Firelight at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth Read Free Book Online

Ridges, that was saying something.
    Rather than think too hard about his own big empty house on the other side of town, Sam punched his buddy in the arm. “Don’t worry, Webb. I’ve got your back, especially when it comes to the cute brunette staying out in Blessing Valley.”
    Wyatt zeroed in. “Jenny’s friend is cute?”
    â€œYeah, she’s cute.” Hot, even, with long, dark, flowing curls, big blue-green eyes, and a killer set of curves that he had noticed even with her finger on that trigger. “You haven’t met her?” he asked Wyatt.
    â€œNope. I missed her when she arrived, and she hasn’t been back since. Krista and I figured we’d give her a few more days to come in for supplies. If she doesn’t, we’ll load up and head out for a visit.”
    â€œSounds like a plan.” It also sounded to Sam as though he should keep track of whether she showed up at the ranch, and if not, ride out and warn her to hide the tent. He didn’t know exactly what was going on there, but he had to respect her for not wanting to hurt Krista’s feelings—not to mention that he wouldn’t mind seeing his assailant again. Lady like that, packing a fastball, a pistol, and a secret or two, made a man wonder what else was hiding beneath the surface.

4
    T he morning after the Bonfire Incident—that was how Danny had decided to think about it, focusing on her
aha
moment rather than on the man—she awoke just past dawn, tired and achy and feeling like she’d climbed a thousand feet straight up while she slept.
    The squirrels were waiting for her, sitting on the cleared-off table and looking at her as if to say,
Well? What’s for breakfast?
    â€œShoo! Scat!” She waved them off.
    Tails flicking, they boogied up the awning. Instead of dashing up the tree, though, they stayed on top of the RV, stomping their feet and chittering at her. One was fatter and more sandy gray, the other leaner and reddish, and neither looked particularly scared of her.
    Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I’ve got a gun, you know.”
    They didn’t look impressed by the threat. Probably knew she didn’t mean it—the revolver was for predators and signaling for help.
    â€œOkay, fine. You can stay. But I’m not feeding you!” Word of a sucker traveled fast, and the last thing she needed was two squirrels to turn into a dozen, thenfour dozen. Or, worse, a bear. She slept inside an electrified fence that was rated for the area’s biggest predators, and made a point of keeping her food sealed and her compost far away from camp. The M&M’s had been a rare misstep; she had no intention of letting the RV become a feeding station.
    Turning her back on the squirrels, she went through her morning routine with more speed than usual, veins thrumming with an anticipation she couldn’t quite pin down. Maybe it was leftover excitement from the previous day’s break in the routine, or the buzz of knowing that if yesterday had been the first day of the rest of her life, today was the next first day.
    Even her surroundings were a little different now. Whereas she had burned the bad memories that had come out of her duffel, she had spread the good ones around her camp. She was drinking her tea out of the cartoon mug her sister, Charlie, had given her while she was in the hospital; there was a picture of her, Charlie, and their parents visible through the RV’s window, a rare indoor shot of them plopped together on a couch; and a brightly painted pottery bowl sat on the ground nearby, ready and waiting should she decide to transplant an herb or two.
    And hanging from one of the awning supports, dangling like a fluorescent yellow chandelier, was the little stuffed toy butterfly that Farah had given her before she left rehab, the one that wore hiking boots, suspenders, and a tag that said its name was BUTTERS THE BUTTERFLY . But though Butters had