By the Book Bride: Ryder (A BBW Western Romance) (Matchmaking A Marriage 1)

by Joann Baker

  Georgia didn’t know why she was allowing the handsome cowboy to lead her around like a small child, but she was. Maybe it had something to do with the firm grasp he had on her hand or the way his long fingers encircled hers. They left through the back door where Ryder locked it behind them after making sure she had her keys. She’d grabbed them and her purse from the kitchen counter where she’d put them when she’d come in from work that evening. Her furniture had yet to arrive so the house was relatively empty. There were a few pieces inside, though, such as the big pine bed in the bedroom with its matching dresser. The inner springs and mattress were propped against the hallway wall. She’d been too tired to drag them the remaining way down the hall and had slept on a blow-up mattress next to the bed last night.

  A well-used truck was parked out back. He walked her to the passenger seat. “Up you go, darlin’.” He placed his hands on her waist and somehow she found herself seated comfortably on the soft leather. Again, she’d allowed him to maneuver her at his leisure.

  Thinking of him using those same tactics in a much more intimate setting had a shiver running through her even though the air in the truck was hot by anyone’s standards. She could still feel the individual press of his fingers in the soft flesh around her waist. She inwardly cringed when she realized that he now knew just how curvy she was. No matter how she dressed to camouflage the extra padding she had, there was no hiding it when a man put his hands on her.

  Immediately, just as they did every time she thought about her body, her thoughts turned to her two younger sisters. Both still in college, they were model thin and had all the boys on campus drooling over them. Georgia couldn’t be angry with them. They were as beautiful on the inside as they were on the outside. However, that didn’t make the comparisons everyone made any easier to hear.

  She had the same clear, unblemished features as her sisters, but that’s where the family resemblance stopped. She was stout. Fluffy, as she liked to refer to herself. Big-boned. In other words, she was a full-sized, curvy girl.

  Who had no hope of ever attracting the attention of a man like Ryder Anderson, she thought as he climbed into the cab of the truck, giving her a wink as he started the engine. Whereas if she looked like either one of her sisters…

  “So, tell me about Georgia Stevens.” He settled back against the battered leather seat of the truck, turning those gorgeous eyes her way once again.

  “There’s not much to tell,” she replied, directing her attention to the passing scenery. It was a short drive to Devil’s Spur, comparatively speaking, but a country one with the occasional stand of trees to be seen in the distance as the endless miles of pastureland rolled by.

  “What brings you to our small town?”

  “A job.”

  Georgia could almost feel his frustration as he shifted on his seat. She grinned to herself. No doubt he was used to women throwing themselves at his feet, eager to share every intimate detail of their lives, including their perfect measurements and dainty shoe sizes.

  “Come on, Georgie, you need to work with me here.”

  His deep voice dipped lower, running along her nerve endings in a most delicious way. “Georgie?” She turned her full attention his way, considering the abbreviated version of her name. No one had ever condensed it before, not even her family. Hearing the shortened form from his lips made it sound sexy, and she realized that she liked it.

  “Yeah, you look like a Georgie.”

  “You mean I look like a man?” She put as much indignation as she could into her tone, getting a kick out of seeing his super-confidence drop by the minute.

  “No,” he immediately corrected her. “You look nothing like a man.” That amber gaze of his swept over her, reminding her she was playing with fire. “You are all woman, sweetheart, believe you me.”

  Now his tone was smug.

  Deciding they needed to get on a safer topic of conversation and fast, she answered his previous question. “I’m the new librarian.”

  Ryder gave a soft laugh. “Pull the other one. Librarians are sour-faced old crones that wear their hair in a bun.”

  “Really? I’ll be sure and tell Miss Moore you said so.” Prudence was the former librarian who had retired, giving Georgia the opportunity to start a new chapter in her life. She had also been on the hiring committee and Georgia had instantly felt a comradery with the older lady.

  Ryder threw her a horrified look. “Don’t you dare,” he ordered. “She’ll skin me alive.”

  He’d known Prudence was set to retire this year, but he didn’t know it had already happened. Yeah, the woman fit his description of what a librarian should look like to a tee, but underneath all the bluster and bristle was a woman with a heart of gold. He didn’t know how many times he and his brothers had been shushed for making noise in the library, but they had never been kicked out of the place. His parents, especially his mother, had been a firm believer in education. Every week, she would take them to town to check out books. She’d even gone so far one summer when Gabe had refused to read the book he’d chosen, as to make them do a report on their individual tomes. None of them had been able to tell her no. Especially not when their father had stepped in.

  His face closed over, the hole in his chest that never seemed to go away aching at the remembered loss. Each year a little more of the hurt went away, but then each year, the memories of his parents faded just a little bit more as well. He knew it was a trade-off, one nature provided for people suffering great tragedies to move on. It didn’t make it any easier to accept, though.

  He let the conversation drop. They had reached Devil’s Spur. Driving directly to the General Store, he parked in the lot. It was filled, as usual for early morning. It seemed everyone needed something to complete a job while they had the spare time. Before he could make it around to help her from the cab of the truck, Georgia was already out and waiting for him.

  Well, damn, he thought to himself, instantly regretting not being able to touch her again, to smell the citrusy fragrance of the shampoo she had used. At the look on her face, he resisted the temptation to take her hand again.

  Soon, he reassured himself. Soon, he’d find an excuse to touch her again.

  He held open the glass-fronted door, grinning down at her as he did so. His momma had instilled manners in the Anderson boys at a very young age. As soon as they were strong enough to open doors for a woman, they were counseled to do it.

  “Good morning, Gramps,” Ryder called out to the older man standing at the counter, checking out a customer.

  “Ryder? What brings you out this early on a Saturday morning? I thought for sure you’d still be sleeping off that—”

  “Granddad, have you met Georgia, Poppy’s new renter?” Ryder cut his grandfather off as quickly as he could. He wasn’t ashamed of his wild ways, but he didn’t need his lifestyle broadcast to the world—and especially not to this woman. She was already as skittish as a newborn colt. He couldn’t have her bolting away from him before he even got to the starting gate.

  “Of course, I have, son.” Silas gave him a strange look. “Who do you think mixed that paint for her?” He looked at both of them over the edge of the reading glasses perched on top of his nose, a worried expression on his lined face. “Something wrong with the color, Miss Georgia?”

  Georgia stepped forward. “No, Mr. Moore, the color is perfect, but your grandson seems to think we need to paint the ceiling before we paint the walls.”

  Silas was nodding his head before she’d even finished speaking. “Yes, you do. Harvey and I talked about that.” He grinned at his youngest grandson. “I’m glad to see the stubborn old cuss took my advice and got you to help out, Ryder. Why don’t you go and grab a couple of gallons while I get this pretty young lady something to drink.”

  “Well, I…”

  “Ryder Anderson, you sweet, sweet man.”

  Georgia’s smile disappeared at the sight of the light-headed woman who had appeared to latch herself onto Ryd
er’s arm like a tick on a dog. Her silver blond hair glinted under the fluorescent lights that did absolutely nothing to diminish the blue of her eyes or startling clarity of her suntanned skin. When Ryder grinned down at her, Georgia called herself a fool for letting the action get to her.

  For heaven’s sake, she admonished herself, she’d only met the man. Hadn’t she known right away that he was a player? Best she remember that fact and stop her wayward heart before it got her into a world of hurt. No one needed to know how much she longed to have someone in her life. A man who treated her like she was the center of his universe. She had no illusions that actually having that dream come true was remotely close to possible. Women like her found nice, sensible guys that provided an ordinary and uneventful life. They did not end up with hot guys with chiseled abs and killer smiles.

  “I had a great time last night.” Long, red nails ran lightly up Ryder’s arm from elbow to wrist and back up again. Lush lashes, courtesy of a few coats of mascara, blinked seductively. “Maybe we can get together again tonight?”

  “Sorry, Angelique,” Ryder gently extracted himself from the woman’s hold, “I already have plans.”

  Icy blue eyes turned on Georgia with a look that loudly proclaimed disbelief that Ryder was turning her down in favor of Georgia. It reminded her so much of the stares she would get back home when people first found out that she was Lynn and Faye’s sister. Why had she thought moving would change anything?

  “Don’t worry, I’m just using his muscle. You can have the rest of him later.”

  The shocked look on Ryder’s face was comical, and she found herself grinning widely at Silas’s humorous snort. “I’ll take that drink now, please.”

  Silas offered his arm in a courtly manner reminiscent of the gentleman from the regency era. Hooking her hand through his elbow, she followed him to the large cooler opposite the register. Behind her, Ryder muttered, “I’ll get the paint,” while Angelique—of course, she’d have a name like that—pleaded with him to ‘call her later.’

  “She certainly is beautiful,” Georgia said as the door closed behind the blond woman.

  “She’s an airhead,” Silas muttered disapprovingly, handing her a cold drink. “She thinks because she’s the mayor’s daughter, she can just traipse all over town and do whatever she wants.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “Work?” Silas snorted again, lowering his voice as he spied Ryder coming toward them, paint in hand. “Calls herself a decorator.” He popped the top on his own can of soda. “The only job she’s ever had was decorating City Hall, and we’re still paying for that disaster.”

  “How does she…”

  “Lives off daddy right now.” He nodded toward Ryder. “But she’s hoping to land a rich man so she can continue to dabble at nothing.”

  Ordinarily, Georgia would have thought that the two made a perfect pair. Somehow, though, after knowing Ryder for all of an hour, she had the distinct feeling that there was more to him than the carefree womanizer persona he presented. Still, she wasn’t about to get any more involved—not that he’d want her to anyway.

  “I’ve got the paint for the ceilings, along with some extra brushes and rollers.” Ryder quickly bagged the few items and turned a more serious gaze than she’d seen thus far her way. “Ready?”

  “Yes, of course.” Georgia offered a smile to Silas. “Thank you for the drink.”

  “You’re welcome, young lady.”

  “How much do I owe you for the paint?” She reached for her purse. Harvey Anderson had agreed to give her a discount on her rent if she painted the small house instead of him having it professionally done. Needing all the breaks she could get until she built her savings back up, she’d readily agreed. And even though she hadn’t paid for the other paint, she didn’t want to take the man’s generosity for granted.

  “Not a thing.” Silas put a hand over hers, stopping her from opening her wallet. “This goes on Harvey’s bill. His orders.”

  “You and Harvey are a rare breed of gentlemen, Mr. Moore.”

  “Silas, please.”

  “Silas.” Georgia nodded. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, young lady.” He followed them to the door, holding it open so that she could go through. Once she was out of earshot, he put a restraining hand on his grandson’s arm, giving him a warning glance. “Keep your hands to yourself, son. This girl ain’t like your usual type.”

  “What the hell, Gramps?”

  “Oh, don’t get your knickers in a wad. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He nodded toward the truck where Georgia waited. “Go on, now. It’s too hot to keep her standing in the sun like that.”

  Silas stood at the door for a moment, watching as Ryder helped Georgia into the truck. Seeing the instinctive way he touched her, he turned back around, whistling as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, eager to call Harvey.

  Later that afternoon, Ryder stood at the window, looking out on the rolling pastures in front of his grandfather’s house. Memories rolled through his mind like a film on a reel. He remembered countless days spent following Pops out to the barn on frosty mornings and trying his best to walk in his father’s footsteps in the knee-high snow. His grandfather was still a strong, independent man. However, after the death of his wife, he’d seemed to stoop more, to walk slower, and smile less often. He could hardly imagine what that must have felt like—to lose the woman you loved. He knew it was a harsh thing to even think, but sometimes he was glad his parents had died together. He knew they had shared that same kind of love both sets of his grandparents had experienced. One would have been lost without the other.

  Although he and Georgia had worked well into the day, they had barely spoken. He’d been chewing on his granddad’s admonishment and, as much as it pained him, he’d come to the conclusion that his grandfather was warning him away from Georgia because he thought she was too good for him. Him. His own grandson.

  The question he couldn’t answer was, why? Both of his grandfathers had spent a good portion of their lives raising him and his brothers to be hard-working and honest. Admittedly, Ryder had a reputation when it came to women but, hell, he liked ‘em. Big ones, small ones, blondes, redheads, brunettes. He was always respectful and never asked a woman to do anything she didn’t want to do.

  So what was his granddad’s problem with him hitting on Georgia? Assuming he wanted to, of course. He glanced over at her, watching as she studiously applied paint to the trim around the door that led into the kitchen. He’d done the ceilings while she started the more time-consuming and painstaking trim work. Paint smudged her nose and sweat glistened on her face. Her mass of brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, giving her the appearance of a fifteen-year-old. The rest of her body quickly belied the youthful appearance and made a total lie of his if in thinking about hitting on her.

  Hell yes, he wanted to hit on her. He wanted to find out if her skin felt as silky as it looked. If her lips were really as tasty as a ripe berry. And if her lush body would fit against his hardness…

  “I’m hungry. Do you want something?” She turned his way and smiled up at him.

  Oh yeah. I want you.

  There it was again, that funny flip of his stomach when she looked at him with those big green eyes. “I think I’ll call it a day.” He glanced at the watch on his wrist, not surprised to see that time had slipped by so quickly. It was well past three and he still had to muck the barn. “What time do you want me here tomorrow?”

  She blinked, looking confused at the simple question. “Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So we’re not working tomorrow.”

  She wanted to waste a perfectly good day? “Why the hell not?”

  Her lips thinned and she looked at him with a mulish expression as though tired of explaining herself. Hell, she hadn’t said a word yet that made sense. On a ranch, every day was a work day. You didn’t get to just decide one day that you wante
d to take time off.

  “Because I attend church services in the morning and have plans in the afternoon.”

  “With a man?” Ryder couldn’t believe the question circulating around in his brain had actually flown out of his mouth. His Nana Ruth would be so disappointed in his manners.

  Georgia couldn’t tell if his quickly voiced question meant that he was astounded that a man would want to spend time with her or if he was simply curious. Either way, she’d had enough nosy questions from the busybodies back home to last her a lifetime. “My personal life is none of your affair, Mr. Anderson. Now,” she lifted a hand to indicate the half-finished living room wall, “we can either finish Monday after work or…”

  “Monday’s fine.” Ryder lifted the box containing the roller and pan he’d used for the ceilings. They’d need a good cleaning before he could use them again for the walls. “What time?”

  “Five.” She followed him to the door. “Four-thirty if I can get away from the library on time.”

  “Fine.” With a curt nod, he strode through the door she held open, feeling like a stranger as he left his grandfather’s house. As he drove down the dusty lane toward home, he wondered about the woman who had quickly made the place her own. She certainly hadn’t treated him the way most females did. Instead of holding the door for him to leave, women usually begged him to stay, using very persuasive means to accomplish that goal.

  Maybe he’d head into town after he finished with the barn and find some willing company.

  CHAPTER TWO

  GEORGIA GROANED AS the alarm clock sounded. Her body was telling her to stay put, roll over and go back to sleep. Her work ethic was pushing her to get up and start her day. That part of her won out. There was no way she could call in sick her second week of work.

  With some inventive curse words and the help of several as of yet, unpacked boxes stacked by her makeshift bed, she managed to pull herself off the air mattress. Between her oh-not-so-comfy sleeping arrangements and the hours she’d put in finishing painting the living room yesterday, her muscles were tight and burning.