Читать книгу: «The Cowboy's Perfect Match»

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.