“I’d, um, probably have a very traditional breakfast.”
“Like?”
Thinking coherently was becoming increasingly hard for Bridget. “Eggs Benedict. Except I’d use chorizo instead of Canadian bacon.”
“What else?”
She drew back ever so slightly. “Are you really interested in this?”
His voice lowered, and he narrowed the gap between them. “I’m interested in you.”
He touched her then, the fingers of his large, work-calloused hands sliding into her hair and cupping the sides of her head. Bridget’s limbs went weak, and she melted into his embrace.
“What else?” he repeated.
“Mango salsa.”
“Keep going.”
She tried, really she did. But his mouth hovered inches above hers, and his fingers were sifting through her hair. Her thoughts scattered like a starburst despite her best attempt to contain them. In another instant, her increasingly heavy eyelids would drift close.
“Tomatoes,” she uttered with effort. “Fried with, um, spices and scallions.”
“Sounds tasty.”
Taste. Yes. It was the only sense remaining that Bridget hadn’t experienced with Ryan.
“And French press coffee with fresh cream, a dash of cinnamon and, um, uh, raw sugar.”
“We can’t forget the sugar. I like my...coffee sweet.”
The corners of his incredibly sexy mouth curved into a teasing smile that let her know he wasn’t talking about coffee. In response, she rose up on her tiptoes.
“Don’t stop there.” He angled her head for what could only be easier access.
Bridget didn’t and parted her lips.
Ryan groaned like a man defeated and covered her mouth with his. She couldn’t get mad at him; she had issued the invitation, after all. And Bridget was very glad she had. He didn’t disappoint.
His lips demanded a response from hers and willingly got one. She let him take what he wanted and then took from him in return, savoring the kiss, which was better and sweeter than any cream-cheese icing or raw sugar.
His other arm circled her waist, pulling her against him until they were impossibly close. Deliciously close. She looped her arms around his shoulders before her liquefied knees buckled.
He broke off the kiss and whispered, “You’re so beautiful, Bridget.”
She believed him. He made her feel beautiful. And special and cherished. All with a mere kiss. How absolutely extraordinary.
When she thought—no, feared—he might release her, he returned to her mouth for more and more, erasing any lingering uncertainties she had about the extent of his feelings for her.
They stayed like they were, lips fused and heartbeats in sync. Bridget couldn’t say for how long. A minute? Ten? That had never happened to her before. With any man. Ever. She didn’t lose herself completely.
Eventually, and too soon for her preference, Ryan ended the kiss and set her aside. She uttered a small sound of protest when his hands fell away.
“I’d better leave. Before I...before we...” He didn’t finish. There was no need.
“Okay. Right.”
“Good night, Bridget. Sleep tight.” Briefly caressing her cheek with his palm, he pivoted and walked away in the direction of the stables, where he’d left his truck.
“Good night, Ryan,” she called after him and fumbled her way inside.
The kitchen floor seemed to shift beneath her feet, and Bridget grabbed for the counter. She imagined Molly telling her that was what it felt like to be a goner.
CHAPTER NINE
RYAN KISSED ME.
“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget blinked, focusing. “We can certainly provide that.”
I kissed him back.
“What do they want?” Molly whispered. She sat at the registration counter, staring up at Bridget.
“No problem.” Bridget moved the phone away from her mouth and whispered, “Scones.”
The Literary Ladies were having their catered luncheon this coming Saturday at noon. Bridget, Molly and Grandma Em would have about an hour after the ladies left to prepare for their three-thirty wedding. Assuming the reception was done by five thirty at the latest, that left a slim ninety minutes before guests began knocking on the door for Gianna and her fiancé’s engagement party.
It was going to be quite a day, nonstop from beginning to end, and a busy three days leading up to it. Bridget couldn’t afford to be distracted. And, yet, she was.
I should have stopped him.
But then she’d have missed out on the experience of a lifetime.
She hadn’t been alone with Ryan since their kiss. Not that she was avoiding him. They interacted frequently during the day for normal ranch business. She did, however, always make sure someone else was there and would do so until her resolve was firmly boosted.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Chagrined, she asked the caller to repeat herself.
“No raisins,” the woman said with a hint of disgust in her voice. “Mildred hates them and will spit them out. You can use those dried cranberries on half the scones, if you want.”
“Dried cranberries it is.”
They discussed a few more details while Molly sat there and watched Bridget’s every move. Thankfully, she managed to finalize the luncheon menu without losing focus again.
Normally, she’d have taken the call in the kitchen and not had to endure her sister’s unwavering scrutiny. But Bridget had been refilling crystal bowls in the chapel with potpourri, and Molly had informed her of the call on her way past the registration counter.
Twice. Bridget hadn’t heard Molly the first time. She’d been lost in memories of Ryan and the other night.
What was she going to do? She supposed they needed to talk about the kiss sooner or later.
“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “I’m looking forward to the luncheon, too. Call me if you need anything. See you then.”
Passing the phone to Molly, she blew out a long breath. “Whew.”
“Are you okay?” Molly asked before she could make good her escape.
“Wonderful.”
“You sure?”
No, she wasn’t. She was filling every waking moment with things like making potpourri from leftover floral arrangements all in an attempt to stop herself from dwelling on Ryan. So far, her success rate was a big fat zero.
“Just excited about the Literary Ladies’ luncheon,” Bridget fibbed. “It’s my first nonwedding catered event at the ranch.” Seizing the opportunity to divert the conversation from herself, she asked, “What’s the head count for Gianna’s party?”
“As of today, seventy-two.”
“Wow! That many?”
“There are a few additional plus-ones we weren’t expecting. Is that okay?”
“Of course. I’ll just make a few extra dozen baked brie bites and smoked trout crostini.” More things to keep her busy.
“Don’t forget the meatballs.”
“As if Grandma would let me.”
Their grandmother didn’t mind the fancy-schmancy finger foods, as she’d referred to them, as long as there were a few basic offerings that appealed to the menfolk. Bridget had drawn the line at cocktail wieners swimming in barbecue sauce and cheese on crackers, but was okay with the meatballs and pizza rounds. Naturally, she’d dress them up.
While not a full dinner, there would be more than enough offerings to fill the guests’ stomachs. Not to mention dessert. Bridget was making a deconstructed Boston cream pie, Gianna’s favorite, according to Nora. Well, regular Boston cream pie. Hopefully, Gianna and everyone else would like Bridget’s version.
“Did you hear?” Molly asked. “Mom called earlier. She and Doug are arriving Friday morning. He wanted to wait and come Saturday, but Mom put her foot down. I’m glad because w
e can use her help.”
Their mother often lent a hand with weddings and events when she was in town and available, making Sweetheart Ranch a true family business.
What would her mother think of Ryan? She’d like him, Bridget had no doubt. He’d charm her like he had Grandma Em, Nora and, yes, Bridget, too.
Since apparently everything reminded her of Ryan, she decided to retreat to the kitchen, her usual sanctuary when troubled or overwhelmed. “I have a lunch to prepare. Ryan’s taking two couples on an extended trail ride today that includes a stop at Juniper Pass along the way.”
“How are things between you and Ryan?” Molly asked.
“Fine.”
“I just wondered.”
“Why?” Please don’t mention Saturday night. Please, please, please.
“To start with, he went chasing after you at the square dance. And you’ve been off in another world since.”
“I’m not off in another world.” Bridget was firmly planted in this one. Specifically, at the kitchen door with her arms wrapped around Ryan and his mouth coaxing the most incredible responses from her.
“Come on,” Molly insisted. “What happened? Did you have a fight?”
“No.”
Her look of concern vanished, replaced with a smile. “Wait. Not a fight. Something else. Like a close encounter of the intimate kind?”
The phone had been ringing off the hook for the past two hours. Now, when Bridget most needed an interruption, it remained frustratingly quiet.
“I’m not going to quit pestering you until you tell me,” Molly said.
She wouldn’t. Molly was nothing if not persistent.
“All right.” Bridget relented and prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. “We kissed.”
Molly gasped. “Tell me everything. Was it good? I bet it was. He looks like he’d be a good kisser.”
“Not good.”
“What? No!” Molly’s features fell.
“It was great.” Incredible. Mind-shattering.
Another gasp. “I knew it!”
“Also wrong. We made a mistake.” Bridget explained about Ryan’s house flipping, his goal of starting his own construction business one day and his hope of making his parents’ retirement years easier. Mostly she explained about him not being ready for a serious relationship.
“How long are we talking about? A year? Two?”
“At minimum.”
“Then wait for him.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re only thirty and probably marrying Owen soon. I bet you’ll be pregnant by your first anniversary. In the meantime, you can satisfy your need for nurturing by being a stepmom to his kids. I, on the other hand, am thirty-two with no prospects.”
“Lots of women these days get married and start families later.”
Bad enough Bridget felt the need to keep reminding herself of that. Now she had other people saying it to her.
“I don’t want to be one of them,” she snapped, and instantly regretted her outburst. “Sorry.”
Molly looked remorseful. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I was being insensitive.”
“I think I’d be less touchy if you and Grandma weren’t constantly throwing Ryan at me.” Bridget pushed her hair back with her hand. “That makes me feel even more like I’m running out of time.”
“Can I ask something without you taking it the wrong way?”
“I’ll try.”
“Do you regret putting your career first all these years?”
Bridget considered the question for a moment before answering. “What I regret is not dating more when I had the chance. I could have done both—work and a personal life aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Might your standards be a little high?” Molly inquired gently.
There it was again, the reference to her strict criteria for a man worthy of her attention.
Yeesh. Just thinking of it like that made Bridget want to cringe. When had she become such a snob?
“It’s not your fault,” Molly said. “Dad set the bar pretty high. Most men can’t compare.”
Bridget did want to find a man like their father. He’d been the love of their mother’s life and the best father two daughters could ever ask for. She was also scared of losing the right man once she found him. Her father’s sudden death had left them shell-shocked and devastated.
The dating list gave her a sense of security. She wasn’t ready to cast it aside just yet.
“It’s easy for me to tell you to quit worrying,” Molly said. “But I won’t. You being ready now for a husband and family is reasonable. Problem is, the guy hasn’t yet materialized and you’re wondering if he ever will. Those are perfectly normal feelings.”
What Bridget heard, even though Molly didn’t say it, was “At your age.”
“Obviously, you and Ryan are attracted to each other,” Molly continued. “There’s no law saying you can’t simply date with no end goal.”
Bridget had been through this already with Grandma Em. “I would hate to start caring for someone only to become frustrated and angry when their timetable doesn’t match mine. We’d both wind up hurt and angry.”
“You’re right.” Molly’s shoulders slumped. “He’s just so darn cute.”
The phone on the registration counter rang. Finally! Molly reached for the receiver.
“There’s my cue to get to work.”
“Mine, too.”
Bridget dragged her feet to the kitchen. It was barely past 11:00 a.m., and she was already exhausted. Ongoing emotional tug-of-wars and deflecting well-intentioned family members did that to a person. As did preoccupation to the point of obsessing over one small kiss.
Since easily portable food worked best for taking on trail rides, sandwiches were Bridget’s meal of choice. She’d planned on preparing pulled pork with sweet slaw topping on potato rolls.
After assembling the ingredients on the counter, she got down to business. Twisting off the lid on a jar of mayonnaise she’d made earlier in the week, she paused. Something wasn’t right. Holding the jar to her nose, she sniffed. Bridget prided herself on her sense of smell, a trait vital to any good chef. Today it told her the mayonnaise was on the verge of spoiling.
“Swell,” she grumbled under her breath.
What now? There wasn’t enough time before the trail ride to prepare a fresh batch of mayonnaise, even if she had all the ingredients. Store-bought wasn’t an option; Bridget didn’t keep any in the house. Perish the thought.
Weighing her options, she decided on going with a different sandwich. Unfortunately, an inspection of the refrigerator contents yielded few ideas and nothing that excited her.
Seconds stretched into minutes. She needed to walk the packed lunch boxes to the stables soon or risk delaying the trail ride.
Massaging her forehead, she muttered, “Think, Bridget, think.”
Her mind refused to cooperate, remaining a jumble. Unbidden tears filled her eyes, and she dashed angrily at them with the heels of her hands. She wasn’t normally a crier. She was stronger than that.
Of course, Ryan chose that exact moment to throw open the kitchen door, a big grin on his face, a twinkle in his eyes and a cheerful “Good morning” coming from the lips that were responsible for Bridget’s present state of confusion.
* * *
RYAN DREW UP SHORT. Was Bridget crying? He couldn’t tell for certain. She’d quickly averted her face and had yet to look directly at him. But he swore those had been tears he’d spotted in her eyes.
He stood there, debating if he should ask her what was the matter or leave her in peace. Staying won out. He couldn’t walk away, not when she was upset and despite the fact that he might be the cause.
In the three days since they’d kissed, he’d been careful to limit their discussions to work. In large part becau
se he was curious how she’d react to the kiss and if she’d seek him out.
To his great disappointment, she’d said nothing and done nothing. When they were together, she acted as if nothing intimate had transpired between them. Ryan refused to believe that was due to a lack of interest in him. Bridget had kissed him back and then some.
Frustrated with maintaining his distance and frustrated with constantly second-guessing her, he stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind him. Crossing the kitchen toward her, he asked, “Are you okay?”
“Me? Yes.”
She sent him a quick sideways glance but avoided direct eye contact. A lower bin in the refrigerator seemed to demand her entire attention, and she rifled through it without making a selection.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”
“No. I don’t.”
She was back in control, the way he knew she liked it, every trace of her earlier tears vanished.
But Ryan had seen her lose control and felt the instant she’d let go when he held her in his arms. Moments like that were rare, and he’d give anything for another one with Bridget.
“It’s just that you looked...” He started to say “distraught” but changed his mind. “Preoccupied.”
“My mayonnaise is spoiled.” She indicated the jar in the sink.
“Does mayonnaise spoil?” With the copious amounts of bologna sandwiches he consumed, there was no chance of his mayonnaise spoiling.
“It does. And homemade mayonnaise spoils faster than store-bought.”
“You don’t keep any store-bought handy for, like, emergencies?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Ryan poured himself a glass of water from the dispenser in the corner, his original reason for coming to the kitchen. Okay, and to see if she was here. “No offense, but is spoiled mayo a big deal?”
“I was going to prepare sweet slaw topping for the pulled-pork sandwiches.”
“I’m sure the pulled pork will be good with nothing on top or plain cheese.”
She whirled to face him then, her expression one of horror. “Plain cheese?”
The Cowboy's Perfect Match Page 12