He may not be perfect...

But he’s perfect for her!

Ryan DeMere is definitely enjoying the perks of being Sweetheart Ranch’s new wrangler—the best is working with head chef Bridget O’Malley. He’s fallen head over spurs for the talented and determined beauty. There’s just one hiccup. Bridget is holding out for Mr. Right—and Ryan doesn’t quite meet her requirements. But he’s determined to win Bridget over, because Ryan may not be perfect...but maybe their love could be.

Since 2006, New York Times bestselling author CATHY MCDAVID has been happily penning contemporary Westerns for Mills & Boon. Every day, she gets to write about handsome cowboys riding the range or busting a bronc. It’s a tough job, but she’s willing to make the sacrifice. Cathy shares her Arizona home with her own real-life sweetheart and a trio of odd pets. Her grown twins have left to embark on lives of their own, and she couldn’t be prouder of their accomplishments.

Also By Cathy McDavid

Mustang Valley

Cowboy for Keeps

Her Holiday Rancher

Come Home, Cowboy

Having the Rancher’s Baby

Rescuing the Cowboy

A Baby for the Deputy

The Cowboy’s Twin Surprise

The Bull Rider’s Valentine

The Sweetheart Ranch

A Cowboy’s Christmas Proposal

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Cowboy’s Perfect Match

Cathy McDavid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09135-0

THE COWBOY’S PERFECT MATCH

© 2019 Cathy McDavid

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“How ’bout you and I have dinner soon? There has to be an evening we’re both free.”

Ryan was asking her on a date. Expected, she thought, and yet unexpected.

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Is there a rule against employees dating? Because your grandmother eloped with your staff minister.”

“No, there’s no rule. That’s not the reason.”

“Another man? The doctor at the clinic?”

He had heard Bridget discussing Dr. Hall with her grandmother. “No.” Not yet, she silently added.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t think we have the same objectives when it comes to relationships.”

“It’s just dinner.” Ryan’s voice had dropped to a husky level that made concentrating hard.

“And therein lies the problem.” Drawing on her willpower, she straightened. “I’m not interested in just dinner or hanging out or friends with benefits. I’m looking for a guy who’s ready now to commit to me and to having a family and who’s content making Mustang Valley his home. I don’t believe that describes you.”

Dear Reader,

Once, sometimes it feels like ages ago, I co-owned and managed a commercial construction company. It actually wasn’t that long ago—only four years, in fact—since writing became my only job. But it often seems like decades.

I’ve always drawn on personal experiences for my books in that I owned and rode horses almost my entire life. I still get to play with horses when I visit my son every week, so it’s not as if I’ve given them up entirely. But I seldom include aspects from my days as a construction company co-owner in my books. That was until The Cowboy’s Perfect Match. Ryan DeMere is a man of many talents. In addition to being a skilled wrangler, he’s not bad with a hammer. He’s also ambitious. In order to achieve his goal of owning his own construction company, he flips houses. And he also just happens to be really good-looking!

Bridget O’Malley is the perfect match for Ryan. He knows it and so does she. Except she’s not sure she wants to wait until he’s achieved his career goals. She’s on the fast track to having a family, while he’d like to be more established first. It’s a tough situation for both of them, and I hope you enjoy discovering how they reach their happily-ever-after.

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

To my new Heartwarming sisters who have welcomed me from the start and treated me like a member of the family. Big hug.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

RARELY DID ANYONE beat Bridget O’Malley to the kitchen. Most mornings, she rose by 5:00 a.m. and was elbow-deep in preparing breakfast before her younger sister, Molly, stumbled through the door at six thirty. Grandma Em didn’t arrive until seven.

Roll out croissant dough. Soften butter. Slice strawberries and squeeze oranges. Grind coffee beans.

Bridget mentally reviewed the tasks ahead while crossing the spacious parlor, her feet barely making a noise as she expertly avoided the floorboards she knew would creak.

Entering her most sacred of sanctuaries, she drew up short at the sight of both her sister and grandmother sitting at the kitchen table, nonchalantly sipping coffee and eating yogurt parfaits that were intended for Sweetheart Ranch’s guests.

“What are you both doing up so early?” Bridget sighed with mild annoyance—she’d have to make more parfaits—and grabbed her apron off the hook. With the practiced ease of someone who’d done this every day of her life since she was fifteen, she slipped the neck loop over her head and knotted the belt.

“I have some things to go over with the two of you before work starts.” Grandma Em motioned for Bridget to join them at the table. She didn’t live at the ranch, so her early appearance was even more unusual. “This is the only time today all three of us are free.”

Bridget put a kettle of water on the stove before sitting. Her brain didn’t fully function without the assistance of her ritual morning tea. Steeped, thank you, with boiling water poured slowly over a bag. No instant or those little pods for her.

“Are you wondering about the hayride and cookout tonight?”

“Among other things,” Molly answered. “All twelve guests have signed up. Did you finalize the menu?”

“Not quite.” Bridget grabbed a stack of guest-meal requests off the table and shuffled the papers like a deck of cards. “Our most recent newlyweds in cabin two want the zucchini, bacon and Gruyère quiche for brunch this morning. Cabin three is gluten-intolerant and cabin five is pescatarian.”

“What’s that?” Grandma Em asked.

“Eats fish and seafood but no meat.”

“Ah. Learn something new every day.”

Sweetheart Ranch boasted six cabins in total and construction was scheduled to begin in the fall on another two. Business had been booming since the ranch recently appeared in the Valentine’s Day issue of Southwest Bride magazine. According to the article, it was one of the top-ten most romantic wedding venues in Arizona.

Additional cabins weren’t the only planned expansion. Starting this week they’d added a hayride that ended with a campfire and cookout. Once they hired a full-time wrangler, they’d offer guided trail rides and a monthly “cowboy day.” The food part of the operation was also growing. In addition to wedding cakes, continental breakfasts and a specialty honeymoon brunch, light catering was now available.

That last idea had been Bridget’s. Grandma Em was owner of the ranch and head wedding coordinator. Molly assisted their grandmother and was in charge of guest relations. Bridget handled the food. Sweetheart Ranch wasn’t just a family-run business, it was truly a labor of love. In more ways than one.

I’m thinking of surf and turf,” Bridget said. “Grilled shrimp for the pescatarians and anybody else. Steak for the rest. I can easily roast ears of corn on the fire. Then side salad and rolls, both regular and gluten-free.”

“Doesn’t sound cowboyish enough,” Molly mused. “We are a Western-themed wedding ranch.”

“I’ll add beans.”

She shrugged. “I like that.”

Not pinto beans, Bridget decided as she shut off the stove and prepared her tea. She couldn’t bring herself to serve the unimaginative cowboy standby. Instead, she’d prepare Mexican charro beans with just a few poblano peppers for a touch of heat.

Grandma Em went on to talk about their upcoming weddings. April was going to be a busy month for them, as were May and, especially, June. They’d recently set a ranch record on Valentine’s Day. Eight ceremonies over a twelve-hour period. They’d be having almost as many ceremonies every Saturday in June.

Several couples had made unusual requests that required extra attention. Everything from a paralyzed groom walking with the aid of a robotic exoskeleton to the ranch’s first-ever canine ring bearer to a surprise flash-mob procession down the aisle that would be a huge surprise to the guests.

“The Literary Ladies book club requested a lunch on the sixteenth.” Grandma Em consulted her paper calendar. She was old-school.

Bridget preferred her electronic tablet and was seldom without the device. Not only did she store her recipes and research potential new menu items, but she also kept a detailed calendar and multiple lists without which she’d be a disorganized mess.

“I’m free that day. Do you know what they want?”

“They’re thinking along the line of finger sandwiches.” Grandma Em passed Bridget a piece of paper. “But I told them you’d call this week and finalize the details. Here’s the contact info.”

“This is great!” Bridget entered the name and number, her to-do list growing. She’d been considering adding wine tastings and English high teas to the ranch’s offerings. The Literary Ladies’ lunch would be a good test run.

Molly then brought up their projected reservations and several housekeeping issues, after which she distributed the first-quarter financials.

Giving the reports a cursory glance—the finances were really Molly and Grandma Em’s department—Bridget looked at the clock. Six forty-two! At this rate, she’d never get the continental breakfast served in time. Guests started wandering into the main house around seven o’clock, their stomachs growling.

She pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet. “Keep talking. I need to get busy.”

While she arranged a mouth-watering selection of homemade croissants and breads on a tray, Grandma Em and Molly continued their discussion. Ranch business soon gave way to the subject of Molly’s boyfriend, Owen. He’d asked to bring his three children along on the hayride tonight, if no one minded.

“Of course he can,” Grandma Em assured Molly. “He’s family.”

Both Grandma Em and Molly were deliriously happy. Grandma Em had eloped last November with Homer Foxworthy, a retired minister and Sweetheart Ranch’s on-staff wedding officiator. Molly was seriously dating Owen, Homer’s great-nephew. Bridget suspected her sister and Owen would one day soon be reserving the chapel for their own nuptials. Unlike their grandmother, Molly would never elope. She was a white-dress, big-splashy-wedding kind of gal.

Bridget remained the sole unattached O’Malley woman. She’d like to say she didn’t care. Truthfully, she harbored a tiny bit of jealousy toward her grandmother and younger sister. Happy for them, absolutely. They deserved the wonderful men they’d found. But Bridget also envied them. At thirty-two, her biological clock was ticking. Not fast but faster than it had been. Another birthday looming in the near future and no immediate prospects weren’t helping.

Mustang Valley was a cowboy town with a substantial male population. Though Bridget would admit it to no one, that perk was one of the reasons she’d accepted her grandmother’s job offer last year. So far, she’d yet to meet anyone with real potential.

Then again, she spent most of her time working, often putting in fifty to sixty hours a week. By the end of the day, she wanted nothing more than to unwind in front of the TV for an hour and rest her aching feet. Most nights she was in bed by nine.

Rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the parlor, Bridget quickly laid out the food. Besides the scrumptious breads and croissants, she’d included fruit salad, homemade jams and almond butter, yogurt parfaits and two choices of fresh-squeezed juices.

There! The room looked beautiful enough to appear in a TV commercial.

Wait a minute. What a great idea! She should tell Molly. Along with everything else she did, the younger O’Malley sister handled the ranch’s marketing and advertising.

“Hey,” Bridget announced as she entered the kitchen. “What if we do a TV commercial?”

She was met with complete silence. Molly and Grandma Em had left at some point through the back door.

No big deal. She’d tell Molly later. Grabbing her tablet off the counter, Bridget opened up her “idea” file and quickly typed in a note about making a TV commercial. Her eyes fell briefly on yet another of her many lists, this one titled “dating nonnegotiables.” Any man she met who failed to meet her criteria wasn’t worth pursuing.

Her family teased her about the list, told her she was being ridiculous and limiting her chances. Look at Molly, for example. She’d found a wonderful man who, at first meeting, had seemed completely wrong for her. Bridget didn’t care. She wanted a marriage like her mother and late father once had. She’d rather be alone than marry the wrong man, which was the mistake her mother had made with her current husband, Bridget’s stepfather.

A few minutes into slicing fresh zucchini for cabin two’s quiche, Bridget heard the echo of heavy footsteps in the parlor and assumed the first guests had arrived for breakfast. She wondered if the footsteps belonged to the middle-aged couple who’d been there since Thursday, enjoying a second honeymoon.

“Hello!” a male voice called out. “Anyone here?”

“Help yourself,” Bridget answered and wiped her hands on a dish towel. “There’s coffee, tea, hot chocolate and juice at the beverage station.”

“I can have whatever I want?” he asked, uncertainty in his tone.

“Sure.”

She smiled to herself. Must be the groom from cabin five. He and his bride had gotten married two days ago and remained holed up in their cabin since then. When Bridget delivered the couple’s specialty brunch yesterday morning, only the bride had come to the door. Bridget guessed the groom had still been in bed and thought “good for them.”

Brushing aside a stray lock of hair, she hurried to the parlor and issued a warm greeting to the groom. “Good morning. Nice to see you.” She refrained from adding “At last.”

He paused, a china plate in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. His gaze took her in from head to toe, very slowly and very thoroughly. The corners of his wide, handsome mouth turned up into a grin that quickly spread across his entire face. “Nice to see you, too.” There was no mistaking the spark of male interest in his eyes.

“I, um...” Bridget faltered, completely thrown off guard. Grooms didn’t respond to her like this. Not that she’d experienced before. She immediately wanted out of this very awkward situation. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“You could join me.” His grin widened, and he raised his china plate. “If you haven’t eaten yet.”

Of all the nerve! He was flirting with her.

When she first glimpsed him, she’d thought how lucky his wife was to marry a tall, good-looking man like him. If not for the fact he was a groom, she’d have mistaken him for one of the local cowboys, what with his well-fitting Wranglers, scuffed boots, Western work shirt and Stetson, which he’d removed and hung on the antique hat rack in the corner.

Now she felt sorry for the bride. They’d been married a mere two days, and her husband was hitting on another woman. Hard as it was for her, Bridget refrained from giving him a piece of her mind.

“Hey, this is good,” he said, biting into a croissant.

“Thank you.” She pivoted and started for the kitchen.

“Wait. Can’t you stay awhile?”

She very nearly blurted, “Does your wife have any idea what a jerk you are?” but held her tongue. He was a guest at the ranch, and she wouldn’t offend him.

All of a sudden her grandmother glided into the parlor. She barely noticed Bridget and instead addressed the man. “Good, you’re here. And getting some breakfast.” She patted Bridget’s arm as she skirted past her. “Thanks for taking care of him.”

“My pleasure,” Bridget answered tersely.

“I got distracted and forgot to tell you earlier that Ryan was coming by.”

Her grandmother’s words caused Bridget to stop short. “Ryan?”

“He’s applying for the wrangler job. He bought the old Chandler place. Nora introduced us the other day. She says he’s a heck of a worker.”

Nora being her grandmother’s best friend, a part-time employee of the ranch when they were shorthanded, and neighbor to the Chandlers before they’d moved. She’d talked more than once about the nice, young, single man next door, emphasizing single.

“Oh. I didn’t know.” Bridget felt her cheeks warm. Thank goodness she’d kept her mouth shut. “Nice to meet you, Ryan. Good luck with the interview.”

In the kitchen she expelled a long breath, vastly relieved. Meeting Ryan had left her disconcerted. First, because she’d mistaken him for the groom from cabin five. Then, because once she learned he was Nora’s neighbor, she’d been briefly intrigued by him.

Remembering he’d purchased the Chandler place put an end to that. To call the old house, with its ramshackle outbuildings, a fixer-upper was being kind. In truth, it was a dump, and owning a decent home ranked number eight on Bridget’s dating nonnegotiable list.

* * *

“BRING THAT WITH you and let’s head to the kitchen.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Ryan DeMere followed Mrs. Foxworthy, owner of Sweetheart Ranch. He carried his loaded plate of food in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

Had he overindulged? The way the older woman looked at his plate had him wondering. Ryan did possess a healthy appetitive, brought on by working long, hard hours. Plus, the food here was incredible. He generally preferred a hearty country breakfast. Eggs, biscuits, sausages, gravy and hash browns. Fancy breads and fruit were for folks a lot daintier than him. But these rolls—he’d never tasted anything like them. Darn things just melted in his mouth, and he couldn’t stop at one. Or two.

Okay, he’d taken four, having quickly polished off the first one. The rest were stacked on his plate along with three heaping spoonfuls of strawberry jam and a pile of fruit. He supposed that deserved a look. Of concern, if nothing else. Then again, she didn’t know about the first croissant, unless her granddaughter tattled on him.

Bridget. He’d caught her name when Mrs. Foxworthy called her by it. She was obviously the cook. No, that wasn’t right. His neighbor had referred to Bridget as a chef of some kind. Pastry, maybe? Sous? The other granddaughter helped with the business side and was dating the feed-store owner. He’d met the man several times while buying supplies for his horse but hadn’t made the connection until recently, when his neighbor told him about the job opening at the ranch.

Mustang Valley wasn’t large by any means. According to the welcome sign at the center of town, there were two thousand residents, give or take. Ryan was probably the newest one, having moved here less than two months ago, when he’d purchased the Chandler place. A run-down, sorry piece of horse property by anyone’s standards with a house that most would consider uninhabitable.

It was also perfect for his purposes. In a year to eighteen months, depending on how much the renovations wound up costing, he intended to sell the property for a nice profit.

He’d do it, too. Ryan was no rookie when it came to flipping horse properties. This was his fourth project in eight years. He’d done very well with his first three. If all went as planned, in a few years he’d make enough money to buy his dream ranch. Only then would he settle down in one place.

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Foxworthy motioned to the table. “We can talk here, if you don’t mind Bridget hovering nearby.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t.”

Not at all. For starters, she was easy on the eyes. Bouncy reddish-blond hair framing the face of an angel, when she wasn’t scowling. Nice figure, from what he could tell. That apron did her no favors. Dancing green eyes, his particular weakness. And a great cook.

Could be a little friendlier. Then again, she might not have appreciated his...exuberance. Ryan couldn’t help himself. She was an attractive woman. His neighbor, Nora, had said as much, but Ryan took that with a grain of salt. Then he’d seen Bridget, and his brain turned to mush.

But if he wanted this job—and he did want it—he needed to rein in his enthusiasm. Ryan was the owner of a healthy bank account. But all that money was earmarked for remodeling the house, and he’d need every penny, if not more.

When it came to covering his day-to-day living expenses, he relied entirely on money he earned from side jobs. Those funds were running dangerously low. This past week, he’d begun subsiding on boxed macaroni-and-cheese and bologna sandwiches. Another reason he was currently making a pig of himself.

“Our part-time wrangler wants to retire,” Mrs. Foxworthy explained. She’d helped herself to a cup of coffee after offering one to Ryan. “With trail rides starting soon and the addition of three more horses to our stables, we need someone full-time. I forgot to ask, do you have much experience with driving a carriage and hay wagon?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Call me Emily, please.”

“Thank you, Emily.” Ryan pushed aside his plate of food. Cramming his face wouldn’t look good during an interview. He could finish later. “I grew up on a working farm outside of Austin. Fourth generation.”

“I thought I recognized your drawl. I have relatives from that part of Texas. What kind of farm?”

“Wheat, mostly. Raised some cattle. ’Course, our horses pulled farm wagons. Not fancy carriages. But I’m thinking the mechanics are pretty much the same.”

“Bridget and her sister are fifth generation here in Mustang Valley.”

She smiled at her granddaughter, who was busy at the counter beating eggs in a bowl. He could see the love Emily had for her granddaughter, and his respect for the older woman increased. Ryan was close to his family, too.

“I’m the youngest of eight,” he said. “My parents had a lot of mouths to feed and shoes to buy. We all had to pitch in from an early age. I was harnessing a team by the time I was ten. Driving a tractor when I was eight. Riding horses since, well, I honestly don’t remember how old I was when I started riding.”

He noticed Bridget sneaking discreet peeks at him as if trying to hide her curiosity. It went both ways. He was curious about her, too, and sneaking peeks.

“Are your parents still in Texas?” Emily asked.

“They are. I’m trying to talk them into moving here after Dad retires. Not sure when that’ll be. He’s darn near seventy, and still putting in eight-hour days, every day of the week.”

“Sounds like you have an excellent work ethic that you come by honestly.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do, if I say so myself. I’m also right handy. There isn’t much I can’t fix or build or cobble together. If you’re needing some repairs done, I’m your man.”

“That’s generous of you to offer.” She sipped her coffee. “I’m afraid the hours aren’t regular. We perform weddings on any given day, including holidays. Most are on weekends, which means you’d probably work Friday through Sunday.”

“Not a problem.” Ryan finished off his fruit, remembering to take smaller bites. “My schedule’s flexible. And I have no place special to be on weekends.”

He caught Bridget casting him another quick glance. How had she interpreted his remark? That he was currently unattached? Well, he was. What about her?

Ryan hadn’t been in a serious relationship for some time and didn’t see it happening now or in the immediate future. Flipping horse properties didn’t allow him to remain in one place very long and most women he met wanted to put down roots. He occasionally dated when the right woman came along—one who was okay with a casual, hanging-out kind of relationship.

Unfortunately, Bridget struck him as a woman with deep, deep roots, being fifth generation and all. Yet another reason to rein in his enthusiasm. Plus, if he got the job she’d be his boss’s granddaughter. Darn if those “keep away” signs weren’t springing up one after the other.

“Starting tonight, we’re having regular hayrides,” Emily said. “In the evenings when the weather’s warm and in the afternoons during winter months. Right now, we’re limiting the hayrides to guests. If they go well, we might open them up to the public. There’s a cookout at the end of each ride.”

“Sounds great.” Ryan glanced at Bridget. She was probably responsible for the food.

“Perhaps you’d like to come along tonight,” Emily suggested.

He returned his attention to her. “I’d like that very much.” Was she offering him the job? He hesitated because he didn’t want to jump to the wrong conclusion.

“You can ride with Big Jim. He’s our part-time wrangler. Maybe come early and watch him harness the team.”

Ryan finished off his remaining croissant, using the last piece to mop up his strawberry jam. Emily didn’t seem to find him ill-mannered. If anything, she liked his enjoyment of her granddaughter’s food.

“How many horses do you have?” he asked.

“Five. Two for driving and three for trail rides. We’re planning on offering either sixty- or ninety-minute trail rides. Up to twice a day, one couple each ride.”

During their entire conversation, the sound of guests entering the parlor through the front door and helping themselves to the breakfast could be heard. Twice, Bridget carried out a tray or pitcher to replenish the food. In between, she sliced and chopped and mixed and diced.

“I suppose you’d like to know the pay,” Emily said.

The amount she named was fair. The perks were better. Besides breakfast every day, Ryan would get dinner at the cookouts and during any other function when a meal was served. Emily was hoping the ranch could eventually host nonwedding events, like family reunions and corporate parties.

There was also double time on holidays as well as paid sick and vacation days after six months. Altogether, considerably more than Ryan had expected.

If he had an inkling to stay past the sale of his latest ranch-flipping project, a job like this one—with growth potential—would be right up his alley. In the meantime, he’d work hard for the O’Malleys. Everything about the job appealed to him, including his coworkers. One in particular.

“I don’t like to assume, Emily, but are you officially offering me the job?”

She laughed. “Sorry. I should have been clearer. Yes, I am. Nora’s recommendation carries a lot of weight with me. As does Owen’s.”

“You talk to him?”

“Right before you got here. He thinks you’re a straight shooter.”

“I try to be.”

“Am I to assume you’re considering accepting the job?” she asked. “Please take some time to think about it. We’re in a rush but not so much we can’t wait a day or two.”

“I don’t need any time to think about it.” He reached across the table toward Emily. “I accept.”

She shook his hand. “Welcome to Sweetheart Ranch, Ryan. Glad to have you with us.”

He couldn’t stop his gaze from cutting quickly to Bridget. She was openly staring at him.

“There’s some paperwork to sign. Molly will see to that. She’s busy at the moment, though. Meeting with a potential client. She should be free in about an hour.” Emily checked the clock on the wall. “Speaking of which, I have an appointment myself at the bank. Otherwise, I’d take you on a tour of the ranch. You can meet Big Jim and, if you’re not busy, go with him on the honeymoon carriage ride later this morning.”

“I can do that.” Ryan waited for Emily to rise first before pushing to his feet. “What time? I’ll come back.”

“Nonsense. You’re here now. No need to make a second trip.” She turned to her granddaughter. “Bridget, you’ll be finished shortly, won’t you?”

“I still have to deliver brunch to cabin two.”

“Ryan can go with you,” Emily announced. “Then you can take him to the stables and introduce him to Big Jim.”

“I need to clean up the parlor.”

“It’ll keep for a while.”

“An unattended buffet won’t look good. Molly will be showing the potential client around.”

“Molly may want to offer them breakfast. Could be just the ticket to close the sale.”

“The food here is good,” Ryan concurred.

“Grandma... I—” Bridget blew out an expansive breath. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Great.” The older woman swiped her hands together, clearly pleased with this latest turn of events. “I’ll see you tonight at the hayride, Ryan, if not sooner.”

“Thank you again, Emily, for the opportunity.”

“I have a good feeling about this.”

“Me, too.”

“You can wait here for Bridget.”

He sat down after Emily left through the back door.

From across the kitchen Bridget uttered a sound of distress. It might have been because of whatever she was cooking. She did have the oven door cracked open and was staring inside. It also might have been because of her grandmother forcing Ryan on her.

Unable to help himself, he chuckled softly. Working at Sweetheart Ranch was shaping up to be far better than he’d ever imagined.

CHAPTER TWO

“SWEET!” RYAN STOPPED to admire the trim, sleek, fire-engine-red vehicle parked behind the ranch house. “Top speed, how fast can this baby fly?”

Bridget was securing the insulated food container holding brunch for cabin two in the vehicle’s rear bed. She then straightened to give him an exasperated look. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.” Ryan continued his inspection, circling the front of the vehicle and pausing at the passenger side. “Forty-eight-volt motor, right? I bet you can do eighteen easy. Twenty on the downhill.”

“It’s a golf cart.”

“And a beauty at that. Electric. Eco-friendly.” He gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Top-of-the-line and brand-spanking-new.”

“Let’s go,” she told him and slid behind the steering wheel.

He hopped in beside her. “No seat belts?”

“What’s the matter?” She turned the key, and the motor purred softly. “Afraid I’m going to push you out?”

He laughed, glad to see she had a sense of humor.

“Hold on to your hat.” She released the brake, pressed down with her foot and away they went—at about fifteen miles per hour by Ryan’s calculations.

“You have a nice home.” He looked back over his shoulder as they pulled away. “Don’t see many like it in these parts.”

“My great-great-grandparents built the original house in the late 1800s. They were one of the first families to settle in Mustang Valley. Every generation since has remodeled to some degree. Grandma doubled the size of the kitchen when she decided to convert the ranch into a wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast. Made enough room for a walk-in pantry and four-door refrigerator.”

“The cabins are new.” Ryan studied the row of cozy, identical pine structures with redbrick chimneys and green gable roofs.

“As of last summer. Grandma designed them to resemble the house, with my sister Molly’s input. Each one caters to honeymooning couples. Spa tubs. Enclosed courtyards. Privacy windows.”

“Maybe you’ll give me a tour one of these days, seeing as I can’t look inside.”

His remark earned him another pained expression from Bridget. “Are you ever serious?”

“No fun in that. Besides, I’m interested strictly from a design standpoint. I’m renovating the Chandler place.” He supposed he should start calling it the DeMere place, seeing as he was the owner and not the Chandlers. Then again, since he wouldn’t be owning the property for long, sticking to the original name might prove a good idea. It had history, something potentially appealing to a buyer.

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Bridget turned right, taking them past the pool and clubhouse. “Though I should have. No offense, but the property needs a ton of work.”

“I’m not offended. It does. The run-down condition is the only reason I could afford it.” Ryan prided himself on buying smart and selling smarter. “Are the clubhouse and pool also new?”

They puttered past a long narrow building and wrought-iron railing through which Ryan could see sunlight reflecting off sparkling blue water.

“No, but Grandma had everything completely refurbished and modernized. In its former life, the clubhouse was an equipment shed.”

Ryan’s interest was piqued. “Is there by chance a pool table in there?”

“Nope. Sorry. Just a Ping-Pong table and dartboard.”

“Too bad.”

“You’ll have to go to the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill in town to play pool.”

“Why, Miss O’Malley. Are you asking me out on a date?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

“Endearing? Charismatic? ’Fraid so.”

“I was thinking annoying and irritating and very full of yourself.”

“Give me time. I have a tendency to grow on people.”

Bridget sighed and aimed the golf cart toward the second-to-last cabin in the line of six. “I can see why Nora likes you. You’re her type.”

Ryan held on to the side handle when Bridget pulled to a stop, braking a bit harder than was necessary. Perhaps she really was trying to eject him.

“She’s my type, too,” he said. “Or she would be if she was younger.” His neighbor had to be in her midseventies, possibly older. “Then again, I’m a hip guy and might be able to see past the forty-five-year age difference.”

“Wait here,” Bridget instructed and turned off the golf cart.

Ryan started to get out. “Need help?”

“No, thanks. I can manage.” With a quick flip of her fingers, she unfastened the insulated container and carried it up the short walk to the cabin’s front steps.

Ryan watched her, his attention riveted. All the time he kept thinking, too bad. Too bad she was his new boss’s granddaughter. Too bad she was a settling-down kind of gal. Too bad he needed to behave himself, though she’d probably argue he’d been anything but behaving himself on their short drive.

She marched more than walked to the cabin’s front door. Independent, he thought. Feisty. Smart. Talented. Capable. Pretty. Very, very pretty. Those reddish-blond curls of hers were an invitation shouting “Touch me.” He’d discover for himself if her hair felt as silky as it appeared, except she’d no doubt slap away his hand.

At her sharp knock, a young man opened the cabin door. A few words were exchanged, and he took the insulated container. Bridget bade him goodbye and marched back to the golf cart with the same purpose as before, her arms swinging at her sides this time.

Did she realize she still wore her apron? Perhaps the garment was so second nature to her, she forgot she had it on.

The moment she climbed back into the golf cart, a musical chime sounded. Reaching into the pocket on her apron bib, she extracted her cell phone and read a text.

“Grandma says Big Jim’s going to be a few minutes late.”

“Should we go back to the house?” Ryan asked. “If your sister’s free, I can fill out my employment paperwork.”

“Big Jim won’t be long. I’ll drop you off at the stables. You can wait for him there.”

Yet another too bad. In this case, too bad their time together was at an end.

The stables were located farther up the road, a quarter mile past the last cabin. Even at fifteen miles per hour, they made good time. Ryan took in the structure and uttered a low “Wow!”

“We recently expanded the stables as well,” Bridget said. “Four more stalls and we increased the size of the paddock out back.”

Ryan had built covered stalls at the last two properties he’d flipped. Neither were as nice as these stables, which, while not large, were on par with professional horse ranches. Then again, the stalls he’d built were for private use and not to impress paying guests or appear in magazines.

Bridget parked beside the hitching rail. He expected to be dropped off and left to his own devices while he waited on the soon-to-retire wrangler. To Ryan’s vast delight, she shut off the golf cart and hopped out.

“Come on. I’ll show you around.” Pride tinged her voice. She didn’t just work for her grandmother, she loved the ranch.

“I’d like that,” he said.

The stables’ main door stood open, and Bridget went inside first. Ryan crossed the threshold behind her and stopped to stare.

Windows allowed ample natural illumination, eliminating the need for electric lights during bright sunny days like this one. Nickers filled the air as heads immediately popped over stall doors, eager to investigate the newcomers. The scents of hay and leather and grain filled the air.

“I’m impressed.” He went over to the far wall, where the harnesses hung in neat order. Running his hand down the length of a large collar, he noted the fine craftsmanship and pristine condition. Much better than anything his family had ever owned.

“Riding gear’s over there.” Bridget pointed to the other wall, where a variety of saddles sat perched on racks and bridles dangled from wooden pegs.

Every piece looked recently cleaned and recently polished. Also much better than anything his family owned.

Feeling a little like a fish out of water, he meandered over to the nearest horse. Happy for the attention, the large blond gelding nuzzled Ryan’s palm when he extended it.

“Haflinger,” he said, then noticed the other horse in the next stall over. They were a perfect match, like twin bookends. “Your driving team, I assume.”

“That’s Amos.” Bridget joined Ryan. “The other is Moses. They’re brothers.”

“I figured as much.”

“These are our recent purchases.” She indicated the three quarter horses in the adjoining stalls. “For trail rides. We bought them from a horse rental outfit in Apache Junction.”

“They appear tame enough.” Ryan estimated the trio were in their late teens and seasoned veterans.

“A lot of our clients have little or no experience riding. We don’t want to put them on anything that isn’t one-hundred-percent trustworthy. These three are perfect lambs.”

“You ride much?”

She moved to pat the nearest broad face and received a contented snort in return. “When I can get away from work. Which isn’t often enough. We’ve been going like gangbusters since we opened last November.”

She enjoyed riding. Yet another reason for Ryan to like this woman, who was fascinating him more and more with each new tidbit she revealed.

“Pleasure riding?” he guessed. “No, competitive.”

“Both. I grew up active in 4-H and competed in Western horsemanship classes. Later, I took up team roping for a while. Semiprofessionally.”

Ryan broke into a wide grin. “We have a lot in common. I team-roped, too.” He’d used the money from his winnings as a down payment on his first property. “Why’d you quit?”

“Culinary school. Le Cordon Bleu College.” More pride tinged her voice. “It’s one of the top schools in the southwest.”

No question about it, Bridget O’Malley was so far out of Ryan’s league, she might as well reside in outer space.

A horn sounded from outside, accompanied by the crunch of tires on gravel.

Bridget started for the door. “Must be Big Jim.”

After introductions were exchanged—Ryan liked the older gentleman right away—Bridget excused herself, claiming she had a lot of work waiting for her.

Her remark reminded Ryan of the hayride and cookout. “See you tonight,” he said.

She paused halfway into the golf cart, a puzzled expression on her face. The next instant, realization dawned. “Yeah. Right. See you.”

He watched her go before accompanying Big Jim into the stables, his ego suffering a mighty blow.

Clearly, she’d made a far greater impression on him than he had on her.

* * *

THE FIRST THING Bridget did when she got back to the ranch house was head to the parlor, where she checked the breakfast sign-in sheet. All the couples had come and gone, the exception being cabin two, whose brunch Bridget had delivered before taking Ryan to the stables.

He was an interesting sort, she thought as she carted trays of food and dirty dishware to the kitchen. An outrageous flirt with enough charm to win over the shyest of wallflowers. Despite seeing right through him, Bridget had not been unaffected and responded more times than she cared to admit.

She’d liked the timbre of his voice when he spoke about his family and heard the fondness he had for them. Having close family ties was a quality she admired in a person. She’d also been quite taken with the expression on his face when he first glimpsed the stables. He’d been genuinely impressed.

And, yes, he was handsome. Not to mention sexy in a rugged, cowboy way. She estimated him to be roughly her age. Maybe a couple years younger. Could she sneak a look at his paperwork without drawing her sister’s attention? No, that would be silly and immature.

What did she care how old Ryan was? Other than his age being near hers, she doubted he checked off any other boxes on her list of dating nonnegotiables.

All right, two boxes if she included his looks. No, make that three. On the tall side herself, she appreciated his six-foot-plus height. Dark brown hair the color of chocolate truffles was in direct contrast to a pair of blue-grey eyes that drew her in. His two-day beard, which she should have regarded as scruffy, instead elicited the kind of thrill she shouldn’t be feeling.

But that was as far as it went. Even though he was gainfully employed, he didn’t strike her as career-driven—another box on her list—and, thus, he was completely wrong for her.

Bridget was ambitious, and also convinced she’d fare better with a guy similar to herself. Her parents had been well-suited in that regard—equal partners rather than one carrying the other. She frequently witnessed her mother’s struggles for that equal partnership with her current husband and vowed to avoid winding up in similar circumstances.

Being a realist, Bridget knew men like her late father were rare. That didn’t stop her from holding out. Neither did the pressure from her loudly ticking biological clock.

Finishing her tasks one by one, she was engrossed with peeling shrimp for tonight’s cookout when her grandmother came up behind her and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Hey there. How’d it go with our new wrangler?”

“Okay, I guess. I left him with Big Jim.”

Grandma Em ducked into the pantry, where Bridget knew she’d leave her purse out of sight on a lower shelf. She emerged a moment later and went straight for the refrigerator, selecting an egg-and-cheese burrito for lunch.

“You want one?” she asked.

“No, I ate earlier.” Bridget refused to serve their guests food that wasn’t at the peak of freshness. As a result, the O’Malleys dined well on leftovers.

“I just saw them.” Grandma sat at the table. “Big Jim and Ryan. They were returning from taking cabin two on their carriage ride through town. Ryan was doing the driving.”

“That was quick. Harnessing usually takes a while.”

“Not with two people.”

“True.” Bridget finished with the shrimp and, after a last rinse, she sealed them in a container.

“What do you think of him?”

“Ryan? Hard to say. I just met him.” No way would she admit she’d been smitten and responded to his flirtations. Her grandmother would have a field day with that. “He seems nice. And friendly. Maybe a little too friendly.”

“That’s the way people are in the part of Texas where he’s from.” Grandma Em added a healthy dollop of hot sauce to her burrito before taking another bite. “They tend to lay it on a mite thick.”

“The guests will like him.” Putting the shrimp in the refrigerator, Bridget grabbed a bottle of water and sat with her grandmother at the table.

“He was checking you out. I saw him.”

“What! No.”

“You were checking him out, too.”

“I was not.” Bridget’s protest was met with a laugh. An alarming thought occurred to her. Grandma Em had attempted more than once to play matchmaker with her granddaughters. “Tell me you didn’t hire him simply because he’s single and attractive.”

“Aha! So you admit it.”

“I have eyes. I noticed. There, are you satisfied?”

“A little.” Grandma Em smiled brightly. “I hired him because he’s qualified, highly recommended by Nora and personable. But if you two were to go out—”

“We’re not going out.”

“Don’t bring up your list.” She feigned exasperation. “I’d burn it if I could.”

Bridget swallowed a large gulp of water, her throat dry for no apparent reason. “Fine. I won’t.”

“Honey.”

“Grandma, please. I’m not interested in Ryan.”

“All the good-looking young men in this town and not one of them appeals to you. How can that be?” her grandmother lamented. “At this rate, I’m never going to have any great-grandchildren.”

“Molly will give you some. I bet Owen pops the question in the next few months. In the meantime, you can amuse yourself with his three children.”

“They are adorable.” She sighed wistfully, only to promptly sober. “I hate to think of you depriving yourself.”

“Of children?” Bridget asked.

“Yes, and a decent man. Like Ryan—”

“Don’t say it. You only just met him. No way can you tell if he’s decent or totally without morals.”

“I can tell. Even though his parents didn’t have a lot to go around, they raised him right.”

“That, or he’s proficient at conning people.”

Grandma Em made a sound of disgust. “You don’t believe that.”

No, Bridget didn’t. She was inclined to agree with her grandmother. Ryan had nice manners and an appealing openness about him. A what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of man.

“Working with him every day, I bet you’ll change your mind.”

Meaning her grandmother would refuse to quit matchmaking no matter what. If Bridget didn’t do something, she’d soon find herself in an awkward situation. But how to deter her grandmother?

The answer was easy. Throw her off track with a carefully calculated distraction.

“There is one man in town who kind of interests me,” Bridget said.

“Who’s that?”

The more she considered the idea, crazy though it was, the more she warmed to it. “Dr. Gregory Hall.”

Her grandmother’s eyebrows rose in surprise only to come together in a pronounced V. “Word around town is he’s married.”

“He’s not. He’s divorced. Molly told me the other day. She heard it from Nora.”

Dr. Hall was a relative newcomer to Mustang Valley. He’d been working at the urgent-care clinic these past seven months. In his later thirties, with clean-cut features, a pleasant bedside manner and short-cropped hair, more pepper than salt, he’d initially created quite a stir. Many of the single women in town had flocked to the clinic with invented complaints just to meet him. Not Bridget. But she had noticed him out and about on several occasions and concurred with the other women. Dr. Hall was hot.

The nonsense had stopped a few weeks after his arrival when he mentioned being married. Now, it had started up again with the news of his divorce.

“Must be recent,” Grandma Em observed.

“Pretty recent, apparently. He and his wife...ex-wife,” Bridget said, correcting herself, “have been separated awhile. That’s why he took the position at the clinic.”

“Doesn’t he have children?”

“A boy and a girl. Ages ten and twelve.”

“Bridget, honey. Are you sure you want to get involved with a man who’s barely divorced and a father to two preteens?”

“We can go slow at first.”

“That’s a lot to take on.”

“Molly’s dating a man with three young children.”

“It’s different with her and Owen. He’s been divorced awhile.”

Owen was also related to Grandma Em’s new husband, but Bridget didn’t bring that up.

The more arguments her grandmother made, the more determined she was to potentially pursue Dr. Hall. Gregory. She should start thinking of him by his first name.

“He’s exactly the kind of man I’m looking for and meets every requirement on my list.”

“I’d hate to see you get hurt,” Grandma Em said. “He seems nice and all, but there’s a reason his marriage failed.”

“He could have married for the wrong reasons. Like Mom and Doug.”

Grandma Em frowned, and Bridget realized she’d crossed a line. Her grandmother was very protective of Bridget’s mother.

“He’s certainly no worse than Ryan,” she said, “who lives in a run-down, falling-apart house and drives a beat-up old truck.” Owning a decent vehicle was number five on Bridget’s list. “I doubt he has two nickels to rub together.”

“Don’t judge a person by appearances.”

“No offense, Grandma, but I can say the same thing to you. You’re judging Dr. Hall by his appearances. Assuming that he isn’t a good person or a great catch because his first marriage ended in divorce.”

“Has he asked you out?”

Bridget stood. “Not yet, but he will.” She tugged on her apron, then ran her fingers through her hair. “I just need to get my game on.”

Granted, it had been a while since Bridget successfully set her sights on a man. She was confident, however, that her long dormant skills would come rushing back. And then her grandmother would stop trying to set her up with Ryan.

She turned and nearly choked. Ryan stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the jamb and a mischievous twinkle in his too-arresting eyes. How long had he been standing there, and what, if anything, had he heard?

Bridget squared her shoulders. She didn’t care. Let him think what he would. It didn’t matter.

“I finished signing the paperwork with Molly.” He pushed off the doorjamb. “She sent me here to see if there’s anything else you need done before the hayride.”

“Actually—” Grandma Em rose from the table “—there’s a light burned out in the chapel. We’ll need the stepladder to reach it.”

The wink Ryan gave her when he left confirmed what Bridget had already surmised. He’d caught some of what she said to her grandmother and found it amusing.

Really? Did he not think her capable of attracting a man? Rather than be dissuaded, her determination to wrangle a date with the hot Dr. Hall grew by leaps and bounds.

CHAPTER THREE

RYAN HELPED THE last guest climb into the hay wagon. The middle-aged woman—Ryan had heard it was a second marriage for both her and her groom—gripped his hand as she stepped from the overturned crate into the wagon’s long flatbed. Her husband, who was already in the wagon, hauled her up to join him.

Slightly unsteady and flushed with both excitement and nervousness, she let out a small gasp. “My goodness!”

“I’ve got you, darling.” Her husband anchored her against him.

“Yes, you do.” She stood on tiptoes and gave him a peck on the lips.

He guided her to the only empty bale of straw, where they sat down, their hands still joined. Their obvious love for each other reminded Ryan of his own parents. All these years later, the DeMeres still sometimes acted like the pair of teenagers they’d been when they first met.

Ryan hoped to have a marriage like theirs one day. He’d have to wait, though, until he’d made enough to buy that dream ranch. He wasn’t about to ask a woman to live amid crumbling walls, even if those walls would be rebuilt and unrecognizable in a year. His nomadic lifestyle and frequent hand-to-mouth survival also didn’t make him the best candidate for marriage.

“Everyone ready?” Big Jim called over his shoulder.

He was answered by a chorus of loud cheers from the group of almost twenty, which included two young girls in matching outfits who were impossible for Ryan to tell apart. He picked up the overturned crate and moved it out of the way. They’d need it again when they returned from the hayride.

He hadn’t required much instruction from Big Jim. Ryan had gone on plenty of hayrides during his life. His father used to hitch up the horses every Halloween and take the DeMere kids and their many friends from house to house. He still did, only now the kids were Ryan’s many nieces and nephews. Grandpa DeMere was a favorite relative with them.

Besides Halloween, there’d been church outings and parades and birthday parties. Ryan had also driven the wagon at his cousin’s wedding. He’d forgotten to mention that to Emily during their interview.

She hadn’t come on the ride. Neither had Bridget, not that Ryan expected her to. He assumed she was busy with the cookout preparations. Nonetheless, he’d suffered a small stab of disappointment.

Ryan had caught only the tail end of Bridget’s conversation with her grandmother earlier. Enough to know she was going out with the local doctor or wanted to go out with him. Ryan wasn’t sure which. Her remarks had caused a different sort of stab—one of envy. Whoever this doctor was, Ryan didn’t like him. He didn’t care if the man discovered a cure for cancer, he wasn’t right for Bridget.

Neither was Ryan, but that hadn’t stopped the giant fist from squeezing his insides. To mask his reaction, he’d smiled and winked at Bridget when leaving with her grandmother. She hadn’t responded, and Ryan had been forced to put aside thoughts of her while he handled Emily’s various chores and then went home to change clothes for the hayride.

While the horses walked sedately down the long dirt road leading away from the ranch, the sun inched slowly toward the horizon. A wet spring had caused an abundance of blossoms to sprout, turning the normally dry and prickly cacti into striking displays of color that drew a variety of birds and flying insects.

Big Jim pointed out various spots of interest to their passengers. Ryan paid close attention, as he would soon be doing the same thing when he was in charge of the hayrides.

“Over there are the McDowell Mountains, home to the largest urban preserve in the continental United States,” Big Jim said. “If you go on a trail ride, and I highly recommend you do, you’ll travel through the northern tip of the preserve.”

Two couples were already signed up for trail rides on Wednesday and two more on Friday. Ryan figured he’d be going along with Big Jim in order to learn the different routes. Too bad Bridget couldn’t come with them. He’d enjoy seeing her in the saddle and away from the kitchen.

The hayride lasted a little over an hour. By then their passengers were in good spirits, hungry from an abundance of fresh air and ready to relax around the campfire.

While everyone strolled to the ranch house, where the fire pit was located, Ryan helped Big Jim unharness and brush down the horses. Ryan had been impressed with the team’s performance and mentioned as much to Big Jim.

The older man patted Moses’s neck before closing the door on the big gelding’s stall. “They’re good boys. I’ll miss working with them.”

Both horses went straight for their water troughs, then examined their feed bins, which Ryan had filled right before departing on the hayride. The other three horses showed considerable interest in the goings-on only to grow bored when more food wasn’t forthcoming.

“What time is the first trail ride on Wednesday?” Ryan asked. “I can bring my own horse if we need an extra one.”

“Here’s the problem.” Big Jim closed and locked the stable door behind them. “Doris is having some tests done over the next few days.” He’d mentioned his wife’s heart condition earlier. While not life-threatening, it was concerning enough that she was under the care of a cardiologist. Her health issues were the main reason Big Jim wanted to retire. “Maybe Owen can go with you. He’s familiar with the mountains.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Have yourself a good evening.” Big Jim headed for his truck.

“Aren’t you coming to the cookout?”

“Naw.” He yanked open the driver’s side door. “Doris gets nervous when she’s home alone for too long.”

“Good night, then.”

Ryan ambled down the road leading to the ranch house. Well before he arrived at the fire pit, he smelled the delicious aroma of food cooking over hot embers. He knew this meal would far surpass the breakfast Bridget had prepared and make returning to his regular diet of bologna sandwiches hard.

She was there, bent over the fire pit and turning foil-wrapped ears of corn on a metal rack. Streaks of soot marred her cheeks and loose hair tumbled into her eyes. She brushed away the strands with the back of her hand.

Ryan was immediately captivated, not that he hadn’t been from the moment they’d met.

He passed the ranch guests he’d recently driven on the hayride. Most were sitting at the picnic table or in lawn chairs and sipping adult beverages. They returned his hellos, some thanking him again for the hayride. The two girls insisted on venturing too close to the fire pit and had to be warned away repeatedly by their parents.

Bridget worked quickly, expertly flipping steaks and skewers of shrimp and stirring a cast-iron pot of beans. She fussed and fretted as if creating a masterpiece.

Coming up behind her, he asked, “Need any help?”

She cranked her head around. “I’m good, thanks.”

He stayed nearby, anyway, mostly to watch her.

Owen wandered over, two longneck beer bottles in his hands. He’d arrived a short while ago to join the family for the cookout. “Have a seat.” He indicated a pair of vacant lawn chairs.

Ryan gladly accepted the offer—of the chair and the beer. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“How’d your first day go?” Owen asked.

“I think I’m going to like it here.” Ryan’s gaze strayed to Bridget.

Owen obviously noticed. “She’s something else. Works like a fiend with seven arms.”

“I don’t know how she does it.”

“She and Molly grew up in the hospitality business. Emily and her first husband owned and operated the Morning Side Inn in town for over thirty years. The girls spent their summers here, learning the ropes from a young age.”

“Runs in the family then.”

“This ranch means everything to them.”

Ryan couldn’t decide if Owen was simply making small talk or issuing a warning. “It’s an incredible place.”

“Emily’s idea. She sold the inn after her first husband died and sunk her entire savings into Sweetheart Ranch.”

Definitely a warning, Ryan decided. He wasn’t mad. If he had a vested interest in both the ranch and the O’Malley family, like Owen did, he’d be sure the new employee knew the score.

“I appreciate the job,” Ryan said, “and I fully plan to give the O’Malleys my best while I’m here.”

“Thinking of leaving soon?”

Too late, Ryan realized his mistake. “Are you kidding? That money pit I bought is going to keep me in Mustang Valley for a while.”

“You’ve taken on a big project,” Owen agreed. “You doing all the work yourself?”

“As much as I can. The house and outbuildings have good bones, sound electrical and decent plumbing. I know it looks bad but fortunately most of the work is cosmetic. Patch the drywall, a fresh coat of paint, repair the fencing and replace the rotted floorboards on the front porch, and you won’t recognize the place.”

He then asked Owen about leading the trail rides on Wednesday.

“Wish I could, but I’ve got no one to cover for me at the store.”

“It’s okay.” Ryan would think of something.

Hearing Molly call his name from the front porch, Owen rose. “Seems I’m needed. If you’ll excuse me.” He left, reminding the more inquisitive of the two little girls to stay away from the fire.

Ryan got up as well and sought out Bridget to see if she’d changed her mind about requiring his help. The guests were mingling, and he caught bits and pieces of conversations. Most were the couples comparing notes on their weddings and honeymoon stay at the ranch.

A folding table with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth had been set up not far from the picnic table. Emily and an older gentleman who hadn’t been on the hayride were arranging paper plates, plasticware and trays of food. Ryan pegged the man as Emily’s new husband from the way he leaned in close to when she talked.

He came up behind Bridget. She’d returned to the fire pit and was poking the glowing embers with a metal rod.

“There you are,” she said, as if expecting him. “Can you please check on the coffee? The urn is in the kitchen. If it’s done, the light on the front will be green. Pour the coffee into the thermos and bring it out here.”

“Can do.”

When Ryan returned with the thermos, Bridget was delivering platters of steaks and shrimp to the table. He set down the thermos where she indicated.

“Dinner’s served,” she called and promptly cleared out of the way. The table was instantly mobbed by hungry guests. “Get yourself some dinner,” she told Ryan.

“I will when the rush dies down.” He nodded at the generous spread. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

“I generally wait until later.”

“You’ve been going hard all day. You deserve a break.”

“Today’s especially busy with the cookout. I actually have some time off tomorrow.” Her eyes never veered from the guests, her tense posture indicating she was ready to spring into action if necessary.

What, he wondered, would she be like relaxed and unhurried? He suddenly wanted to know.

“Big Jim’s busy with his wife this week and can’t lead the trail rides. I asked Owen if he could take me, but he’s working.” He flashed what he hoped was an enticing smile. “Any possibility you can go with me? I’d hate to get lost in those mountains.”

“I...” She hesitated.

“Come on. I promise I’m good company.”

She glanced away. “That’s what worries me.”

He laughed, liking her honest admission.

“Ryan.” She turned back to him. “I don’t think—”

Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek filled the air, cutting off Bridget’s reply. Ryan whirled and saw that one of the girls had fallen against the low block wall surrounding the fire pit, likely pushed there by her sister. A wildly flung arm had hit the grill, knocking it askew.

Ryan didn’t think. He dove for the fire pit, his hands already outstretched. Bridget was right behind him.

He grabbed the little girl by the waist and hauled her to safety. Fear and possibly pain contorted her cherub face and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Mommy!” Her scream filled Ryan’s ears. “Mommy!”

“I’m right here, baby.” The distraught woman shouldered between two people. “Oh, my gosh. Are you okay?”

Ryan passed the little girl to her mother. “Had yourself a scare, did you? But you’re safe now, and you have a good story to tell your friends.”

“Thank you so much.” The mother immediately began inspecting her daughter for injuries and found nothing worse than a small red mark on the inside of her wrist. With a kiss to the spot and some cooing, the girl’s sobs quieted. “This was my fault. I should have been watching her.”

Bridget reached out and stroked the little girl’s hair. “How about a pink lemonade? If your mom says yes.”

The girl nodded.

Her sister beamed a smile at Bridget. “Me, too, please.”

“After you apologize to your sister,” the mother admonished. She took hold of both girls’ hands. “No more playing near the fire, you hear me?”

Emily came over after the mother and girls left. “I see the crisis was averted. Good job, Ryan.”

“Just glad I was there.”

Dinner resumed. By then, Ryan was ready to eat. He paused while helping himself to both steak and shrimp, and listened to Emily and Bridget’s conversation a few feet away, their backs to him.

“Why can’t you show him the trails?” Emily asked.

“Grandma...”

“Bridget, he needs a guide. You’re the only one available.”

They walked away, their voices too low for Ryan to catch more than a random word. Halfway through his meal, Bridget approached. His fork came to a stop midway to his mouth.

“I changed my mind,” she said. “I’ll go riding with you tomorrow. Meet me at ten sharp.”

* * *

BRIDGET WENT ON foot to the stables rather than take the golf cart. She figured she could use the few extra minutes before meeting Ryan to clear her head.

She wasn’t exactly regretting her decision to go riding with him. Grandma Em was right: he did need to learn the surrounding area before the ranch’s first official trail ride tomorrow, and she was the only person available.

Okay, not entirely true. Grandma Em could show him, but with her bad hip she didn’t ride much these days. And Molly was occupied with a last-minute midweek wedding tonight, making her unavailable. The couple was requiring very little from Bridget. They’d met at a weight-loss center and were providing their own low-cal cake and refreshments. They were, however, making innumerable requests that Molly and Grandma Em were scrambling to accommodate.

Fortunately, the wedding was a small one. Twenty-five guests, give or take. Though the ranch could accommodate considerably more, their average number hovered in the thirty to forty range. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, smaller, more intimate weddings were very popular. Especially when the couple could then stay at a Western-themed bed-and-breakfast.

Friday was a different story. That wedding would be Bridget’s first attempt at providing light catering. She wasn’t nervous. Or so she told herself. She was well prepared and experienced, having practiced the dishes multiple times.

Last week, the bride, her groom and her mother had visited the ranch in order to taste-test a variety of menu options. They’d chosen mini sliders, fried mac-and-cheese lollipops and fruit kebabs. The fried mac-and-cheese lollipops were something new for Bridget and a little tricky to prepare. They were also delicious and an entertaining novelty.

After her ride with Ryan, she was making a trip to the giant membership box store for everything she needed. Other than the fruit, of course, which she’d buy fresh on Friday morning at the farmers’ market.

All was going as planned. Every list had been checked and double-checked and every detail scrutinized. No cause to worry, she assured herself.

Ryan’s pickup truck came into view as she crested the small rise. She recognized it from yesterday. Hooked to the rear of the truck was an equally road-weary trailer with two unfamiliar horses tied to the side. His, she presumed.

The large bald-faced paint was saddled and bridled. A smaller bay mare wore only a halter and carried a canvas pack saddle, which had empty pouches hanging from each side of the wooden frame. The three mounts belonging to the ranch were tethered to the hitching post outside the stables. All were saddled but only one was bridled. The remaining two wore halters.

Ryan had yet to see Bridget. As she approached, he untied one of the ranch horses and walked it over to the small mare wearing the pack saddle. Bridget watched as he expertly tied the ranch horse’s lead rope to a metal ring on the side of the pack saddle. Both horses stood quietly as if this was old hat to them, tails swishing in matching rhythm to chase away pesky flies.

Curious what he was up to, Bridget asked, “Who else is coming with us?”

He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression lighting up. “No one. Just you and me.”

“Why so many horses?”

“I figured they could use some exercise and a little practice.” He gestured toward the palomino standing at the hitching rail alongside her stablemate. “She’s for you, unless you want a different horse. I guessed at which saddle was yours.”

He was correct on both counts. The palomino was her preferred mount and the saddle hers.

“Did my initials burned into the pommel give it away?”

“They might have.” He chuckled, a warm, appealing sound.

She went over to the horse and inspected the job he’d done. Cinch tight. Stirrups the right length. She usually used a different bridle but this one would suffice for today.

“Her name is Goldie.” Bridget finger-combed the horse’s tangled forelock into a semblance of order. “Not very original, I know. She’s a sweetie, though.”

“You have a farrier?” Ryan went about tying a third horse to the second one, forming a long line.

“He’s due next Monday.”

“You might want to call him. Goldie’s lost a shoe. Right front.”

Bridget glanced down, dismayed to see the shoe was indeed missing. “There’s a hoof boot in the stables. I’ll get it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I haven’t had a chance yet to look around.”

Bridget entered the stables and located the hoof boot in a storage cabinet. Back outside, she slipped the rubber boot onto Goldie’s unshod hoof and adjusted the different buckles and straps to ensure a snug fit. It was strictly a temporary measure—the boot would protect the vulnerable underside of Goldie’s hoof from the hard, rocky ground until the farrier arrived.

Before long, she and Ryan were on their way. Bridget went ahead, because she knew the trails and Ryan was ponying three horses behind him—his mare and the ranch’s two geldings.

Their small parade must have made quite a sight as they left the ranch behind. At the gate, Bridget leaned down and opened the latch one-handed. Once Ryan and the rest of the horses went through, she pushed the gate closed and secured the latch in much the same manner.

“Nicely done,” Ryan commented.

“A hangover from years of competing in trail classes.”

“But can you jump a ditch and cross a bridge?”

“Please.” She pretended to be insulted. “Piece of cake.”

“A woman of many talents.”

Maybe so, but no way could she have managed four horses at the same time. Ryan continued to impress her and she couldn’t help asking him about his expertise. “Where’d you learn to lead a pack string? Surely not on your family’s farm.”

He grinned again. Maybe she’d impressed him a little by knowing what a pack string was.

“I worked for an outfitter in the Colorado Rockies shortly after high school. One of the best years of my life. Also one of the hardest. We took groups of people on three-, seven- or ten-day trips and were in the saddle from sunup to sundown. A lot of packing and rough terrain and a lot of scary situations. The wranglers were required to carry knives in case we had to cut a horse loose when they fell and got tangled in their gear.”

“Any of the people ever fall?”

“Oh, yeah. Once, a woman had to be airlifted out by helicopter when she went down the side of a cliff and broke both her legs.”

“Did her horse throw her?”

Ryan shook his head. “She was taking pictures and didn’t watch where she was going.”

They quickly reached the trailhead, which was clearly identified by the marker attached to a post.

“This is the easiest trail to start with,” Bridget said. “A nice hour-long ride with easy hills. I can show you more trails another day.”

“A second outing.” He’d donned sunglasses, which hid the spark she knew must be dancing in his blue eyes. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Show you on a map,” she clarified. “Competent as you are, I’m sure you’ll be able to explore on your own.”

“You think I’m competent?”

“Is that what I said? I meant egotistical.” She ignored him for a full five minutes before finally breaking the silence. “A farm in Texas. An outfitter in Colorado. Team penning somewhere in there. How did you wind up in Arizona and buying the Chandler place?”

“There wasn’t much to keep me in Texas. Two of my sisters still lived at home while they were going to college. My folks were also helping to raise my brother’s three kids. Tough situation there—his wife left him. I figured one less person to feed and clothe would be a lot easier for everyone.”

“I can’t imagine being brave enough to strike out on my own at eighteen.”

“I won’t lie, it wasn’t always easy. I learned a lot along the way. Met a bunch of nice folks and made some good friends. I scraped together what money I could when I could. Tried a few things that paid off, like team penning.”

“How’d you come to buy the Chandler place, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I passed through Mustang Valley last winter while delivering horses for a buddy of mine.”

“Really?”

“I saw the property and thought it had a lot of potential so I called the real-estate agent. The seller was willing to lower his price and, as the saying goes, the rest is history.”

Bridget couldn’t help feeling there were large chunks missing from Ryan’s story. The Chandler place may be run-down, but he hadn’t gotten it for free. His salary from Sweetheart Ranch couldn’t possibly cover the monthly mortgage payments and pay for expensive renovations. Not to mention annual taxes and insurance.

What little Ryan had revealed about himself, however, was telling. The man didn’t stay in one place long and went from job to job. Perhaps that had changed, seeing as he was now a homeowner. More than likely, he craved adventure and excitement and would soon grow bored with a small, quiet town like Mustang Valley.

“Why did you agree to go riding with me today? Was it because your grandmother twisted your arm?”

His question roused Bridget from her musings. She glanced briefly over her shoulder at him, debating if she should answer honestly or not. She decided on the former.

“Partly, yes. I did have the most free time today and am the logical person.”

“Tell me about the other part.”

“If I said I feel it’s my duty to get to know employees better, would you buy that?”

“I would if you dropped the it’s-your-duty part.”

Bridget held back a laugh. He was what Grandma Em would call a smooth talker. “I liked how you were with that little girl last night at the campfire. She was scared, and you were gentle with her and reassuring. I’m curious how a single man gets to be good with children.”

“So much for me thinking I’d impressed you with my manly wagon-driving skills.”

He had impressed her. In Bridget’s opinion, it took a real man to be comfortable and relaxed with children, though she didn’t admit that to Ryan. For all his outward charm and good-old-boy mannerisms, she suspected there was a lot of depth to him. A peek at that depth was why she’d ultimately agreed to show him the trails.

“Most guys I know without kids don’t have the first clue what to say to a distraught two-year-old.” She could feel his smile without having to look.

“I’m the youngest of eight, remember? I have a lot of nieces and nephews and have done my share of babysitting.”

That, or he was a natural. An intriguing idea, considering his roving lifestyle.

They spent the next hour talking mostly about his job duties at the ranch, with Ryan quizzing her on the daily routine and what to expect. Eventually, they moved to the subject of town. He was very familiar with the small market, as he did most of his shopping there. The auto-parts store was a regular stop—his truck was in constant need of replacement parts. He liked the specials at the Cowboy Up Café, but the hardware store left a lot to be desired. He bought the majority of his building supplies in north Scottsdale at the home-improvement store.

Again, she pondered where he got his money.

“I can unsaddle and put the horses away,” he said when they reached the stables. “You’ve got things to do.”

Bridget found she wasn’t quite ready to leave. “You sure? I don’t mind staying.”

“Go on.” He swung down from the saddle and tied his horses to the trailer before leading the other two to the hitching post.

She marveled at how they docilely followed Ryan, one after the other. It had been like that on the trail. Not a single hiccup or moment of panic the entire time. She couldn’t imagine riding a horse while leading three others. They’d likely start bucking and kicking, and Ryan would have to cut them loose, like when he’d worked for the outfitter.

“He’s not Superman,” she mumbled under her breath.

“What’s that?”

“Oh!” She hadn’t heard him come up behind her and gave a quick jerk. Composing herself, she said, “You’re, um, going to do just fine leading the trail rides.”

“Bridget.”

He was suddenly close. Very close. He’d removed his sunglasses and his cowboy hat, and she could see the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Smell the brisk scent of sunshine and outdoors on him.

Alarm bells started clanging inside her head. “Ryan, I—”

“How ’bout you and I have dinner soon? There has to be an evening we’re both free.”

He was asking her on a date. Expected, she thought, and yet unexpected.

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Is there a rule against employees dating? Because your grandmother eloped with your staff minister.”

“No, there’s no rule. That’s not the reason.”

“Another man? The doctor at the clinic?”

He had heard Bridget discussing Dr. Hall with her grandmother. “No.” Not yet, she silently added.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t think we have the same objectives when it comes to relationships.”

“It’s just dinner.” Ryan’s voice had dropped to a husky level that made concentrating hard.

“And therein lies the problem.” Drawing on her willpower, she straightened. “I’m not interested in just dinner or hanging out or friends with benefits. I’m looking for a guy who’s ready now to commit to me and to having a family and who’s content making Mustang Valley his home. I don’t believe that describes you.”

“I understand.” He shrugged, seemingly unfazed by her rejection. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

With that, he returned to the horses, leaving Bridget in a state of mild shock and annoyed rather than relieved.

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