Free Harvest at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Page B

twinge of knowing that her five-year plan of a husband and kids had stretched to seven, then faded to “one of these days.” Dreams changed, though. Goals changed. And she wasn’t going to settle for anything less than what her parents and grandparents had found in their marriages. Not perfection, but longevity, family, teamwork, and the kind of love that helped two people tough it out through the not-so-perfect times. Which she had come to find was a tall order for someone like her. “But thanks. It’s good land, and business is booming. So I appreciate you being willing to consider the position. Did you talk to Foster?”
    He nodded. “He gave me the basics on the guests and the competition. Sounded pretty keen on winning, said it would be good PR.”
    “That, and he’s won a few buckles in his day.” Leaving it at that, she patted the mare’s neck. “This is Jupiter, and so far she’s on the fast track.”
    “I’ll say. I figured you’d still be sacking her out, maybe ground driving.”
    “She skipped a few grades. Granted, we may have to go back later and fill in the gaps.” She was tempted to keep the higher ground, but Jupiter was starting to fidget. Stepping down from the saddle, she added, “Right now I’m working on the basics—gas, brakes, and steering. Assuming you sign on, I’m going to need you to put some trick training on her.”
    “What sort of tricks?”
    “You should check out the online videos of othermustang competitions. We’re not just talking about a pretty reining pattern or taking off the bridle halfway through anymore.” Talking about the makeover, she could almost ignore the fact that he dwarfed her, his broad shoulders darn near blocking out the sun. “Some of the winning teams have their horses towing cars into the arena, chasing radio-controlled gizmos around like they’re cutting cows, and even sitting
in
the car while the cowboy drives them out! We’re talking plots and production values here, with horses that only have a couple of months under saddle.” And she needed to deliver.
    He eyed her. “Do you have a plan?”
    “More or less. My dad is handling the props, and the script needs work.” At least it did now, because there was no way she was doing the original skit with him. “How about you start by teaching her ‘sit,’ and ‘shake,’ and we’ll go from there?”
    A low “whuff” drew her attention to Wyatt’s feet, where a scruffy gray dog—medium-size, with a Brillo coat, a schnauzer’s face, and old-man eyebrows—sat holding up a paw.
    Krista crouched down, lips shaping a reluctant curve as she found she could be charmed by the dog while wishing wholeheartedly that she didn’t need his master on her property. “Well, hello there. I guess you know
sit
and
shake
, don’t you?” She shook the proffered paw.
    “Along with a few other things,” Wyatt said wryly. “This is Klepto.”
    “Oh?”
    “He has a habit of borrowing things. Don’t worry. I’ll keep him entertained enough—and tired enough—to behave.”
    Great,
she thought, knowing the dog wouldn’t be nearly so cute if he was traipsing around with stolen Ray-Bans or a just-out-of-the-box Justin boot. Or, in the case of this week’s guests, dentures and pill bottles, along with the Ray-Bans and boots. But she needed the cowboy, and a good working dog could be a huge asset on the trail.
    She ruffled the wiry gray fur. “Keep your paws to yourself, young man. We’re on to you.” Straightening, she said to Wyatt, “You’ll be responsible for any losses, and he’ll need to be tied if things get bad.”
    “Agreed.” He held out a mug. “Coffee? I’ve got a muffin for you, too.”
    She took a step back before she could stop herself. It shouldn’t have felt like worlds colliding to see him holding the familiar mug. “I take it you met Gran.”
    “Nice lady. She seemed happy to see me. Then again, I didn’t give her my name.”
    “I figured we’d see how today goes