Summer at Mustang Ridge by Hayworth Jesse

Author:Hayworth, Jesse [Hayworth, Jesse]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2013-06-04T04:00:00+00:00

12

The next few days were a blur to Shelby, but in a very good way. The roundup was an unqualified success, with a ten percent increase in the number of calves that were microchipped, immunized, and—in the case of the young males—snipped, and a fat two hundred being brought down to the ranch to be sold, ensuring that the herd didn’t get too big. The days hadn’t been blazing hot, there weren’t any real accidents or injuries, and the horses and riders were holding up great under the work. The chuck truck was chugging along, rolling along easier now that it was lighter by five days’ worth of provisions, and Shelby and Gran had been roundly praised each night for the camp meals. But if the days blurred, the nights stood still.

Shelby and Foster didn’t go skinny-dipping after all, as the water was even colder up closer to the mountains. Instead, on the second night—it was Sunday, though not like any Sunday she’d ever had before—they rode out to a cliff where, sheltered in a shallow cave high up above ground level, some long-ago artist had chiseled a pattern of spirals and stars, and barrel-chested stick figures hunting with arrows and spears.

With the hobbled horses picking at grass down below, snorting now and then, Shelby leaned into Foster and dangled her legs over the edge, enjoying the flutter that came with the height . . . and the man. She let out a sigh. “It’s a fabulous night.”

“We get lots of great nights out here.” He stretched an arm around her and drew her closer. “But the company makes this one perfect.”

She grinned up at his strong profile, silhouetted against the blush of sunset. “Your sweet talk is getting better. You been practicing?”

“Brutus gets a kick out of it.” He reached into the saddlebag he’d brought up with him, and held out a bottle. “Drink?”

“Orange soda?”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Gran always says my palate stopped developing at age twelve. Besides, I wasn’t sure what went with Nutter Butters.”

“What doesn’t go with Nutter Butters? Gimme.”

He proffered the packaged cookies with a flourish. “Asparagus?”

“Excuse me?

“Asparagus doesn’t go with Nutter Butters.”

She bit in, considered. “I could make it work. Maybe tie them together with a white sauce, or some Brie.” Though that might be stretching it.

He faked a shudder. “Real cowboys don’t eat funky cheese.”

“Is that part of the code?”

“If it’s not, it should be.”

“Okay, then, no asparagus with our Nutter Butters.”

“Or brussels sprouts, broccoli, or lima beans.”

“You got something against vegetables?”

“Not if it’s lettuce or carrots. Peas are okay in limited doses.”

“Ah.” She nodded knowingly. “You’re a bag-o’-salad guy.”

“A what?”

“Tell me there hasn’t been a bag o’ salad in your fridge recently.” At his expression, she grinned. “Typical bachelor fare.”

“Oh? And you’ve never succumbed to the temptation of American blend or spring mix?”

“I didn’t say that. Hey, it’s an accepted single mom shortcut. I figure I get points because Lizzie eats her veggies . . . as long as I don’t try to feed her asparagus, broccoli, brussels sprouts, or lima beans.

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