Her Rodeo Rancher
Автор
M. K. Stelmack
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CHAPTER ONE
KRISTA MONTGOMERY GRIMACED behind her mask as Janet Claverley held up four fingers in serious need of cuticle care. “Spring snowstorm about to hit and four calves wandered off.”
Krista tapped the towel encouragingly with her cuticle pusher. “Oh no. Did you find them?”
“They hadn’t gone far, but it’s all brush, thick as wool, and I wouldn’t take Silver in there.”
Silver? Oh, the horse. Janet floated her hand down and Krista resumed lifting off more cuticle tissue on one nail than she did on both hands of other clients.
“I went in myself without work gloves, that’s why my hands are all scratched up. Laura was supposed to cover, but she was with the caterer. I’ll be so glad when her wedding is over and done with.”
And when Krista’s run of luck would also be over and done with. She’d opened her private salon three months ago in February, and her old high school friend had been her first half-day spa customer. During the manicure, Krista had suggested bridal updos which excited Laura so much that she pleaded with Krista to do them for her and her bridesmaids on the day of the wedding. Up to her ankles in a footbath, Laura then decided what better thank-you gift to her loyal bridesmaids than their own pedicure.
One of those bridesmaids was looking for a hairstylist for her own bridal party. And that sister had a friend who booked massages for her bridesmaids. Three bridal bookings in a month. Not bad word-of-mouth business from one wedding.
Proof positive that her salon was her true calling, her rocky social media start aside. And even that online debacle with her ex had only toughened Krista for the challenges of running a business. She’d learned not to give up, focus on first steps, set doable goals, change obstacles into opportunities. She was her own walking motivational poster for determination. Nobody or nothing—including her own fears—would stop her from operating the best little spa around. One that had Janet Claverley, the well-to-do mother of her high school bestie, booking regular treatments after Krista wowed her with an awesome manicure.
She started innocuously. “Laura certainly came up with a great apology gift for leaving the calves to you.”
Janet frowned at her nails. “I’m not sure why she thinks I need a manicure. I keep my nails trimmed and clean. And there’s not much you can do about the cuts and scrapes.”
Didn’t she see the state of her cuticles? That she had two hangnails as a result? Lost on Janet was the healing potential of the pampered body. “It’s nice to get something you wouldn’t give yourself but still secretly want.”
Laura’s mom eyed the stylized heart on the bathrobe Krista had cajoled her into wearing.
“Why undress for a manicure?” she’d wondered. “What kind of spa experience is it if someone walks in on us?”
Janet read the lettering on the bathrobe. “‘The heart wants what the heart wants’?”
Krista’s motto also featured on her store sign and on her business card. Krista would display it on her social media platforms, too, if she ever got the courage to launch them again.
“We all need to indulge ourselves,” Krista said. There, done with that hand. She rubbed cuticle oil on the nail base.
“You make the heart sound like a tyrannical two-year-old. I told all my children, ‘Lose your head, lose your heart.’”
Krista’s motto was as much a warning as inspiration, but she couldn’t resist teasing Janet. “Laura can barely get out a sentence without mentioning Ryan.”
Janet sliced the air with her freshly moisturized hand. “That girl lucked out with him. He’d remembered her from her barrel-riding days, and he ranches, too, so they have loads in common.”
Krista took Janet’s other hand, every bit as weather-beaten as the first. She’d have to find a way to introduce Janet to her line of oil-based hand treatments. “Insta-love is how Laura describes it.”
“Maybe to her, but to me those two simply see eye to eye on a number of very practical matters like money, career, kids, even the trees for their new orchard. Common interests make for lasting relationships.”
Provided they really were common. Krista’s last relationship had blown up because she’d pretended to like what he’d liked, and that had done them both a disservice.
“It was the same with my husband and me. Dave and I were friends long before we were—” Disgust twisted her mouth. “Goodness, what is all that?”
Krista wiped away tiny white flakes. “Cuticle overgrowth. The stickiest tissue in our body.”
The toughened ranch matriarch looked alarmed. “Is it normal?”
“The amount depends on how often the nails are treated,” Krista said delicately.
“I really don’t have time for all this.” Janet looked around at the room Krista had designed for tranquility and comfort. Was there an ever-so-faint note of regret in her voice?
“I’ll also apply a layer of filler to smooth out your ridges.”
“Ridges? Doesn’t everyone have those?”
“Time and wear increase them.”
Janet quietened, absorbed with Krista’s work. When Krista had cleaned and smoothed the final nail, she wrapped each of Janet’s hands in a thick washcloth.
Next, Krista’s coup de grâce. She unhooked her mask for filtering out fine nail dust and rubbed her absolute favorite oil into her palms. Lavender—a warm, soothing scent. She unwrapped Janet’s hand and laid it gently on her own left hand. Krista’s regulars knew at this point to sink into their chair and let the magic happen. Janet stared, her eyes widening when Krista slipped her hand up the sleeve of Janet’s roomy bathrobe to her dry, dry elbows. Krista massaged the radius muscle. Janet Claverley had serious tension there.
“I wish,” Janet revealed, “that my son Keith had listened to me. He led with his heart and Macey stomped all over it.”
Krista wasn’t surprised by Janet’s sudden confession. She’d discovered her touch unloosed many secrets or hidden desires and fears in her clients. In this case, a mother’s anger.
“I can understand her deciding she’s not cut out for ranch life. What I can’t forgive is how she left him with their child. What kind of mother leaves their baby behind?”
Keith, Krista had learned from Laura, was a single dad to Austin, a year-old go-getter. Krista murmured her agreement and worked her way down to Janet’s hand, gently rotating the wrist.
“But Keith always had a type. Leggy, blonde, girly—” Janet stopped, her scornful words lining up with Krista’s general appearance. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, per se.”
It wasn’t the first time Krista had been typecast. When she’d moved to Toronto years ago, her looks had helped her nab a handful of bit parts in films. And it had helped when she’d dabbled in the fashion industry, sold department store perfume and even when she’d sold athletic socks door-to-door, because yes, she had done about everything and traveled about everywhere on the continent, trying on Life’s outfits. Now that she’d found the perfect career fit for herself, she’d still take every advantage of her type, but it wouldn’t define her. “I understand,” she said soothingly. She applied gentle pressure to Janet’s hand and her eyelids began to droop. Yes! “The only saving grace is that it’s shown Will why it’s important to choose your wife wisely.”
Will Claverley. Laura’s oldest brother. Rodeo star until his shoulder injury last year had sent him into retirement at the ripe age of twenty-nine. Number one ranked bachelor among the bridal party.
Krista knew Will from her high school days with Laura. He’d avoided all of Laura’s friends, except for that one instance when Krista at sixteen had stepped in his way and humiliated herself. Ten years on and her face heated at the memory. Heated more from holding hands with his mother who, Krista suspected, had divined her crush on her firstborn.
The older woman sighed. “At least I can count on Will. He won’t let a girl take advantage of him.”
Krista rubbed her thumb on the palm of Will’s mother who blinked like a cat lounging in the sun. Another client on the verge of slipping into Krista’s pool of sublime nirvana. “I’m hoping,” Janet said, sounding drugged, “that he and Dana take their friendship to the next level.”
Laura had a very different view of her brother and his childhood friend. They’ll never date, she’d confided when the topic had arisen during the bridal party pedicure. Dana is like a sister to him.
Not for Krista to debate. Will Claverley was none of her business. Krista eased Janet’s hand onto the table and wrapped it lightly in the washcloth. She warmed more oil on her palm and reached for Janet’s left arm, which the older woman had already extended for her to take. “This is only a small part of what I do during my full massage.”
Janet replied by leaning her head against the lavender-scented towel on the chair and closing her eyes. Krista conducted the rest of the massage in silence tampered only by the trickle of the fountain from the corner, the rush of tires through spring puddles outside and the occasional murmur from the afternoon crowd next door at her sister’s restaurant.
Krista let herself sink into the experience, too. This, after all, was why she’d decided to open a spa. To use her gift of touch to create a connection with the people who came through her door.
As Krista rewrapped Janet’s hand, her client’s eyes flickered open. “That full massage... You wouldn’t happen to have an opening right now for one, would you?”
I’ll be another hour and a half. Can you wait?
HIS MOTHER’S TEXT came at the best possible moment for Will Claverley. He’d rushed through his errands and was now next door to Krista’s Place, sharing bread and dip with Dana at Penny’s, the restaurant owned by Krista’s sister and her husband. He was trying to find a way to ask his lifelong friend out on a date. Again.
Yep. He texted his mother. Take your time.
“That was Mom,” Will said. “She’s going to be a while longer at the spa.”
“Krista’s?” Dana said, loading spinach dip onto her bread. “Laura goes on about her magic hands.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Ever since Krista had returned to Spirit Lake to stay last November her name had floated around the supper table with the same regularity as the salt and pepper shakers. “Laura has always thought Krista can do no wrong.”
“No kidding.” Dana bit down on her bread, greenish-white dip sticking to her chin. “Krista used to fly in from Toronto every year or so and spend a few hours with Laura, but now that she’s home to stay they’re best buddies again.”
Will tapped his chin, and Dana scrubbed off the dip with her napkin. “Those two were always best buddies, didn’t matter the distance.”
“True.”
A silence borne of a lifetime of friendship settled between them. Usually it was a comfortable one, but Will’s self-imposed assignment kept him chewing on the bread like it was a cud. Dana spoke first. “I was wondering...do you know if Keith wants my help with Austin at Laura’s wedding? I mean, he’s groomsman, right?”
Will gave his brother a mental kick in the shin. Dana and Austin had taken to each other from the day she first smooched his week-old face, but Keith shouldn’t take advantage of her love for Austin. “I’ll have him give you a call.”
“You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “If he wants to get in touch with me, he has my number. I mean, he and I are friends, right?”
Her voice held a note of doubt. That kick might become more than mental. “I’d say you’re more of a friend to Keith than he is to you. I think he’s counting on your help but what if you are busy that day?” If this meeting went well, he would keep her occupied, for sure.
“I’m going to the wedding anyway. And frankly, I’d rather be with Austin than mixing with that big crowd.”
“Could be a dry run for your wedding.”
“No way will my wedding be that big. It’ll be quick and painless. Early afternoon service, luncheon, then done.”
“No dance?”
“Pointless when there’ll only be a couple dozen people there. Most will be non-dancers like me.”
“Couple dozen? Is that all?” That was how many Claverleys got together for Christmas dinner. He’d always pictured a wedding as big as possible without it taking too long to plan. But after watching Laura take nearly a year to plan her special day, maybe he could downsize. More economical, too.
“Yep, definitely keeping it small.” Dana shoved another chunk of bread into her dip. “All I’m missing is the groom.”
Here went nothing. “I might be able to fix that.”
Dana popped bread into her mouth. “Don’t tell me. You’re going to introduce me to one of your rodeo buddies.”
“Not exactly.”
“Because you know how I feel about those so-called cowboys. Absolutely useless when it comes to roping a calf out of the ring.”
“I was thinking more—”
“I’d like to see any one of them catch a calf that’s got a quarter section and two hundred head to hide in.”
Would she let him get a word in? “Me,” Will said. “I meant me.”
Dana swallowed. Maybe she had bread stuck in her throat, because she swallowed again. “You’re not serious,” she hissed. “You and me? Married?”
“Not married,” Will said, his voice dipping to her level. “I mean, maybe. I just thought that it was about time we notched our relationship up a level.”
Dana’s eyes narrowed. “Your mother said that. Last week at the shower. She talked about how she was glad Ryan and Laura took their relationship to the ‘next level.’”
“I didn’t hear her say that,” Will said truthfully, dodging the other accusation, but Dana had it all figured out. That was the downside of their longtime friendship. She knew his thoughts before he did.
“You’re taking your mother’s advice about who you should date,” Dana said.
“I’m not taking her advice but she does have a point.” That sounded lame. He tried again. “She said what I was already considering.”
“Right,” Dana said. “Will, we’ve already talked about this. Remember?”
Of course, he remembered. It had been after his first championship five years ago. High on his victory and the attention of buckle bunnies, he’d asked Dana if she wanted to date him. In retrospect, he had made it sound as if he was doing her a favor. She told him that if he valued their friendship, he wouldn’t bring up that stupid idea again.
But now he was no longer a rodeo star, which he figured upped his ranking in Dana’s eyes. “I was thinking we could revisit that talk.”
“Why would we ever revisit it? Nothing’s changed.”
Will shifted in his seat, the uncalculated motion catching his right shoulder in a white-hot vise grip. Time to book another never-ending physio appointment that lessened but never eliminated the pain.
Dana noticed. “Your shoulder.”
“It’s acting up some.”
“Ah, that explains it. We haven’t changed, but you have. Your injury bumped you off the circuit a couple of years before you intended and suddenly you want to settle down, get married, live happily ever after on the family ranch.”
She made him sound dull and plodding. But he’d seen enough of the world to know he’d had the good fortune of being born exactly where he wanted to be. That he also wanted a good woman and a family to share his part of the world with—like every other Claverley firstborn—made him...traditional.
He searched for common ground with Dana. “You’ve got to admit we agree on a lot of things.”
“No, we don’t. We agree to disagree on a lot of things, which doesn’t work well in a relationship. Especially marriage.”
“We’re not that far apart.”
“Really? You prefer early or late calving?”
“Somewhere in between.”
She looked peeved, like Keith when he’d shot off the same question.
“Where would we live? My place or yours?”
“My place.”
Her lips thinned. He fumbled for an explanation. “My yard is bigger. We’d have more room to build our own house.”
“And horses? How many?”
As many as he could fit. He wanted to go big on horses, since his rodeo days were over. “That,” he said, “is nonnegotiable.”
“My point. I threw a bunch of questions at you, and you and I didn’t line up on any of them.”
Will tried one last one. “Kids?”
“Yes.”
“There you go. We agree.”
“I want four.”
“Uh...”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re already thirty. Don’t you think that’s a little unreasonable?”
“Don’t I know it? Don’t I know that with every ticking minute, I’m getting further away from where I want to be?”
Beneath her snappish anger, Will heard her pain. “I’m sorry, Dana. If you’re so set against me, do you have anybody in mind?”
Dana sighed, not all dreamy-like, more exasperated. “Yeah, I do. But he doesn’t notice me that way, and never has. And don’t even ask me his name because I’d set myself on fire before I’d tell you.”
“So what’s his name?”
“I just said—” She stopped when she saw his grin, and reluctantly smiled.
Back on safer ground but uncertain where they stood, Will decided to ask about a different matter. “Since we’re both single for now, are we still on for the rodeo?” Ever since Will had made it big, he’d collected points, trophies...and the attention of buckle bunnies. When he’d been on the circuit, he’d spent his downtime dodging them. And every year when the rodeo came to his family ranch for five days, Dana posed as his girlfriend to give him a break.
She tossed down her half-chewed chunk of bread. “You know what? You’re right. I’m not getting any younger. And pretending to hook up with you for any amount of time will not get me where I want to be.”
She stood. “Your turn to pick up the bill.” She started to leave, then whipped back around. “Wait. Even that’s changing. We go dutch. No. Even that implies we’re in a relationship.” She slapped a ten on the table. “You deal with the rest.”
“Dana,” he called after her. “We still friends?”
“Sure, Will, sure. But we both know that’s not what either of us should be going after.”
After she left, Will sat back. He grasped the what of the matter, but no longer the who. And truth be told, he was relieved that Dana had shot him down again. She’d make a good wife for someone else. But she was right—he needed someone he had more in common with.
FROM BEHIND THE steering wheel of his truck, Will watched his mother emerge from Krista’s spa. She blinked and raised her face to the sun, then lowered it to take in the fresh blue expanse of the lake across the street, finally snow-free here at the end of April. She carried a mint green paper bag that she swung as she walked—no, strolled—her way to the truck, settling into the passenger seat like a hen onto her nest.
His mother moved to lift her hand, but as if made of cement, it fell to her lap. Her nails were painted a shade of pink he’d never seen before. Sort of orange, like a sunset. “I had a massage. It was...heavenly.”
She never used that word to describe anything.
“Uh, good to hear, Mom. You deserve to put your feet up.”
“I do,” she murmured and smiled as if she’d received secret wisdom.
What had Krista done to his mother? The exterior of Krista’s Place was all done up in light blues and greens. On the step was a giant vase filled with grasses and dried flowers. All innocent and friendly and inviting. Except inside was Krista with her magic hands turning sharp-tongued mothers into boneless dreamers.
They drove the seven miles home in silence. His mother didn’t ask about the groceries she’d asked him to pick up, whether he’d bought the spaghetti that was on sale, or if he’d placed the order for binder twine. She didn’t ask about his meetup with Dana, something he was grateful for. Instead, she leaned back and closed her eyes, and didn’t open them until he pulled to a stop at the ranch house.
She stepped out, slow and easy. The house had the advantage of being sheltered by spruces planted there by his grandparents, but was set high enough on a hill to give a view of the barn, corrals and beyond that to the pastures. His mother contemplated the view, her head tilted, like she was admiring a painting.
Into the picture walked his father from the barn. He lifted his gaze to them, and Will’s mother waved. A little finger waggle, her pinky raised. Weird. Will grabbed a couple bags of groceries and went inside the house. Normally, his mother would have picked up the last two, but today she had cooked noodles for arms.
When he returned for the rest, his father had his mother up against the passenger door—and they were kissing! His dad’s cowboy hat obscured the exact particulars, but from the way their bodies were cinched together there was no mistaking the nature of things.
He’d never seen his parents kiss, other than the odd peck or two on special occasions. Nothing like this full-body engagement.
He tried to sneak the last two bags from the driver’s side without a sound, but they broke apart. Whatever Krista had infected his mother with, his dad had caught it, because both of them had the same heavy-lidded, sun-warmed look.
“I suppose,” his mother said, “I should go inside and fix us a bite to eat.” Then she sauntered to the house, the little green bag swinging away.
His dad watched her as Will moved to follow with the grocery bags.
“Hey,” his father said, “I’ll take those.”
He stepped in front of Will. “Do you know what’s got into her?”
“She went for a manicure at Krista’s Place. She stayed on for a massage, and she came out like this.”
His father stripped the grocery bags from Will’s hold. “You go back to Krista’s and sign her up for more of where this came from.”
“What? Now?”
His dad was already following his wife inside. “What are you still doing here?”
