The Cowboy's Perfect Match Page 23

  Was she really wrong to want to find the love of her life? A man like her late father?

  Too late now—she and Ryan were over.

  Bridget went momentarily still. He wasn’t the love of her life, was he?

  “Hey, sis, did you get that?”

  She startled at Molly’s question. “What did you say?”

  “We were talking about that silver-framed wall mirror Homer has. The one belonging to his mother.”

  “It’s just sitting in the back of a closet,” Grandma Em said. “I’m going to ask him if we can hang it in here for the boutique. It’ll make a nice mirror for customers to try on hair ornaments or jewelry. I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

  “Okay.” Bridget made a note in her tablet.

  “Did you hear what we said about painting the walls versus new wallpaper?”

  “Nope. Missed that.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Molly stared at Bridget, her mouth turned down at the corners. “You’ve been off on another planet all day. For weeks, actually.”

  Bridget produced a wan smile. “We’re busy. I have a lot on my plate. No catering pun intended.”

  “You aren’t still moping about Ryan.”

  “Leave her alone,” Grandma Em chided, as if Molly was still a child and the sisters were squabbling.

  “Sorry.” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “It’s just that what happened with you two is all your fault. Which frustrates me to no end.”

  “Frustrates you?” Bridget scoffed. “Typical Molly. Always making everything about her.”

  “Enough!” Grandma Em leveled a finger at them both. “This is a place of business. You will behave.”

  They both promptly shut up.

  “Things change,” Molly said a minute later while they were measuring the bookcase shelves. “You shouldn’t give up hope of getting back with Ryan.”

  “I’m not,” Bridget answered.

  “Good.”

  “I’m not hoping.” She let her arms fall to her sides, the tablet clutched in her hand. “He was perfectly clear, and the door wasn’t left open.”

  Bridget was still grappling with that fact. She was the one with the long list of dating requirements—anyone would expect ending a relationship with a person lacking sufficient prospects to be her choice. Yet, it had been Ryan’s.

  Molly came over and patted Bridget’s back. “You’re mad he didn’t fight harder for you. For what you two could have.”

  She didn’t like that her sister was right.

  “I have no one to be mad at but myself,” she admitted. “I was too picky. My standards too high.” She sighed. “I’m been thinking of lowering them.”

  “Don’t. I’m serious,” Molly insisted when Bridget sent her an arch look. “Lowering your standards isn’t the answer and, in the end, you’d just be unhappy. What you need to do is revise them.”

  Her sister’s statement intrigued Bridget, but before she could respond the bell over the front door jangled, announcing a visitor.

  Molly turned around. “Are we expecting anyone?”

  “No.” Grandma Em set down the tape measure and swiped her hands together. “I’ll go see who it is. You two straighten up in here.”

  While she was gone, Bridget and Molly pushed the furniture they’d previously moved around back into place. The sound of Grandma Em and a man talking carried from the parlor. Bridget didn’t give it much thought, assuming a delivery had arrived. With all the June weddings, they were receiving packages on a daily basis.

  Grandma Em returned and poked her head into the library. “Bridget, do you have a few minutes?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Dr. Hall is here. His sister has requested some catering menu changes, and asked him to stop by.”

  “Of course.”

  Bridget followed her grandmother to the parlor, where Gregory waited. Upon seeing him, she realized something significant. At least, she thought it was significant. He stirred absolutely no response in her whatsoever. Neither excitement at seeing him, nor regret or even embarrassment. He was just another customer.

  “Hi, how are you doing?” she greeted him.

  “Great.” He offered her a big smile. “Nice to see you again.”

  The three of them exchanged a few pleasantries. Celeste’s name wasn’t mentioned. After that, they got down to business. Gregory’s sister had returned to Vermont earlier in the month and her wedding there was taking place this coming weekend. Her second wedding at Sweetheart Ranch was in mid-June.

  Gregory pulled a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and put it on the table, then dialed his sister. The four of them, his sister on speakerphone, handled each item on the paper.

  Eventually, everything was resolved to the bride’s satisfaction. Gregory disconnected the call and thanked Bridget and her grandmother for their help.

  “Delighted to oblige,” Grandma Em said. “Looking forward to the wedding.”

  “Bridget, are you by chance free to talk?” he asked.

  “Um...” His request took her by surprise. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Is on the veranda okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  After exchanging glances with her grandmother, she accompanied Gregory outside. They stood by the railing in the shade. She couldn’t help recalling the last time they’d been out here, when she’d awkwardly flirted in a desperate attempt to get his attention. What a fool she’d been.

  When he shifted uncomfortably, she asked, “Is something the matter?”

  “No.” He laughed. Nervously, Bridget noted. That wasn’t like him. “I was wondering if you might like to have dinner with me Saturday evening.”

  “Dinner?” Not at all what she’d been anticipating.

  “I thought we could drive into Fountain Hills and try that new French restaurant.”

  She’d been dying to go there; the sous-chef was a former classmate of hers from Le Cordon Bleu. She opened her mouth to accept Gregory’s invitation, only that wasn’t what came out.

  “Thank you. I’m flattered. But I can’t.”

  “Why not? Are you seeing someone?”

  “I... No. It’s not that.”

  “I see. My mistake,” he added contritely. “I thought you...liked me.”

  “I do. You’re a terrific guy. And I clearly gave you the wrong impression, which is entirely my fault. I can’t apologize enough and hope there are no hard feelings.”

  Bridget’s insane plan had come back to bite her in the butt.

  “None at all,” he assured her, giving her a pass when he had every right to be angry. “If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

  With a grin and a mock salute, he jogged down the veranda steps toward the parking area and his BMW. Bridget stood for a moment watching him and thinking he’d forget about her soon enough. The dinner invitation was, in all probability, a response to being dumped by Celeste. He didn’t really like Bridget, not the way she wanted a man to like her.

  Not the way Ryan liked her. Had, she reminded herself. Possibly still did, but was resisting it with every ounce of willpower he possessed.

  She went back inside. Stopping in the parlor first for her tablet, she then headed to the kitchen. Grandma Em was waiting, her foot tapping impatiently.

  “Well, what was that all about?” she demanded.

  “He invited me to dinner.”

  “I hope you had the good sense to tell him no.”

  “I did. Though good sense had nothing to do with it.” Bridget swiped her tablet screen, waking up the device. There was a new scone recipe she was thinking of trying for the continental breakfast tomorrow.

  “You weren’t ever interested in him,” Grandma Em said. “You’d have realized that quickly enough if you two went out.”

  Bridget wasn’t listening
. Instead, she stared at her tablet. As always, the icon for her list of dating nonnegotiables sat in the upper corner. She was reminded of Molly’s statement about revising her standards.

  “What are you thinking of?” Grandma Em asked.

  “About deleting this list.”

  “Which one?”

  “Which one do you think?” With a tap, Bridget highlighted the icon.

  “Are you serious?” Grandma Em came over to peer at the tablet.

  “I was wrong.” The realization wasn’t sudden. Bridget only just now was able to admit it.

  “About what?”

  “I have twelve nonnegotiable requirements.” She turned her head to look at her grandmother. “Twelve. Did you know that?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “I should have one. The only one that matters. And it’s not even on this stupid list.”

  “What’s that?” Grandma Em asked gently.

  “A spark. Chemistry. Instant attraction. Whatever name you want to give it. I want a man who makes my heart sing the first and every time I look at him.”

  “Like Ryan?”

  Bridget nodded solemnly. “Like him.”

  “So, tell him.”

  “What difference would it make? He’d just tell me again he’s overwhelmed with repairs to the house and can’t date.”

  Grandma Em tsked.

  “What?”

  “You said earlier that he gave up too quickly on the two of you. Here you are doing the same.”

  Bridget considered that for a moment. “Maybe.”

  “Oh, honey. You have to stop being afraid. Look at your sister. Look at me. We opened ourselves to possibilities and, low and behold, we found love.”

  She hesitated. Long-held fears didn’t vanish in an instant.

  “You could always drop by his house,” Grandma Em suggested. “Fabricate an excuse. Then, once you’re there, you can test the waters a little. He could be having second thoughts, too, but is afraid to tell you or doesn’t know how.”

  Could he? Bridget wondered. She did sometimes find him gazing at her with regret and yearning in his eyes.

  “I bet he’s hungry. Take him some lunch,” Grandma Em urged.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Giving him food?”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  A chance. Even if Ryan didn’t want a second one with her, Bridget had been stuck in one place long enough.

  “I’ll go. But first, this.”

  She hit the delete button, and her list of dating nonnegotiables disappeared. For good or bad, she felt as if the ropes binding her these many years had suddenly been severed.

  What she did with her newfound emotional freedom was entirely up to her.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  RYAN READJUSTED THE face mask he wore over his mouth and nose. It kept the thick cloud of dust and particles floating in the air from being sucked into his lungs. Barely. The earplugs muffled the sound of the jackhammer demolishing his concrete kitchen floor, reducing the level from eardrum-splitting to migraine headache.

  He was in the master bedroom of his house. Two rooms and a hallway away from the kitchen. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for the man operating the jackhammer and his helper, coping with the dust and the noise. Their face masks must be made of thicker material than Ryan’s and their headphones were probably the kind that airport tarmac workers used to block the noise of jet planes at takeoff.

  He was going to have to get used to it. Demolishing concrete floors was a slow, tedious and meticulous process. But it was the only way to gain access to the faulty water pipes beneath the floors.

  Ryan had retreated to the bedroom after getting home from the ranch a few hours ago. He’d been joined shortly after that by Scott, Nora’s grandson and Gianna’s younger brother. Ryan had hired the college student to help him install the ceiling beams in the living room and master bedroom. He’d been coming back since then to help Ryan with various other manual jobs.

  They were just finishing up the items on today’s agenda. Ryan stood on a stepladder in the middle of the empty master bedroom, applying a final coat of sealer to the beams he’d previously stained and distressed before installing. It was backbreaking work, requiring him to hold a raised paintbrush over his head for long stretches at a time.

  Scott was in the hall bathroom, on his hands and knees, removing the old linoleum with a scraper. He’d done the same in the master bathroom yesterday. It was also backbreaking work, though, in Scott’s case, more like knee-breaking.

  Like the kitchen, the concrete floors in the bathrooms would be demolished with a jackhammer in order to replace the faulty water pipes. There were also large holes in the kitchen, both bathrooms, laundry room and garage walls. Eventually, the pipes there would be replaced.

  When that stage was completed, new concrete would be poured, new flooring installed over the concrete, and the holes in the walls repaired and repainted. Ryan had been thinking of upgrading to ceramic tile in the bathrooms, matching what he’d laid in the living room.

  Extracting a handkerchief from his jeans pocket, he wiped his eyes and his forehead and, lifting the face mask, blew his nose. He swore he had concrete dust clear up into the top of his brain and all the way down his throat to his stomach. At this rate, he’d be smelling and tasting it for four weeks—about how long the plumbing repairs were going to take.

  On the plus side, the commotion drowned out the voice inside his head that kept reminding him of his many mistakes with Bridget and calling him an idiot.

  Unfortunately, it was all too quiet at night when he tried to sleep on the cot in the second bedroom and mostly tossed and turned.

  Seeing her at work, talking with her, remembering what it was like to hold her in his arms and slowly move his lips over hers until she moaned in response—it was all excruciating. Given the choice, he’d rather listen to the jackhammering all day without earplugs.

  What if he’d agreed when she told him she was willing to wait for him? How different might things be? But instead of making his own vow of commitment to her in return, he’d insisted they couldn’t date.

  Ryan’s determination not to end up like his parents, existing hand-to-mouth and struggling to support a large family, was definitely succeeding. It was succeeding so well, he’d likely end up alone for the rest of his life. He certainly wasn’t going to have a future with Bridget.

  Pride. Misplaced pride at that. He had too much of it. And fear of failure. Emily had been right on that point. Painfully right. If he could just muster the courage to tell Bridget how wrong he’d been, they might have a chance of reconciling.

  Except she wasn’t interested in getting back together with him. He’d hurt her too badly. Reiterated repeatedly that he wasn’t ready for marriage and a family. She wouldn’t believe him now if he went to her and begged. Moreover, he wouldn’t blame her.

  Ryan lowered his arms, rolled his aching shoulders and tipped his head from side to side. His stiff joints barely loosened. What he’d give to quit for the day. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  He’d practically cheered when Cheryl-Anne called earlier and informed him the buyer was still interested, once the plumbing overhaul was completed, the floors fully restored and the holes in the walls repaired. She’d also said if the man did buy the house, he’d complete the remaining renovations with his own construction crew. Ryan could simply walk away.

  Best of all, the price Ryan quoted the buyer had been well-received. No new formal offer had been made yet. The buyer had said they’d move to the next step when the plumbing was done to his satisfaction. A reasonable request in Ryan’s opinion.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. A sale in the near future appeared promising. Even likely.

  Nothing could please him more. Well, short of going back in time and telling Bridge
t that he was crazy about her and would do whatever it took for them to be together.

  Also lifting his spirits was the possibility of repaying Emily the money she’d invested along with about a six-percent return. Not a fortune. Also not bad for the current economy and in what would amount to roughly three months’ time. Emily could do a lot worse.

  Neither would Ryan walk away empty-handed. He’d get his original investment, the cost of the renovations he’d personally funded to date and roughly a two-percent return. He, too, could do a lot worse, considering how close he’d come to losing his you-know-what.

  He had to remind himself this would happen only if all went well. There were plenty of obstacles still ahead. Ryan needed to pay strict attention and work his tail off if he wanted out of this house.

  And did he ever. He couldn’t wait for the day. There were far too many memories haunting him here, good and bad. Taking Bridget on a tour and watching the nuances of her changing expressions. Trimming the rosebushes and selecting the best blooms for her. The hours he’d spent dreaming of this being his last step before buying the mini ranch. The desolation he’d experienced when the pipe broke, and he realized the full extent of the plumbing problems.

  If the sale went through, he’d pack his few possessions and get the heck out. No looking back.

  And do what? Stay in Mustang Valley? Go home to Texas? Look for another property? Take off for parts unknown and get his head together, not to mention heal his wounded heart?

  There was also Emily to consider. Ryan wouldn’t feel right about leaving her and the ranch high and dry after all she’d done for him. He’d have managed the plumbing overhaul by draining his bank account but not been able to sell the house this quickly. He owed her more than a return on her investment, even a decent one.

  Plus, he liked his job at the ranch, the difficulty of seeing Bridget every day aside. It really was a great fit for him in all ways but that one.

  He dipped his paintbrush in the can of sealer and, after scraping off the excess on the side of the can, reached up and applied the sealer to the beam. After this, he’d have to climb down and move the ladder five feet to the next section. And the next. There were two more beams to do after this one.