At her sharp knock, a young man opened the cabin door. A few words were exchanged, and he took the insulated container. Bridget bade him goodbye and marched back to the golf cart with the same purpose as before, her arms swinging at her sides this time.
Did she realize she still wore her apron? Perhaps the garment was so second nature to her, she forgot she had it on.
The moment she climbed back into the golf cart, a musical chime sounded. Reaching into the pocket on her apron bib, she extracted her cell phone and read a text.
“Grandma says Big Jim’s going to be a few minutes late.”
“Should we go back to the house?” Ryan asked. “If your sister’s free, I can fill out my employment paperwork.”
“Big Jim won’t be long. I’ll drop you off at the stables. You can wait for him there.”
Yet another too bad. In this case, too bad their time together was at an end.
The stables were located farther up the road, a quarter mile past the last cabin. Even at fifteen miles per hour, they made good time. Ryan took in the structure and uttered a low “Wow!”
“We recently expanded the stables as well,” Bridget said. “Four more stalls and we increased the size of the paddock out back.”
Ryan had built covered stalls at the last two properties he’d flipped. Neither were as nice as these stables, which, while not large, were on par with professional horse ranches. Then again, the stalls he’d built were for private use and not to impress paying guests or appear in magazines.
Bridget parked beside the hitching rail. He expected to be dropped off and left to his own devices while he waited on the soon-to-retire wrangler. To Ryan’s vast delight, she shut off the golf cart and hopped out.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.” Pride tinged her voice. She didn’t just work for her grandmother, she loved the ranch.
“I’d like that,” he said.
The stables’ main door stood open, and Bridget went inside first. Ryan crossed the threshold behind her and stopped to stare.
Windows allowed ample natural illumination, eliminating the need for electric lights during bright sunny days like this one. Nickers filled the air as heads immediately popped over stall doors, eager to investigate the newcomers. The scents of hay and leather and grain filled the air.
“I’m impressed.” He went over to the far wall, where the harnesses hung in neat order. Running his hand down the length of a large collar, he noted the fine craftsmanship and pristine condition. Much better than anything his family had ever owned.
“Riding gear’s over there.” Bridget pointed to the other wall, where a variety of saddles sat perched on racks and bridles dangled from wooden pegs.
Every piece looked recently cleaned and recently polished. Also much better than anything his family owned.
Feeling a little like a fish out of water, he meandered over to the nearest horse. Happy for the attention, the large blond gelding nuzzled Ryan’s palm when he extended it.
“Haflinger,” he said, then noticed the other horse in the next stall over. They were a perfect match, like twin bookends. “Your driving team, I assume.”
“That’s Amos.” Bridget joined Ryan. “The other is Moses. They’re brothers.”
“I figured as much.”
“These are our recent purchases.” She indicated the three quarter horses in the adjoining stalls. “For trail rides. We bought them from a horse rental outfit in Apache Junction.”
“They appear tame enough.” Ryan estimated the trio were in their late teens and seasoned veterans.
“A lot of our clients have little or no experience riding. We don’t want to put them on anything that isn’t one-hundred-percent trustworthy. These three are perfect lambs.”
“You ride much?”
She moved to pat the nearest broad face and received a contented snort in return. “When I can get away from work. Which isn’t often enough. We’ve been going like gangbusters since we opened last November.”
She enjoyed riding. Yet another reason for Ryan to like this woman, who was fascinating him more and more with each new tidbit she revealed.
“Pleasure riding?” he guessed. “No, competitive.”
“Both. I grew up active in 4-H and competed in Western horsemanship classes. Later, I took up team roping for a while. Semiprofessionally.”
Ryan broke into a wide grin. “We have a lot in common. I team-roped, too.” He’d used the money from his winnings as a down payment on his first property. “Why’d you quit?”
“Culinary school. Le Cordon Bleu College.” More pride tinged her voice. “It’s one of the top schools in the southwest.”
No question about it, Bridget O’Malley was so far out of Ryan’s league, she might as well reside in outer space.
A horn sounded from outside, accompanied by the crunch of tires on gravel.
Bridget started for the door. “Must be Big Jim.”
After introductions were exchanged—Ryan liked the older gentleman right away—Bridget excused herself, claiming she had a lot of work waiting for her.
Her remark reminded Ryan of the hayride and cookout. “See you tonight,” he said.
She paused halfway into the golf cart, a puzzled expression on her face. The next instant, realization dawned. “Yeah. Right. See you.”
He watched her go before accompanying Big Jim into the stables, his ego suffering a mighty blow.
Clearly, she’d made a far greater impression on him than he had on her.
* * *
THE FIRST THING Bridget did when she got back to the ranch house was head to the parlor, where she checked the breakfast sign-in sheet. All the couples had come and gone, the exception being cabin two, whose brunch Bridget had delivered before taking Ryan to the stables.
He was an interesting sort, she thought as she carted trays of food and dirty dishware to the kitchen. An outrageous flirt with enough charm to win over the shyest of wallflowers. Despite seeing right through him, Bridget had not been unaffected and responded more times than she cared to admit.
She’d liked the timbre of his voice when he spoke about his family and heard the fondness he had for them. Having close family ties was a quality she admired in a person. She’d also been quite taken with the expression on his face when he first glimpsed the stables. He’d been genuinely impressed.
And, yes, he was handsome. Not to mention sexy in a rugged, cowboy way. She estimated him to be roughly her age. Maybe a couple years younger. Could she sneak a look at his paperwork without drawing her sister’s attention? No, that would be silly and immature.
What did she care how old Ryan was? Other than his age being near hers, she doubted he checked off any other boxes on her list of dating nonnegotiables.
All right, two boxes if she included his looks. No, make that three. On the tall side herself, she appreciated his six-foot-plus height. Dark brown hair the color of chocolate truffles was in direct contrast to a pair of blue-grey eyes that drew her in. His two-day beard, which she should have regarded as scruffy, instead elicited the kind of thrill she shouldn’t be feeling.
But that was as far as it went. Even though he was gainfully employed, he didn’t strike her as career-driven—another box on her list—and, thus, he was completely wrong for her.
Bridget was ambitious, and also convinced she’d fare better with a guy similar to herself. Her parents had been well-suited in that regard—equal partners rather than one carrying the other. She frequently witnessed her mother’s struggles for that equal partnership with her current husband and vowed to avoid winding up in similar circumstances.
Being a realist, Bridget knew men like her late father were rare. That didn’t stop her from holding out. Neither did the pressure from her loudly ticking biological clock.
Finishing her tasks one by one, she was engrossed with peeling shrimp fo
r tonight’s cookout when her grandmother came up behind her and gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Hey there. How’d it go with our new wrangler?”
“Okay, I guess. I left him with Big Jim.”
Grandma Em ducked into the pantry, where Bridget knew she’d leave her purse out of sight on a lower shelf. She emerged a moment later and went straight for the refrigerator, selecting an egg-and-cheese burrito for lunch.
“You want one?” she asked.
“No, I ate earlier.” Bridget refused to serve their guests food that wasn’t at the peak of freshness. As a result, the O’Malleys dined well on leftovers.
“I just saw them.” Grandma sat at the table. “Big Jim and Ryan. They were returning from taking cabin two on their carriage ride through town. Ryan was doing the driving.”
“That was quick. Harnessing usually takes a while.”
“Not with two people.”
“True.” Bridget finished with the shrimp and, after a last rinse, she sealed them in a container.
“What do you think of him?”
“Ryan? Hard to say. I just met him.” No way would she admit she’d been smitten and responded to his flirtations. Her grandmother would have a field day with that. “He seems nice. And friendly. Maybe a little too friendly.”
“That’s the way people are in the part of Texas where he’s from.” Grandma Em added a healthy dollop of hot sauce to her burrito before taking another bite. “They tend to lay it on a mite thick.”
“The guests will like him.” Putting the shrimp in the refrigerator, Bridget grabbed a bottle of water and sat with her grandmother at the table.
“He was checking you out. I saw him.”
“What! No.”
“You were checking him out, too.”
“I was not.” Bridget’s protest was met with a laugh. An alarming thought occurred to her. Grandma Em had attempted more than once to play matchmaker with her granddaughters. “Tell me you didn’t hire him simply because he’s single and attractive.”
“Aha! So you admit it.”
“I have eyes. I noticed. There, are you satisfied?”
“A little.” Grandma Em smiled brightly. “I hired him because he’s qualified, highly recommended by Nora and personable. But if you two were to go out—”
“We’re not going out.”
“Don’t bring up your list.” She feigned exasperation. “I’d burn it if I could.”
Bridget swallowed a large gulp of water, her throat dry for no apparent reason. “Fine. I won’t.”
“Honey.”
“Grandma, please. I’m not interested in Ryan.”
“All the good-looking young men in this town and not one of them appeals to you. How can that be?” her grandmother lamented. “At this rate, I’m never going to have any great-grandchildren.”
“Molly will give you some. I bet Owen pops the question in the next few months. In the meantime, you can amuse yourself with his three children.”
“They are adorable.” She sighed wistfully, only to promptly sober. “I hate to think of you depriving yourself.”
“Of children?” Bridget asked.
“Yes, and a decent man. Like Ryan—”
“Don’t say it. You only just met him. No way can you tell if he’s decent or totally without morals.”
“I can tell. Even though his parents didn’t have a lot to go around, they raised him right.”
“That, or he’s proficient at conning people.”
Grandma Em made a sound of disgust. “You don’t believe that.”
No, Bridget didn’t. She was inclined to agree with her grandmother. Ryan had nice manners and an appealing openness about him. A what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of man.
“Working with him every day, I bet you’ll change your mind.”
Meaning her grandmother would refuse to quit matchmaking no matter what. If Bridget didn’t do something, she’d soon find herself in an awkward situation. But how to deter her grandmother?
The answer was easy. Throw her off track with a carefully calculated distraction.
“There is one man in town who kind of interests me,” Bridget said.
“Who’s that?”
The more she considered the idea, crazy though it was, the more she warmed to it. “Dr. Gregory Hall.”
Her grandmother’s eyebrows rose in surprise only to come together in a pronounced V. “Word around town is he’s married.”
“He’s not. He’s divorced. Molly told me the other day. She heard it from Nora.”
Dr. Hall was a relative newcomer to Mustang Valley. He’d been working at the urgent-care clinic these past seven months. In his later thirties, with clean-cut features, a pleasant bedside manner and short-cropped hair, more pepper than salt, he’d initially created quite a stir. Many of the single women in town had flocked to the clinic with invented complaints just to meet him. Not Bridget. But she had noticed him out and about on several occasions and concurred with the other women. Dr. Hall was hot.
The nonsense had stopped a few weeks after his arrival when he mentioned being married. Now, it had started up again with the news of his divorce.
“Must be recent,” Grandma Em observed.
“Pretty recent, apparently. He and his wife...ex-wife,” Bridget said, correcting herself, “have been separated awhile. That’s why he took the position at the clinic.”
“Doesn’t he have children?”
“A boy and a girl. Ages ten and twelve.”
“Bridget, honey. Are you sure you want to get involved with a man who’s barely divorced and a father to two preteens?”
“We can go slow at first.”
“That’s a lot to take on.”
“Molly’s dating a man with three young children.”
“It’s different with her and Owen. He’s been divorced awhile.”
Owen was also related to Grandma Em’s new husband, but Bridget didn’t bring that up.
The more arguments her grandmother made, the more determined she was to potentially pursue Dr. Hall. Gregory. She should start thinking of him by his first name.
“He’s exactly the kind of man I’m looking for and meets every requirement on my list.”
“I’d hate to see you get hurt,” Grandma Em said. “He seems nice and all, but there’s a reason his marriage failed.”
“He could have married for the wrong reasons. Like Mom and Doug.”
Grandma Em frowned, and Bridget realized she’d crossed a line. Her grandmother was very protective of Bridget’s mother.
“He’s certainly no worse than Ryan,” she said, “who lives in a run-down, falling-apart house and drives a beat-up old truck.” Owning a decent vehicle was number five on Bridget’s list. “I doubt he has two nickels to rub together.”
“Don’t judge a person by appearances.”
“No offense, Grandma, but I can say the same thing to you. You’re judging Dr. Hall by his appearances. Assuming that he isn’t a good person or a great catch because his first marriage ended in divorce.”
“Has he asked you out?”
Bridget stood. “Not yet, but he will.” She tugged on her apron, then ran her fingers through her hair. “I just need to get my game on.”
Granted, it had been a while since Bridget successfully set her sights on a man. She was confident, however, that her long dormant skills would come rushing back. And then her grandmother would stop trying to set her up with Ryan.
She turned and nearly choked. Ryan stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb and a mischievous twinkle in his too-arresting eyes. How long had he been standing there, and what, if anything, had he heard?
Bridget squared her shoulders. She didn’t care. Let him think what he would. It didn’t matter.
“I finished signi
ng the paperwork with Molly.” He pushed off the doorjamb. “She sent me here to see if there’s anything else you need done before the hayride.”
“Actually—” Grandma Em rose from the table “—there’s a light burned out in the chapel. We’ll need the stepladder to reach it.”
The wink Ryan gave her when he left confirmed what Bridget had already surmised. He’d caught some of what she said to her grandmother and found it amusing.
Really? Did he not think her capable of attracting a man? Rather than be dissuaded, her determination to wrangle a date with the hot Dr. Hall grew by leaps and bounds.
CHAPTER THREE
RYAN HELPED THE last guest climb into the hay wagon. The middle-aged woman—Ryan had heard it was a second marriage for both her and her groom—gripped his hand as she stepped from the overturned crate into the wagon’s long flatbed. Her husband, who was already in the wagon, hauled her up to join him.
Slightly unsteady and flushed with both excitement and nervousness, she let out a small gasp. “My goodness!”
“I’ve got you, darling.” Her husband anchored her against him.
“Yes, you do.” She stood on tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips.
He guided her to the only empty bale of straw, where they sat down, their hands still joined. Their obvious love for each other reminded Ryan of his own parents. All these years later, the DeMeres still sometimes acted like the pair of teenagers they’d been when they first met.
Ryan hoped to have a marriage like theirs one day. He’d have to wait, though, until he’d made enough to buy that dream ranch. He wasn’t about to ask a woman to live amid crumbling walls, even if those walls would be rebuilt and unrecognizable in a year. His nomadic lifestyle and frequent hand-to-mouth survival also didn’t make him the best candidate for marriage.
“Everyone ready?” Big Jim called over his shoulder.
He was answered by a chorus of loud cheers from the group of almost twenty, which included two young girls in matching outfits who were impossible for Ryan to tell apart. He picked up the overturned crate and moved it out of the way. They’d need it again when they returned from the hayride.
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