The Rancher's Bride Page 2

  “I’m so glad you’ve met him,” Odelia was saying.

  “Um, yeah. Me, too.”

  “The two of you needed to make each other’s acquaintance.”

  As long as she got to keep her distance from here on out, they’d get along just fine.

  “Especially since the two of you will be sharing an office.”

  Jorie stumbled.

  Odelia must have seen her surprise. “Oh, don’t worry.” She gave Jorie a wide smile. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

  Chapter Two

  Ryan heard them coming before he saw them.

  “I guess you were right, boss.”

  Ryan glanced at Sam, who leaned against the cab of the squeeze he’d been driving, a smirk on his face. Sam had worked for them since he was fourteen years old, and he knew Ryan’s mother about as well as he knew his own, which meant he knew Odelia’s latest hobby drove Ryan nuts.

  “Damn,” Ryan muttered. He’d been hoping for at least a day of peace and quiet. He still had to drag the arena, disc the back pasture and fix a whole host of other little things that were the bane of his existence. Then there were his mom’s little wedding guest fixes. Oil the hinges on the gate so they didn’t squeak. Fix a broken sash in the “bridal cottage.” Dump a load of gravel in one of the potholes so wedding guests wouldn’t “bounce.”

  God help him.

  Sam must have read the expression on his face because he chuckled. “I guess she’s pretty serious about this little venture of hers, huh?” Sam was three-quarters Cherokee, but he didn’t need a sixth sense to know Ryan’s mom had gone insane.

  Ten years ago it’d been floral arrangements. Ryan would bet she’d created memorial bouquets for half the county’s deceased. From there she’d moved on to stained glass. That hadn’t lasted too long, something about being too clumsy, thank God. Antiques had been next. He’d gotten to the point that he refused to go anywhere with her. To this day he couldn’t drive past an estate sale without cringing. Now it was weddings.

  Weddings.

  He wished to the good Lord above that he knew who’d put such a stupid idea in his mother’s head. If he ever found out, he’d drag the person behind a horse. For six months he’d been putting up with uptight brides, cranky mamas and wedding guests who’d never been on a real working ranch. But the most shocking thing of all, the thing that really had him twisted up in knots, was that the damn business had taken off. They were completely booked for the rest of the year. And now she’d gone and hired some kind of big-time coordinator. From Georgia.

  “We just need to hang in there a little longer,” he said. “My mom will get over her obsession.”

  And that fancy little wedding coordinator could go back to Georgia and his life would return to normal.

  “That’s what you said three months ago.”

  “Shut up, Sam.”

  His friend glanced over at him sharply, laughed, but whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off by the arrival of the same blue compact car as before, only this time his mother was in the passenger seat. On the other side of the windshield he could see her mouth going a hundred miles an hour, typical of his mom. The woman driving was nodding and smiling.

  Until she caught sight of him.

  The smile dropped from her face like a brick. Okay. So maybe he’d been a little hard on her earlier. No. Not hard. Unwelcoming. But, damn it, this whole wedding thing was BS.

  “You didn’t tell me she was smokin’ hot.”

  Ryan didn’t need to ask who Sam was talking about. “Doesn’t matter what she looks like.”

  It was true, though. His mom’s new wedding coordinator was pretty. She had hair so blond he would have sworn it was from a bottle except he’d looked for the telltale signs: the dark roots, the fake streaks of blond, the black eyebrows. He’d spotted none of those things which meant it might be real. She had the blue eyes to go along with it, too.

  “Good thing Laurel’s so sweet, else she might be jealous.”

  Laurel. His fiancée.

  “She’ll probably welcome her with open arms,” he heard himself say before shoving off to greet his mother. He didn’t like thinking about Laurel.

  His future bride.

  He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his brow.

  “My, my, my,” his mother marveled as she got out of the car. “You finished putting all that hay up in record time.” She glanced back at the driver. “Come on out, Jorie. You need to meet Sam.”

  She was wearing one of her Annie Oakley outfits again. Lord help him. She’d never dressed like that before, but lately she’d been wearing the fringed shirts and fancy Western hats as if they lived in some kind of theme park—and maybe they did. His mom had told him time and time again that city people loved their ranch because of the ambience. That must be why she’d been channeling the ghost of Westerns past.

  “Not quite,” Ryan said. “We’ve still got one more load to go.”

  “Well, that can wait.” She hooked an arm through her new employee’s. “Jorie, this is Sam.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” The two shook hands, Sam going so far as to tip his hat.

  Ryan smirked. Leave it to Sam to try and charm a woman he’d just met.

  “And this is my son, Ryan, whom I think you already met. Ryan, Jorie here is exhausted. Why don’t you hop in her car and drive her down to her quarters. She has luggage she needs unloaded, too.”

  He didn’t shake her hand, just nodded, not that she noticed.

  “Oh, that’s not necessary,” the blonde interjected. As he had earlier, he noticed the black suit she wore accentuated the shape of her body, something he definitely shouldn’t be aware of given that he was engaged. “I can unload my own suitcase.”

  “Nonsense,” his mother said with a pat to the woman’s arm. “You need your rest. I hate to say it, dear, but you look plumb wore out.”

  His mother was right. Though she had a flawless complexion, she appeared pale, her pretty blue eyes glazed by a sheen of fatigue.

  “Come on,” he said, taking pity on the woman against his better judgment. He motioned her toward her car.

  She didn’t move.

  Stubborn, huh?

  She glared.

  Ooo. And she had claws. This might be fun, after all.

  “Go on,” his mother ordered.

  She met Ryan’s gaze again, her blue eyes narrowing.

  “You heard my mother,” he said. “Go on.”

  Clearly, she wanted to argue. Just as clearly, she wanted to please. She turned, reluctance personified. Ryan almost smiled, but he was too busy noticing her legs. He couldn’t tell if she wore panty hose or not, but she sure had some tan legs…and shapely.

  Cut it out.

  “I can drive,” he heard her say as he headed to the driver’s side

  “I won’t hear of any such thing,” his mom answered for him. “Ryan will drive you. Sam, why don’t you go get that last squeeze of hay. I’ll guide it in.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Mom.” Ryan stripped his gloves off and tucked them in his back pocket before opening the passenger-side door. “I’ll finish up just as soon as I drive Ms. Peters here to her new quarters.”

  The woman had reluctantly slid into the seat, the door closing with a heavy thud.

  “You’re a good son.” His mother came around the side of the car, reached up and patted his cheek—just before kissing him—as if he were seven years old and not thirty.

  But despite the irritation he felt at being treated like a child, he couldn’t deny one thing: he loved his mom. She might be a pain in his rear, but she was the only family he had.

  He opened the driver’s side door, the smell of perfume or floral shampoo instantly enveloping him.

  He n
early closed his eyes.

  Now, the woman in the car? She was going to be a pain in his rear, too, he could tell.

  He didn’t like her.

  Jorie leaned back in the passenger seat and closed her eyes, so exhausted she felt as if she could go to sleep right then and there. Except she couldn’t. Not with him in the car.

  “Buckle up,” was all he said.

  Cool currents from the car’s air conditioner wafted across Jorie’s face as he put the car in gear, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the smell of him. He stank.

  No, he doesn’t.

  He smells manly.

  Be nice to him, Jorie. He’s your boss’s son.

  Jorie forced her eyes open, shot him a glance. He was as muscular as a professional athlete.

  “Do you play football?”

  Stupid, stupid, ridiculous thing to ask. What was wrong with her?

  He’d glanced over at her as if she had tentacles hanging from her ears.

  “Huh?” He drove her car between the two farm buildings, his eyes quickly bouncing between her and the gravel road.

  “Never mind,” she said. Darn it. Why did she always do that? A thought would pop into her head and, bam, out it came.

  “Ah, no,” he said, having obviously figured out what she’d said. “I’ve never played football.”

  Just pretend like you meant to ask the question, Jorie.

  “Your mom seems nice,” she said next.

  “She’s a pain in the butt.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m thinking about having her committed to an old folk’s home.”

  “You are not.”

  “I even called a couple places, but they wouldn’t take her just yet. I have to wait until her dementia gets a little more advanced.”

  “Dementia?” Jorie asked, sitting up in her seat.

  And then he smiled.

  He was teasing her.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Why, you little—” She couldn’t think what to say, not without insulting him at least, and not as tired as she was.

  “Little what?” he prompted.

  Okay, so he wasn’t just good-looking. He was drop-dead gorgeous. And, apparently, he had a sense of humor.

  “You’re not very nice.”

  “Sorry. Thought I should try to break the ice.”

  He drove her car down a gently sloping hillside, and Jorie was presented with a vista that took her breath away. A pasture lay spread out in front of her. To the right was an old barn, to her left another grove of trees, one with two homes nearby. The same creek she’d noticed earlier was here, too, tall oak trees surrounded yet another group of homes.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “That used to be the main homestead,” he explained. The tires crunched as he took a fork to the left. “The barn over to our right is what my mom lovingly calls the ‘wedding chapel.’”

  She’d seen pictures of it on the internet, but Jorie made a mental note to suggest adding a photo page to Spring Hill Ranch’s website, one that would highlight the rustic charm of their venue. The rolling hills and stately trees were just stunning.

  Seconds later he pulled to a stop in front of one of the homes, a charming single-story with wood windowpanes and a tiny front porch.

  “You’ll be living in a home that used to belong to the ranch foreman, only that’s me these days, so I live in the main house right there.” He pointed to a home about four-hundred yards away. “The old main house. My mom lives in the big one over the hill.”

  “You mean you’ll be living next door to me?”

  He shut off the car. “Yup. And I’ll be giving you a ride to our office every day, too.”

  Our office.

  She’d completely forgotten about that.

  Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air in the vehicle.

  He’s turned off the car, you dork.

  “Look,” he said, pulling her keys out. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but I feel I should tell you something.” He fiddled with her keys a second. “My mom,” he said. “She goes through these…phases. Over the years she’s tried a number of things.”

  She saw him frown, and even in profile he was handsome. “Look, I know you just drove all the way out here from Georgia, but things might change, you know? My mom’s the best mom in the world, but she gets burrs up her butt from time to time. Like this wedding thing. I’d hate for you to have turned down a lucrative job in Georgia for something that might be temporary.”

  Lucrative? In Georgia?

  And temporary?

  “Are you saying I’ve made a mistake?”

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just think you should be prepared, you know, in case things don’t work out.”

  He was telling her not to unpack her bags.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said, and she had no doubt he heard the frost in her voice. “But I’m a big girl, one who can take care of herself.”

  “No, I think you’ve misunderstood—”

  “I understand perfectly,” she contradicted, leaving the car before she said something else, something that really would get her fired from her job.

  “Wait.” He got out of the car, too. “You’ll need this.”

  He tossed her something. She caught it. A key, although where he’d gotten it from, she didn’t know.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “I’ll leave your luggage on the porch.”

  She nodded, turning toward her new home. Her hands shook in anger. How dare he try to ruin this for her? Didn’t he realize she had nowhere else to go? No job back in Georgia. No home. This was the end of the road for her.

  “Welcome to Spring Hill Ranch,” he called out after her.

  She turned on her heel, a descriptive word, one that wasn’t very flattering, hanging off the tip of her tongue.

  “Thank you,” she said, lifting her chin up in challenge. “I plan on being here for a very, very long time.”

  He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. Something that resembled admiration filled his eyes, but she must be imagining that.

  “Good for you,” she thought she heard him say.

  She held his gaze for another moment before turning away.

  Jerk.

  Chapter Three

  She must sleep like the dead, Ryan thought, shifting the quiche his mom had baked for Jorie and knocking on the front door yet again.

  “Damn it, Mom,” he muttered, glancing in the general direction of where she lived. Why did she always have him do her dirty work? The last thing he needed was to play delivery boy.

  He turned away, quiche still in hand, and headed for the steps, only to halt again. His mom would kill him if he didn’t do as asked.

  “Shoot.”

  A thin sliver of pink light outlined the small hill that blocked his view of his mom’s house. Dawn. It had just arrived, the sky still dark behind him. He had a million things to do today. Cows to gather. A meeting at nine. Errands to run. The last thing he needed to do was play nursemaid to his mother’s new employee.

  “‘You go check on her in the morning,’” he mimicked. “‘Give her my quiche. Make sure she’s all right.’”

  He glanced heavenward.

  “Man, it’s a good thing I love you, Mom.”

  He turned back to the door. To be fair, he hadn’t seen his mom’s new employee since dropping off her luggage, something he’d told his mother last night, and something that concerned him just a little bit. He thought about leaving the quiche on the porch, but one of the ranch dogs would no doubt find it, and he could just imagine what his mo
m would do if one of his dogs ate Jorie’s quiche.

  “Crap.”

  He knocked again, louder, and when nothing happened, leaned his ear against the door. Some kind of weird noise came back to him. TV? He stepped to the right, tried to peer through the window that looked into a tiny family room that stretched across the front of the house. Nothing.

  “To hell with it.”

  She’d been asleep for a long time. Time to get up and take this quiche off his hands.

  He balanced the pie plate in one hand, the ring of keys he pulled from his pocket jingling as he sought to unlock the door.

  This is a bad idea.

  It’s what his mom would want him to do.

  You’re breaking into her house.

  It’s not her house, he told himself firmly, pushing the door open a crack.

  Just set the damn quiche down and go.

  But then he heard the noise again, a horrendous sound that put him instantly on alert. It was as dark as a haunted house inside, the sun not yet high enough to send even ambient light through the windows. He paused for a moment, listening…and there it went again.

  Snoring.

  He felt a gust of laughter, despite his ire. That’s what he’d heard?

  Okay. She’s fine. Just leave the quiche on the side table.

  Yet his curiosity got the better of him. These weren’t tiny little ladylike squeaks. These were rip-snorting, drapery-rustling, window-vibrating breaths, and he could only imagine how loud they must be if he could hear them all the way through the front door. Against his better judgment he found himself moving forward.

  The ranch home was easy to navigate, the shape of it a simple square: kitchen at the back of the house to his left, bedroom across the hall from it and to the right, and the open area in the front where he stood.

  His eyes had started to adjust, making him realize that it wasn’t quite so dark anymore. A pale pink glow slid through the window at the end of the hall allowing for light to dribble onto the hardwood floors. Ambient light also spilled in her bedroom windows, which was how he spied the snoring, sleeping goddess that lay sprawled amidst tumbled sheets like a magazine centerfold.

  He almost dropped the pie plate.