The Cowboy's Perfect Match

by Cathy McDavid

  Tucking the cordless drill between his arm and his rib cage, he realigned the screw with his thumb and forefinger while steadying the light fixture with his remaining fingers. It wasn’t easy. Feeling the threads on the screw catch, he again attempted to drill the screw into place before his fingers cramped or he lost his balance and face-planted in the dirt.

  This time, the screw went in smoothly, and he grunted with relief. Five more to go and he was done. Climbing down the ladder, he was met by the mare, who sniffed his back and hat with avid interest, as if something might have changed in the short span of time he’d been installing the light.

  “Cross your hooves,” he said and flipped the switch on the pole. The light illuminated, dimly at first and then with increasing brightness. “Happy day. We’re in business.”

  Ryan collapsed the ladder, then carried it and the drill with him across the paddock. The gelding joined up with them, and both horses lumbered after Ryan like a pair of loyal dogs. At the gate, he left them behind. If it was possible for horses to show disappointment, they did, as their expressions fell.

  “I’ll be back. Be on your best behavior for the real-estate agent.”

  In response, the gelding sniffed the mare, getting a little too personal. She gave him a swift but harmless kick in return, missing him by several inches.

  “Great. I ask one thing of you and already you’re fighting.”

  Not for the first time he wondered if he’d been wrong to make this appointment today. Selling the property ahead of schedule, possibly clearing the way for him and Bridget to date, could well be no more than a pipe dream. Heck, he hadn’t even talked to her about it.

  There was no reason to, not unless something actually came of this appointment. And he had his doubts.

  With no carriage rides scheduled, Ryan was free until late afternoon, when he’d return to the ranch for an evening trail ride and the horses’ regular feeding. Thanks to the increasing heat, his work schedule was wacky. He was going to have to get used to it, though, until fall, when the days finally cooled down.

  Coming out of the shed after storing the ladder and drill, he heard a woman calling. “Hello, there you are.”

  Cheryl-Anne appeared from around the side of the house. Forty-five minutes ahead of schedule.

  “Shoot,” he muttered under his breath before mustering a smile and striding toward her.

  “I hope you don’t mind me showing up early,” she said when they were near enough to converse. “My previous appointment finished early.”

  “No problem.”

  “I tried calling but you didn’t answer.”

  Ryan patted his shirt pocket. It was empty. Then he remembered. “I must have left my phone inside.”

  “Can you still show me around or should I come back?”

  “Stay. By all means.” He removed his cowboy hat and, after combing fingers through his damp hair, replaced it. “As long as you don’t mind a little dirt. I haven’t had a chance to clean up.”

  “I don’t mind.” She beamed. “I’m a real-estate agent. I’ve met people in every state imaginable, from a tuxedo to a swimsuit.”

  Ryan had to laugh at that. “Where do you want to start?”

  “We’re here.” Her gesture encompassed the entire outside. “Might as well walk the grounds.”

  “Bear in mind, this entire place is a work-in-progress.”

  “Remember, I looked at it last winter before you bought it. I can already see the improvements you’ve made.”

  They started the tour at the paddock. “Watch your step,” Ryan warned her.

  “I came prepared.” She lifted one of her feet. The athletic shoes she wore were in contrast to her professional attire of dress slacks and a blouse. “I carry a pair in the car for just such occasions as this one.”

  They inspected each of the outbuildings and the covered stalls. Ryan’s horses followed, intrigued by this new visitor. Though clearly not a horse person, Cheryl-Anne didn’t mind.

  Finishing with the outside, they went into the house. Whereas Bridget’s reaction had been one of surprise and mild horror when she saw the bare kitchen, Cheryl-Anne wanted to know what kind of cabinets Ryan intended on installing and offered enthusiastic encouragement. Not only that, but she also made several good suggestions for some of the other rooms.

  “The master bathroom is huge. Have you considered an eco-friendly shower? They’re popular right now.”

  He hadn’t.

  “You could easily tear down that ugly wooden stoop off the kitchen door—sorry, but it is ugly—and lay pavers to make a patio. I’d recommend adding a built-in barbecue and a lattice roof.”

  He could.

  “You might want to consider an under-the-counter wine refrigerator in the kitchen. You’ll have room with that island you’re adding.”

  He might.

  By the end of the tour, he realized he liked the real-estate agent. She was smart and personable, as well as knowledgeable and experienced. She was also frustratingly noncommittal when it came to discussing money and any potential buyers.

  Unable to wait, Ryan asked, “What do you think I could get for the place?”

  “As of today or when you’re done with the remodeling?”

  “Both?”

  She smiled. “Let’s sit down.”

  The only chairs available were in the kitchen. Ryan was embarrassed by the sorry condition of his dining set but Cheryl-Anne claimed to have seen worse.

  “What are you looking to get?” she asked once they were seated.

  Ryan had anticipated this question and named an amount based on what he’d paid for the property, the cost of improvements to date and a reasonable profit. “That’s the lowest I’d take,” he said. “I’d start out higher.”

  Cheryl-Anne nodded thoughtfully. “Not unreasonable. And in line with the current market. Would you be willing to stay on and complete the remodeling? Just looking at all our options.”

  Our options. Real-estate agents tended to talk like that, those he’d dealt with, anyway. He supposed they were trying to make the other person feel like the two of them were on the same team.

  “I’d be willing. In fact, that would be preferable.” He wasn’t ready to leave Sweetheart Ranch or move from Mustang Valley. “I’d have to be paid for my services.”

  “Naturally.”

  “If I were to list the property with you, would you recommend I stop remodeling?” he asked. “I don’t want to continue investing money and energy, not without raising the sales price accordingly.”

  “Good question.” She sent him an approving look. “You’re no dummy.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “That’s right. You’ve bought and sold properties before.” Her smile grew. “We could have an interesting partnership.”

  Ryan just wanted to get through this sale, if he even agreed to list the property with her. He still had more questions.

  “I recommend you absolutely continue with the landscaping for now. As I always say, an attractive outside will bring people inside. We can figure your landscaping budget into the listing price. Do you have an amount?”

  He told her. “That includes reexcavating the wash in the front yard and laying river rock.”

  “It’ll be eye-catching when you’re done.”

  They talked for another forty minutes, covering everything from Cheryl-Anne’s commission to Ryan having a home inspection. At one point, he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and jotted down some notes to himself.

  “I have a listing agreement here,” Cheryl-Anne said, reaching for her messenger bag and obviously hoping to close the deal.

  “Can I have some time to think about it?”

  And review the agreement, he silently added. He’d signed three previous ones and had some idea of the terms he wanted, those he�
�d reject and which ones he’d negotiate. He’d also like to chat with his dad and possibly his brother.

  “Don’t take too long,” Cheryl-Anne cautioned. “My investor is definitely interested, but we’re also looking at other properties.”

  She was nudging Ryan to sign with her. He got that. But he wasn’t giving in that quickly.

  “If I sell to your buyer, you’d be agent for both parties.”

  Her eyebrows rose. In surprise or appreciation, Ryan wasn’t sure.

  “You are correct,” she said.

  “Can we negotiate your rate under those circumstances?”

  “My, my. Your mama didn’t raise no fool.”

  They covered several more of Ryan’s concerns. To her credit, Cheryl-Anne appeared to be up front with him.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “The day after at the latest.”

  He walked her to her car, where they shook hands.

  “I’m not sorry you beat me to the punch on this property,” she told him. “You’re going to turn it into something special.”

  “I hope so.”

  She studied him with a critical eye. “I’d like to do business with you, Ryan. I think I can sell this place and make us both some money. With luck, a lot of money.”

  “Thanks for coming out today.”

  He waited in the driveway and watched while she drove away, his emotions a jumble. The main reason he’d asked for time to review the listing agreement was so that he could replay their meeting in his mind. Half of what Cheryl-Anne had said was an attempt to sell him on her services. He needed to separate that from the truly important stuff.

  Mostly he needed to decide if he wanted to make a little return on his investment now or complete the remodeling and make potentially much more two years down the road.

  There were pros and cons to both, Bridget being one of the biggest pros for selling now. He knew he shouldn’t consider her in any decision he made. Technically, they didn’t have a relationship beyond being coworkers.

  But it was hard not to consider her when, with each passing day, he wanted her in his life more and more. Perhaps even permanently.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “THESE ORCHIDS ARE EXQUISITE.” Grandma Em stepped back from the table to stare admiringly.

  “Thanks.” Bridget didn’t disagree with her grandmother. This wedding cake was one of her best efforts to date.

  “They look so real. Did you take a picture?”

  “Yeah. Right before you came in.”

  With her cell phone. And while the device did well enough, Bridget was starting to think more professional photographs were in order. There were so many things they could do with them. Their website and brochure, to name two. The catering catalog she’d been slowly putting together, for another.

  This particular cake would make an incredible cover. Bridget had labored for hours over the delicate and nearly flawless petals and leaves. No simple icing for her—she’d incorporated a variety of edible components including candy pieces, fruit, chocolate shavings and spun sugar. It would be delicious.

  Although, how anyone could think of eating her gorgeous creation was beyond her. The mere thought of a knife slicing through the flowers physically pained her. She would have to get over it, she chided herself, if she intended to continue baking wedding cakes like this one.

  “Have you ever thought of hiring our own staff photographer, Grandma?” she asked. “One with experience shooting food.”

  The two women stepped away from what Bridget referred to as the cake table—today it had been moved from the corner to beneath the window, where the silver and gold adornments on the cake glittered in the afternoon sunlight.

  “Most of our clients hire their own,” Grandma Em answered. “Or recruit a family member.”

  “They hire their own because we don’t offer that service.”

  When requested, Grandma Em supplied a list of recommended photographers and videographers, along with musicians and florists. They also enjoyed reciprocal agreements with several local businesses, passing out each other’s brochures when appropriate.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to explore the possibility,” she said. “See what it entails.”

  “Molly still thinks we should turn the library into a wedding-accessories boutique.” Bridget added another folded linen napkin swan to the “flock” sitting on the end of the table.

  “Where is she, anyway?”

  “Readying the dressing rooms. The bride is supposed to be here any minute and the groom not long after that.”

  “You’re both full of such good ideas.”

  Bridget and her grandmother next took turns fiddling with the centerpiece and arranging silver flatware. Nothing plastic or paper for this reception, per the couple’s request.

  This was by far Sweetheart Ranch’s most elaborate and expensive wedding to date. Besides the extensive catering menu and five-tier cake, a string quartet had been hired to perform both before the wedding and during the reception. A standing floral arch had been placed at the chapel altar for the bride and groom and their officiant to stand beneath during the ceremony, silk ribbons with tails that reached the floor adorned the pews and each guest would receive a gift bag filled with wedding mementoes.

  The reception was merely the start of the celebration. After the customary pictures were taken, the bride and groom would be driven through town in the carriage wearing their full wedding garb. This, rather than waiting until the next morning, as usual. The ride, along with the ceremony and reception, would be captured for posterity by the videographer.

  Ryan was at that moment readying the carriage and horses. Bridget knew this because she’d caught a glimpse of him earlier giving baths to Moses and Amos.

  They hadn’t talked much this past week, not since the engagement party for Nora’s granddaughter. Her choice, Bridget reminded herself. She’d been thrown by little Marisa’s remark about Ryan being Bridget’s boyfriend and her mother’s adamant endorsement. It hit too close to home as Bridget had been entertaining similar notions herself.

  Funny, though. Ryan hadn’t been seeking her out like usual. At first, she hadn’t noticed, and when she finally did, she attributed it to their hectic schedules. The cabins were at one-hundred-percent occupancy, and they’d had three midweek weddings. After a while, she’d begun to suspect he was purposely keeping his distance from her. It was mildly annoying, as much as she was keeping her distance from him.

  “Do you really think we could make money with an in-house wedding boutique?” Grandma asked, rousing Bridget from her too-frequent thoughts of Ryan. “People seem to order online more and more these days. And there are those we’re-getting-married websites that are all the rage.”

  “You’re right. But I think people tend to book their venue and even their honeymoon long before they purchase invitations or printed napkins or guest books with matching feather pens. We might be able to cash in on impulse buying when they come here to view the ranch and book their wedding.”

  “Maybe.” Grandma Em rubbed the small of her back and sighed wearily. “More than a photographer, one of these days soon, we’re going to have to hire part-time help for you and Molly. I’m not sure how much longer I can continue.”

  Her grandmother’s declaration caused Bridget to stop in the middle of straightening the bow on the cake cutter. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m thinking of retiring.”

  “Grandma, no!”

  “I’ll be seventy-nine on my next birthday. Long past retirement age. This ranch was my last hurrah. I’ve always intended for you and your sister to take over one day and for me to live off my investments.” She leveled a finger at Bridget. “Naturally, I expect to remain on call.”

  “Forget it. You retiring is a long way off.”

  “Not that long. Homer and I
want to travel in his RV while we still can. We’ve got a few more destinations on our bucket lists.”

  “We can’t manage without you.” Bridget didn’t like thinking of her grandmother getting older. Or of leaving. She’d miss her terribly.

  “Nonsense. Just look at what you’ve done this week alone. You landed a brunch for the Valley Community Church mothers’ group.”

  “Only because two of their members also belong to the Literary Ladies.”

  “And if you hadn’t done such a wonderful job with their luncheon, the mothers’ group would have found another venue for their brunch.” Grandma Em faced Bridget and planted her hands on her pudgy hips. “And another reason we need to think about hiring more help, you and your sister are working way too hard. Neither of you has time for a personal life. And by personal life, I mean dating.”

  “I beg to differ,” Bridget said. “Molly has found plenty of time for her and Owen.”

  “Attending town-council meetings and the children’s activities isn’t the same as dating.”

  “Well... I don’t know. They seem to enjoy it.”

  “If they don’t spend some quality time together alone, how’s she going to get the man to propose? Look at Gianna. She’s not even graduated ASU and she’s already engaged.”

  Bridget knew her grandmother hadn’t intended for her remark to sting, yet it did. Everyone else around Bridget was finding love and moving toward a happily-ever-after future. Everyone but her.

  Was her family right? Was she being too particular and were her standards too high? She didn’t want to be one of those people who looked back on their lives years from now and counted the regrets.

  Ryan strolled into the parlor at that moment. Bridget didn’t want to think it was in response to the direction her thoughts had taken.

  “Aren’t you handsome?” Grandma Em sent Bridget an arch look. “Better-looking even than last weekend at Gianna’s party.”

  Bridget stopped herself from searching for a hiding spot. Her grandmother couldn’t be more obvious.

  “I wasn’t being filmed then.” Ryan tugged on the brim of what appeared to be a brand-new Stetson.