Cathy Mcdavid - The Cowboy's Perfect Match

“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.