by Kate Pearce
He held out her chair and waited until she was settled before he took the seat opposite, his brown gaze serious.
“I hear you make birthday cakes.”
“Yes.”
“Could you make a thank-you cake for Mrs. Morgan? She’s been very kind to me, and although I know she loves to bake, I thought it would be nice if she didn’t have to for a change.”
“That’s a lovely idea.”
Okay, so he was funny and nice.
“I’m not sure what her favorite flavor is. Do you know?”
He looked directly into her eyes, and Yvonne felt that flicker of attraction she was trying to ignore spark between them again.
“She loves anything coffee flavored,” Yvonne said. “And chocolate, so maybe some kind of flourless chocolate cake?”
“Sounds good to me. When do you think you’ll be able to get it done?”
“Not until the end of the week.” Yvonne paused. She knew that the ranch hands didn’t earn much above minimum wage. “My cakes aren’t cheap, but seeing as it’s for Ruth, I—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “That’s very kind of you, but I can afford to pay the full price.”
“You were successful in the rodeo thing then?”
“Successful enough.” His smile returned. “And I’ve made a few investments over the years that give me a decent income.”
Was that his gentle way of getting back at her jibe about him not knowing his way around a boardroom?
“I’m sorry.” Yvonne made a face. “I hate people judging me on my appearance, and I guess I did the same to you.”
He shrugged one elegant shoulder. “I should have told you although I’m willing to help out when needed, I didn’t just come to the ranch as a working hand. HW asked me to teach a class on bull riding.”
“That’s what you do?” Yvonne crinkled her nose.
“Yes.”
“Is it a big thing in the rodeo?” Yvonne asked innocently. She sort of knew from the Morgans about bull riding, but she wasn’t going to let Rio know that. He was way too confident and assured already.
“You could say that.” He took another sip from his cup and glanced behind him as the door opened and about six people filed in looking desperate for coffee. “I won’t keep you. Let me know how much I owe you for the cake, and when it will be ready.”
“Will do.” Yvonne rose to her feet and made sure he picked up his bagged muffin. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Thanks for baking.” He tipped his black cowboy hat to her and headed for the door. “I’ll see you soon.”
He was almost at the door before he turned back and locked gazes with her. For some reason, her knees literally wobbled.
“Can I give you my cell number?”
“Sure!” Yvonne said brightly, aware that she’d been staring at his Wrangler-covered ass, and picked up one of the order pads. “Fire away.”
* * *
Rio closed the door of the café behind him, and smiled. What a woman. She baked, she looked like a million dollars, and she was as sharp as a tack. Why some man hadn’t gone all caveman on her and carted her off already was a mystery. Except she’d probably have something to say if anyone tried that on her. . . .
But she sounded like she was about to enter into a relationship with Matt, and he wouldn’t interfere. It wasn’t his style. Being a bull rider who risked his life for eight seconds of perfection, he had a deep appreciation for the gods of fate and destiny. If he and Yvonne were meant to be a couple, it would happen. To be fair, Matt really wasn’t up for the challenge of a woman like Yvonne. It would be kinder if one of the Morgan brothers pointed that out to Matt. Blue was known for his honesty, so maybe Rio would have a quiet word with him just to help move things along a bit.
Morgantown was starting to wake up around him. Spring break traffic attempting to avoid the freeway for a gentler drive through the great state of California was already building up. The Morgans were talking about making downtown vehicle free, and he was totally behind the idea. Every time one of the massive big rigs thundered through Main Street, the small town was shaken to its foundations. They could do with some kind of bypass for the big stuff and a decent parking lot behind the town for the tourists.
His cell buzzed, and he took it out of his pocket to see a new number flashing on the screen, followed by a text from Yvonne. She was nothing if not efficient. He was just about to put his cell away when he noticed the buildup of voice mail and reluctantly accessed them.
Six of them were from the same admin. The seventh was different.
“Call me, immediately. I know you are in the country.”
His father’s voice boomed in his ear and he winced. Yeah. Call the old man. It wasn’t like they hadn’t spoken for five years or anything. His father was too used to getting his own way, and Rio wasn’t having it. He was no longer a scared teenager begging to be understood, begging to be allowed to live his life as he wanted to. He was also no longer one of his father’s management team. They’d parted on bad terms, and as far as he was concerned, nothing had changed.
He shoved his phone back in his pocket, and continued along the raised wooden sidewalk to the post office, which was just by Yvonne’s café. He checked the ranch box, and found a letter from his mother, which made him smile. Unlike his father, his mother hated to use the phone, and preferred to write him long, chatty letters, which, due to the vagaries of the Brazilian post coupled with his crazy travel schedule, often took quite a while to reach him.
His half sister, Josie, kept him up to date by texting him, which meant that if there were ever a real emergency at home, he’d know soon enough. When his maternal grandmother had died, he’d gotten on a plane two hours later and been there for the funeral. Sometimes it was a very small world. He grimaced at the thought of his father.
Sometimes too small.
“Yo, Rio! You ready to go?”
He turned to see HW Morgan standing by his truck and waved in return.
“I’m coming.”
He’d intended to go into the general store and buy himself a new straw cowboy hat to replace his black one, but that could wait until tomorrow. He’d had a much better time in the coffee shop chatting to Yvonne—the woman who made him blurt out stuff like a teenager with his first crush. For some reason, he didn’t seem able to turn on his famous charm and flirt with her. He suspected she’d see straight through him anyway. . . .
He strode toward his parking spot, unlocking the doors so that HW could get in the passenger side. At least he and Yvonne had a cake to bond over. Today would be all about learning the layout of Morgan Ranch. Tomorrow, the first guests were arriving, and his time would no longer be his own.
* * *
Yvonne wrote a note to herself about the chocolate cake for Ruth Morgan and added it to her calendar. Tom had successfully made some new pink cake batter and had the ovens up to temperature, so all was good. She set him to making the next batch, reminding him to read through the whole recipe before he started, while she greased up the four pans she needed and dolloped the batter in, weighing each pan to make sure they were even.
After sliding the pans into the industrial-sized oven, she set a timer and consulted the day planner on her laptop. Something about the date resonated and she stopped to consider it. How could she have forgotten? Ten years ago, she’d gone to study in Paris and she’d met Paul. Six years ago, on this very day, she’d married him, and they’d moved back to the United States to start a business together.
Now he was back in France, and they were no longer a couple....
Yvonne sighed. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten such an important moment in her life. Had she become used to the loneliness? Had she allowed her job to consume her so that she wouldn’t care about the past anymore? Paul would probably agree with that. He’d always thought she took everything too seriously, and that work had become a priority over him.
But a business didn’t run itself. . . .
She studied the photos, her head tipped to one side. He still looked good, but she no longer felt that pang of loss, that sense that she was incomplete without him that had dragged her down after the first two years of his departure. Her friends Avery and Nancy had been there for her, and her work had saved her. She looked around her immaculate kitchen and took a deep breath. She had her coffee shop. She was well liked in her community, and usually that was enough.
An email notification popped up on the top right of her screen, and she did a double take.
Je pense tres fort a toi aujourd’hui. Meilleurs voeux. Paul.
He was thinking about her today? Why now? Why hadn’t he thought about breaking her heart when he’d walked out on her four years ago after barely two years of marriage?
Yvonne let out an exasperated breath. Men sucked. There was no other explanation for it. She closed her laptop, washed her hands, and dived into the business of the day. It was almost lunchtime, when the café would be filled with tourists, and Lizzie would need all the help she could get. They’d lost a waitress last week and were down to two again.
After giving Tom a new set of very specific instructions, Yvonne tidied her hair, put on a white apron over her severe black dress, and went to do battle out front. She paused to survey the filled tables and wished she had the money to expand into the shop next door. Having two separate counters, one for takeout, and one for sit-down guests, would probably be way more efficient.
But then she’d need more staff. . . .
Fixing a bright smile on her face, she hurried behind the counter, picked up a notepad and pen, and went to check the tables out front. Paul might have his fancy line of bistros in Paris, but she had Morgantown, and a steady flow of customers with a sweet tooth just like hers.
She took her first order from a businesswoman with a cell phone jammed to her ear, mainly by guesswork and lots of pointing, but she was used to that, and moved on to the next table. In her secret opinion, the French had a lot more respect for the value of a relaxing meal than Americans ever would.
There was a group clustered around one of the small tables with the wide-eyed stares of a family who’d been driving for days. Their two small kids were chattering like magpies, and the mother looked exhausted. Having spent several vacations trapped in the back of a car while her parents “saw America,” Yvonne had all the sympathy in the world for her.
She handed out lunch menus that contained some great options for the kids. “Welcome to Yvonne’s. Now what can I get you to drink?”
Chapter Three
“That’s right. Just hunker down, find your natural center, and hold on to the rope,” Rio repeated patiently to the teenager who was currently astride the artificial bucking bull in one of the Morgan Ranch barns. He had a group of about ten trying out his first bull-riding class, which was quite enough for him.
“What do you mean, my natural center?” Troy asked dubiously.
Rio patted the guy on his lower back just above his jeans. “Here, like if you were riding a Harley. Relax your hips and settle in.”
“Oh, right!”
Rio stepped out of the way and headed for the controls. “I’ll start you off slow. Remember, try and keep one hand locked in the rope while holding the other high.”
“Got it.”
In the way of most teens, Troy sounded way more confident than he should be. Rio shared an amused glance with Troy’s parents, who were obviously torn between wanting their son to succeed and worrying he’d fall and hurt himself. Even if he did fall, there was a pit full of soft foam for him to land on. When Rio had first jumped on the back of a bull, he’d had nothing but his own deluded cloak of invincibility and an incredibly hard head.
“All right! Let’s get this bull bucking!” Rio shouted as the bull began a slow rock and roll to the right.
Troy managed to stay on the whole eight seconds, and whooped with delight as Rio offered to speed things up. It didn’t take long for the teen to end up in the pit, but as he was grinning when he emerged from the foam forms, Rio guessed he’d enjoyed himself.
“Hey, Dad! How about I forget about college and do this instead?” Troy yelled.
Rio hid a smile at the horrified expression on the father’s face, and busied himself resetting the controls. His father had looked exactly the same when he’d finally found out what Rio had ended up doing.
It was heating up inside the barn. Rio wished he’d gotten around to buying a white straw cowboy hat, and decided to go back into town after he was done for the day. Maybe he’d get a chance to drop in on Yvonne as well.
“Can I have a try?”
Jolted out of his pleasant dream of Yvonne’s beautiful face, Rio looked down at Elsa, who was Troy’s grandmother, and something of a live wire.
“Sure, you can.” He patted her shoulder. “Show that young grandson of yours how it’s done, right?”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’d rather watch you. I’ve seen you on TV. I can’t believe you’re here right now doing this on a ranch!” Her voice became concerned. “Don’t they pay you enough, dear?”
He patted her shoulder. “I’m just helping out my friend, Elsa. Don’t worry about me.”
He helped her climb up onto the back of the bull and showed her how to wrap her rope and secure her gloved hand under the coils. She threw her left hand high over her head and let out a loud yell right in his ear, making him wince.
“Let it go, cowboy!” she shrieked as Rio hurried to do her bidding.
She hung on for the whole eight seconds, but declined his invitation to speed up the bull. He was just returning from helping her down when Troy spoke up.
“Will you show us how it’s done, Rio, please? I want to get a picture.”
Rio glanced around the group to find them all nodding encouragingly at him. “Okay, if that’s what you all want. Tomorrow we’re going to work on your technique, and get you anticipating what’s going to happen rather than just reacting so that you can adjust your seat and balance accordingly.”
“Awesome.” Troy and his younger brother grinned and high-fived each other.
Rio turned to Elsa. “How about you handle the controls so I don’t get too many surprises? Just start at level three, and move it up to the top from there. It’s preprogrammed to throw in a few tricks at that point.”
“Will do.” Elsa took control, and nodded at him to proceed.
Riding a mechanical bull was nothing like riding a real one. Even the best, most up-to-date machines didn’t have that belligerent streak that a living, breathing top-class fifteen-hundred-pound bucking bull had. Every single time a rider climbed on the back of one of those overbred beasts, he took his life in his hands and risked it all.
Rio rewound the rope and settled the coils in the palm of his hand, giving them one last tighten as he settled into place. With a nod at Elsa, he raised his right hand high over his head and the bull gathered speed, whirling and turning like a demented circus ride. But nothing could unseat him. Here, he was in his element, in his zone, and here, he truly believed he was unbeatable.
The buzzer went, and eight seconds flashed on the scoreboard. He undid his rope and performed a flashy dismount, much to the enjoyment of the Morgan Ranch guests, who hollered and applauded him. He raised his hat, and came back to the side of the pit, ready to answer questions.
It was only then that he noticed they’d been joined by January Morgan and a smiling Yvonne. He settled himself at one of the tables, and tried his best to reply to the torrent of questions. It wasn’t the first time he’d done an exhibition ride, but it was still fun.
After a while, January announced that lunch was ready, and everyone headed for the welcome center. Rio took o
ff his hat and wiped his brow.
“Phew. It’s getting hot in here.”
“You’re really something to watch on the back of a bull,” Yvonne said.
“Thanks.” He glanced down at her, surprised that she’d remained behind, and shrugged. “It’s my job.”
“I’ve never thought about how hard a body has to work to stay in one place and in one piece on the back of a bull.”
“It’s just a dance.” He sat down on the corner of the table, and took off his shirt to reveal his black T-shirt beneath.
“A deadly one.”
“Sure, but that’s why it’s so challenging and so amazing when you get it right.”
She angled her head to one side to look up at him. “What does it feel like?”
He grinned. “You’re not going to like my answer.”
“Try me.”
“Okay, it’s like having the best sex ever—when everything is moving perfectly in harmony, and you know you’re going to have the biggest climax of your life.”
“Wow.” She let out a slow breath. “That’s almost . . . poetic.”
“It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to describing how it feels.”
“I suppose when you’re risking your life to stay on the back of something for eight seconds, sex and death probably do come to mind,” Yvonne mused.
“And life. You appreciate every brilliant millisecond of that. When you’re having a good ride, everything seems to slow down, and you experience every breath, every tiny shift in the bull’s weight in a different, more visceral way.”
Yvonne nodded. “So, just like sex.”
“Yeah.” It was his turn to grin at her. “Exactly. Not that I’ve ever had sex like that according to you.”
“Have you?” Yvonne asked.
He met her intense gaze with his own. “Once or twice. How about you?”
“Maybe when I was younger, and believed in true love and all that stuff,” she countered.
“You don’t believe in love?” He raised his eyebrows.