Winter at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Page B

and New York, where I clawed my way up to the camera crew. Then I worked on documentaries in the UK, Ireland, and central Texas before signing on with
Jungle Love
because I was ready for some rain forests and parrots. So far, I’ve done two seasons in Belize and one each in Honduras, Guatemala, and central Mexico.”
    “Impressive. I bet your passport is even prettier than mine.”
    “We can have a stamp-off if you like.”
    “You’d win. And I think mine’s expired.”
    “Not mine,” she declared, and dug into her pie. “I can’t wait to get back on a plane headed wherever.”
    Again he felt that twinge.
    “What does your family think about you living abroad?” he asked. When she hesitated—maybe?—he added, “You mentioned wanting to escape some weirdness earlier. I thought they might be leaning on you to stay on at the ranch.”
    She shuddered. “Yeesh. Don’t even say it. No, they’re used to me being gone. As for the weirdness, that would be courtesy of my mother. These days, she and I make oil and water look like best buddies.”
    “Really? I’m surprised.” He had only met Rose Skye a couple of times, and had the impression of a cheerful—if somewhat formidable—woman who didn’t have much to do with the ranch operations. “She seemed pretty mellow to me.”
    “You must’ve caught her on a down day.” She closed her take-out box and set it aside.
    “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
    “I owe you a couple of personal questions, remember? Besides, it’s something I’ve been thinking about lots since I’ve been home. It’s the first time the two of us have been under the same roof in . . . I don’t know. Five years? Six? I don’t know if it’s gotten worse recently, or if I’m just noticing it more.”
    On any of the other first dates he’d been on in the last couple of years—not that there had been many—he would’ve steered things in some other direction, keeping things light and fun. And, yeah, he and Jenny were just having fun . . . but they were also friends of a sort, and he wanted to help. “What is she doing that has you worried?”
    “When I was growing up, she was totally normal, you know? She wasn’t perfect—who is? But she worked in the ranch office, drove me and Krista around, nagged us to do our homework and chores, rode out with the roundups, and she was, well, Mom. And when it became obvious that Mustang Ridge was going to have to make a change if it wanted to stay afloat, she got right behind Krista’s idea of a dude ranch. She helped design the cabins, the theme weeks, even the dining hall and the original Web site.”
    “I take it something changed?”
    “When it was all up and running, and Krista was finding her balance being in charge of things, our mom and dad announced that they were retiring, buying an RV, and taking off. Which I totally get—my dad should’ve been an engineer or an inventor or something, but there was no way he was going to let the ranch leave the family, so he became a cattleman instead. He never loved it, though. Not like he’s loved traveling.” An utterly fond smile softened her face in the moonlight. “You should see some of the things he’s engineered in the RV—little machines that let him brew coffee in the galley while he’s sitting in the driver’s seat, spring-loaded gizmos in the sleeping compartment that make it easier for my mom to lift the mattress and get to the storage area underneath, that sort of thing. And he’s made friends all over, not just because he’s the kind of guy people want to be around, but because he can fix almost anything. Your taillight is wired wrong? Let Ed Skye take a look at it. Got a problem with your plumbing? Eddie can help. He’ll take a beer in payment, but never anything more.” Her eyes went soft in the moonlight. “He still gets emails from all over the country asking him how to fix this or that.”
    “He sounds like a neat guy,” Nick said. “I should’ve made