“Actually—” his own eyes followed hers and he saw what she saw “—I inherited it. My great-aunt was Constance Daniels.”
“So you’re the one she always talked about?” she asked, her words crashing into him like a wave of guilt. Before he could explain the unusual family connection, she added, “The one who was supposedly going to bring her ranch back to life?”
Something about the sarcasm in her tone immediately put him on the defensive. “That’s the plan.”
“Let me guess.” She glanced down at the creased jeans he’d bought at the mercantile on his way into town. “You’ve just moved here from the big city, but you’ve always dreamed of being a cowboy.”
“The way you say it makes me sound like a cliché who is destined to fail.” He was repeating the same words his own mother had used when he’d told her about the Rocking D and his promise to his dying great-aunt. Connor narrowed his eyes slightly, practically daring this woman to doubt him, as well.
She returned his challenging stare, her expression completely unapologetic as she boldly sized him up. “Destined might not have been the word I would have used. But tougher men than you have tried their hand at making a name for themselves out here in the wilds of Teton Ridge and most of them gave up before their first full winter.”
Fortunately, Connor had a history of proving people wrong. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his biceps muscles flexing on their own accord. “How do you know how tough I am?”
Dahlia’s lashes flickered ever so slightly as her pupils dilated, but she didn’t break eye contact. Her full lips pursed ever so slightly, as though she were holding back the perfect retort, and his eyes dared her to say it out loud.
“So where is the white doggy now?” Amelia interrupted the adults’ intense but unspoken staring competition. “Do you think it’ll come back here? Do you have food for him? Where will he sleep if it snows?”
“Amelia,” Dahlia sighed and finally looked down at her daughter. “Let Mr. Remington settle into the place before you start bombarding him with all your questions.”
It was a little too late for that. The corner of Connor’s lip tugged up in a smirk. Not that her mom’s warning would do any good. The child hadn’t stopped asking questions in the entire thirty minutes he’d known her.
He bent down because he could see that the girl was genuinely worried about the lost dog. Hell, Connor had been worried about the scruffy thing himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have tracked it on foot for almost seven miles. He guessed he was like Amelia that way, too. Once he got on a trail, he didn’t like to veer off course until he had all the answers. “I’ll leave a little bowl of water and some blankets outside on the porch for him in case he comes back. Hopefully, he’s at home now, all cozy in front of the fire and dreaming about his next adventure tomorrow.”
The child nodded, but the concern didn’t entirely leave her face. She tilted her head and started a new line of questioning. “Why is there still a sticker on your leg?”
“Because the boots and jeans I was wearing when I first got here were all muddy.” He didn’t mention the abandoned well he’d nearly fallen into when he’d been exploring earlier. That would’ve only given Dahlia more ammo for her claim that he had no business owning a ranch. “But then I saw the little white dog and these new pants were the closest thing I could put on before the dog ran off.”
“You mean you took your pants off outside?” she asked, her round eyes growing even rounder.
He dared a glance at Dahlia, whose cheeks had gone a charming shade of pink. “Well, nobody was out here to see me.”
“One time, Mommy went into the river because my pet salmon was stuck on a rock. She had to take off all her clothes so she didn’t catch the new-moan-yah. Aunt Finn said cowgirls gotta do what cowgirls gotta do. But Gan Gan says a lady never knows who could be watching.”
Connor really needed to hear more about this pet salmon, he thought, smothering a laugh. Although, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to ask for any more details about a naked and soaking wet Dahlia while her daughter was standing between them.
Instead of offering an explanation, the supposed fish rescuer rubbed her temples, which didn’t lessen the rosy color now staining her cheeks.
“Okay, Peanut, we really need to get back on the road. We can look for the dog on our way into town.” The promise did the trick because Amelia waved goodbye and skipped toward the truck. Dahlia stuck out a hand. “Good luck with the Rocking D, Mr. Remington.”
“Thanks again for the ride home.” He took the smooth but firm palm in his own and an unexpected current of electricity shot through him. The jolt must’ve made its way to his brain because before he could stop himself, he added, “Maybe I’ll see you in town some time and can repay the favor?”
She jerked her hand back quickly, but her face went perfectly neutral, as though she’d used the same thanks-but-no-thanks expression a thousand times before.
“I’m sure you’ll be far too busy out here.” She gave a pointed look to the broken wood slats in a fence that might’ve been a corral at one point. Then she glanced at his favorite basketball shoes, which felt about as out of place on this rundown ranch as her black high heels. “A city boy like you is going to have his work cut out for him.”
As she and her daughter drove away, Connor recalled his aunt’s probate attorney making a similar comment when she’d offered to sell the property for him. The lawyer had warned him that it was going to take a lot of determination and a hell of a lot more money to get the place operational again.
Yet, he was just as undeterred then as he was now.
Clearly, Dahlia wasn’t going to be the only skeptical local who doubted his ability to make this ranch a success. The prettiest, maybe, but not the only one.
Good thing he hadn’t come to Wyoming to make friends.
Copyright © 2021 by Christy Jeffries
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ISBN-13: 9781488075391
His Forever Texas Rose
Copyright © 2021 by Stella Bagwell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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