the quiet space, the familiar smells. Then she sat there for a minute, figuring she should wait for the shakes to subside.
One minute stretched to more, at least according to the digital clock in the belly of the bobblehead troll mounted on the dashboard. At three minutes, her diaphragm loosened up and oxygen found its way back into her lungs. At five, her head cleared some, no longer replaying that cold, dark stare over and over again. At seven, she figured she was okay to drive. She turned the key, waited for the classic engine to catch.
There was a brisk knock on the glass beside her.
“Eep!” She jumped against her seat belt, adrenaline sizzling through her at the sight of a familiar silhouette. Her hand went to the stick shift and her foot hovered over the gas. She could drive away, run away, not look back. She rolled down the window instead. And even though it hurt, deep down inside, she met Ty’s cool stare.
Only it wasn’t cool anymore. His eyes were stormy in the darkness, his face raw. “Come inside,” he said, his voice as ragged as his expression. “Please.”
• • •
Ty hadn’t meant to go after her. He had told himself to let her go, to leave it alone—he already knew how this one ended. She wasn’t Brandi, it was true. But he was the same guy he’d been before. The situation was the same.
Except it wasn’t. With Brandi, he wouldn’t have had to fight the urge to yank open the car door, sweep her into his arms, and carry her upstairs. He wouldn’t have wanted to keep her trapped in his space until they worked things out. He wouldn’t have been holding his damn breath while he waited for Ashley’s answer.
Until, finally, she turned off the engine.
The silence that followed seemed very loud, broken only by the squeak of the hand crank as she rolled up her window. Then she swung open the door and climbed out of the spotted Bug without saying a word.
He didn’t carry her, didn’t touch her. He just led her upstairs and gestured for her to take the same place she had just been on the sofa. He sank down beside her, not so close that they were touching, but close enough so that when he flipped open the blue folder, she could see the picture that was engraved on his brain.
In it, his rawboned nine-year-old self glowered into the camera from beneath too-long bangs, in stark contrast to the blue-eyed, white-blond little girl he held in front of him. She looked like an angel; he looked like a prepubescent thug.
Ashley reached out, hovered her fingers over his face. “She’s your sister.”
“Was. Is. I don’t know anymore. I haven’t seen her since she was three years old. But I’ve been looking for her ever since I made my first fifty bucks putting bulls in the chute at that rodeo.”