The Cowboy's Perfect Match

by Cathy McDavid

  Ah. Her concern for him was less personal and more business-related. He shouldn’t be disappointed.

  “You worry too much, Bridget.”

  “I have a chef friend who spent a week in the hospital after she ignored a knife cut and it lead to sepsis.” She quickly gathered up the first-aid-kit contents, returned them to their proper place in the box and closed the lid. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  She disappeared into the pantry and returned a minute later, without the first-aid kit and carrying her purse.

  “I’ll drive,” she announced.

  “If I promise to go to the clinic, will you—”

  She cut him off. “I have a stop to make, anyway.”

  Ultimately, Ryan relented. Bridget was persistent, and he doubted she’d leave him in peace until he was seen by a medical professional.

  Just as well. He had no wish to be sidelined from work during his first week simply because he’d refused to get treatment or share confined spaces with Bridget.

  Jobs like this one, with flexible hours and benefits and decent pay, were few and far between. He’d be wise to do whatever was required of him to keep it.

  * * *

  BRIDGET’S STOMACH FLUTTERED in anticipation as she swung her SUV into the medical clinic’s parking lot. This wasn’t one of her better ideas. Not having Ryan’s wound treated—it did look awful and needed tending by a professional. But insisting she accompany him on the slim chance she accidentally-on-purpose ran into Dr. Hall—that rated right up there on the stupid meter.

  And why? To prove to her grandmother and herself she wasn’t interested in Ryan.

  The stunt was something a sixteen-year-old might pull, not a grown woman. Unfortunately, she couldn’t back out now. They were here, sitting in a visitor space, with Ryan waiting for her to shut off the engine.

  She glanced around the lot. Was Dr. Hall even here? She had no idea what make and model vehicle he drove.

  “You okay?”

  Ryan’s question startled Bridget, and she involuntarily jerked. “Yeah.”

  “You look nervous.”

  “Do I?” Mustering a smile, she shifted to face him. “Just distracted. I thought I saw someone I knew.”

  What a pathetic excuse. Other than her and Ryan, the parking lot was empty of people.

  “You ready?” She opened her door.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  They walked side by side toward the clinic. Bridget let Ryan open the door for her only because he used his uninjured hand. Grandma Em would be pleased; she’d recently commented on his good manners.

  Inside, Bridget plunked down in a chair while he signed in at the counter and described his problem to the young woman on duty. A middle-aged couple Bridget knew had recently moved to Mustang Valley, but whom she hadn’t officially met, sat across from her. She offered a friendly hello, which they returned.

  The woman’s nose was beet-red and she dabbed at it with a tissue. The man patted her knee affectionately. “She’s got a bad cold,” he said, his tone apologetic.

  “It’s going around,” Bridget replied, her attention wandering. There was no sign of Dr. Hall through the reception-counter window.

  Ryan finished signing in and sat beside her, balancing a clipboard on his knees. He said, “Howdy” to the couple, and, after answering their question about how he’d injured his hand, tackled the paperwork.

  The door leading to the exam rooms opened and a bearded man in scrubs called a name. The woman with a cold and her husband simultaneously stood, wished Ryan good luck and disappeared with the nurse’s aide.

  Ryan completed the paperwork, more than once exhaling in frustration and muttering remarks about useless information. Eventually, he returned the clipboard to the woman behind the counter and grabbed a magazine from the rack on his way back. He flipped the pages, hardly glancing at them.

  It was Bridget’s turn to comment. “You’re the one who looks nervous now.”

  “I don’t like needles.”

  Bridget chuckled, only to stop when she realized from Ryan’s pinched expression that he was completely serious. “Really? A big, strong man like you?”

  “I’m not proud of it.”

  “Are we talking the fainting kind of needle phobia?”

  “That only happened once.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, twice.”

  “Do you faint at the sight of blood, too?”

  “I’m not that much of a wimp.”

  “You drove a nail thirty times the size of any needle into your hand, and that didn’t bother you.”

  “Not on purpose,” he grumbled, as if that made a difference.

  “You’ll be fine. And a tiny needle is nothing compared to what you’d have to endure if the wound became infected.”

  “Thanks for coming with me. And for caring,” he added.

  The sincerity in his voice touched her. “You’re welcome, Ryan.”

  She snuck a sideways peek at him when he resumed flipping magazine pages. He really was a handsome man. She liked how one stubborn lock of dark brown hair insisted on falling over his left eye. And speaking of eyes, his were the most compelling shade. Blue in bright sunlight and grey indoors. Whenever he looked at her, she always got the feeling he could see more than the parts of her she chose to reveal. It was disconcerting. And...intriguing.

  Even though he didn’t check off enough boxes on her dating nonnegotiable list, she might have gone out with him, anyway, if things were different. Just for kicks and to see what it’d be like.

  One date. As much as she liked Ryan, she wasn’t settling for less than her ideal life partner. She’d seen both extremes with her mother—a wonderful marriage with Bridget’s father and a less-than-satisfying one with her stepdad. For Bridget, there was only one choice. Hold out for the right man.

  The fact that she and Ryan worked together was another deterrent. What if they started dating and the relationship suddenly soured? Sweetheart Ranch wasn’t large enough for them to avoid each other indefinitely. The situation could become awkward, potentially forcing him to leave and the ranch to lose a valuable employee.

  Nope, the family business was too important to risk affecting its smooth and profitable operation over a doomed-from-the-start romance. Important to Grandma Em, who’d invested her entire savings, and to Molly and Bridget.

  They didn’t just depend on the ranch for their livelihood, they planned to take over for Grandma Em whenever she chose to retire. Bridget hoped to eventually open a pastry shop on the premises, and Molly had recently proposed they convert the downstairs library into a wedding boutique.

  Bridget and Ryan simultaneously lifted their heads when the door opened and the nurse’s aide reappeared, calling Ryan’s name.

  He stood slowly and then didn’t move. “Don’t suppose I could convince you to come with me and hold my hand?”

  “I think you’ll do fine on your own.”

  “It was worth a try.”

  “Close your eyes and imagine your happy place. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  He followed the nurse’s aid, leaving Bridget alone in the waiting room. She glanced at the reception-counter window again. No sign of Dr. Hall. She was half-glad. A calculated bumping-into-him was a stupid idea to begin with.

  Ten minutes later, Bridget was reading emails on her phone and starting to get bored when an elderly man, accompanied by his uniformed caregiver, arrived. They went straight for the reception window, and a loud conversation commenced. The elderly man was hard of hearing, his caregiver explained.

  “I want to see Dr. Hall,” the man insisted.

  Bridget couldn’t make out the reply.

  “What?”

  “Dr. Hall isn’t here,” the caregiver repeated. “The nurse practitioner will see you.”

  “Well, why didn’t
you say so?”

  Bridget didn’t hear the rest of what was said, as her mind whirled. Dr. Hall wasn’t in? Whew! She’d come this close to embarrassing herself over nothing.

  At least Ryan was receiving the medical treatment he needed. That was the important thing.

  Several more minutes passed, with Bridget’s boredom increasing. The elderly man and his caregiver had joined her in the waiting area and were discussing his chronic stomach-flu symptoms in raised voices and with unnecessary graphic details. Staring at her phone’s clock, Bridget tapped her foot impatiently.

  When the front door opened, she assumed a new patient had entered the clinic.

  “Hello, Dr. Hall,” the woman behind the counter said cheerily. “Glad you’re back.”

  Bridget immediately went on high alert. He was here! Returning from wherever he’d been.

  What should she do? What should she say? She hadn’t thought far enough ahead.

  “Any calls?” He stopped briefly at the window to converse before continuing to the exam rooms, nodding curtly to the people in the waiting room.

  Bridget began to panic. In another three seconds he’d be gone, and she’d miss her one and only chance. Get up, she told herself. Say something.

  “Hi, um, Dr. Hall.” Bridget jumped to her feet.

  He paused, his eyebrows raised.

  She approached him. “We, uh, met last November. At Sweetheart Ranch. During the open house. I’m Bridget O’Malley. Emily O’Malley’s granddaughter. I’m the resident chef and head of catering.”

  She was babbling. And acting like an idiot.

  “Yes,” he finally said, though there was no real recognition on his face. “Nice to see you again.”

  They shook hands. Bridget’s was clammy, she was sure of it. How humiliating. His was softer than she’d expected. Or maybe it was just softer than Ryan’s, which she’d held this morning. His had the calluses of someone who worked outdoors and at hard manual labor.

  Hands like her father, Bridget suddenly remembered and had no idea where that thought sprang from. But in her mind, she could see a child version of herself clasping her father’s big, rough hand and feeling utterly safe.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Dr. Hall withdrew. “I have patients waiting.”

  “Yes. Of course. Wait,” she said after he’d taken a step. “I wanted to invite you—you and your children—out to the ranch. We’re having weekly hayrides and cookouts. Open to the public. Starting this Saturday.”

  He smiled, less formally this time. “They might enjoy that. Thank you, um...” He paused as if searching his memory.

  “Bridget.”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  Swell. She’d made such a minuscule impression her name had slipped his mind after one minute.

  “See you soon, I hope. Gregory.”

  A frown materialized for the briefest of seconds before his features relaxed. “Me, too.”

  Yikes! Was she wrong to call him by his first name at the clinic? Too personal? Good grief, she was no better than those other women from town who’d thrown themselves at him right and left.

  To cover her blunder, she forced a laugh and wiggled her fingers in the air. “’Bye.”

  It was at that moment she caught sight of Ryan emerging from the exam-room door. He took one look at her waving and grinning and drew up short.

  Gregory—Dr. Hall—said, “Excuse me,” and stepped around Ryan.

  Bridget wished she could shrink to the size of a mouse and scurry away unnoticed. “Done already?” she asked in an attempt to sidetrack Ryan. It didn’t work.

  “What was that all about?” His blue-grey eyes assessed her.

  She noticed only then that his hand was professionally bandaged and he carried a small white paper bag. A prescription, she guessed, filled at the on-site pharmacy.

  “Come on.” She started walking. “We don’t want to be late for the afternoon trail ride. What did the nurse practitioner say, by the way?” She was babbling, not unlike she had with Gregory—er, Dr. Hall.

  “That I was smart to listen to you and come in.”

  “See? What did I tell you?”

  “You’ll be happy to hear I didn’t faint when she gave me a tetanus shot.”

  “Good for you. What’s the prognosis?”

  “I’ll live. I’m supposed to return in a week for a follow-up visit. And avoid protruding nails.”

  He was still casting odd glances her way when they reached the parking lot. Bridget ignored them as best she could.

  “Didn’t you have a stop to make?” Ryan asked once they were on the road.

  “What? No. It’s all right.” She’d forgotten about the excuse she’d given him before. “I can go another day.”

  His odd glances intensified, making her acutely uncomfortable. It was those blue-grey eyes. They bored right through her.

  “Can I ask a personal question?”

  “You can ask,” she said, not sure what was coming. “I may or may not answer.”

  “Are you by chance dating the doctor?”

  Not yet. Possibly not ever after today. Ryan didn’t need to know any of that. Nor would she tell him.

  “I’m not going to discuss my private life with you.”

  “Fair enough.” He sat back in his seat and stared out the windshield, his expression inscrutable.

  Bridget swallowed a groan.

  They passed the remainder of the trip mostly in silence. She couldn’t shake the certainty he’d seen right through her ploy to gain Dr. Hall’s attention and was too polite to laugh.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RYAN WAS NO expert at flirting. He was, however, experienced at it and recognized when a woman was attempting to engage him. Or, like today, attempting to engage another man.

  No doubt about it, Bridget had been flirting with the doctor. And doing a rather poor job from what Ryan had witnessed. The doctor had hardly paid her any attention while she laughed and tossed her hair and— Did her fingers cramp or had that been a wave?

  Ryan shouldn’t find her antics amusing, he thought, as they drove to the ranch. But he did and was trying his hardest not to let Bridget see. He’d rather not crush her hopes. Then again, maybe he would. Different relationship goals aside, he wasn’t entirely thrilled with her interest in the local doc. Perhaps he was even a tad jealous of the man. What would it be like to have Bridget attempting to engage him?

  Not something he was likely to discover any time soon. Especially as, at the moment, she was barely speaking to him. Sulking or feeling stupid? Both?

  They were nearing the ranch when Ryan’s cell phone buzzed. He wrestled it from his front shirt pocket, instantly recognizing the number on the display.

  “Hi, Nora,” he said, answering. “How you doing?”

  He sensed Bridget’s curiosity and her struggle not to look at him. She, too, was probably wondering why his neighbor and the ranch’s part-time employee had called him.

  “Thought you should know,” Nora said, “there’s a pair of what looks like teenage boys roaming your property.”

  “Hmm. Are you able to see what they’re up to?”

  “No. They disappeared into the storage shed.”

  “Nothing much in there.”

  “You can bet whatever they’re up to it starts with the word trouble.”

  Nora was a good neighbor, and if a little nosy it was only to Ryan’s benefit. She kept an eye on his place while he was gone and in return he helped her out with the occasional repair. Most mornings he went over to her house for coffee. And he owed her for recommending him to her best friend, Emily O’Malley, when the wrangler position opened up at Sweetheart Ranch.

  Ryan pushed back his hat and scratched his forehead, debating what to do. “I’m not in my truck at the moment.”

  “I can phone
the sheriff’s office for you,” Nora said.

  “They have to be tired of hearing from me.”

  “What’s wrong?” Bridget interrupted.

  Ryan moved the phone away from his mouth. “Seems like I have two unwelcome visitors. Possibly getting into mischief.”

  “You want to stop by? We have time.”

  “You mind?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Ryan informed Nora.

  “Is that Bridget I hear in the background?” she asked.

  “Yeah. We just came from the medical clinic. She insisted I have that puncture wound treated.”

  “She can be a force when she makes up her mind.”

  “I’m learning.”

  Nora chuckled. “My oldest granddaughter, Gianna, is here visiting. Tell Bridget we’re coming by the ranch in a little bit.”

  “If you want, I can stop by when I get off work to check on that leaky bathroom faucet.”

  “Then you might as well stay for dinner.”

  “A home-cooked meal? How can I refuse?”

  Bridget didn’t need directions to Ryan’s house. She’d been acquainted with the Chandlers before they moved away. “You have much trouble with trespassers?” she asked.

  “Apparently not every neighborhood teenager has figured out the place is no longer vacant. It must have been a party hangout the last few years. There was a lot of damage and vandalism in the garage and outbuildings. Lucky for me they left the main house mostly alone and haven’t stolen or destroyed anything of real value.”

  “Still, that’s a shame.”

  “Yeah. Then again, the damage was another reason I was able to afford the property. I suspect most buyers were put off by the rough condition.”

  They entered the private drive leading to Ryan’s property. In this part of the valley, houses were spaced farther apart than those in town, which was why Nora’s view of the teenagers had been limited.

  “You removed the fence,” Bridget commented as they parked out front.