Winter at Mustang Ridge (23 page)

The light trickled out of her mom’s eyes. “Jenny?”

“It’s . . .” She couldn’t put the words together. The pretty room threatened to spin, making things worse because she knew she was blowing it. She could see the hurt she was causing, the confusion.

“You hate it.”

“No! No, I don’t. I love it. It’s just . . . Give me a second here, okay?” She couldn’t even wrap her head around enough of her thoughts to understand why she was stuck between wanting to dive onto that big bed and burrow into the pillows, and backing out, closing the door, and jumping on the first plane headed anywhere but here.

“It’s the horse, isn’t it?” Rose’s voice sharpened. “You said you hated the horse and I didn’t listen. I thought if you saw it like this . . . Well, never mind. We can fix it.” Whisking to the dresser, she swept up the ceramic beast and jammed it under her arm, so its bared teeth looked poised to take a chomp out of her breast. “There! Is that better?”

Jenny’s blood heated. “Would you just listen to me for a second? I love the room. I even dig the horse. You were right about it, and I was totally wrong.”

That got her a narrow-eyed glare. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. Put it back.”

Rex followed the back-and-forth with worried eyes.

Rose turned away, shielding the statue with her body, so it looked like the creature was peering around her to leer at Jenny with a ceramic
nyah-nyah
. “He’ll look lovely on the mantel downstairs.”

“Gran will have a cow.” Jenny reached past her, grabbed the outstretched foreleg, and tugged. “Give him here.”

“Stop it!” Her mom swatted at her, eyes firing. “You only want him because I’m taking him away from you.”

Jenny pulled. “I want him because he’s yellow and he looks awesome in here. And because you picked him out for me.” There. That had almost come out the way she wanted it to.

Her mom wasn’t listening, though. Eyes wild enough to make Jenny want to take a step back, she leaned in and hissed, “Let. Go.”

“Jeez, take a breath, will you?” Jenny yanked on the horse. “You’re acting crazy.”

Rex scratched at the door.

“You’re scaring the dog.” Rose pulled back, nearly breaking Jenny’s grip. “Knock it off.”

“You knock it off. I’m trying to apologize, but you’re not listening to me!”

“Let go!”

“I’m sorry that I jammed up. I should’ve told you right away that this room rocks. Which it does. Now give me the horse.” With that, Jenny gave the kind of jerk she would’ve used to get a full-size horse moving when it wanted to stick all fours in place.

“No!” Her mom yanked back, teeth bared.

Crack!
The horse’s foreleg snapped off in Jenny’s hand, sending her reeling. She backpedaled, bounced off the corner of the mattress, and plopped down on the edge of the bed, staring.

Rose’s eyes filled with tears as she cradled the statue like a baby. After a second, the wetness spilled over and tracked down her cheeks.

“Mom, stop.” It wasn’t an order this time, more of a plea. Jenny dropped the broken piece in her pocket, rose, and crossed the room. It felt strange to reach out to her mother, even stranger to take her hand and find it soft, with none of the calluses she remembered.

“I can’t . . . I don’t . . .” Wet eyes met hers, confused and hopeless. “I can’t do this anymore, Jenny. I just can’t.”

“Let’s go downstairs.” She took the broken horse from her mother’s unresisting grip, realizing that this wasn’t about her, or at least not entirely. “We’ll have some coffee or something, and talk.” When was the last time she had said something like that to her mother? That was usually Krista’s line, her sphere of comfort. Only Krista wasn’t here, and Jenny was the one left with a sense of
what the heck?
and the feeling that this went way deeper than she had guessed.

Looking so much older than Jenny had ever seen her—older, even, than Gran—Rose simply nodded, turned for the door, and walked away from her latest project without a backward glance.

Jenny wedged the yellow horse under her arm and followed, wishing she could turn back the clock by twenty minutes or so and give herself a big kick in the ass just as she walked through the front door.

Downstairs, she hit the lights in the kitchen and set the broken horse on the butcher-block counter. Then she pulled out a stool and pointed to it. “Sit.”

Rex, who had followed them down, plopped down instantly, then cocked his head.
Cookie?

Rose, on the other hand, took her place at the counter, stared at the horse for a moment, and then put her elbows on the table and her face in her hands, finishing it off with a groan. “This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe I just did that. What is
wrong
with me?”

“Well, if it helps, you didn’t do it alone. I seem to have reverted to being fifteen for a few minutes there.”

“When you were fifteen, I could’ve coped.”

Jenny didn’t know how to ask what happened without it sounding like an accusation. “Would you like some wine?” She could sure use some. First the thing with Nick, and now she was teetering on a familypocalypse.
But, hey, wine
, she thought, pulling a decent pinot grigio out of the cabinet and trying not to notice that its color came very close to matching the horse.

“I’ve already had two glasses” came from behind her mom’s hands.

Which would explain some of what was going on. Not all of it, though. “Have another.” Jenny poured generous glasses for each of them, and plonked them down at the table. “You want to cook something?” Which could start a kitchen doomsday of its own, but right now she’d do pretty much anything to get that bleak, crushed look out of her mom’s eyes.

Rose uncovered her face, looking like she was considering it, but then she shook her head and reached for her wine. “Nah. Let’s eat tomorrow’s coffee cake instead.”

Gran would be steamed over having her breakfast plans usurped, but Jenny headed for the fridge and pulled out the perfectly frosted ring cake, along with a bowl of whipped cream and a pint of sliced strawberries. “I’m not sure this goes together.”

“Throw some Grand Marnier on top and it’ll work.” Her mom reached across to select a huge knife that said “butcher”—or maybe “slasher film”—far more than it did coffee cake. “How big of a piece do you want?”

“Let me.” Jenny snagged the knife, whacked off a few slices, and set the knife out of reach when she went to get the liqueur. She poured a couple of hefty slugs over the cake, slapped on some berries and cream, and pushed one of the plates over as she took the stool beside her mother. “Dig in.”

Her mom picked up her fork, but then just sat there, staring at a dessert that should’ve delighted her, not because it was a foodie’s dream, but because the theft would annoy the bejeebers out of Gran in the morning. And if that wasn’t enough to spark her interest, then this was serious.

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked softly after a long moment of silence. “What’s going on with you these days? It’s not just me, is it?”

More silence, lasting longer than a moment. More like a mini-eternity in which Jenny tried to think of something better to say, and her mom just sat and stared.

But then Rose moved, forking up a bite of the cake and eating it with a grudging expression of
not bad.
After chewing and swallowing, she said, “I’ve got a great life.”

When nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, Jenny said, “Okay.”

Way to rock the interview
.

It seemed to do the trick, though, because her mom continued. “Most women my age would kill to have the opportunities I’ve had. I’ve traveled across the continent and back in both directions, taken classes, been to amazing workshops, seen things I never would’ve thought I’d see in person.”

After a pause, Jenny said, “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.” When her mom glanced over, she risked a small smile. “Been there, done that, recognize it. You . . . ah, getting bored with retirement?”

“Retirement.” Rose made a face. “What kind of a word is
retire
anyway? Go to bed, leave the field of battle, withdraw from an argument . . . none of those definitions work for me. But your father loves it, doesn’t he? He loves traveling, loves the
Rambling Rose
, loves meeting new people, seeing new things, going where the road takes us . . . And that’s the problem.”

Jenny’s stool felt tippy, like one leg was shorter than the others. Centering herself and trying to find the right balance, she said, “Because you don’t want to travel anymore and he does?”

“Because I don’t know what I want anymore! I thought I did.” She gestured around the room with her wineglass, sloshing the pale yellow liquid. “I thought I wanted to be in here with your grandmother. But it turned out I don’t really want to cook.”

“You don’t?” Krista would undoubtedly be relieved, but Jenny was just confused.

“No. I want what your Gran gets out of cooking.” Rose shot Jenny a sidelong look. “And if you ever tell her that, I’ll deny it, and then get you back somehow. That’s a promise.”

“You . . . right.” Jenny shook her head, not sure whether she was trying to clear it or rattle some of these revelations into place. Her mom might be a little buzzed, but this had the ring of truth. More, it made sense. Sort of, at least. “What about the decorating?”

“It’s okay. I thought . . .” Rose shook her head, drained her wine and went for a refill. “I don’t know what I thought I would get out of it. Doing the master bedroom was fun. So was your room, until . . . I don’t know. I got caught up and went overboard, just like I did in the kitchen over the summer.”

Jenny didn’t dare agree with her on that one, but she wasn’t going to argue, either. “Maybe something else, then?”

“What, like quilting? Stained glass? Write a book?”

“Maybe.”

“I wish . . .” Rose glanced out the window, though there wasn’t anything to see but blackness. “I wish this winter was over. Everything always seems easier in the springtime.”

Impulsively, drawn by the sadness in her mother’s voice, the slump of her shoulders, Jenny reached across and took her hand. “You’ll figure something out. You always did.”

“That was before. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“Sure you are.” Jenny squeezed their joined hands. “If you want a reminder, I can go back outside and pretend to be just coming home way past curfew, so you can ground me.”

“Hmm.” Rose considered it for a moment, then shook her head with a faraway smile. “I’ll pass. Thanks for the offer, though.” Her eyes went to the yellow horse. “Poor guy, missing his leg.”

“I’ve got it right here.” Jenny produced the broken-off piece from her pocket and set it on the table between them. “And for the record, I really do love my room. It’s amazing. I was in shock seeing it, I think, and caught up in my own problems. I’m sorry I didn’t say the right things.”

“Problems?” Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Did something go wrong with Nick? It seemed like you two were doing so well.”

“He . . .” Maybe it was seeing glimpses of the mom she remembered, maybe it was the wine, but Jenny found herself swallowing past the sudden pressure in her throat to say, “We drove out to visit his dad today, and were having a great time until the subject of his ex-fiancée came up and things got weird.” She stared glumly at her glass. “I think it wasn’t so much jealousy, really, or the way it reminded me of how much I don’t know about him. It was more . . . I don’t know. Like it brought home what it looks like after things are over.” And how they would soon be headed in that direction.

“Oh, sweetie.” Her mom reached out and gripped her fingers. “Do you want me to be mad at him? I will, if you want.”

Jenny’s lips curved despite the sad echoes inside her. “That sounds like something Krista would say.”

“Where do you think you two came from, a vegetable garden? Seriously, though, I’m sorry things got weird. Did you guys work it out?”

“I think things are going to be okay.” As long as she played by their original rules. And she so didn’t want to dwell on that right now. So she squeezed her mom’s hand. “And none of that is an excuse for my flatlining when you showed me my new room.”

Her mom hesitated. Then, apparently deciding to let her change the subject, she said, “It’s okay. No biggie.”

“Yes, it is a biggie. Thank you. Truly. It’s wonderful.”

“Well then.” Lips curving, her mom focused on the horse. “I guess this guy’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain.” She paused. “My .38 is upstairs. We could take him out back and shoot him. Might be a fitting way to end the evening.”

Jenny snorted so hard she sucked wine up her nose, where it fizzed and burned. Coughing, laughing, she waved off the napkin her mother held out, and grabbed her own. “I was thinking more along the lines of Crazy Glue.”

“Do you think it would work?”

“Worth a try. Better yet, we can give him to Dad and let him experiment. He’s probably got some NASA-level epoxy he’s been dying to use on something.”

“Probably.” But her mom gave the maimed statue a dubious look. “I could get you another one.”

Jenny shook her head. “I like this one. Just think of the story we’ll be able to tell about him, years down the road when your grandkids ask what happened to his leg.” Her voice tried to wobble on the part about grandkids, but she didn’t let it. She needed to get this right.