The Cowboy's Perfect Match Read online

  Closing the dishwasher door, she straightened and steeled her resolve. “I invited Doc—Gregory to the hayride on Saturday. He and his children. I ran into him at the clinic when I took Ryan.”

  “You did?” Grandma Em considered this. “Are they coming?”

  “He’s going to let me know.”

  “Hmm. Are you telling me he didn’t jump at your invitation?”

  “He said it sounded like fun.”

  “But he didn’t commit.”

  “He was at work. He probably had to check his calendar or confirm with his ex-wife if the children are free.”

  “Ah...”

  Bridget disliked the myriad innuendos her grandmother had infused in that single syllable. They too strongly resembled the feelings she’d had when she and Ryan left the clinic. Gregory hadn’t appeared especially excited by her invitation. Quite the contrary. Still, she defended both him and her actions.

  “He was busy and had patients waiting.”

  “Well, if they do come, they’re more than welcome. The hayride is open to the public.” At that moment, Molly called to Grandma Em from the foyer. “Be right along,” she hollered back. But rather than leave, she said to Bridget, “Nora tells me Ryan’s been working day and night on his place and is making amazing progress.”

  Bridget sighed softly, her hope to avoid further discussion of Ryan dashed. “The living room is certainly nice. And he’s done some major cleanup, inside and outside. But it’s a slow process. He’s doing the majority of the work himself. I am, however, impressed with his goals. And his determination.”

  “That’s a plus, yes?”

  “He’s someone to be admired.”

  “I think men who are good with their hands are sexy.”

  “Grandma!”

  “There wasn’t anything your grandfather couldn’t make or fix. A person of many talents.” She winked. “I think Ryan’s the same.”

  “He could be,” Bridget conceded, and then countered, “But I’d say Gregory is also a man of many talents. And as a doctor, he most certainly must be good with his hands.”

  “Are you sure he wants more children? He has two already.”

  Bridget hadn’t thought of that. Rather than be deterred, she said, “I’ll just have to find that out. When we go on our date.”

  “You’re pretty confident.”

  “Why do you keep raining on my parade?” Bridget’s tone was more defensive than she’d intended.

  “I’m not trying to, sweetie. I only hate seeing you hurt. Whether it’s because of the doctor or Ryan or any man you set your sights on. I didn’t get this old without acquiring a little wisdom along the way.” She pressed a hand to her heart. “What counts is in here. Don’t let yourself be dazzled by the outside to the extent you lose sight of the truly important things.”

  At that moment, Molly stuck her head in the kitchen. “Hey, Grandma. I hate to interrupt but I could really use your help. This bride has a ton of requests.”

  “I’m coming.” Grandma Em pushed off the counter and patted Bridget’s cheek before ambling after Molly.

  Bridget went straight to work. She had a long list of tasks ahead of her, including prep work on tomorrow’s breakfast. Picking up her electronic tablet, she created two new files, one titled “Engagement Party” and the other “Bridal Shower.” She purposely ignored the file containing her list of dating nonnegotiables.

  Could her grandmother be right? Was Bridget losing sight of the truly important things? She agreed that Ryan had husband potential for one day down the road.

  She’d rather not wait that long if possible. Correction, her biological clock would rather not wait. Alone in the kitchen, the ticking increased in volume, becoming loud enough to muffle every other sound.

  CHAPTER SIX

  RYAN LISTENED TO the conversation behind him as he tied his horse to the hitching rail and loosened the girth.

  “Thanks so much!” the young woman gushed. “We had a great time.” She threw her arms around Goldie’s neck and hugged the palomino mare as if dreading to be parted from her. “You were a perfect angel,” she cooed in baby talk. “The best horsey in the whole wide world.”

  Goldie tolerated the attention like the experienced pro she was, remaining statue-still and barely blinking. Her mind was no doubt on the thick flake of hay and scoop of cracked corn for dinner coming up as soon as she was returned to her stall. After two lengthy trail rides, she and the other horses were more than deserving.

  Not to be outdone, the young woman’s new husband of two days patted his horse’s neck. “Take ’er easy, Uno.”

  “Glad you both enjoyed yourselves.” Ryan sauntered over to join the couple. Today he’d ridden Redbone, the old gelding that belonged to the ranch, rather than trailering over his own horses.

  “That sunset was incredible,” the man said. “Everything Bridget promised.”

  During the last ten minutes of their ride, the sun had disappeared behind the distant mountaintops, turning a brilliant, shimmering orange in the last few seconds. Dusk was only now falling, blanketing the ranch in soft hues of grey and blue.

  “Incredible sunsets are part of the service,” Ryan joked. “Guaranteed three hundred days a year.”

  His busy day had gotten even busier when another couple requested a last-minute, late afternoon trail ride.

  “Do you need help with—” smiling, the young woman took hold of a stirrup on her saddle and raised it “—this?”

  “Nope, I’ll unsaddle. You two mosey along and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “We will.” The man grinned as he put his arm around his bride and walked her down the road toward the cabins.

  Ryan watched them go, hoping they made a success of their marriage. They looked good together and appeared crazy in love. Then again, his sister and her ex-husband had looked good and appeared in love. Except now she and her kids were back home, living with Mom and Dad, and her ex was involved with a coworker—something that may or may not have been going on before the divorce.

  Yet another reason why Ryan was in no hurry. Marriage was hard, even when two people were committed. Living on a shoestring made it significantly harder. Add kids to the mix right away and the odds of ’til-death-do-us-part were next to impossible.

  Statistics proved his parents were the exception. They hadn’t merely stayed together for the sake of their many offspring—they were truly in love, even to this day.

  Ryan aspired to have the same kind of relationship with his future spouse. The difference between him and his parents was he planned on doing whatever he could before marriage to improve the odds. Like owning a decent home with a low, if not nonexistent, mortgage.

  When it came to dating, he had a totally different outlook. As long as the gal was willing to keep things casual for the indeterminable future, they’d get along fine and could have a lot of fun.

  A shame Bridget was the dating-with-an-agenda type. Sure, he respected her desire to marry and have a family. In his limited experience, that was the goal of many women. The goal of many parents, too. His had been constantly nagging him this past year, as if by turning thirty he was suddenly running short of options. Bridget might be going through something similar with her family and feeling the effects. Especially now that Nora’s granddaughter was engaged, and the O’Malleys were hosting a party.

  Ryan inspected Goldie’s hoof before leading her into the stables. The farrier was arriving tomorrow morning to replace the shoe she’d thrown. Once all three trail horses were in their stalls, he fed them and the pair of Haflingers. Lastly, he secured the stables for the night, pocketing the key Emily had entrusted to him.

  Ambling down the road to where he’d parked his truck, he heard strains of lively music floating on the breeze and stopped in his tracks. Was there an activity in the clubhouse tonight? If so, he’d mis
sed the announcement. Deciding guests must be making merry, he continued toward his truck.

  Glancing one last time at the clubhouse, he noticed people moving about through the lighted windows. One of the people had a slim, attractive figure and a wavy mass of strawberry blond hair.

  Bridget.

  His curiosity roused, Ryan changed direction. At the fork, he veered right and entered the pool area.

  Music poured from the open clubhouse door. Ryan knew the tune well, having been forced to partner many a girl at church events during his middle and high school years. “Turkey in the Straw” was a square-dance standard.

  He paused at the door. Tonight, Emily’s husband, Homer, was doing the calling to recorded music while she and Bridget do-si-doed. The Ping-Pong table and other furniture had been shoved against the wall to create a makeshift dance floor.

  Neither Bridget nor her grandmother were very skilled, but they were having a grand time judging by their frequent and loud laughter. Homer, it turned out, was a passably decent caller.

  When the song ended, Emily doubled over and rested her hands on her knees. “Whew!” she huffed. “That took a lot out of these ol’ bones of mine.”

  Bridget reached up and swept back the unruly locks of hair that had fallen in her face, her expressive green eyes alight with mirth. “You were terrific, Grandma. I’m the one who kept stepping on your feet.”

  Homer turned then and spotted Ryan in the door. “Hello there, young man. Come on in.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “Please.” Emily beckoned him with a wave. “Bridget needs a new partner. One who isn’t out of breath.”

  “No, Grandma—” Bridget caught herself. “It’s late. He probably wants to go home.”

  Ryan decided in that instant to stay, if only to be contrary. He entered the clubhouse. “I’m in no rush.” His own horses at home might not like waiting an extra few minutes for their dinner but they’d survive. “What’s the occasion?”

  “We’re having square-dance lessons after the hayride and cookout on Saturday night.” Emily dropped down into one of the metal folding chairs. “This is our first social event open to the public. The square dancing was Bridget’s idea. She’s the expert.”

  “I’m no expert,” she insisted, her cheeks coloring.

  “I seem to recall a trophy and a big blue ribbon in your room.”

  “Grandma, I was twelve. They were from 4-H summer camp.”

  “Which makes you the expert here.”

  She gave her head a defeated shake.

  “I’ve been watching YouTube videos online,” Homer announced with a grin. “To practice calling.”

  “He’s a natural.” Emily smiled adoringly at him. “That’s what you get from five decades of preaching and marrying folks. A clever way with words.”

  “There’s room for improvement,” he conceded.

  Ryan enjoyed the dynamics between the three of them, from Emily and Homer’s affectionate teasing to Bridget’s embarrassment. They made him miss his own family back home in Texas, and he vowed to call his parents on the drive home.

  Maybe if things went well, he could arrange a quick trip to see them this fall or winter. It had been a year ago this past Christmas since he last visited, and no way could his parents afford a trip to Arizona. Not that he had a spare bedroom in which to put them up. Yet.

  Perhaps he could work on that after finishing the living room. Though he’d been aiming to start on the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom next.

  “You ready to try ‘Alabama Jubilee’?” Emily asked.

  “Whenever you are.” Homer returned to his place at the front of the room and fiddled with the karaoke player.

  Bridget didn’t move. “What about your hand?”

  Ryan flexed his fingers. “Practically good as new.”

  “Stop your dawdling.” Emily made a gesture as if pushing them together. “Get to dancing, you two.”

  Ryan approached Bridget and bowed at the waist, executing the traditional beginning to many square-dance routines. After a pause, Bridget curtsied, plucking at the sides of her invisible dress.

  “Gentlemen, face your lady and join hands,” Homer began in time to the music.

  Ryan clasped Bridget’s hands in his. Following Homer’s calling wasn’t as difficult as he first thought it would be. Square dancing must be a lot like riding a bike: a person never forgets.

  They did the allemande left, taking the arms of imaginary other couples. Next, they went to the center and back again, and Ryan gave Bridget a swing before going round and round. When it came time to promenade on home, he captured her left hand in his and looped his right arm over her shoulders to take her right hand. Then, they circled the open space.

  Holding her this close, Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off her profile and navigated the room blindly. She fit perfectly into the crook of his arm as if by design, and their steps matched in precise rhythm—his to the beat of his racing heart. When she leaned back her head and laughed, he lost himself in the bright melody.

  “You’re good,” she said.

  “I have an excellent partner.”

  She angled her head and met his gaze, his name falling from her lips on a soft breath.

  It was then he missed a step, causing her to trip over his foot. She would have tumbled to the floor if he hadn’t caught her.

  “You okay?” he asked, worriedly helping her to stand straight.

  “No harm done.” Her smile remained in place, pulling him in until he thought he might drown.

  “My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He hadn’t been able to help himself. Any red-blooded man would have missed a step.

  “Me, either.”

  Because she’d been staring at him? He wasn’t sure, but he liked thinking that was the reason.

  “I hate to break up this party...” Emily came over, sending Ryan an exaggerated wink that Bridget missed.

  He was instantly aware of how tight he held Bridget and moved away, letting his hands drop. “My two left feet got in the way.”

  “Nonsense,” Emily insisted, “you were momentarily distracted.” She sent him another wink.

  Busted, Ryan thought. If he couldn’t hide his attraction to Bridget from her grandmother, how was he expected to hide it from her?

  By now, the music had ended. Homer stopped calling and wandered over.

  “You have to come to the lessons on Saturday,” he said. “We need you and Bridget to demonstrate for the folks.”

  Ryan hesitated. “I’m not sure about that. I’m pretty rusty.”

  “You’re better than anyone else who’ll be there.”

  “I have an idea,” Emily chimed in. “You and Bridget can practice between now and then. Homer’s a little rough around the edges, anyway, and could use another session.”

  “I am?” He feigned shock.

  “By Saturday you’ll sound like a pro.” She surveyed the room. “Let’s all meet here again. When’s a good time for you both?” Her gaze traveled from Ryan to Bridget.

  “I’m awful busy, Grandma.”

  “She might have another partner in mind,” Ryan said, thinking of the doctor. From the change in Bridget’s expression, she knew exactly who he was referring to.

  “Oh?” Emily tilted her head quizzically at Bridget. “Do tell.”

  “I don’t have another partner in mind,” Bridget mumbled.

  “Then what about tomorrow? Or Friday?”

  “Friday’s better for me,” she conceded glumly.

  “Me, too,” Homer added. He was all smiles.

  “You’re the last holdout, Ryan.” Emily crossed her arms over her middle almost in challenge.

  “What time?” he finally asked, convinced he wasn’t likely to get out of this without a battle with his new bo
ss.

  “Six thirty?”

  He nodded. “All right.”

  After ironing out a few more details, they left together. Parting ways outside the clubhouse, Bridget, Emily and Homer returned to the house while Ryan went to his truck.

  During the short walk, he silently questioned his sanity. Had he made a huge mistake by agreeing to square dance with Bridget? Earlier today he’d decided to steer clear of her and any possible emotional—or when it came to square dancing, physical—entanglement. But here he was, agreeing to not only dance with her on Saturday night after the hayride, but also to practice with her again in two days.

  He should probably make a return trip to the medical clinic. This time to have his head examined.

  * * *

  BRIDGET ADDED A capful of specially formulated laundry detergent to the washing machine, shut the lid and pressed the button marked Delicate. No regular cycle for her linens, and cold water only. That was a must. The next second, the washing machine emitted a series of loud clicks and began filling the drum with water.

  She took excellent care of the tablecloths and napkins used in the parlor for receptions. This load had soaked overnight and, after the wash, would dry on a line outside. She’d iron the tablecloths to perfection while still damp and then rehang them to finish the drying process.

  The napkins would be starched to a crisp and laid flat for storing. While in culinary school, Bridget had learned how to fold napkins into the shapes of swans and roses, a skill she now used for table decorations during receptions.

  Grandma Em appeared in the laundry room, returning one of the spare cabin keys to the numbered holder on the wall. “Why don’t you let Tessa do that? Laundry is her job.”

  Tessa represented the entirety of the ranch’s housekeeping staff and worked three hours each morning.

  “I like to wash the linens myself,” Bridget said.

  Resting her back against the dryer, Grandma Em watched her spray kitchen towels with stain remover. “Molly wants to get together tomorrow morning after breakfast to plan Gianna’s engagement party. She figures we can do that video-chatting thing with Gianna and her mom.”