The Cowboy's Perfect Match Read online

  “And her hair’s red ’cause she ate red peppers.” Grinning, Cody took a big bite of potato salad, only to stop in midswallow. “Will mine turn red?”

  Ryan reached over and patted the boy’s head. “Only works on girls.”

  “Whew!” He shoveled another forkful into his mouth.

  Marisa showed that she was considerably smarter than her brother. At least, she was less gullible. “That’s not true. You made it up.” Turning to Bridget for confirmation, she asked, “Didn’t he?”

  “Well...even if it’s not true, peppers are pretty delicious.”

  “They’re hot.”

  “These are sweet peppers. Try one.”

  “Sweet peppers give little girls curls and make them sweet,” Ryan said. “Everyone knows that.”

  Marisa frowned, but she tried a bite of the potato salad, anyway. After she swallowed, she held out a strand of her hair for inspection in an apparent attempt to detect any curls or change in color.

  Willa was too busy stuffing herself with deviled eggs to contribute to the conversation. Bridget fussed and fretted over her, trying to get the little girl to eat something else. Ryan didn’t suppose one meal of nothing more than deviled eggs would hurt Willa but kept his opinion to himself.

  He reached for another piece of chicken. “This is really good, Bridget. Hats off to the chef.”

  He felt Cody’s stare on him. “What’s up, pal?”

  “You didn’t take your hat off.”

  “Got me there.” Ryan tsked, removed his hat and set it on the seat beside him.

  Copying him, Willa tugged off her cap and dropped it in her lap. She then reached out with her chubby hand and snatched a chicken leg from the platter.

  Bridget scrunched her pretty mouth in consternation. “Huh.”

  “Kids are funny,” Ryan said between bites. “You push, they push back.”

  “I think a lot of adults are like that, too.”

  Was she referring to him? He could dig his heels in when inclined.

  “You learn about children from your nieces and nephews?” she asked.

  “I do have a lot of them. Sixteen at last count.”

  “All in Texas?”

  “Most. My oldest brother and his family live in Louisiana. I have a sister who teaches elementary school in Ohio. Other than that, the rest are still fairly close to the folks. No more than a couple hours away.”

  “Didn’t you say one of your sisters and her children live with your parents?”

  “Off them is more like it.” Ryan softened his tone. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. Her ex is a real piece of work.”

  “Would she and her children come to Arizona if your parents move here?”

  “I doubt it. The terms of the divorce don’t allow either of them to relocate the kids out of Texas without the other’s consent. Her ex won’t give it.” Ryan finished the last of his chicken. “That wouldn’t be a bad thing, her staying. She needs to stand on her own two feet.”

  “Would your parents leave her and the rest of your family? You mentioned a lot of nieces and nephews.”

  “That’s a good question, and I don’t have the answer. I’d like them to spend at least some of the year here. Like the winters.”

  “I’m giving this to Popeye.” Cody bent down and retrieved the roll he’d dropped on the ground. “It’s dirty.”

  “Ponies don’t eat rolls,” Bridget said.

  “He likes crackers.”

  Ryan helped the boy scramble out of his seat. “We had a mule when I was growing up that ate bananas.”

  They all laughed when Popeye bobbed his head comically as he first mouthed and then spit out the roll.

  Cody ran back to the table and shouted, “Gross!”

  The remainder of the meal progressed comfortably. Ryan enjoyed interacting with Owen’s kids. They were cute and precocious. Any disappointment he’d experienced at not being alone with Bridget had quickly faded. He enjoyed seeing her with the kids and found amusement in her failed attempts to supervise them. Not that Ryan was an expert. His laissez-faire approach annoyed his siblings, too, when he babysat their broods.

  “Will you take us on a wagon ride?” Cody asked after Ryan had explained in simple terms just what he did at the ranch for Grandma Em, as they called her.

  “If you’re here for the next one and your dad says it’s okay.”

  “Dad let me drive the carriage once.”

  “How ’bout that? Pretty exciting.”

  Finally overcoming their shyness, the girls joined in the conversation. Marisa told Ryan about their pet cat that lived in her father’s feed store. Willa, who still didn’t talk a whole lot, giggled along with her siblings at Ryan’s teasing and jokes.

  “Bridget, can we go back to our ditch?” Cody asked the second they were finished with dessert.

  Key lime pie. It was incredible.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said. “It’s starting to get dark.”

  Her response was met with a trio of loud groans. Willa dropped her head onto the table in exaggerated disappointment.

  “Why don’t I take you and your sisters for a ride on Popeye?” Ryan suggested. “Bridget can come, too.”

  Cody objected. “She’s too big to ride a pony.”

  “I’ll walk,” she assured him.

  Ryan placed all three children on the pony, Cody in front and in charge of the reins, Marisa in the back and little Willa stuffed in the middle. Once everyone was settled, they started out.

  “Are you sure they’re okay?” Bridget asked Ryan, eyeing the pony and children worriedly.

  “Popeye’s short. They don’t have far to fall. And the grass is soft.”

  She gawked at him in disbelief. “That’s your safety plan?”

  “Let’s see how they do before getting all worked up.”

  “Men! You seem to think children are replaceable.”

  “They aren’t?”

  “Very funny,” she scolded. “If anything happens to these three, Owen will never forgive me.”

  All of Bridget’s concerns came to naught. The kids behaved, no pushing or shoving, and Popeye’s speed was no faster than a slow trot, no matter how much Cody nudged him in the sides. After five minutes, Willa wanted down, leaving Cody and Marisa to ride double.

  Bridget carried the little girl and before long she laid her head on Bridget’s shoulder. If not asleep, she was almost there. Bridget and Ryan’s conversation appeared to lull her rather than disturb her.

  Ryan had a hard time taking his eyes off the pair. It was easy to see why Bridget wanted to marry and have a family. She was a natural with Willa, and her enjoyment of the children’s antics shone in her face like a burst of sunshine.

  He found himself thinking it was a shame they couldn’t have met two years from now, when he’d be more ready for that marriage and family she so very much wanted, only to change his mind. He may not be the right guy for Bridget, but he wouldn’t trade knowing her now for anything. Even with the disappointing reality that friendship was all there’d ever be between them.

  “Have you had any more trouble with vandals?” she asked.

  “Nope. I think the increase in activity is keeping them away. I’m having insulation for the attic delivered tomorrow morning and a dozen pine four-by-four beams in the afternoon.”

  “What are those for?”

  “The living room and the master bedroom. I want to distress them first before installing them in the ceilings.”

  “That should look amazing. Give the rooms real dimension.”

  He nodded. “I agree.”

  “Hard work, too.”

  “I’ll need to hire help. Installing beams is a two-man job.”

  “You have anyone in mind?”

  “Nora has a grandson. He’s going to
community college and works construction during the summers. I can probably afford him.”

  “Scott.” Bridget nodded. “I know him. He should do all right.”

  “Nora has yet to steer anyone wrong with her recommendations.”

  “You’re saying that only because she recommended you for the wrangler job.”

  “You have to admit, she has an eye for talent.”

  Bridget huffed. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Comes from being the baby of the family. I’m also a little spoiled.”

  “I don’t think that.”

  He was tempted to ask her exactly what she thought of him, but didn’t.

  They walked for several more moments, enjoying the mild breeze. After a while, he asked, “How did you get into cooking? I know you went to that fancy school in Scottsdale—Emily told me. And I also know your other grandmother influenced you, the pickled-asparagus champion. But why become a chef?”

  “I’ve always like to cook.” She stroked Willa’s soft curls as she talked, her gaze drifting. “I also used to like to eat. A lot. I guess you could have called me chubby.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Nearly impossible. Her figure, while curvy in all the right places, was trim.

  “I have the pictures to prove it. A therapist might say I ate my feelings after my dad died.” Her smile dimmed. “My weight spiraled. I gained twenty pounds that first year. And then another twenty pounds. Being a teenager, I was naturally self-conscious. My classmates weren’t kind, and I became a target for their teasing. I hated my senior year.”

  Ryan heard the pain she must have endured in her sandpaper voice. He imagined a younger version of her, grieving over her father’s sudden and tragic death, and being mercilessly teased by her classmates. He not only felt for her, but he also admired her courage in overcoming the bullying incidents and not letting them define her.

  “After I graduated,” she continued, “and during my gap year, I started making better food choices. And because I liked to eat, I began experimenting with healthier recipes that were also delicious. Eventually, my enjoyment of cooking developed into a passion. It was Grandma Em’s idea that I go to cooking school.”

  “Well, this may be chauvinistic of me to say, but you look fantastic.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted his compliment with grace. “Along the way, I dropped weight. Being on my feet all day helps. I suppose it’s kind of ironic that my specialty is pastries.”

  “I have to say, I admire your dedication.”

  “Funny.” Her smile returned. “I’ve said the same thing about you.”

  “Really?” He made a derisive sound. “Out loud?”

  “Yes, out loud. You work hard. You’re dedicated. You have a goal in sight.”

  “You do, too. Your grandmother told me about you wanting to expand the catering side of the business.”

  Bridget glanced over at Cody and Marisa, who continued to plod along on Popeye. With diminishing interest from his riders, the pony frequently stopped to lower his head and sample some grass. Neither Ryan nor Bridget bothered to stop him.

  “I enjoy creating, and not just with food,” she said.

  “I get it. I like to think taking a house from a falling-down shack to completely renovated is a kind of creativity.”

  “Absolutely. My late grandfather, Grandma Em’s first husband, used to build furniture. He made the buffet in the parlor and the bookshelves in the library.”

  “Another way we’re alike.”

  “You and my grandfather?” she asked.

  “You and me.”

  “Hmm.” She studied him. “You think we’re alike?”

  What he wanted to tell her was that after kissing her last weekend, they were so much alike it scared him. No two people could set off that many sparks without being completely in-sync.

  Instincts told him he wasn’t alone with his feelings, though she was probably going to resist more than him. Bridget was like that, pragmatic to a fault. And Ryan didn’t fit her ideal version of a long-term prospect.

  Taking the long way, they returned to the picnic table and she lowered Willa to the ground. The little girl whimpered at being awakened, then came fully alert when Ryan helped her brother and sister down from the pony. Playtime was resuming.

  “Stay close,” Bridget warned them.

  Ryan helped her pack the leftovers and dispose of the trash. During the process, their hands and fingers frequently brushed. More than once, their gazes connected and held. He wished, like him, she was inclined to take this incredible attraction between them a step further. But she wasn’t.

  “Thanks again for dinner.” He zipped closed the soft-sided cooler. “It was delicious. Maybe we could...” He let her infer the rest, which she did.

  “If you’re suggesting we do this again sometime, let me stop you there.”

  So her thoughts had been going in the same direction as his. Or was that the opposite direction?

  “A guy can dream.”

  “I’m sorry if kissing you the other night gave you the wrong idea.”

  “Oh, please don’t apologize. You’ll spoil the memory.”

  “Are you ever serious?”

  He sidled over to her and dipped his head, bringing his mouth perilously close to hers. “I can be very serious when the moment calls for it.”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “Please go away?” Throwing all caution to the wind, he skimmed his lips over hers. The brief contact was electric. “Or, please kiss you?”

  She hesitated, and he felt her resolve weakening.

  “At least tell me you’re tempted,” he said, stealing another quick taste of her.

  “I am. Very much.”

  That was all he needed to hear. Ryan’s arm went around her waist, circling it and drawing her hard against him.

  “You drive me crazy,” he said against the soft skin of her cheek.

  “That’s not my intention.” Her breath quickened.

  So did Ryan’s. “Don’t stop. I like it.”

  Before he could kiss her until they were both wild with wanting, they were interrupted.

  “Daddy’s here,” Cody hollered.

  As if poked with a live wire, Bridget sprang away from him, retreating from the dangerous ground they’d treaded on for a second time.

  Ryan nonchalantly turned, giving Owen and Molly a friendly wave. “Howdy, folks.”

  Beside him, Bridget began fussing with the already organized ice chests. Ryan wasn’t worried. What could Owen and Molly possibly have seen? Nothing more than Ryan “this close” to covering Bridget’s lips with his. Oh, and the roses in the paper cup. Let them draw their own conclusion.

  The kids rushed to greet their dad and his girlfriend, as Cody had called Molly. Hugs and kisses were exchanged.

  “Thanks again for babysitting,” Owen said when they were within conversing distance.

  “How was the meeting?” Bridget asked, her voice a little too high and thin.

  “Good. Informative,” Owen said at the same time Molly answered, “Long and tedious.”

  “You hungry?” Bridget pointed to the coolers. “There’s plenty.”

  “No, thanks.” Molly began corralling the kids while Owen retrieved Popeye. “We ate before the meeting.”

  Ryan slung the strap of one cooler over his shoulder and was just reaching for the second one when Molly startled him with an unexpected question.

  “Will we see you at Gianna’s engagement party on Saturday?”

  “Um... I wasn’t planning on going.” He hadn’t been invited.

  “Please come. You’re more than welcome.”

  “I don’t know Gianna.”

  “But you’re Nora’s neighbor and friend. I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

  He
glanced at Bridget, whose eyes were downcast as she swept crumbs off the table with a paper napkin. Avoiding him? He thought yes.

  “I’ll think about it,” he answered. “Thanks for the invite.”

  “And feel free to bring a plus-one,” Molly added with a mischievous smile. “If you want.”

  Bridget’s head snapped up, and she divided her stare between her sister and Ryan.

  He grinned. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction from her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RYAN WENT AROUND the back of his truck to the passenger side, where he opened the door. Tonight, for Gianna’s engagement party, he’d parked in the designated area by the ranch house rather than the stables. He wouldn’t have minded walking, but he didn’t want to cause his date needless difficulty traversing the uneven dirt road in her fancy dress shoes.

  His original intention had been to ignore Molly’s offer for him to bring a plus-one. Then, an opportunity presented itself, and Ryan took advantage.

  “You look nice tonight,” he said, taking his date’s elbow and assisting her from the truck. “That’s a very pretty dress.”

  “I suppose I should say ‘what, this old thing?’” She dismissed him with a wave.

  He could tell from her broad smile that she was genuinely touched by his compliment.

  Accepting the arm he offered, they strolled past vehicles belonging to earlier arrivals.

  “The house looks nice,” Ryan commented as they neared.

  “Indeed it does.”

  He’d seen the effort the O’Malleys and Gianna’s family had put into preparing for the party during these last two days and had pitched in to help when asked. In addition to yard work, when he wasn’t giving trail or carriage rides, Ryan had carted various loads from here to there and gone on two runs to town for supplies. The end result of the intensive labor was even more impressive in the dark of evening.

  Multicolored lanterns had been strung along the eaves and emitted a welcoming rainbow glow. Gold and silver pinwheels, resembling those children played with, were stuck in the potted plants lining the walkway and spun gaily, propelled by the gentle breeze. Voices peppered with laughter and soft music carried from inside the brightly lit house.