Making Room for the Rancher

by Christy Jeffries

  “Good,” Connor said. “He should have.”

  “Except Micah had to get in line behind my mother, my siblings, and most importantly me. But not as much as I wanted to kick my own ass for letting the guy help me out in the first place. My dad told me not to beat myself up over it, but I’d never failed at anything in my life and I’d already dropped out of my interior design program and gotten a divorce in the same year. It sucked to have someone try to take advantage of me when I was already dealing with so much.”

  “I bet it did.” Connor used his free hand to lift her chin so she was looking at his face. “Micah’s leaving must’ve been rough on you.”

  “Not really,” she said, then saw his eyes widen. “Okay, that sounds super shallow. I mean, the idea of divorce was a tough pill to swallow because it felt like I was admitting defeat. But it wasn’t as if I really loved Micah in that way.”

  “Wait. You married someone you didn’t love?” Connor shifted and his sheet dropped a bit lower, revealing the patch of bronze hair just above his... Dahlia had to shake her head to get back on subject.

  “I should probably start at the beginning. When I was in my senior year at UW, Finn talked me into going to a bar nearby because Micah would be playing there. See, I knew Micah from school, but he was in the same grade as my brother Duke and normally played at some local places around Ridgecrest County. But Finn was the one who followed his music career and dragged me to this honky-tonk in Laramie. To be honest, I was more impressed with the old bar than I was with the band. In my defense, though, I was an interior design major and the saloon was a classic study in Wild West motif. It had stretched cowhides pinned up over the dark wood paneling and there were these antique red glass chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. And don’t even get me started on all the polished brass and the exquisite ironwork...” She trailed off when she realized he was holding back a grin. “What’s so funny?”

  “Of course, you would be more impressed with the saloon decor than with a Grammy award–winning guitarist.”

  “Well, he hadn’t won any Grammys at that time. But I’ll stand by my original statement. The bar really was the perfect mixture of kitschy cowboy charm and old world elegance. Anyway, after their set, Finn and I were sitting with the guys in the band and Micah and I got to talking about Duke and Teton Ridge and our shared love of exposed log beams and brick facade architecture.

  “We slept together and the following day it soon became apparent that the only thing we had in common was being from the same small town and our mutual love of interior design elements. When I found out I was pregnant, Finn—without my knowledge—paid him a visit and convinced him that the honorable thing to do would be to marry me. See, I was always the rule follower, while Finn was the rebellious twin. So to have her pushing for us to get married made it seem all the more reasonable. I remember thinking that if Finn, who could talk her way out of anything, thought this is the only way out of this mess, then that was my best option. Plus, my father was about to be announced as President Rosales’s running mate and it just seemed like something we should do.”

  “How did the rest of your family react?” Connor asked.

  “My mom said she would’ve expected something like this from Finn but not from me. So that stung. But my dad told me not to make any rash decisions. That I should do what feels best. It was actually his advice that made me think I should try to make a marriage with Micah work. I adored my dad and I wanted my child to have the kind of father I had growing up.”

  “But things didn’t work out with you and Micah?”

  Dahlia shrugged. “Up until the night I’d slept with him, I’d never really done anything impulsive or shocking. Looking back, it wasn’t even all that reckless considering I’d known Micah all my life and he got along so well with everyone in my family. I figured it was a safe way to get a little rebellion out of my system, and then he and I could move on to being friends. But we just wanted different things out of life. He wanted to be famous and move to Nashville and I wanted to stay in Teton Ridge and carve out a quiet life for myself. So now we both live the lives we want and we make it work for Amelia.”

  “And you remain friends?” Connor prompted.

  “I mean, we remain friendly with each other. We’re co-parents, which means we have the same ultimate goal in mind and we have to work together to achieve it. But it’s not like I’m confiding all my deep dark secrets to him.”

  “And what about me, Dahlia?” he asked, his finger now tracing along her arm, over her shoulder and down to her collarbone. “Am I a secret?”

  “Not exactly,” she said, giving an involuntary shiver at his caress. “Nobody can really keep a secret in this town. But...”

  “But?” he prompted.

  “I’d rather Amelia not know all the details.”

  “You don’t think she’s going to ask questions?”

  “Of course, she’ll ask questions.” Dahlia rolled her eyes as she collapsed on her back. “Have you met my daughter?”

  “So then what’s your plan?” he asked before replacing his tracing fingers with his mouth, which now had full access to both her breasts.

  She sighed from the scratchy texture of the stubble along his chin as it grazed her aching nipples and braced her hands on his shoulders. Then she pivoted her torso and pushed him until he was the one on his back. She deftly planted one of her legs on the other side of his hip in order to straddle him.

  “Right now, my plan is to have my way with you one more time before I have to go pick her up and deal with those questions.” Seeing his eyebrow raised at her avoidance of his question, she knew he wasn’t going to drop the subject. So she smiled down at him and added, “Depending on how that goes, my next plan will be to casually run into you on occasion and act like I’m not imagining you walking out of your barn wearing just your jeans and cowboy boots.”

  He planted his hands firmly on each of her hips and pulled her against his hardened manhood. “Does that mean I have to act like I’m not imagining you in just those little blue panties laid out on my bed all ready for me?”

  When that magical thumb of his moved from her hip to her inner thigh and then higher, Dahlia threw back her head to draw more air into her lungs. “Only until we get each other out of our systems and can move on to just being regular friends.”

  His thumb paused mid-flick and if she hadn’t been so intent on finishing what they’d just started, she would’ve realized that Connor Remington had his own reservations about that plan.

  Chapter Ten

  Connor was finally getting a handle on being a rancher and, for the first time in his life, he felt as though the seeds of permanency he’d planted were coming to fruition. He’d bought himself a new flat-screen TV—Aunt Connie’s old twenty-two incher still had the turn knobs for channels two to thirteen and wasn’t compatible with an updated cable box—and even a new set of pots and pans that were from this century. In fact, he’d planned to pull them out of the box this morning and make Dahlia some pancakes. Another first for him, since he’d never cooked breakfast for a woman.

  Then he’d been hit with the reality that they weren’t exactly on the same page about taking their casual relationship to the next level. Emotional attachments normally weren’t his thing and just when he’d finally convinced himself that his growing connection with Dahlia would be worth the risk, she’d thrown out that offhand comment about moving on to being friends. He understood that she’d experienced that kind of one-and-done relationship with her ex-husband, but Connor didn’t want to be lumped into the same boat as Micah Deacon.

  He, unlike Micah, planned to stay in Teton Ridge—indefinitely. It was one thing to sleep with someone and then go about your business when you lived thousands of miles away. It was different when he was going to be running into her regularly at the bakery or the grocery store or even at her family’s ranch.

  In
fact, tomorrow he was supposed to take Peppercorn to the Twin Kings for another group of mares whose cycles hadn’t been ready the previous week. At this rate, his stallion’s stud fees were bringing in enough money that he’d be able to buy a couple of broodmares himself so he could start his own program.

  That reminded him that he needed to get the horse out later this afternoon for a good run so he’d be primed for tomorrow. Connor checked the time on his phone and saw that it was already noon. His mom always expected him to call on Sundays and she should be out of church by now. The phone rang three times before Linda Remington picked up.

  “Connor? Is that you?” his mom asked, as though anyone else ever called her from this area code.

  “Hey, Ma. How was your week?”

  “Same as it always is. Except half the ladies in my bunco group came down with food poisoning after Carla DiAngelo brought something called bourbon-laced meatballs to the potluck on Thursday night. I didn’t touch the things, obviously, because you know Carla has a heavy hand with the measuring cup and doesn’t cook all the alcohol out.” Connor’s mom refused to go near an open liquor bottle, let alone partake in so much as a drop. Probably because her husband had such a problem avoiding the stuff. He wondered what his mother would think about Connor dating a bar owner. “And Dr. Ahmad is still trying to get me to see that dermatologist about the mole on my shoulder, but I told her it’s always been that color since I can remember.”

  “Maybe you should have it checked out, Ma, just in case?” He made the suggestion, knowing it was futile.

  “Bridget Shaw once saw someone about that little ol’ sunspot she has on the tip of her nose and they talked her into getting something called a microdermabrasion peel. Her face looked like a scalded lobster for a whole month and her insurance didn’t even cover it.”

  “That’s because Mrs. Shaw went to her daughter’s best friend’s unlicensed beauty shop, not a dermatologist.”

  “Humph.” His mother had some serious trust issues, not that Connor could blame her after dealing with his old man for so long. But her skepticism was getting worse lately. Thankfully, she changed the subject. “Father Brannigan asked about you at mass today. I told him to pray for you.”

  “Good. I’ll take all the prayers I can get.”

  “So you’re still planning to stay out there in Wyoming?”

  And so it began. The same conversation they had every week. Where his mother forgot that she was talking to her son and began channeling some of the old conversations she used to have with her unreliable and untrustworthy husband.

  “Yes, I’m still staying in Wyoming. The ranch is coming along nicely and I already have three animals now.” He didn’t admit that two of them weren’t going to make him any money and one would end up being more of a headache than it was worth. “I plan to get another horse next week.”

  “Things always go well at first,” she said, the cynicism heavy in her tone. “Then something’ll happen to change your mind.”

  “If something goes wrong, then I’ll stay here and deal with it. I made a promise to Aunt Connie, remember?”

  “I’m sure your father used to make all kinds of promises to her. Then he named you after her and started making the same sorts of promises to you. We all saw how that turned out. I doubt she really expected you to keep your word.”

  “Well, I expect me to keep it. I’m not Steve Remington, remember?”

  His mom exhaled loudly. “I know you’re not. But as his son, it doesn’t stop me from worrying that you’ll fall into the same path eventually.”

  “I’m also your son. Give us both a little credit, Ma.” Connor didn’t like to brag about his accomplishments, but it would be nice if she could at least acknowledge that Connor was almost the same age his dad had been when he’d died. And Connor had yet to be arrested. Or fired from a job. Or in debt to any bookies. In fact, the medals on his dress blues (which had just arrived from storage last week) proved that Connor was more than capable of handling himself under pressure and not taking the easy way out of things.

  “I just liked it better when you were in the military.” His mom sighed. “I didn’t worry about you so much.”

  “You know that most parents worry more about their kids when they’re deployed to combat zones?”

  “Yeah, but you were with other soldiers and officers and you guys had people watching over you.” Not always, Connor wanted to correct her, but she was determined to see things her own way. “What kind of support system do you have in Wyoming? Have you even made any friends?”

  “Yes, I have friends,” Connor replied, trying not to think of Dahlia using that word to describe them. “And I have good neighbors and several of the business owners in town know me whenever I come in. It’s a small town, Ma. Why don’t you let me buy you a plane ticket so you can fly out and see for yourself?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she offered, but Connor doubted that she would truly consider it. His father had had them moving around so much during their marriage, trying to escape his mistakes, his mother turned into a homebody in her older age. She rarely left her neighborhood now, let alone traveled out of state. At least she had a few dependable friends, even if they brought bourbon-laced meatballs to bunco night and got facials in the back room of someone’s house.

  By the time he hung up, Connor felt like he’d just finished a weekly chore. He loved his mom and appreciated the sacrifices she’d made working multiple jobs to keep a roof over his head and food on the table. But sometimes he felt as though he were more of a burden to her, a constant reminder of his old man. Sure, she loved him in her own way, but they’d never been especially close—probably because she’d built up so many of her own emotional walls. He couldn’t imagine her patiently answering his questions the way Dahlia did with Amelia. Or her insisting on a family dinner every Friday night, the way Sherilee King did with her kids.

  Maybe that was why he was hoping for something more with Dahlia. He wanted to feel that family connection. He looked at Goatee, who was taking the long way around the chicken coop to avoid Gobster. “It certainly would explain why I’m spoiling the both of you.”

  * * *

  Connor saw Dahlia on Monday afternoon when he was getting ready to leave Twin Kings following a successful booking session with Peppercorn. She and Amelia were just arriving for the after-school riding lesson and he expected there to be some awkwardness because of Saturday night, but there was none. In fact, Dahlia even greeted him first and laughed along as Amelia told him all about how Peyton lost one of the class hamsters on the playground at recess and Mr. Tasaki, the PE teacher, found it scampering across the pull-up bars. Then, when nobody was watching, Dahlia walked him to his truck and gave him a kiss goodbye.

  Clearly, she hadn’t moved on from the physical attraction stage to the just friends stage yet. Which was perfectly fine with Connor.

  On Tuesday morning, he ran into her at the grocery store and they ended up walking down the narrow aisles together, discussing the best flavors of cereal and Amelia’s favorite lunch meat—ham, but not smoked or honey ham, just plain regular ham. Dahlia didn’t seem to mind that Lupe Ochoa, Tomas’s wife, kept giving them the side-eye when they were all standing in front of the dairy section at the same time. She kept right on talking about Greek yogurt versus Icelandic yogurt (Connor didn’t know there was a difference), and he had the sudden realization that she could be nearly as chatty as her daughter. Dahlia didn’t kiss him goodbye in the parking lot, though, because Lupe had followed them outside and wanted to say hi to Goatee, who was still having a hard time understanding why he’d had to stay tied up to the picnic table outside while his owner had gone into the market. But Dahlia had texted him later that night and told him that she’d wanted to kiss him goodbye. He’d almost driven into town to give her the opportunity to make good on her offer, but he knew she was working.

  On Wednesday afterno
on, the latch on the back of his horse trailer broke and he needed to run to the hardware store before they closed. He was coming out just as Dahlia and Amelia came walking past the door.

  “Mommy and I are going to the Pepperoni Stampede for dinner because she doesn’t feel like cooking.” Amelia smiled as she pulled on his hand. “Come on. You can come with us.”

  He lifted his brow at Dahlia to ask if that was okay. Again, she surprised him with a wide smile and said, “It’s all-you-can-eat salad bar night.”

  * * *

  “There’s my favorite air hockey player,” Woody said to Amelia when it was their turn to order at the counter. “I built a couple of wooden step stools in my workshop since the last time you were in. The manager was worried about the liability, but all the kids love them because they can reach the pucks better.”

  Amelia let out a whoop and immediately ran to the arcade section of the pizza parlor to check out the games. Woody jerked his chin at Connor and said, “Are you that new rancher in town that everyone’s been talking about?”

  Woody, with his purple Mohawk, multiple piercings and sleeveless Pepperoni Stampede tee displaying an array of colorful tattoos, didn’t fit the mold of what one might expect a typical small-town Wyomingian to look like. But he was just as much a part of Teton Ridge as Dahlia was and she watched Connor closely to see his reaction to Woody’s unique appearance.

  “Connor Remington.” Connor smiled as he reached his hand across the counter to shake Woody’s. “I think we met before, though, when I brought my dog into Dr. Roman’s office?”

  “That’s right.” Woody nodded in recognition. “White terrier mixed with maltese. I remember animals better than I remember faces, bro. Did you end up taking it to that shelter in Pinedale?”