His bright turquoise Western dress shirt was also new or had been laboriously ironed until the creases were razor-sharp. Paired with his black jeans, the color popped.
“Not that it matters,” Grandma Em said, “but I approve.”
His glance cut to Bridget, who was suddenly very aware of the soiled apron she wore over a T-shirt and shorts. She’d yet to change into her customary event uniform of a chef jacket and slacks.
“You do look handsome,” she finally mumbled.
He grinned, and the zing she’d been trying to avoid all week coursed through her at lightning speed, leaving her simultaneously weak and exhilarated.
“I’d, um, better check on the spinach puffs.”
It was a lame excuse. None of the hors d’oeuvres required her attention, Bridget had everything perfectly in hand. Except, apparently, her persistent attraction to Ryan.
Retreating to the kitchen, she came to a halt in front of the counter, her breath catching.
“Need any help?”
Hearing Ryan’s voice, Bridget went still. He’d followed her to the kitchen and now stood directly behind her.
* * *
WHEN BRIDGET INSISTED she didn’t need any help, Ryan instead grabbed a chilled water bottle from the refrigerator. He should probably return to the stables and wait for a better opportunity to talk with her. But he was this close to listing his property with Cheryl-Anne and wanted Bridget’s response before actually signing on the dotted line.
If she was enthused, and he hoped she would be, he’d take that as an indicator that she, too, was willing to advance their relationship to the next level.
Then what? They’d start dating? If he didn’t have honorable intentions, as his grandfather used to say, Ryan should mosey on down the road. Anything else would be unfair to Bridget.
“Is something wrong?”
Her question startled him, a reaction he tried to mask by taking a long swig of water.
Recapping the bottle, he said, “Nothing.”
“You look nervous.”
Yes, he was. Scared witless at the prospect of having a discussion with Bridget that could potentially change the course of his life.
“Don’t let the videographer get to you,” she said.
He didn’t correct her assumption. “I’ve never been filmed before. Not by a professional.”
“Other than a few quick shots of you and the scenery, I’m pretty sure the camera will be pointed at the couple. They’re the center of attention and what people will want to watch in the finished film. Not the carriage driver. Even one who looks as good as you do,” she added shyly.
“Thanks.”
Here, he thought, was his opportunity. But he got no further than clearing his throat when Emily breezed into the kitchen.
“Ryan, there you are. The photographer and video person, whatever they call her, would like to meet you outside in about twenty minutes. They want some before-the-carriage-ride shots.”
“Can do,” he said.
She paused to study him. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“He’s nervous,” Bridget informed her grandmother.
Emily dismissed the remark with a wave and repeated Bridget’s earlier assurances. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t on the brink of a huge decision that could potentially backfire.
What was the matter with him, anyway? If selling early and moving forward with Bridget was the right course, shouldn’t he have more confidence? He might if he knew for certain how Bridget felt. There was a big difference between wanting a serious relationship and wanting a serious relationship with him.
Ryan tugged on his suddenly too-tight shirt collar. When did they start making these so small?
“Did you hear the story about how our bride and groom met?” Emily grabbed a towel and began polishing the champagne glasses Bridget had set out for the reception. “It’s so cute.” She didn’t wait for either Ryan or Bridget to respond. “Apparently the groom never noticed the bride. They worked at the same large manufacturing company. She’s quiet and...what’s that word people use for someone who’s smart and who likes science and technology?”
“A nerd?” Bridget supplied.
“That’s it. She’s a nerd. The groom normally likes, and this was her description, more outgoing and sexy women even though they, and, again, her description, always wound up breaking his heart. Then one rainy day he had a flat tire in the company parking lot. She spotted him on her way to her car and came to his rescue.” Emily pressed a hand to her heart.
“She did?” Bridget asked, pausing work to listen.
“Yes.” Emily set down one glass and picked up another. “While he was waiting for roadside assistance, she changed his flat tire. Didn’t care that she got soaked to the skin. As you’d expect, he noticed her after that.” Emily ended the recounting on a wistful smile. “Just think, they’d have missed out on marrying the love of their lives if that one circumstance hadn’t caused them to open up to possibilities.”
Was there a message in there for Ryan?
“That is a cute story,” Bridget said and submerged a bottle of champagne in a silver bucket of ice.
“I should write a book.” Emily straightened. “I hear so many great things from people.” Evidently not expecting any comments, she set down the towel. “I’d better head out there. The groom and his party should be arriving any minute, and you know how frantic Molly gets when we’re on countdown to the ceremony.” She stopped at the door leading to the parlor. “Ryan, don’t forget to meet the folks outside for pictures.”
“No, ma’am.” When he and Bridget were alone, he again offered to help. “Put me to work.”
“Trying to vent your nervous energy?”
“Something like that.”
“Here.” She handed him the towel. “You can finish polishing the champagne glasses.”
Not the perfect chore for Ryan and his big, clumsy fingers. But he did his best and waited for the right moment to mention listing his property.
“You adjusting to the new split schedule?” she asked. “I know it must be hard having a chunk of time off in the middle of the day.”
“Actually, it’s working out well for me. I’m getting more done on the house.” Seeing a chance, Ryan took it. “I, um, met with a real-estate agent the other day.”
“Are you buying another property?”
“No, I’m thinking of listing mine.”
He’d discussed his options with his parents during a long phone call yesterday and been forthcoming with his reasons. His mother couldn’t have been more tickled at the prospect of him dating.
Bridget stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, her eyes wide in surprise. “I didn’t realize you were considering selling.”
“I wasn’t. Not until the engagement party, which is where the real-estate agent and I met. She and the business broker Owen used to buy the feed store are partners.”
“I think she belongs to the same business owners’ association as Grandma.”
“She mentioned that.”
“Did you research her any? Check her references?”
“I read the testimonials listed on her company’s website and the reviews posted on Yelp. They’re pretty good. Owen speaks well of her partner, if that’s any indication.”
“Wouldn’t you be better off selling when the renovations are complete? Not that I know the first thing about the real-estate market.”
“I probably would.”
Ryan couldn’t decide if she was discouraging him from selling or examining the situation from all angles like he’d done. Only one way to know—lay it all out there.
“On the other hand,” he continued, “if I sold now, I could make some money and be that much closer to buying the ra
nch.”
“Wow.”
Hmm. Was that wow like, “What a great idea and potentially good for us,” or wow like, “I can’t believe you’d be that foolish.” He wished he knew.
“Cheryl-Anne, that’s the real-estate agent’s name, she has a client who buys investment properties and is very interested in my place. She thinks I can contract with him after the sale to finish the renovations.” He explained more of Cheryl-Anne’s idea.
“Is that what you want?”
“Again, pros and cons. I’d be paid for my services, which, besides the money, would be good experience if I’m serious about eventually starting my own construction company.”
“There’s a lot to consider,” Bridget mused.
“No kidding.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
“That there’s no harm in signing the listing agreement. I don’t have to take any offer.” That was the advice his dad had given him. “I can always say no.”
“True.”
She stuffed trash into a plastic garbage bag and tied the top. When she started toward the door, Ryan spotted a second bag of trash already sitting there. When she would have taken both, he seized one and went with her outside to the Dumpster. It was hidden behind an L-shaped redwood wall, obscuring the unsightly view from the guests.
“I’m not changing my plans,” he said while holding open the Dumpster lid. “Just modifying them. Hopefully, accelerating them.”
“Nothing wrong with that, I suppose.”
She didn’t sound excited, and Ryan’s spirits sank.
They returned to the house. At the door to the kitchen, he delayed her from entering with a hand on her arm.
“Wait. Tell me. Why don’t you think me selling the property is a good idea?”
“It’s none of my business, Ryan.”
“I’m asking you. I’d like your opinion.”
“Okay. You told me you wanted to eventually buy a small ranch outright and not have a mortgage payment.”
He had. That was true.
“Is it possible for you to clear enough money from selling your property now to buy a ranch? And please don’t think you have to divulge your finances to me.”
“I guess that would depend on the offer.”
She gave him a smile that appeared forced. “I wish you luck.”
Again, she attempted to go inside and, again, Ryan stopped her. “Nothing’s happened yet. But...”
“What, Ryan?”
“Something could happen.” He captured her hand and squeezed it. “Between us. Because, if I sold early, I’d be closer to my goal and more inclined to...”
“To...?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.
“Give us a shot.”
“At...?”
She was making this difficult. Well, nothing worthwhile came easy. Another of his grandfather’s sayings.
“Seeing where this could go.” And before she asked him what this was, he said, “I like you, Bridget. A lot. The only reason I haven’t pursued you is because I couldn’t offer you what you want. What you deserve. What I could offer if I sell my place for the right price.”
“Please don’t make any decisions because of me.”
“I’m not changing my goal, just adjusting the time line.”
“But you’d be doing that for me.”
He moved closer, trapping her between the closed kitchen door and himself. When she didn’t object, he took a breath and spoke from the heart.
“I’d sell the property tomorrow if it gave you and me a chance at a future. You heard the story your grandmother told about the bride and groom. They wouldn’t be getting married today if they hadn’t opened themselves up to possibilities.”
“And if you don’t sell?”
What Ryan heard in her voice was concern, and he understood why. There were risks. She could agree to move ahead with their relationship only to be disappointed six months or a year from now when he was no closer to settling down than he was today.
“Stop overthinking.” He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face to his. “Tell me what you really feel.”
“I like you, too,” she confessed in a whisper.
“And?”
“And I’m open to possibilities.”
“That’s my girl.”
He kissed her then. Hard and hungry. She twined her arms around his neck, pulling him close and moaning softly as she arched into him.
It was heaven. It was torture. It was more than he’d ever dreamed possible, and Ryan willingly lost himself in the soft feel of her skin and the sweet taste of her lips.
She liked him, she’d admitted it. They had a chance. More than a chance, a real possibility. He could make this happen. They could—together.
When she pulled back to smile up at him, Ryan’s chest nearly exploded from the sudden surge of emotions. She was here. With him. Eager and willing.
“I want to see you,” he insisted. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Soon.”
“All right.”
“No kids this time.”
“No kids,” she agreed with a throaty laugh.
He kissed her again, and it was like coming home. No longer tentative and no longer exploring, they moved their lips in the familiar pattern of two people who were deeply connected and fully committed.
Too soon, they heard Emily calling for Bridget on the other side of the door. She disengaged her arms from around Ryan. Reluctantly, he noted with some satisfaction.
“We’d better answer her,” she said, “or she’ll come looking for us.”
Ryan wondered if that would be so bad. He suspected that, like Bridget’s mother, Emily wouldn’t object to him dating Bridget.
He let her go with his own share of reluctance. Reaching around her, he opened the door.
Emily stood on the other side. Her glance cut from Bridget to Ryan, and suspicion flared in her eyes. “I was just about to send a search party.”
“We were taking out the trash,” Bridget answered smoothly.
Ryan was impressed. He’d have tripped over his words.
“I see.” Emily’s tone implied she guessed a whole lot more than trash disposal had occurred. “Ryan, they’re waiting for you out front. You’d best hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Nodding to Emily, he squeezed past Bridget while plucking his cell phone from his shirt pocket. Twenty seconds later, he was standing on the veranda and talking with Cheryl-Anne.
“I’m ready to sign the listing agreement. When can we meet?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BRIDGET AND HER grandmother stood on the veranda, observing the carriage return with the newlyweds from their ride through town. Cheering well-wishers gathered just outside the front gate, packets of birdseed in their hands.
Ryan pulled the draft horses to a stop. Damp patches of sweat covered their hides. Ryan, too, must have been feeling the heat because his cowboy shirt, previously ironed to a crisp, hung limply in the places it didn’t cling to his skin.
None of that detracted from his appeal, as was evidenced by the many female guests, including ones old enough to be his mother and young enough to have barely graduated high school, flashing pretty smiles in his direction.
Responding to a handsome man apparently had no age restrictions. Bridget wished her own heartbeat would slow to a speed resembling normal.
As the happy couple, a little wilted from the heat but no worse for the wear, climbed down from the carriage, guests showered them with birdseed. Hand in hand, they hurried toward the house, up the veranda steps and inside, passing Bridget and Grandma Em. The short-of-breath videographer trotted after them, filming.
Once the immediate area had cleared, Ryan skillfully directed the draft horses down the dirt road leading toward the stables. B
ridget had been right. From what she’d seen, the videographer had taken only a few shots of Ryan and focused mostly on the happy couple.
The parents of the bride were next to climb the veranda steps, followed by the remainder of the wedding party. They and most of the guests had stuck around during the ride, chatting, gathering personal items and packing up the wedding gifts.
“Thanks again for everything,” the bride’s mother said when she reached the veranda. “The wedding was absolutely perfect. We couldn’t be more pleased.”
“We’re so glad.” Grandma Em smiled brightly. “It was our pleasure.”
While her husband went inside, the mother of the bride remained. “Would you and your granddaughters like to join us for dinner? You’re more than welcome.”
The wedding party and guests were heading to an Italian restaurant in nearby Rio Verde for the reception, where they’d reserved the banquet room. The bride and groom would change clothes in their cabin before leaving with their families.
“That’s very kind of you,” Grandma Em said. “But I’m afraid we can’t accept.” She looked to Bridget, who nodded in agreement. “We have another big wedding tomorrow to prepare for.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” the woman said on a long exhale. “Personally, I’m tuckered out. And we still have the dinner and drive home. I intend to spend the entire day tomorrow with my feet up and a cold beverage in my hand.”
“Good for you.” Grandma Em patted the woman’s arm. “If you need anything else, just give a holler. One of us will be in the parlor or the kitchen.”
“One of us” translated into Bridget and her grandmother. Molly had left shortly into the ceremony. She and Owen were taking his son to a soccer teammate’s birthday party.
“I think we’re in good shape,” the woman said. “As soon as my daughter and her husband get back from changing clothes, we’re leaving for the restaurant.” She paused, her eyes misting and her voice growing thick. “Her husband. Guess I’m going to have to get used to saying that. My baby girl is married. Only yesterday she was three years old.”
“They grow up awful fast.” Grandma Em slung an arm around Bridget’s waist.
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