Harvest at Mustang Ridge Read Online Free Page B

into the loading chute, she said, “What do you want, Wyatt?” He had to want something. Otherwise, why even make himself known?
    “I wanted to apologize to you. To . . . I don’t know”—he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck—“clear the air. I know it was a long time ago, and we’ve both lived our lives since then, but I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I handled things. You deserved better.”
    “Yes, I did.” And once upon a time, she would’ve given anything to have him admit it. “Nice of you to make such an effort to track me down. Oh, wait. You didn’t.”
    He shifted in his boots. “I’m staying with Sam for a couple of weeks in between jobs. He volunteered me for this, said you’d be here. I thought it would be easier this way, just running into each other.”
    Easier for you, that is.
Though, really, there wouldn’t have been a good time for this. She didn’t need an apology, didn’t need the mere sight of him bringing back a whole lot of memories that were better off forgotten. Didn’t need
him
. Jamming her hands in her pockets—and only then realizing they had balled into fists—she stepped back. “Like you said, it was a long time ago.” Behind her, the truck door slammed.
    Moments later, boot steps approached, and Jenny said, “Is everything okay?” Coming up beside Krista, she fixed Wyatt with a look that said
I know who you are and what you put my sister through
. “Is this guy bothering you?”
    Yes.
“No. It’s fine. We’re done here.” To Wyatt, she said, “You’ll get the trailer gate when she’s loaded?”
    He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Will do. You take care, Krista Skye.” It was more of a good-bye than he had given her before.
    “You, too, Wyatt,” she said, if only to have the last word. She didn’t let herself run, didn’t let herself shake, just climbed in the truck and slammed the door.
    And wanted to weep.
    Jenny grabbed her arms. “Ohmigosh! That was him, wasn’t it? That was—”
    “Wyatt.” She made herself say the name. “Yes.”
    “Unbelievable.” Jenny craned around to look toward the barn, where he had moved to man the gates of the loading chute. “Did he . . . Did you . . .”
    To Krista’s relief, there was a sudden commotion in the barn, a couple of hoots and hollers, and then hoofbeats clattered on metal and the trailer rocked and rolled, making the truck shimmy and signaling that the new horse was aboard. Moments later, the trailer door banged shut and the latches clanged into place, and Wyatt’s voice called, “You’re all set!”
    She put the truck in gear and hit the gas, not letting herself stomp down nearly as hard as she wanted to.
    As they rolled past the hot dog stands, Jenny stuckher head out the window to get a better look at the trailer. “I can see her ears through the Plexi,” she reported. “You want to stop and double-check the latches?”
    “No. We’re good.”
    “You trust him?”
    “To close up a trailer? Yes.” She would trust him with a horse anytime, anywhere. But as for anything more than that? Forget it. She may have gotten the care-and-nurture gene from Gran, but it was balanced by the one-strike-and-you’re-out attitude that came straight from Big Skye’s DNA.
    “Soo . . .” Jenny drew it out as they turned onto the main road and the ride smoothed out. “You want to tell me about it, or should we pretend we spent the morning shoe shopping?”
    So tempting. “If we went for shoes, then where did the horse come from?”
    “Get one free with every flat of annuals at Maas’s Feed and Grain next door?”
    Given Ernie Maas’s recent “two ducklings and a shrub, one low price” ad in the local paper, it wasn’t all that farfetched. Unfortunately, the charade wouldn’t appease Jenny’s curiosity, which on a scale of one to creepy stalker, fell somewhere around the
National Enquirer
level.
    “Shoes, marigolds, and a bonus mustang,” Krista said, trying to keep it