Summer at Mustang Ridge Read Online Free PDF Page A

and Lizzie’s keep. Grabbing the small flashlight she’d left on the nightstand, she picked her way over to the dresser, where she pulled on her second-favorite pair of black pants, along with one of the logo’d polo shirts Krista had sent over, and a matching fleece jacket. Even in early June, the mountaintops wore snow and the predawn air had a bite.
    She found paper and a pen in the nightstand, and left a quick note:
Come find me in the kitchen when you’re up, or else hang here until I get back. And don’t forget Rule Eleven.
    Between the horses and the singles, she figured it’d be best to keep a close eye on Lizzie, though it wasn’t like that was much of a chore. A glance at her phone showed that the booster was picking up the signal from the TinyGPS Tracker that Lizzie wore on her wrist, even though there wasn’t much cell signal up here. It’d be enough, though. Besides, Lizzie tended to find a safe, quiet place to hole up with her iPad or phone to play games, read, or watch movies, always with the volume off or her earphones in. And after yesterday, Shelby wasn’t too worried about her wandering again, at least not right away.
    Pausing by the bed, she tugged up the quilt, tucked Mr. Pony closer to her daughter’s cheek, and then dropped a kiss on her soft brow, whispering, “I love you, Dizzy Girl.”
    She inhaled the sweet scent of her kiddo, grateful that they were here, that they had survived the drive, the first day, all of it. And most of all that they were together.
We can do this,
she told herself, and headed off on a short hike of a commute that wasn’t anything like her usual two-trains-and-a-smelly-bus routine.
    Outside, the morning was cool, crisp, and sharp, and when she breathed in, the air filled her lungs with the scents of horses, grass, and open spaces. A few nerves prickled to life as she followed the pathway that led from the cabins up to the main house, which was a huge black shadow partway illuminated by the porch lamps and the light coming through the kitchen windows.
You can handle this, no sweat
. So what if she’d spent most of the past decade hyping ingredients rather than using them? Once upon a time she’d been a half-decent prep cook. It’d be like riding a bicycle—or, yanno, sex—the kind of thing a girl never forgets how to do.
    She hoped.
    Her boots thudded hollowly on the porch and the screen door squeaked like something out of a horror movie. The whole effect was creepyish, to the point that she expected to hear a wolf howl in the background. The minute she opened the heavier storm door and warm air spilled out, though, she stopped dead and inhaled a lungful that really should’ve come with a calorie count.
Hel-lo, come to Mama
.
    The sweetness of brown sugar was overlain by the sharper smells of apples and cinnamon, in scent tendrils that practically wrapped around and pulled her through the door. She stepped into an open main room decorated in rustics and taxidermy, with a few color pops in pillows and curtains that added a feminine touch. At one end, couches and comfy chairs were clustered around a fireplace, with a flat-screen above. At the other end, a long dining table had a dozen chairs around it and a pretty flower arrangement in its center. In the middle, near where Shelby had come in, a reception desk held a computer station, a house phone, and a
PRESS “1” FOR SERVICE sign on it.
    It was a strange mix of home and hotel, but she thought it worked. More, she thought she could do something with it—something more than the bland
Your pleasure is our business–
style promos they were currently using.
    “Which, come to think, might be a good way to pay Krista back,” she mused, then filed the idea for future reference. She would need to get to know the place a little first, figure out what made it tick, what made it special compared to every other dude ranch with a pretty view and theme weeks.
    And she was stalling, just a little.
    Taking a deep breath