“Oh, yeah.” Dahlia began walking that way, but not with any sense of urgency. As though it were totally natural for a five-year-old to hang out inside the local pub. “I should probably get in there.”
“Isn’t it a little early in the day for a drink?” He heard the judgment in his own voice and tried not to wince. He didn’t know this woman. Who was he to project his own childhood insecurities on her daughter? “Sorry, I guess it’s none of my business.”
“You’re right.” Dahlia turned to him, her shoulders thrown back and her eyes almost a violet shade as they filled with anger. “It’s not your business or my mom’s business or anyone else’s business where and how I choose to raise my daughter.”
Wow. The woman had been quiet yesterday, letting her five-year-old do most of the talking. But clearly, she wasn’t shy about choosing her battles and speaking up when she felt threatened.
“I didn’t mean to imply that it was. I was just making an observation based on my own experience—”
“Can I make myself a drink, Mommy?” Amelia used her little body to prop open the thick wooden door. She had a half-eaten muffin in one hand and a smear of cinnamon crumbs across one cheek. “I promise not to put too many cherries in it this time.”
“Sure, Peanut,” she replied, but it wasn’t in the same dismissive way as when she’d given in to her daughter yesterday. Dahlia put one hand on her hip and lifted her brow at Connor, all but challenging him to make another comment about her parenting decisions.
She’d been attractive before when her eyes had been red-rimmed and tired after the funeral yesterday. But her razor-sharp focus and the firm set of her sculpted jaw made her damn right sexy. Both intrigue and desire weaved through his gut, and Connor knew that if he didn’t voice his concerns now, he would get blinded by her pretty face. Just like he’d gotten blinded by his dad’s pretty words all those years ago.
“Anyway, I drove by a library on my way into town earlier and a smart girl like Amelia would probably love to, you know, go there instead of a saloon...” Connor stopped talking when Dahlia’s eyes narrowed and her mouth hardened. Maybe he’d gone too far.
“Don’t stop now, Mr. Big City Rancher.” Dahlia put her other hand to her hip and leaned slightly forward. “I’m sure you have so many more words of wisdom to impart. I’d especially love to hear your advice about family matters, considering you never even met your great-aunt Connie—who was a wonderful woman, by the way, and didn’t deserve to die all alone in an assisted living facility without so much as a visit from a single relative.”
Ouch. Not that Connor didn’t already feel guilty about that last part.
“Technically, I did meet her,” he said. FaceTime counted, right? “And I would’ve visited her sooner if I’d known that she existed.”
“Well, you were certainly eager to meet your inheritance,” Dahlia shot back.
They were faced off on the sidewalk and he could practically see the steam rising from her. Maybe it was more recognizable, considering he was equally angry about the assumptions she’d automatically jumped to concerning his decisions. He’d never asked for an inheritance or anything else in his life. In fact, he seriously doubted—
“There’s the doggy!” a voice called out and broke his concentration. He turned just in time to see Amelia race into the street, her muffin still clutched in her grip.
Connor had already dropped the pink bakery boxes and was running after her when he heard the horn of a big truck.
* * *
The scream of warning froze in Dahlia’s throat just as Connor swept Amelia into his arms, yanking the child into the center median with him just before the orange big rig could smash into them both.
Dahlia, whose response was only a few seconds behind Connor’s, almost got hit by a red compact car in the oncoming lane after she sprinted into the middle of the street to ensure her daughter was unharmed. Her voice returned just in time to yell some choice words at the taillights of Jay Grover’s flatbed truck. The damn fool had been repeatedly warned to slow down whenever he drove through town, but warnings only made the contrary jerk want to drive faster.
“Is she all right?” Dahlia asked Connor between adrenaline-fueled breaths. The three of them were now standing in the center of Stampede Boulevard. Well, technically, only two of them were standing there. Her daughter was still in the man’s arms.
“How come it’s okay for you to say the F word, but not me?” Amelia asked, and Dahlia let out a shaky breath.
“I think she’s fine,” Connor replied, a smooth spot on his neck jumped visibly with his pulse, which was apparently pumping equally as fast as Dahlia’s.
As much as she wanted to tear into him just a few moments ago, she couldn’t stay mad at the guy for his earlier judgments. When it came to looking out for her daughter’s safety, he’d actually put his money where his mouth was, and had been the first to run into the street to save her.
“Where’s the doggy?” Amelia squirmed in his arms as her head twisted to search for the scruffy white mutt that had been the cause of yet another near accident.
“Oh, Peanut, let’s get you inside right now. We can come back and look for the dog later.” Preferably when Dahlia’s nerves were more settled. And after she scolded her daughter for running into the street without looking for cars. Unfortunately, neither of those events would likely happen if Connor was hanging around.
“But what about school? I can’t be late again.”
Dahlia checked her watch and saw that it was nearly 7:30 a.m. Amelia made it sound like she was chronically tardy, when in fact her daughter simply liked to be the first kid to arrive so she could be the one to feed the class hamsters.
“Well, I might need a few minutes.” Dahlia shoved her still shaky hands into the pockets of her jeans, not relishing the thought of hopping behind the wheel of her truck until she was a little less rattled.
“But I promised Miss Walker we’d bring the muffins for the bake sale.”
“I can drive you guys.” He hefted the child higher, the muscles in his biceps flexing under a plaid work shirt. His jaw was set in a rigid line and his soft tone suggested he was well aware of the fact that Dahlia was still shaken by her daughter’s near fatal encounter with a speeding madman.
“Fine,” Dahlia said, almost a little relieved to have someone else there with her. Being a single mother meant she didn’t always have someone sharing the physical burden. Micah, Amelia’s father, was financially supportive and rarely missed his nightly calls with his daughter to talk about her day. But it wasn’t the same. Even with most of her family living nearby, there were still times when Dahlia felt like she was going at it alone. Right now, she was still shaky enough to appreciate Connor’s steady voice and quick reflexes. “I need to run inside and get something real quick, though. Can you salvage what’s left of those muffins?”
She waited for a motorcycle to pass before leading them back to the sidewalk and toward the building she’d bought and lovingly restored. She saw Connor’s eyes dart up to the second floor and stare at the freshly painted blue sign that was at least a century old, the gold block letters large and unmistakable: Big Millie’s.
To his credit, though, he didn’t ask any questions. Probably because the pink bakery boxes were upside down and Amelia was already talking his ear off about the little white dog. Dahlia slipped inside and grabbed the Safari Park lunch box and her daughter’s pug-shaped backpack, then followed him to his rental car parked in front of Biscuit Betty’s.
By the time they got to the drop-off line at Teton Ridge Elementary School, both Dahlia and Connor had made several assurances to Amelia that they’d keep their eyes open for the stray and try to help it if they could.
Several sets of curious eyes turned toward them as Dahlia climbed out of the convertible—which was thankfully closed this cold morning—to help her daughter unbuckle.
> “Can I help you with the boxes?” Connor asked.
“Yes,” Amelia said as Dahlia practically yelled, “No!” The last thing she needed were the other parents asking her what she was doing with some wannabe cowboy nobody in town knew. “The crossing guard will yell at you if you don’t keep traffic moving. Just park over there and I’ll run her inside the building.”
“Don’t forget to take care of our dog,” Amelia shouted from the sidewalk before she waved goodbye to Connor.
“What dog?” Marcus King, dressed in his county sheriff’s uniform, asked before the car door was even closed.
“Jeez, Marcus. You scared me half to death,” Dahlia told her big brother, who was walking his twin sons, Jack and Jordan, to the flagpole.
“The dog me and my new friend, Connor, found and then lost again. Bye, Mommy,” Amelia waved before running to catch up to her cousins.
Marcus wasn’t the least bit subtle as he studied the license plate of Connor’s rental car as it pulled into a parking spot. “Who’s that?”
“Connie Daniel’s nephew who just inherited the Rocking D. I’ll fill you in later. But right now—” Dahlia pushed the pink bakery boxes into her brother’s arms “—I need you to take these to the bake sale table before Melissa Parker comes over and invites you to the monthly mingle happy hour at the bar tonight.”
The threat of having to actually socialize with other single parents was enough to get her nosy brother moving along without asking any more questions.
When Dahlia climbed back into Connor’s convertible, she adjusted her dark sunglasses and slid low in the seat until he drove out of the parking lot.
“Careful, or I might think you’re embarrassed to be seen with me,” he said as he pulled out onto Stampede Boulevard.
“I just don’t want to have to answer any questions.”
“Like from the cop back there?” Connor asked. “He seemed pretty interested in committing my license plate number and physical description to memory.”
Was that a note of jealousy she detected in his tone? History had taught her to be wary of insecure men. Not that she wasn’t already wary of Connor Remington. Annoyance prickled her skin. “That’s my brother. He’s the sheriff and he’s very protective.”
“Cool,” Connor said.
“Why is that cool?” She felt her eyes narrow behind her sunglasses.
“I guess because I always thought it would be neat to have a protective older brother or sister. Someone to look out for me when I was young.”
Her heart softened, but only slightly. “Did you get picked on a lot as a kid?”
“Not any more than anyone else. But my dad was gone a lot and my mom worked two jobs. So I was on my own for the most part. I’d always wanted siblings.”
Dahlia thought about the other five King siblings and relaxed against the leather seat. “Trust me. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. They’re always up in my business or arguing with each other. If you think my daughter is a talker, just wait until you meet the rest of the—”
She caught herself before she revealed too much about her family.
“Anyway, thanks for getting to Amelia just in time this morning. And for the ride to the school.”
“No problem.” He turned his eyes away from the road long enough to smile at her, and something in her tummy went all topsy-turvy. Connor Remington might be completely out of place in a town like Teton Ridge, but he was still a damn good-looking man. And it had been a while since Dahlia had been alone in a car with a man she hadn’t known since childhood, good-looking or otherwise.
“Where should I drop you off? Burnworth’s? It’s kind of an odd name for a bakery.”
“Just pull in here.” She pointed to the open parking spots near the old-fashioned hitching post in front of Big Millie’s.
He surprised her by exiting the car when she did.
“You don’t have to walk me inside,” she told him when he followed her to the wood-planked walkway that lined this side of the street.
“Actually, I was on my way to get some breakfast earlier.” He stared at the overhanging cedar awning she’d replaced three years ago, keeping it as authentic to the historical building as possible. “So do you work at this place?”
His earlier words criticizing her for letting her daughter hang out in a bar hovered between them. Defiance made her square her shoulders. “I own this place.”
“There you are, Dahlia.” Ms. Burnworth, the older woman who was a co-owner of the bakery next door, made her way toward them so quickly, her apron with the words Taste The Burn stenciled across the front flapped in the breeze. “Another one of your daughter’s critters is hanging out in the back alley again. Kenny is in a foul mood, complaining about the allergies he doesn’t even have. But I wanted to get out here first and warn you that he’s threatening to report you guys to the health department this time if you try and sneak it upstairs.”
“Is it a scruffy white dog?” Connor asked.
Ms. Burnworth eyed him over her bright pink reading glasses. “Are you with Animal Control?”
“No, I’m—”
Just then, a yelp sounded from somewhere behind the building and Dahlia unlocked the heavy oak door and rushed through the bar and toward the back entrance, the quickest way to get to the alley. She’d no more than gotten the heavy screen security door open when a dirty ball of fur dashed straight through the kitchen and launched itself right up into Connor’s arms.
Kenny Burnworth, Ms. Burnworth’s brother and one of the biggest hypochondriacs in town, was giving chase with a rubber spatula as his only weapon of defense. Dahlia had to quickly put up her hand to stop the cranky old man from coming inside. “I’ll take care of it from here, Mr. Burnworth.”
The dog, now huddled safely in Connor’s arms, let out a small whimper, and the baker let out an obnoxiously fake sneeze. “You better, Dahlia. This is the second one this month. Say, are you with Animal Control?”
She followed the older man’s gaze toward Connor, who cradled the dog protectively. “No, sir, I’m not.”
“Too bad.” Mr. Burnworth fake sneezed again. “I would rather this place was still a brothel rather than a damn halfway house for every stray animal wandering around town.”
When her neighbor left, Dahlia closed the screen door before finding a small stainless-steel bowl that she could use as a makeshift water dish. Connor followed her out of the kitchen and into the refurbished saloon.
He set the dog on the recently sanded hardwood floor so it could drink, then stayed down on one knee near the scared animal. Dahlia’s heart gave a little jump at his tender concern and she distracted herself by trying to find the dog something to eat. Right in the middle of the massive twenty-foot-long oak panel bar, she spied half a glass of orange juice and one of Amelia’s leftover muffins and broke it into smaller pieces.
The animal took the offered piece and gulped it down in one swallow. When the pup gobbled up a second chunk without so much as a growl, Connor slowly stood up and began studying the open floor plan of the high-ceilinged room. He lifted one copper brow and asked, “Was this place really a brothel?”
Normally, Dahlia got a kick out of her not-so-well-known family legacy and being related to a self-reliant woman who’d made quite a name for herself at the turn of the last century. After Connor’s earlier unsolicited advice, she hesitated for a second before remembering that she was raising her daughter to be just as strong as the rest of the women in their family.
Dahlia straightened her spine. “Yes, it was. Back in the 1890s, women didn’t have a lot of options when it came to supporting themselves. They had even less when their husbands took off and left them with a small child to raise. So my great-great-grandmother did the best she could.”
“Your great-great grandma is Big Millie? Is that her?” Connor zeroed in on the sepia-toned photograph fram
ed above the antique cash register. “She doesn’t look all that big.”
“Well, her daughter was also named Amelia and the townspeople referred to them as Big Millie and Little Millie. Her portrait is...” Dahlia tried to think of the most polite way to describe the less attractive and downright intimidating woman who was rumored to have strong opinions and a supernatural sense about her neighbors. “It’s a bit less inviting and currently on display somewhere else.”
Actually, the life-sized portrait of the not-so-little woman hung above the mantel at the main house on Twin Kings Ranch where Dahlia’s father insisted she was able to watch over the family. Her mother hated it, which was all the more reason for Dahlia to insist Grandma Millie the Second stay put.
“And did Little Millie, your great-grandmother, take over the family business?”
“Yes, right before prohibition. By then, they were making so much money as the only speakeasy between Casper and Idaho Falls, the bootleggers couldn’t keep up with the high demand. They closed down the upstairs business and started manufacturing their own booze.”
Connor’s mouth formed a small O of surprise, and Dahlia bit back a smile. If he was so easily shocked by her deceased relatives, just wait until he met some of her living ones—like her sister Finn or her aunt Freckles. Now there were a couple of women who weren’t afraid to make a grown man blush.
Not that she had any intention of introducing Connor to them anytime soon. Or at all. Her jaw tightened and she tried not to stare at him as he appraised the saloon, not bothering to hide his curiosity. Especially when she was equally as curious about him.
Before she could ask him something about himself, though, he nodded at the walls covered in shiplap and the huge antique gilt-edged mirror hanging behind the bar. “Is this what it looked like back then?”
“I tried to keep as much of it as original as I could.” What had once started out as a fixer-upper project soon became Dahlia’s refuge, a place to invest in herself after her divorce. “Except I converted the smaller...ah...rooms upstairs into one big apartment.”
Making Room for the Rancher Page 3