by Nicole Snow
Oh, my.
I might just keep the dumb, sarcastic statements coming if I could listen to that laugh all day.
He rests an elbow on Stern’s back and looks at me over the stall walls. “Are these two for sale? Is that why you’re asking what kind of furry crap-machines I’m so eager to buy?”
My smile fades. I hold in a sigh.
“These two aren’t worth much, I’m afraid. They can’t do heavy labor like horses in their prime.”
“So they’re priceless, you mean. Gotcha.”
I frown, unsure I follow him.
He rakes a vivid blue side-eye over me and shrugs. “You can’t put a dollar sign on pets or family, and I’d say these two are both. They’re in good shape for their age. Shows they’ve been well taken care of, and they like plenty of attention.”
I nod. “That’s true, they’re basically pets now. It wasn’t like that when we first got them. They came with the farm my father bought outside of Milwaukee. They’d been neglected by the previous owner. They were both so thin you could see their ribs.”
“Fuck.” Ridge bites back a hot, angry look. “I hate that shit. People who don’t look after their animals properly ought to get the same treatment. Call me old fashioned.”
My heart skips a beat. Ridiculous or not, there’s something extra sexy about the way he tenses up and scowls when he goes all Captain America.
It’s one of the mysteries of the universe.
Why do some guys look so hot when they’re pissed?
“Exactly. Rosie came around rather quickly, but Stern, well...besides being brushed, he doesn’t like tons of attention. He just—”
A noise like a bellowing trumpet makes me jump out of my skin.
“Told ya,” Ridge says. “Set of lungs on that boy could wake the damn dead.”
Shaking off the adrenaline rush, I laugh as I look up. Cornelius flaps his wings overhead, perched on an open crossbeam, looking down at us with his beady black eyes.
“He doesn’t have an internal clock. He just belts out a wake-up call whether it’s eight a.m. or noon or two in the morning.” Ridge gazes up at Cornelius with an icy scowl as the rooster struts along the beam. “He doesn’t much care where he shits, either. So watch out.”
“Oh? So you’ve taken a direct hit?” I lift a hand, trying to push the giggle back into my mouth.
“A few too many,” Ridge grunts. “I swear he just does it for amusement, too, the cheeky bastard. That’s the worst part. Just my luck that I wound up with one disturbed, nasty-ass bird.”
“How’d he even get up there? Seems awfully high.” I glance around the barn and don’t see a direct route the rooster might’ve taken to get on the beam. I know they can’t just get that high straight off the ground.
“Who knows,” Ridge says, stepping gracefully out of Cornelius’ range. “He’s had the run of the barn for months now, and he’s been in every nook and cranny. He’s probably got a secret passage or something.”
My curiosity keeps growing by the minute.
“So, you retired and wanted a little peace and quiet,” I wave the brush. “Why North Dakota?”
He pats Stern on the rump one more time before stepping out of the stall, dusting himself off.
“Got a good deal on the land. With the kind of agents who deal in high-end real estate back in L.A., it’s not a question of if you’ll land what you want, but when.” He pauses to set the brush he’d used back on the shelf. “Dallas is a nice little town. It already had its fair share of drama over the local oil company and the chick who inherited it a couple years back, so I knew moving here wouldn’t raise many eyebrows.”
I put away the brush I’d used on Rosie. “Raise eyebrows?”
“Being famous will do that. People will mob you for selfies or go through a gauntlet just for a handshake and a smile,” he tells me. “Mom raised me to appreciate the fans, and I do, but I’m no saint. It gets old real fast having to chart out your whole day’s routine just to make sure you’re not drowning in legions of screaming people or assholes with their cameras when all you want is a beer and a burger.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, dumb question.”
Again, I’d forgotten just how famous he is.
“No need to apologize.” He shrugs and steps away, heading for a large stack of hay bales where he plucks out a long straw and sticks it in the corner of his mouth to chew on.
Holy hell.
Forget Pissed Off Ridge.
I think Cowboy Straw-In-His-Mouth Ridge might be my new favorite.
Which, I guess makes me no better than the admirers who can make his life miserable in the space of a heartbeat.
“Frankly, I’m not sorry. Not for retiring or moving out here.” Glancing around and still chewing on the straw, he waves me closer, gestures to have me sit on a smaller square bale next to him.
“Well, looks like you’re set up for the long haul. How’d you even find a lot with this much land?” I ask, careful not to let myself gawk at him too long—especially when a sunbeam falls across his face, turning him into an image straight out of a Western flick.
“The people I bought this place from only owned it a little over a year. A new field manager over at the North Earhart oil fields who’d bitten off more than he could chew with an acreage this size. Nothing else my crew had to do except tear down the old structures and get to work building. I told them to give me everything plus the kitchen sink. Tobin warned me not to go crazy. Surprise—I didn’t listen.”
I bite back a grin.
Guess that explains why there’s plenty of hay for Rosie and Stern, and why the house seems so sterile.
No one’s ever made it a home.
People think that’s a cliché, but in design and home décor, it’s the endgame.
There’s a huge difference between a house and a home. Ridge needs to make his place truly his.
Standing, I lean against an empty stall, scanning the barn again. There are ten nice wide ones, plus two larger stalls that I assume are for birthing and a good-sized indoor exercise area for the bitterest winter days.
“Have you made any headway on the master plan for this place?”
“I’m thinking classic cattle ranch.” He sits down on a bale, chewing that straw between his teeth. “I have the acreage for a real operation, but I’d also love to keep a herd small and organic. There’s a hell of a market for that right now. Grass-fed beef is the gold standard.”
His legs shift apart, bowing out at the knees, turning him into the perfect picture of the rugged North Dakota rancher.
Oh. My. God.
Whatever else he needs help with, the Western McHottie vibe comes naturally.
He’s got the clothes down pat, the sculpted body of a god, and eyes that could make blue nights seethe with jealousy.
“True,” I admit, hating how flushed the rosy heat in my cheeks must be making me.
“I’ll rustle up more chickens, too. Maybe a few to help teach Corny some manners. The brat could use them.” He looks at me then and grins. “Hell, maybe someday I’ll even carve out a whole field of pumpkins. Always liked Halloween.”
I burst out laughing at the absurdity of a big, messy pumpkin patch next to his fields. He’ll probably run the sort of place that looks immaculate and shows up in magazines and travel shows, tidy crops and a lawn so green it sears the vision.
“They’re more work than you think,” I point out, lifting a finger. “And if you don’t have people lined up to grab them, the compost job alone—”
“Darlin’, when I go, I go all-in. Never thought about a field full of jack-o-lanterns before you showed up, but I bet it was fun. Having people coming out, picking them, taking hayrides and having bonfires. This would be a good place for that. People would have to drive a while to get here if I ever get more than Dallas townies, so I’d better have things for them to do.” He shrugs. “Besides gawk at my famous, easily annoyed ass, I mean.”
“Good luck. Say goodbye to your low profile if you ev
er did any of that,” I warn him, raising a brow.
His firm, easygoing smile disappears.
I shake my head, sensing he’s disappointed over reality setting in.
“It’s probably not the end of the world,” I say. “You didn’t exactly keep a low profile last night, either. Stepping in the way you did.”
“That was different,” he rumbles, his voice low like thunder. “I had to.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t obvious? Because I can’t fucking stand pricks like—” He pinches his lips together, glancing around before finishing, “Guys who pick on women.”
“He didn’t do it for the fun of it. Not that it matters, I guess,” I say glumly. Feeling I owe him some explanation, I look up, meeting those piercing blue eyes. “He was hired to follow us.”
“Yeah, I figured that much. Why? What the hell does your dad owe these jackoffs?”
I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t brought it up.
“I know, I know it’s your father’s story, yada yada yada...still, it involves you. So it’s also yours, Grace.”
Ouch.
I can’t really argue with that.
I huff out a breath. “Dad just got mixed up with the wrong crowd years ago for reasons I won’t go into. It was stupid, and he realized his mistake and left that world while he still could. Trouble is, no matter how hard he tries, it won’t leave him.”
“And someone in that crowd wants you,” Ridge says slowly, tightening his jaw on the straw. It crunches between his teeth.
My stomach clenches at how easily he figures it out.
Right on cue, my pulse doubles, bad memories coming in a hot, sickly flash of images.
“He wants everything.” My throat burns as I admit it.
“Sounds like he’s already taken most of what you had.” He holds my eyes while his right hand forms a fist, knuckles pressing deep into his thigh. “What else is left?”
This man isn’t all savior.
He’s too smart. Too intuitive. Too much trouble.
There’s no sense in lying, so I nod. Barely.
“You’re safe here. I give you my word. Anyone trying to get to you has to go through me.” He thumps his chest with the same fist, a rebel glint in those lightning-blue eyes.
From anyone else, it’d be almost comical how exaggerated it seems, this man talking like we’re part of an action script.
But the severe dark tone in his voice leaves no doubt how serious he is. Or what lengths he’d go to live up to his word.
Crap. I can’t let him do this.
I shake my head. He’s stepped in a viper’s nest and he doesn’t even know it.
His celebrity status won’t stop a freak like Clay.
In fact, it might put worse ideas in that maniac’s head.
“Ridge...” I can’t find the words.
“It’s too late, woman,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m part of your story now too. In case you forgot, I told that jacked-up shit at the bar we’re a thing. I’m sure he reported back to the powers that be, told them we just haven’t set the date yet for our wedding.”
He winks at me like it’s nothing.
Oh, crud.
I’d almost forgotten he said something so totally outrageous and incriminating last night. With everything that went down, I hoped maybe I’d just dreamed that part.
“We’re moving on as soon as the roads get plowed.”
“Bull.” He plucks the straw out of his mouth and tosses it aside. “I was thinking about that and some other issues right when you walked in the barn. Give me some credit.”
Pushing up the sleeve of his coat and shirt, he shows me an American flag tattoo with some sort of symbols beneath it. I freeze, staring, trying to decipher it.
“I’m a little better than some pampered schlub born with a silver spoon in his mouth,” he growls. “Besides being an actor, I was in the Army for four years. An elite force where I formed a lot of friendships still at my disposal few others know about. Not even Tobin.”
The Army part surprises me, but his statement about Tobin is a total shocker.
Is anything about this guy what it seems?
I’m officially worried my head might just spin off.
“Tobin seems loyal, very dedicated to you,” I whisper.
“He’s a good man. My mother made him my valet, aka, babysitter, when I was still a kid. He’d die for me, no doubt about it.” He sighs. “Which I’d never let him do, but he’ll still follow every order I give him to the letter of the law, including when it comes to you.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Ridge. I didn’t ask for any of this.” I’m breathing so hard it hurts, so riled up it’s a miracle I can speak.
“No, you’re not, but you are my concern. What would I be if I watched you hit the road in that rickety old truck with no way out of this? You expect me to live with that shit on my shoulders, Grace?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
He’s incredibly good at inserting himself into other people’s stories, apparently, and making it feel like a complete atrocity if he doesn’t get a chance to rewrite them.
I’m not the kind of girl who just folds and listens to strange men. Trouble is, I can’t debunk anything he just said.
“Thought you’d get me. Hopefully Dickless Pete heeds my warning, but if he doesn’t...” He shrugs, rolling those mountainous shoulders. “Let’s just say he’ll wish he had.”
My insides churn, hot and frantic.
Desperate to avert another disaster.
“Ridge, you don’t get it. You don’t know—”
“No, I don’t know your whole story, and when you’re ready to tell me, I’m here to listen. Even if you don’t open up, I’ll still be here. The few people clued in about who I am know better than to leak my whereabouts to the media. As far as Hollywood knows, I’m on indefinite hiatus. I fucked off out of California and gave the press the idea I’d fled to Maui, where I still own a place. Besides, having you around, having people think we might be a couple won’t hurt anything. In fact, it might just keep the gossip hounds more confused and throw them off longer.”
I shake my head.
Seriously.
He can’t be suggesting what it sounds like.
I’m so not pretending we’re a couple. It’s absolutely ludicrous, and I seriously doubt real fake engagements end nearly as well as they always do in those fun, guilty-pleasure romance books I devour every so often.
Ridge stiffens, looking at me as I lift my head and force myself to meet his gaze.
No, nope, and hell no.
My heart leaps at the way he smiles and nods.
So this is what it’s like when a barn mouse looks up and sees a hawk.
I swallow the rock in my throat but still can’t talk.
Still can’t tell him there’s no way I’m going along with this scheme to ‘pretend’ we’re engaged.
After years under Clay’s thumb, I know what hot messes look like, and I’m not interested in turning my life into a bigger freaking dumpster fire.
Not even for a bossy, lethally handsome hero I never asked for who apparently has a few screws loose in his drop-dead-gorgeous head.
“You know...I think I’m going to walk these two around a little bit. Give them some exercise.” I bolt and start heading for the stalls.
“Right behind you,” he says, three mundane words that shouldn’t make steam shoot out of anyone’s ears.
Oh, but right now?
I don’t want his help.
I don’t want him risking his famous butt for me.
Not with Rosie and Stern or mobsters who’ve made our lives a living hell.
I’m about to boil over.
6
No Change of Plans (Ridge)
“Well?” I stare down Tobin with my arms folded, wondering how big a heap of shit I’m in for.
“She wandered the entire house taking notes,” Tobin says, following me into the kitchen.
“Good. Hopefully she’s found plenty to change in every room.” I open a cupboard door and take out a glass. Although my mind is still back in the barn, stuck on how we’d walked the horses around the inside arena and talked, I tell him again. “This place could use some sprucing up.”
“I offered to—”
“So you’re a certified decorator now?” I ask, interrupting him. “Interesting. Mom never mentioned that talent.”
His lips smooth into a thin, frustrated line.
“I didn’t think so.” I fill the cup with coffee. “Guess who is?”
“I’m very aware. What baffles me is why you’re so intent on keeping them here,” Tobin says, barely keeping his voice level. “This isn’t like you, Ridge. You’ve never been overly friendly with strangers—particularly the last few years. You came here for the quiet, the anonymity, the reclusiveness...having people living in the guest cabin now is the exact opposite of that.”
I shrug, partly because I’m not totally sure myself why I decided to dive into this insanity, but I damn sure want Grace and her father kept safe.
“It’s been over six months living with the best Dallas has to offer. Maybe I’ve decided it was boring. I’m ready for some excitement.”
Tobin straightens those oval wire-framed glasses of his, then clasps his hands neatly in front of him. “There’s a difference between excitement and danger. I trust you know the distinction.”
I suck in a breath of air.
“You think I don’t?” I snarl.
Of course I do. I’d thought that very thing while shoveling. Thought about it a lot.
“No,” Tobin replies, stone-faced as ever. “I’m just worried about the type of excitement you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in the past few days. Perhaps you should reconsider your career trajectory.”
A blaze of anger whips through me.
Dammit, I know what he’s suggesting, and it ain’t happening.
“Forget it. I’m not going back to Tinseltown. I’ve told you a hundred times I’m done with that fuckery. After Mom, after that pig...” I bite my jaw together so hard it almost snaps.
We both know who I mean.
And we have a silent agreement never to say his name again.
