Making Room for the Rancher

by Christy Jeffries

  “Did Dahlia tell you she didn’t want to be pursued?” Rider asked.

  “The subject never came up.” And it likely never would.

  Rider leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Can I give you a word of advice, son?”

  Nobody had called Connor son since his dad had died, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. While he could use all the advice he could get, a warm sensation bloomed at the nape of his neck and all he could manage in response was a gruff “Hmm?”

  “Dahlia will never raise that particular subject. She has good reason to keep her business to herself. But when the right guy comes along, Amelia will let her know.” With that, Rider walked to the opposite end of the aisle, and then to the cash register up front.

  Remingtons always know when they’ve found “the one.”

  Connor shook off the eerie sensation of his own father’s words echoing back to him. All this talk of his old man was putting strange ideas in his head.

  Not to mention the fact that Connor didn’t believe a mom would actually take relationship advice from her five-year-old. Especially when Amelia hadn’t proven herself to be the most discerning when it came to liking every person and animal that came along.

  Sure, the little girl could outtalk anyone he’d ever met, and even he had already given in to the child’s appeals once. But Connor had lived through too many of his own parents’ battles to ever feel the need to win someone over. Besides, he hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d said his sole focus was on his ranch. It had to be. If Connor failed at this unexpected shot to fulfill his lifelong dream—as well as his promise to his great-aunt on her deathbed—then, like his old man, he wouldn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

  * * *

  “C’mon, Mommy. We gotta check on him. It’s been a whole month.”

  “It’s barely been two weeks,” Dahlia corrected Amelia way too early on a Saturday morning. “I’m sure Mr. Remington is taking wonderful care of the dog.”

  “But I don’t even know if it has a name.” Her daughter’s eyes filled with that infamous King determination. Finn, Dahlia’s twin sister, had once given her niece a book entitled Girls Can Do Anything They Want. Ever since she’d first read it, Amelia had taken the words to heart. It was a great motto for empowering young women, but only when it didn’t undermine the mothers of those same women.

  Nobody could always get what he or she wanted. In fact, just a few days ago, Amelia wanted to eat a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream for breakfast before school. But Dahlia wanted her to eat a bowl of oatmeal. Neither of them got what they wanted after that particular standoff.

  Dahlia quickly weighed her options. She could say no and hold her ground—which was what every parenting advice guru would probably tell her to do. Or she could say no, and then later in the day when the negotiations continued—because they would always continue with a determined Amelia—Dahlia might be tempted to give in, thereby becoming a pushover.

  Which left a third option. Instead of simply giving in, she could make Amelia think it was Dahlia’s idea to go and visit Connor all along.

  And that was why forty-five minutes and a quick shower later, Dahlia and her daughter were pulling into the driveway of the Rocking D with a box of doughnuts and a bag of squeaky toys.

  Putting the truck in Park, she fought the urge to check her reflection in the review mirror. Why should she care how she looked when Connor saw her?

  Maybe because she and her daughter were barging in on someone, unannounced, at eight thirty on a Saturday morning. Or maybe because the man walking out of the stables carrying a bundle of wood planks under one strong arm and a ladder in the other sent an unexpected thrill down her spine.

  “There he is!” Amelia exclaimed as she unbuckled herself from her booster seat before Dahlia had even switched off the ignition. She really needed to remember to get that childproof lock fixed on the back-seat doors.

  Hurrying after her daughter meant there was no time for Dahlia to give a second thought to her appearance. Luckily, instead of running straight to Connor, Amelia ran straight for the dog, who’d cleaned up even better than his new owner. Not that Connor needed to clean up. But at least he’d traded in those sneakers and that stiff denim for worn cowboy boots and a pair of faded jeans that settled low on his narrow waist.

  Whoa.

  Wait a minute. What was that all about? Why was she even paying attention to his jeans?

  “Sorry for showing up unannounced.” Dahlia slid her palms in her back pockets.

  Connor’s only reply was to set the bundle of wood down on the ground, his broad chest stretching against the fabric of his chambray work shirt. Her mouth went dry and, even though he hadn’t asked what they were doing there, she swallowed before pouring out an explanation.

  “I had the morning off and Amelia was really insistent about checking on the dog. She wanted to find out if you’d named him yet. I told her I was sure you had, but with her being in school during the week and me working in the evenings, the weekends are pretty valuable as far as quality time goes and I didn’t feel like wasting a whole Saturday arguing with a five-year-old. I didn’t have your number or I would’ve given you a heads-up. Or just sent you a text asking about the dog. Not that I’m fishing for your number or anything. Because I really don’t need it and I’m sure that this is a onetime thing. I promise that my daughter and I don’t make a habit of showing up at strangers’ houses unannounced. Especially because you’re probably super busy getting the ranch working again. The new roof on the stables looks great, by the way. Oh, we brought doughnuts.”

  What had gotten into her? She was talking even more than Amelia usually did. Dahlia squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep breath and counted to three before she embarrassed herself any further. When she dared a peek at the reaction on his face, she realized he was smirking at her.

  “That sounds great,” Connor said simply. Almost too simply.

  “Which part?” Dahlia asked, pretending that her cheeks weren’t the same color of pink as the strawberry smoothie she’d downed on the way over here.

  “All of it.” His smirk turned into a knowing smile. “But especially the doughnuts part. I worked through breakfast this morning.”

  He turned to Amelia, who was sitting in the dirt with the white pup licking the smeared glaze frosting and sprinkles off her face. “I have some chocolate milk in the kitchen.”

  That was it? Dahlia thought as she walked around to the passenger side of the truck to retrieve the pink bakery box and bag of dog toys. She’d just rambled on and on, talking more to Connor in the past thirty seconds than she had the entire first two times she’d met him. And all he could offer her in return was some chocolate milk and a that sounds great?

  She bit her lip as she approached the man, who was kneeling next to her daughter and the dog, discussing the possible breeds in the little white stray’s ancestry.

  “Maybe he’s part poodle,” Amelia suggested.

  Connor shrugged. “It’s possible. The vet thought he might be part terrier. He definitely knows how to pick up a scent and track the badgers that keep trying to build their home under the old henhouse over there.”

  “Are there any roosters in there? Uncle Rider has a rooster that’s meaner than lizard poop, ’cept Uncle Rider doesn’t really say the word poop. He says the other one that I’m not allowed to use. His rooster is called Diablo and pecks at people when they hafta collect the eggs. ’Cept for me. Diablo likes me ’cause I have a sweet tem-pre-mint ’round animals. That’s what my aunt Finn says.” Instead of waiting for an answer, Amelia took off running toward the dilapidated chicken coop that looked like a razed tree fort and was apparently the last item on Connor’s fix-up list.

  “I actually met your uncle Rider the other day at the feed store,” Connor said casually, and Dahlia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. As soon
as the man found out who her family was, she’d never get rid of him. Men and women alike loved hitching their lassos to the Kings. Or at least to their money and prestige.

  She’d been dealing with it her whole life, and it was one of the reasons she’d never really dated much after her divorce. She could never tell who genuinely liked her, or who simply wanted to get closer to one of the wealthiest and most successful families in Wyoming. But Connor’s next question convinced Dahlia that he still hadn’t put all the pieces together yet.

  “He took down my number and when my new stallion arrives, I’m going to bring it out to his ranch to see if any of his mares are compatible. He said his place is close to here, but I’ve met so many people in town, I don’t really know who lives where.”

  Rider never felt the need to tell people his last name, let alone his address. He might not be as world famous as his twin brother, former Vice President Roper King, but as an old rodeo star and the co-owner of the second largest ranch in Wyoming, he was notorious in his own right.

  “How’d you know Rider was my uncle?”

  “He mentioned meeting my father once at Big Millie’s. He wanted me to know that you run a respectable establishment and warned me that if I was anything like my old man, I should stay far away.”

  Dahlia tilted her head as she studied him. “And are you?”

  “Staying far away?” Connor shrugged. “I’ve tried to, but you keep finding me.”

  “I meant are you anything like your father.” Not that she had any idea who his father was or what that would prove. “Wait. Did you just say you’ve been trying to avoid me?”

  “I meant that in a good way,” he said quickly, but she was already rocking back on her boot heels.

  That was certainly a first for Dahlia. Not that she thought the man—or any man—was dying to spend time with her, but she was usually the one to do the avoiding. The unexpected disappointment kind of stung. “So I should be flattered that you don’t want to be around me?”

  “I never said that I don’t want to be around you, Dahlia. Obviously, I do. That’s why it’s been a struggle.”

  His insinuation, along with his use of her name, turned that disappointed sting into a warm tingle. She knew why she’d been keeping her distance from Connor, but now she was intensely curious about why he’d felt the need to do the same. Before she could ask him, though, Amelia and the rather adorable mutt were running back toward them.

  “Hey, Mr. Rem’ton. Look at him following me everywhere I go with no leash. Aunt Finn says that if you got the goods, you can get ’em to follow you anywhere you want. That means I have the goods. Just like Mommy.”

  “Oh, jeez, Amelia.” Dahlia would’ve covered her blushing face, but Connor was already covering his, his broad shoulders shaking. “Please don’t repeat what Aunt Finn says.”

  “Is your uncle Rider married to your aunt Finn?” Connor asked Amelia when he finished laughing. He clearly was still trying to piece it all together and Dahlia wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. Especially when she should be more focused on watching what her sister was saying in front of her daughter.

  Amelia giggled. “No, silly. Uncle Rider is married to Aunt Freckles but they don’t live together ’cause Aunt Freckles said she’s too old for that nonsense. Aunt Finn is Mommy’s age so they’re only kinda old. They’re twins. I wish I was a twin, but it’s just me. Mommy said she’s done having babies, but Aunt Freckles told Mommy not to count her chickens afore they hatch. When do your chickens get here?”

  And just like that, Amelia spun the conversation right back to her favorite topic—animals. Thank goodness, because her daughter had just delivered a mouthful of information, potentially providing Connor with all types of details about their family if he could’ve gotten a word in edgewise to ask for clarification.

  “I don’t have any roosters or chickens yet. But I do have my very first stallion being delivered this afternoon.”

  “I can’t wait to see your new horse. What color is he? What’s his name? Where are you gonna put him? Do you have a saddle? Aunt Finn said all cowgirls need their own saddles. Can I go see his stable?” Amelia shot off toward the large outbuilding sporting a fresh coat of red paint.

  For the next thirty minutes, Connor patiently showed Amelia around the stalls, which were empty, the tack room, which was only half-empty, and a feed storage area, which was stocked completely full. Dahlia and the white dog both trailed behind them obediently—except Dahlia was the sucker still holding the doughnut box.

  Or maybe Connor was the sucker, since he was the one stuck answering all of Amelia’s constant rapid-fire questions. She loved her daughter’s curious nature, but sometimes Dahlia’s own brain felt as though she were trapped in a perpetual game of fast-paced trivia and she had to know all the answers all the time.

  Dahlia’s mother, the former first lady of Wyoming and second lady of the United States, was the opposite. Sherilee King would prefer to host a head-of-state dinner for a thousand of her closest friends rather than enjoy a quiet meal at home. She often cautioned Dahlia about being overshadowed by anyone—especially a five-year-old. However, being the King who didn’t fit the mold made Dahlia want to encourage her daughter’s natural personality all the more.

  Of all her siblings, Dahlia was the least like her parents. She was the reserved one, the one who preferred staying behind the scenes. Marcus was the Sheriff of Ridgecrest County. Duke had been a football hero before becoming a highly decorated pilot in the Navy. Tessa was a political analyst with her own show on a cable news channel. Finn ran their family’s multi-million-dollar ranch and was responsible for several dozen employees and some of the best livestock in the state. MJ, the baby of the family, had gotten into some trouble recently, but Dahlia was sure the eighteen-year-old would get his act together and come out on top. Because that was what Kings did. They excelled.

  Except for Dahlia. She’d been the one who dropped out of college one semester shy of earning her interior design degree. She’d been the one who’d ended up pregnant after a one-night stand during the height of her dad’s hard-fought election campaign. She’d also been the one who’d insisted on marrying that same guy, knowing full well the improbability of a lasting marriage with a famous musician who was always gone on tour.

  Not that she regretted her very brief relationship with Micah Deacon. After all, she’d gotten Amelia out of the whole deal. Plus, she and Micah got along pretty well, and Amelia loved her regular video chats with her daddy and spending time with him whenever he got a break in his schedule.

  While Dahlia was happy and fulfilled with the life she’d made for herself here in Teton Ridge, there was always the unspoken expectation that she could have been so much more than a mother and a bar owner. She was a King, after all. Yet, nobody seemed to care that in reality, she’d never wanted anything more than what she already had.

  She was perfectly content being herself and living life on her own terms. Just as she was content allowing Amelia to be herself. Even if that meant the little girl repeated things at the worst times or came up with the most inappropriate questions.

  “But how does the baby get inside the girl horse’s tummy?” her daughter asked Connor, who suddenly tugged at the collar of his shirt.

  Instead of focusing on the smooth sun-kissed skin along his neck, Dahlia jumped into the conversation in the nick of time. “Peanut, why don’t we let Mr. Remington get back to work?”

  “Fine.” Amelia gave a dramatic sigh. “Aunt Finn promised to let me watch a horse baby get borned next time they have one at the ranch. So I’ll just ask her.”

  Heat spread across Dahlia’s cheeks and she made a mental note to talk to her sister about how much exposure to the natural mechanics of animal procreation a five-year-old should have. Even one as precocious as Amelia.

  “Thank Mr. Remington for giving us a tour of his ranch,” Dahlia in
structed her daughter, who immediately obeyed.

  “You’re very welcome.” Connor’s smile was directed at Amelia, but Dahlia’s insides quivered at its charming effects all the same.

  She shook her head quickly, reminding herself not to get drawn in. “And tell... Sorry, what’s the dog’s name again?”

  Connor took off his ball cap and scratched his head. His close-cropped hair had grown at least half an inch since they’d first met. Not that Dahlia was paying attention to such things. He sucked in one of his lightly stubbled cheeks before admitting, “I haven’t exactly given him a name yet.”

  Amelia gasped. “But he hasta have a name.”

  “What about Casper?” Connor asked. “Because he’s white and follows me around everywhere like a friendly ghost.”

  “No. You can’t name a dog after a ghost. All the other animals will be scared of him. Even though ghosts aren’t scary to me anymore because I’m a big girl and met one once.” Amelia tapped her chin, thoughtfully and Dahlia pretended like her daughter’s fanciful imagination about ghosts was totally normal. “How about I think about it tonight and we can come back tomorrow with a perfect name.”

  “Peanut, we can’t keep bugging Mr. Remington.”

  “Please, call me Connor.” This time when Connor smiled, he looked directly into Dahlia’s eyes. The earlier quivering was nothing compared to the ripple now coursing through her rib cage and settling in her tummy. “You both are welcome to come visit the Rocking D anytime.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Amelia did a little jump and then skipped to the truck.

  “Be careful, Connor,” Dahlia told him. “Amelia will hold you to that.”

  “I never offer something unless I mean it.” He took a step closer to Dahlia and her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t good. “I was hoping that if I gave you some time and space, you’d eventually figure out that I’m a decent guy. So earlier when I said I was trying to stay away from you, I didn’t mean to imply that you have to stay away from me.”