“Oh. I didn’t know.” Bridget felt her cheeks warm. Thank goodness she’d kept her mouth shut. “Nice to meet you, Ryan. Good luck with the interview.”
In the kitchen she expelled a long breath, vastly relieved. Meeting Ryan had left her disconcerted. First, because she’d mistaken him for the groom from cabin five. Then, because once she learned he was Nora’s neighbor, she’d been briefly intrigued by him.
Remembering he’d purchased the Chandler place put an end to that. To call the old house, with its ramshackle outbuildings, a fixer-upper was being kind. In truth, it was a dump, and owning a decent home ranked number eight on Bridget’s dating nonnegotiable list.
* * *
“BRING THAT WITH you and let’s head to the kitchen.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Ryan DeMere followed Mrs. Foxworthy, owner of Sweetheart Ranch. He carried his loaded plate of food in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.
Had he overindulged? The way the older woman looked at his plate had him wondering. Ryan did possess a healthy appetitive, brought on by working long, hard hours. Plus, the food here was incredible. He generally preferred a hearty country breakfast. Eggs, biscuits, sausages, gravy and hash browns. Fancy breads and fruit were for folks a lot daintier than him. But these rolls—he’d never tasted anything like them. Darn things just melted in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop at one. Or two.
Okay, he’d taken four, having quickly polished off the first one. The rest were stacked on his plate along with three heaping spoonfuls of strawberry jam and a pile of fruit. He supposed that deserved a look. Of concern, if nothing else. Then again, she didn’t know about the first croissant, unless her granddaughter tattled on him.
Bridget. He’d caught her name when Mrs. Foxworthy called her by it. She was obviously the cook. No, that wasn’t right. His neighbor had referred to Bridget as a chef of some kind. Pastry, maybe? Sous? The other granddaughter helped with the business side and was dating the feed-store owner. He’d met the man several times while buying supplies for his horse but hadn’t made the connection until recently, when his neighbor told him about the job opening at the ranch.
Mustang Valley wasn’t large by any means. According to the welcome sign at the center of town, there were two thousand residents, give or take. Ryan was probably the newest one, having moved here less than two months ago, when he’d purchased the Chandler place. A run-down, sorry piece of horse property by anyone’s standards with a house that most would consider uninhabitable.
It was also perfect for his purposes. In a year to eighteen months, depending on how much the renovations wound up costing, he intended to sell the property for a nice profit.
He’d do it, too. Ryan was no rookie when it came to flipping horse properties. This was his fourth project in eight years. He’d done very well with his first three. If all went as planned, in a few years he’d make enough money to buy his dream ranch. Only then would he settle down in one place.
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Foxworthy motioned to the table. “We can talk here, if you don’t mind Bridget hovering nearby.”
“No, ma’am. I don’t.”
Not at all. For starters, she was easy on the eyes. Bouncy reddish-blond hair framing the face of an angel, when she wasn’t scowling. Nice figure, from what he could tell. That apron did her no favors. Dancing green eyes, his particular weakness. And a great cook.
Could be a little friendlier. Then again, she might not have appreciated his...exuberance. Ryan couldn’t help himself. She was an attractive woman. His neighbor, Nora, had said as much, but Ryan took that with a grain of salt. Then he’d seen Bridget, and his brain turned to mush.
But if he wanted this job—and he did want it—he needed to rein in his enthusiasm. Ryan was the owner of a healthy bank account. But all that money was earmarked for remodeling the house, and he’d need every penny, if not more.
When it came to covering his day-to-day living expenses, he relied entirely on money he earned from side jobs. Those funds were running dangerously low. This past week, he’d begun subsiding on boxed macaroni-and-cheese and bologna sandwiches. Another reason he was currently making a pig of himself.
“Our part-time wrangler wants to retire,” Mrs. Foxworthy explained. She’d helped herself to a cup of coffee after offering one to Ryan. “With trail rides starting soon and the addition of three more horses to our stables, we need someone full-time. I forgot to ask, do you have much experience with driving a carriage and hay wagon?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Call me Emily, please.”
“Thank you, Emily.” Ryan pushed aside his plate of food. Cramming his face wouldn’t look good during an interview. He could finish later. “I grew up on a working farm outside of Austin. Fourth generation.”
“I thought I recognized your drawl. I have relatives from that part of Texas. What kind of farm?”
“Wheat, mostly. Raised some cattle. ’Course, our horses pulled farm wagons. Not fancy carriages. But I’m thinking the mechanics are pretty much the same.”
“Bridget and her sister are fifth generation here in Mustang Valley.”
She smiled at her granddaughter, who was busy at the counter beating eggs in a bowl. He could see the love Emily had for her granddaughter, and his respect for the older woman increased. Ryan was close to his family, too.
“I’m the youngest of eight,” he said. “My parents had a lot of mouths to feed and shoes to buy. We all had to pitch in from an early age. I was harnessing a team by the time I was ten. Driving a tractor when I was eight. Riding horses since, well, I honestly don’t remember how old I was when I started riding.”
He noticed Bridget sneaking discreet peeks at him as if trying to hide her curiosity. It went both ways. He was curious about her, too, and sneaking peeks.
“Are your parents still in Texas?” Emily asked.
“They are. I’m trying to talk them into moving here after Dad retires. Not sure when that’ll be. He’s darn near seventy, and still putting in eight-hour days, every day of the week.”
“Sounds like you have an excellent work ethic that you come by honestly.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do, if I say so myself. I’m also right handy. There isn’t much I can’t fix or build or cobble together. If you’re needing some repairs done, I’m your man.”
“That’s generous of you to offer.” She sipped her coffee. “I’m afraid the hours aren’t regular. We perform weddings on any given day, including holidays. Most are on weekends, which means you’d probably work Friday through Sunday.”
“Not a problem.” Ryan finished off his fruit, remembering to take smaller bites. “My schedule’s flexible. And I have no place special to be on weekends.”
He caught Bridget casting him another quick glance. How had she interpreted his remark? That he was currently unattached? Well, he was. What about her?
Ryan hadn’t been in a serious relationship for some time and didn’t see it happening now or in the immediate future. Flipping horse properties didn’t allow him to remain in one place very long and most women he met wanted to put down roots. He occasionally dated when the right woman came along—one who was okay with a casual, hanging-out kind of relationship.
Unfortunately, Bridget struck him as a woman with deep, deep roots, being fifth generation and all. Yet another reason to rein in his enthusiasm. Plus, if he got the job she’d be his boss’s granddaughter. Darn if those “keep away” signs weren’t springing up one after the other.
“Starting tonight, we’re having regular hayrides,” Emily said. “In the evenings when the weather’s warm and in the afternoons during winter months. Right now, we’re limiting the hayrides to guests. If they go well, we might open them up to the public. There’s a cookout at the end of each ride.”
“Sounds great.” Ryan glanced at Bridget. She was probably responsible for the food.
“Perhaps you’d like to come along tonight,” Emily suggested.
He returned his attention to her. “I’d like that very much.” Was she offering him the job? He hesitated because he didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion.
“You can ride with Big Jim. He’s our part-time wrangler. Maybe come early and watch him harness the team.”
Ryan finished off his remaining croissant, using the last piece to mop up his strawberry jam. Emily didn’t seem to find him ill-mannered. If anything, she liked his enjoyment of her granddaughter’s food.
“How many horses do you have?” he asked.
“Five. Two for driving and three for trail rides. We’re planning on offering either sixty- or ninety-minute trail rides. Up to twice a day, one couple each ride.”
During their entire conversation, the sound of guests entering the parlor through the front door and helping themselves to the breakfast could be heard. Twice, Bridget carried out a tray or pitcher to replenish the food. In between, she sliced and chopped and mixed and diced.
“I suppose you’d like to know the pay,” Emily said.
The amount she named was fair. The perks were better. Besides breakfast every day, Ryan would get dinner at the cookouts and during any other function when a meal was served. Emily was hoping the ranch could eventually host nonwedding events, like family reunions and corporate parties.
There was also double time on holidays as well as paid sick and vacation days after six months. Altogether, considerably more than Ryan had expected.
If he had an inkling to stay past the sale of his latest ranch-flipping project, a job like this one—with growth potential—would be right up his alley. In the meantime, he’d work hard for the O’Malleys. Everything about the job appealed to him, including his coworkers. One in particular.
“I don’t like to assume, Emily, but are you officially offering me the job?”
She laughed. “Sorry. I should have been clearer. Yes, I am. Nora’s recommendation carries a lot of weight with me. As does Owen’s.”
“You talk to him?”
“Right before you got here. He thinks you’re a straight shooter.”
“I try to be.”
“Am I to assume you’re considering accepting the job?” she asked. “Please take some time to think about it. We’re in a rush but not so much we can’t wait a day or two.”
“I don’t need any time to think about it.” He reached across the table toward Emily. “I accept.”
She shook his hand. “Welcome to Sweetheart Ranch, Ryan. Glad to have you with us.”
He couldn’t stop his gaze from cutting quickly to Bridget. She was openly staring at him.
“There’s some paperwork to sign. Molly will see to that. She’s busy at the moment, though. Meeting with a potential client. She should be free in about an hour.” Emily checked the clock on the wall. “Speaking of which, I have an appointment myself at the bank. Otherwise, I’d take you on a tour of the ranch. You can meet Big Jim and, if you’re not busy, go with him on the honeymoon carriage ride later this morning.”
“I can do that.” Ryan waited for Emily to rise first before pushing to his feet. “What time? I’ll come back.”
“Nonsense. You’re here now. No need to make a second trip.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Bridget, you’ll be finished shortly, won’t you?”
“I still have to deliver brunch to cabin two.”
“Ryan can go with you,” Emily announced. “Then you can take him to the stables and introduce him to Big Jim.”
“I need to clean up the parlor.”
“It’ll keep for a while.”
“An unattended buffet won’t look good. Molly will be showing the potential client around.”
“Molly may want to offer them breakfast. Could be just the ticket to close the sale.”
“The food here is good,” Ryan concurred.
“Grandma... I—” Bridget blew out an expansive breath. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Great.” The older woman swiped her hands together, clearly pleased with this latest turn of events. “I’ll see you tonight at the hayride, Ryan, if not sooner.”
“Thank you again, Emily, for the opportunity.”
“I have a good feeling about this.”
“Me, too.”
“You can wait here for Bridget.”
He sat down after Emily left through the back door.
From across the kitchen Bridget uttered a sound of distress. It might have been because of whatever she was cooking. She did have the oven door cracked open and was staring inside. It also might have been because of her grandmother forcing Ryan on her.
Unable to help himself, he chuckled softly. Working at Sweetheart Ranch was shaping up to be far better than he’d ever imagined.
CHAPTER TWO
“SWEET!” RYAN STOPPED to admire the trim, sleek, fire-engine-red vehicle parked behind the ranch house. “Top speed, how fast can this baby fly?”
Bridget was securing the insulated food container holding brunch for cabin two in the vehicle’s rear bed. She then straightened to give him an exasperated look. “You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” Ryan continued his inspection, circling the front of the vehicle and pausing at the passenger side. “Forty-eight-volt motor, right? I bet you can do eighteen easy. Twenty on the downhill.”
“It’s a golf cart.”
“And a beauty at that. Electric. Eco-friendly.” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Top-of-the-line and brand-spanking-new.”
“Let’s go,” she told him and slid behind the steering wheel.
He hopped in beside her. “No seat belts?”
“What’s the matter?” She turned the key, and the motor purred softly. “Afraid I’m going to push you out?”
He laughed, glad to see she had a sense of humor.
“Hold on to your hat.” She released the brake, pressed down with her foot and away they went—at about fifteen miles per hour by Ryan’s calculations.
“You have a nice home.” He looked back over his shoulder as they pulled away. “Don’t see many like it in these parts.”
“My great-great-grandparents built the original house in the late 1800s. They were one of the first families to settle in Mustang Valley. Every generation since has remodeled to some degree. Grandma doubled the size of the kitchen when she decided to convert the ranch into a wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast. Made enough room for a walk-in pantry and four-door refrigerator.”
“The cabins are new.” Ryan studied the row of cozy, identical pine structures with redbrick chimneys and green gable roofs.
“As of last summer. Grandma designed them to resemble the house, with my sister Molly’s input. Each one caters to honeymooning couples. Spa tubs. Enclosed courtyards. Privacy windows.”
“Maybe you’ll give me a tour one of these days, seeing as I can’t look inside.”
His remark earned him another pained expression from Bridget. “Are you ever serious?”
“No fun in that. Besides, I’m interested strictly from a design standpoint. I’m renovating the Chandler place.” He supposed he should start calling it the DeMere place, seeing as he was the owner and not the Chandlers. Then again, since he wouldn’t be owning the property for long, sticking to the original name might prove a good idea. It had history, something potentially appealing to a buyer.
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Bridget turned right, taking them past the pool and clubhouse. “Though I should have. No offense, but the property needs a ton of work.”
“I’m not offended. It does. The run-down condition is the only reason I could afford it.” Ryan prided himself on buying smart and selling smarter. “Are the clubhouse and pool also new?”
They puttered past a long narrow building and wrought-iron railing t
hrough which Ryan could see sunlight reflecting off sparkling blue water.
“No, but Grandma had everything completely refurbished and modernized. In its former life, the clubhouse was an equipment shed.”
Ryan’s interest was piqued. “Is there by chance a pool table in there?”
“Nope. Sorry. Just a Ping-Pong table and dartboard.”
“Too bad.”
“You’ll have to go to the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill in town to play pool.”
“Why, Miss O’Malley. Are you asking me out on a date?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”
“Endearing? Charismatic? ’Fraid so.”
“I was thinking annoying and irritating and very full of yourself.”
“Give me time. I have a tendency to grow on people.”
Bridget sighed and aimed the golf cart toward the second-to-last cabin in the line of six. “I can see why Nora likes you. You’re her type.”
Ryan held on to the side handle when Bridget pulled to a stop, braking a bit harder than was necessary. Perhaps she really was trying to eject him.
“She’s my type, too,” he said. “Or she would be if she was younger.” His neighbor had to be in her midseventies, possibly older. “Then again, I’m a hip guy and might be able to see past the forty-five-year age difference.”
“Wait here,” Bridget instructed and turned off the golf cart.
Ryan started to get out. “Need help?”
“No, thanks. I can manage.” With a quick flip of her fingers, she unfastened the insulated container and carried it up the short walk to the cabin’s front steps.
Ryan watched her, his attention riveted. All the time he kept thinking, too bad. Too bad she was his new boss’s granddaughter. Too bad she was a settling-down kind of gal. Too bad he needed to behave himself, though she’d probably argue he’d been anything but behaving himself on their short drive.
She marched more than walked to the cabin’s front door. Independent, he thought. Feisty. Smart. Talented. Capable. Pretty. Very, very pretty. Those reddish-blond curls of hers were an invitation shouting “Touch me.” He’d discover for himself if her hair felt as silky as it appeared, except she’d no doubt slap away his hand.
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