Free Winter at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Page B

first-date, linen-tablecloth restaurant in favor of talking animatronic taxidermy and killer onion rings. And after that . . . well, they would see how it went.
    She didn’t intend to rush into anything—if nothing else, Krista would kill her if she made things awkward with Mustang Ridge’s main vet. But she and Nick were both grownups, and it wasn’t like he was a born-and-bred local. Besides, if the Twenty-Thirty Project was anything like the relief group she had embedded with for a three-month stint before joining
Jungle Love
, he wouldn’t be any stranger to people coming and going, and the potential for a no-strings fling as a stress reliever.
    Maybe. Possibly. But first they would start with dinner.
    She hopped in the shower, then gave her hair a quick blow-dry and fluff—
thank you, short haircut
. Coming back into her bedroom, she gave a silly twirl. “What do you think, Rex? Jeans and the dark purple sweater that shows off the goods, or black pants I practically have to paint on plus something loose up top?”
    That got her a “whuff,” but no clear vote either way.
    “Black it is,” she said, deciding to take it up a notch. There was that zing to think about, and the way her stomach had fluttered at odd moments through the week, in anticipation of tonight.
    She paired the pants with a tight black shirt and a soft sea foam sweater with a dramatic cowl neck, tapped her feet into silver-toed black boots, added an extra two minutes to her five-minute makeup routine, and was ready to roll.
    Doing her best not to collect too many dog hairs, she gave Rex a good rub that set his tail thumping on the mattress. “See you later, buddy. Be a good boy.”
    He wiggled and slurped her hand.
    Out in the hallway, the floorboards did their
creak-creak-creak
, but she did a little dance with her boots, drowning them out.
    The doorway at the far end of the hall swung partway open and her mother popped her head through. “Jenny! Sweetie, I was hoping I’d catch you.”
    “I’m on my way out. Nick is picking me up in a few minutes.” More like fifteen, but the last thing she wanted to do right now was unload dusty old stuff from the van and schlep it upstairs.
    “This won’t take long. I need your opinion.” Rose beckoned. “Come on.”
    Admittedly curious about all the noises that had been coming from her parents’ suite over the past few days, Jenny headed up the hallway. “You promise no heavy lifting?”
    “Oh, you.” Rose looked both ways, as if making sure nobody was hiding in the bathroom or linen closet, just waiting for an opportunity to rush the master bedroom, and then stepped back and cracked the door a few inches wider.
    Stifling the urge to hum the theme from
Mission: Impossible
, Jenny slipped through. Then, as her mother closed and locked the door behind her, she blinked around.
    Wow. Things had really changed in the four days since she’d last been in here.
    The main room had been cleared of furniture, the carpet tarped over, and the windows taped. In the dressing area beside the bathroom, the spindle-legged dressing table and boxes of art glass sat under clear plastic, nestled up against the dispossessed bedroom furniture. Next to that, incongruously, sat a huge red-and-white structure that looked like a one-tenth scale model of a New England barn, but might’ve been a cabinet. Or a chicken coop. Maybe both.
    What the heck?
    Rose bounced a little on her paint-speckled sneakers. “What do you think?”
    Um . . .
“I thought you were doing Depression era?”
    “Not for the whole thing, silly. That would be like reproducing your Nonnie’s house on purpose.”
    “What’s that?” She pointed to the coop.
    “It’s an armoire for all your father’s things! Isn’t it darling?”
    “Has Dad seen it yet?”
    “Of course, silly. He loves it.” She beamed at the monstrosity. “I’d show you the inside, but I’m waiting on the hardware. Besides, I know you’re in a hurry. We