by Laura Moore
“Why? And what makes Brian such a special case?” She felt justified asking because she needed to understand the dynamics of a situation that involved the key players in the wedding. The fact was, however, she really wanted to know what made Ward tick.
“Ward almost got himself killed for Brian.”
She stared in shock. “What?”
“It happened the fall of Ward’s junior year of high school. Acacia’s too small to have its own high school. The town where the district school was located was having problems with gang violence. Brian had just moved to the area so he didn’t know what streets to avoid. Ward was driving home and saw the new kid—Brian and he were in the same class—surrounded by a group of toughs. They probably planned to mug Brian, which wouldn’t have been hard since he was scrawny as a scarecrow back then, mainly freckles and bones. Ward jumped out of his car and ran over to try and prevent him from being beaten to a pulp, only one of the hoods had a switchblade, was high, and stupid as dirt. He freaked when Ward called out that the cops were coming. Instead of running he decided to take out Ward with his knife. Had it gone any deeper, Ward wouldn’t be here today.”
“My God. That’s some story.” She pictured a younger Ward lying on the sidewalk of some town and bleeding onto the pavement. With a shudder, she folded her arms tightly around her middle.
“Yeah. Ever since then, Ward’s been Brian’s protector. I guess almost dying for someone forges a damned strong bond. Then, too, Ward probably feels a little guilty because he’s got a family who loves him. Brian’s family isn’t so great. When he moved here, his parents were going through a really ugly period. They divorced soon after. Brian ended up basically living here for the remainder of high school and college. He always says the time he spent at Silver Creek represents the best memories he has of his youth. And Carrie’s family, though basically nice, has its difficult members.”
Reid didn’t need to say the name for Tess to understand he was referring to Erica.
“As I’m sure you’ve already figured out, Brian and Carrie aren’t as strong as Ward—though not many people are. They’re both incredibly kind and fun, and Carrie’s sweet as anything, but they unconsciously lean on Ward because they know he won’t let them down.”
“He sounds like an amazing friend.”
“Yeah, he is.” Reid’s voice rang with love and Tess knew a moment of envy that her own brother would never be able to speak of her like that. “So there you have it, the reason we’re willing to risk annoying a lot of guests who booked their stay at the ranch just so Brian and Carrie can get married exactly when and how they want. We love them, sure. But we love Ward a whole lot more.”
Reid checked his watch. “The guys from the marketing firm should be rolling up about now. Meet you in the conference room in a few?”
“Yes, sure,” she answered distractedly, her head too full of what Reid had just told her.
She almost wished she hadn’t learned about Ward’s bravery or his generosity to his friend at his own expense. There were times—more and more of them—when she forgot the traits in his personality that had previously irritated her so thoroughly. She could no longer dismiss him as overbearing and arrogant when she now possessed a fuller and more nuanced portrait of him. One that was terrifyingly attractive.
He was proud and high-handed, certainly. But he was also caring. And he was one of the sexiest men she’d ever encountered—and she’d lived in New York, for Pete’s sake. If she had even a dollop of sense she’d be even more cautious around him. A man like Ward was too dangerous.
WARD COULD HARDLY walk into a business meeting with the sweaty muck of birth and death ground into his jeans and skin. In addition to avoiding the long commutes on congested highways like so many in California, being able to grab a quick shower when he needed it was another perk of living where he worked. The pelting hot water did more than wash off the dirt. It helped ease some of his black mood at having lost a cow. But it didn’t lessen his impatience to hear the lab results, and Gary Cooney, their vet, had left only a few minutes ago.
Dressed, he jogged to the barns. Quinn was in the lambing pen with Holly, both women holding the ewe that had delivered the twin lambs so that the smaller one could nurse. The stupid thing had yet to accept it. She kept running it off whenever it approached her udder.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
Her arms locked around the ewe’s shorn and wriggling body, Quinn grimaced. “She’s still rejecting it. I vote to bring Sooner in here. He’ll teach her to care for her babies in a hurry.” Sooner was Quinn’s sheltie. Another of her rescues, the dog had come to her because its owners hadn’t quite understood that herding dogs, even the ones with the silky coats and cute ears, liked to herd more than they liked to sit cooped up in apartments twenty-three hours out of twenty-four. The sheltie had originally been named Cookie, but Quinn had changed it to Sooner as he tended to find a herd and hold it sooner rather than later.
Ward eyed the struggling sheep. Damned if he was going to save her lambs only to have her starve one of them. “Fine by me. Frank getting the van ready?” he asked Holly.
Holly was holding the newborn lamb and had her head pressed against the sheep’s flank, the better to see that the newborn was actually latched on to its mother’s teat and suckling.
“Yeah,” she replied, her voice muffled. “He and Quinn are leaving for the rescue shelter at two.”
“So if all goes according to plan and the horse loads well, we should be back at four P.M. I can’t wait for him to see his new home, Ward.”
He nodded. “If I’m not around, ask Pete to make sure the corral is free so the horse can have a chance to acclimate. Okay, I’m officially late for this damned meeting, which means I have about thirty seconds before Phil starts texting. If you need me—”
“Unless you can speak sheep we don’t need you,” Quinn said with a grunt as the ewe struggled to free herself. “Go. But tell Mitchell to send Sooner in here.”
Meetings like today’s were a necessary evil. Ward far preferred executing the ideas that came out of them than sitting and listening to some PowerPoint presentation. So he wasn’t too distressed at being ten minutes late—Reid could fill him in if anything important had been addressed.
Much to his surprise, the meeting hadn’t even started yet. He entered the conference room to find the two guys from the Porter Consulting Group, a marketing firm based in San Francisco, chatting casually with Phil while Reid stood over by the window, talking on his cell. Ward went over to shake hands with Ted Dulchek and Michael Parenti and to make it clear they could start without further delay.
“Oh, we’re waiting for Tess. I sent her to get us some coffee and biscotti. Might as well take advantage of her area of expertise,” Phil told him with a faint smirk.
Excusing himself, Ward crossed the room to where Reid stood. His conversation finished, Reid slipped his cell into his jeans pocket. Ward cocked an inquiring eyebrow at his brother.
“I know.” Reid turned back toward the window so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Sending off the only woman in the room is a dumbshit move. Here’s my take on it. Phil’s been watching too many episodes of Mad Men—the early ones. It’s also possible he’s engaging in a power play. You know how touchy he can be. I’m guessing his nose is out of joint because he didn’t get to have any input in choosing Macie’s replacement. But before I could countermand him and simply call Roo to have her send some coffee and cookies in, Tess was up and out of her seat. She’s got that New York power walk down.”
Yeah, Ward had witnessed how much ground her stride covered. Those legs worked. “Phil better get over his pique. I don’t want to lose her.” Ward spoke just as quietly despite the fact that he was good and pissed. “So, do you want to have the pleasure of telling Phil to get his head out of his ass or shall I?”
“Though I know how much you would enjoy the process, it’d better be me since I was an eyewitness to his idiocy.”
“Good
point. Remember to mention that there are sexual discrimination laws in the workplace.”
“No worries.”
“If only.” He massaged the back of his neck and realized he’d neglected to towel dry his hair. The top of his collar was damp. “Dad and Pete are out checking the rest of the herd for any signs of illness.”
“Yeah, Mom told me. I was just speaking to her. She hasn’t heard anything from Dad. Gotta hope no news is good news, but I’ll saddle Sirrus and ride out after I tell Phil to grow up.”
“I’d tell you to go now, but you’re the expert on equine tourism. They may have questions about our competition.”
“At least we can start now. Tess is here.” Reid nodded in the direction of the door. “Oh, while we’re on the subject, Tess, efficient as always, has found some terrific dresses for Carrie. One’s a gem. She might need help getting Carrie to recognize which one it is. I suggested she enlist your help, but she told me she wasn’t going to bother you. I figured you’d want to know.”
As soon as Reid had pronounced her name, Ward pivoted, his eyes seeking her out. She was rolling a trolley laden with a coffee carafe, cups and saucers, and a plate of Roo’s biscotti into the room.
“You thought right. I’ll drop a heavy hint in Carrie’s ear. It’ll cross one item off Tess’s lengthy to-do list. Now if we could only pin down the number of guests Carrie’s parents are adding to the list.” He could have been speaking Swahili or gibberish for all he knew or cared. Every particle of his being was focused on Tess.
Forty-eight hours had elapsed since he’d seen her, since he’d cradled her slender foot in his hands. Yet it took only one long, sweeping look; today she’d pulled her hair back in a bun and was wearing a fitted orange and purple top and a slim beige skirt with her ever-present high heels. And damned if desire didn’t slam him with the force of a two-thousand-pound bull when he recognized them as the very same shoes he’d slipped back on her delectable foot on Valentine’s Day. He walked over to her. “Thank you for bringing the coffee.”
Her gaze met his and, to his infinite pleasure, a blush stole over her cheeks. “I, uh, figured you might need a jolt of caffeine. Reid told me about the cow. I’m sorry.”
He couldn’t help but be pleased that he’d been on her mind, especially when thoughts of her preoccupied him so often. “I appreciate it. And I’m glad you came to the meeting. I’ll be interested to hear your ideas.”
The flush on her cheeks deepened. “I doubt I’ll have any. I haven’t been here that long.”
He’d come to know one thing about her: She rose to challenges. It was discovering the bits and pieces of her character—her strength, her intelligence, her sense of humor, even her careful reserve—that attracted him even more than her temptress looks. With each discovery, Ward wanted to uncover more of her secrets.
“That’s why your ideas will be interesting. You’ve been here long enough to observe how things are done and yet you’re still new enough to detect areas for improvement.” He smiled as he threw down the gauntlet.
They settled into their seats with their coffees and stared at the projection screen. Within minutes it became clear to Ward that the central theme of the pitch, complete with the requisite slick graphics, charts, and tables, was that the key to success lay in increasing traffic to the guest ranch’s website. Phil, in addition to earning the “Dick of the Week” award, was also a numbers geek. Nothing made him happier than staring at pie charts. He listened to the presentation with a beatific expression, nodding sagely, smiling, and then nodding some more. Tired and annoyed, Ward had a sudden vision of Phil stuck on someone’s dashboard, an executive bobblehead. Nope, it wouldn’t sell, because Christ, who would want to buy something so boring?
It went without saying that using social media to expand their reach was vital in this day and age. But surely his family needed to do more than simply commission a photographer/videographer, make their website as easy to navigate as possible, and then remember to hire the Porter Group to write some excellent ad copy for them, Ward thought.
He reached back to rub the tense muscles of his neck. So far nothing in the presentation was making him optimistic about increasing occupancy and revenue. On the verge of interrupting Michael Parenti, who was presenting this segment of the pitch, Ward caught himself as a new slide flashed onto the screen. The header read: “Definitive Content: Educate Your Guests and Tell Your Story. Be Unique.”
All right. Now they were talking. “Anyone have thoughts on the best way to educate our guests about what makes Silver Creek Ranch special?” he asked.
“Well, that would be in the ad copy we’d put on the website,” Phil said.
“I don’t think that’s enough. We need a more dynamic medium.” It was small of him, Ward knew, but he was happy to shoot Phil’s answer down. He was still royally pissed at the way Phil had treated Tess.
“You might want to consider expanding your social media presence to Facebook and Twitter,” Michael said.
Phil’s expression turned mulish. “Twitter? What, do I look like Justin Bieber?”
Ward heard Reid mutter something under his breath about both Phil and Bieber. It was safe to assume the comment was not flattering to either man. Then he glanced at Tess. She was busy writing on her notepad. While she might know zip about ranching, she had worked in the service industry in New York City. He was willing to bet she was a little more clued in than Phil. “So what media would you choose, Tess?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Definitely Facebook and Twitter, and I’d also consider Pinterest.”
“Pinterest isn’t a serious revenue driver,” Michael said.
“Maybe not. But you’re looking for ways to show how unique Silver Creek is, right? Pinterest allows you to create great boards. You could make a collage of all sorts of things that make Silver Creek Ranch a wonderful place to visit, whether it’s the cabins, Roo’s pastries, the animals, that sort of thing.” Tess shrugged. “Then it’s a question of people repinning, just as they might retweet.”
“And how do you feel about Twitter?” Reid asked her.
“Well, I’ve noticed you and your family don’t spend a lot of time looking at your cellphones, but a lot of the rest of the world does. Tweets are easy to blast out and can cover a lot of different topics in a day.”
“So, better than blogs in that respect?”
“Well, there’s that guy who did the Waiter Rant blog awhile back, which was pretty entertaining, but that’s not what you’re looking for. Twitter and Pinterest are also cheaper than print advertising—not that you want to give up the glossy magazines,” she added with a glance at Phil.
Score another point for Tess, Ward thought with a dose of pride. She’d noticed Phil’s addiction to Condé Nast Traveler.
“Okay, so Twitter, Pinterest—these are definitely things we’re going to want to investigate to expand our clientele base,” he said.
Michael cleared his throat. “But unlike the website, where you can have someone manage it, those two media work best if you have someone on the premises handling them.”
“We’ll find someone.” Already Ward was figuring out how best to approach Tess with the idea that she be in charge of tweeting news about the ranch and posting images on Pinterest.
It occurred to him that his mother must have been just waiting for the opportunity to promote Tess. Like him, it would have taken her only a couple of days to appreciate her smarts. And she would have realized, too, that this quality would make Tess a lot more interesting to him than the other women she’d selected in her matchmaking efforts.
He had to give credit where credit was due. His mother had hit the jackpot. Tess was a hell of a woman: sexy and intriguing. The question was whether it would be smart to pursue this growing fascination. A better question was whether he cared about being smart.
Michael clicked to the next image. This one read “Develop Appealing Special Offers and Update Them Regularly.”
Catchy, real catchy, War
d thought. Good thing the ad copy these guys wrote was better than their PowerPoint headers.
It was Ted Dulchek’s turn to speak. “We’re aware of the inroads you’re making with respect to special promotions. Phil told us what a success Valentine’s weekend was and how you’ve already received rebookings from it. The challenge will be to create special offers during nonholiday, off-season periods.”
“Some of the guest ranches offer themed stays. Cowgirls’ weekend, tours of local wineries, and the like,” Reid said. “I’m building a relationship with several of the local wineries to see whether we can work out a mutually beneficial package—something along the lines of a weekend stay here and enology courses.”
Ted nodded. “Both of those could certainly appeal to an important target audience. Women love the idea of getting away with their girlfriends and doing something different, like taking a course in wines. I’m sure learning how to be a cowgirl for a weekend …”
Tess had just finished drawing a box around the words “cowgirls’ weekend,” ready to write down whatever ideas Ward and Reid might fire off about what such a package might include—other than lots of women, horses, and, well, ropes and stuff, when she realized that five pairs of eyes were focused on her. “What? I mean, excuse me. Did someone say something?” She took care to avoid looking in Ward’s direction in case she got distracted by the way his damp hair curled at the ends.
The corners of Reid’s mouth had lifted. “As the only woman present, you’ll have to be our resident expert. How would you feel about you and your best friend coming here for a cowgirls’ weekend?”
She nearly choked on the horrified laugh that threatened to erupt. As if she and Anna would ever want to spend a weekend pretending to be cowgirls. She pressed her lips together until they hurt. Even then it took a few seconds before she could trust her mouth to speak.
“Uh, the wannabe cowgirl thing isn’t exactly my cup of espresso, if you know what I mean, but I’m sure there are plenty of other women who might enjoy it”—next time she went to church she’d confess for that whopper of a lie—“especially if you included a deluxe spa package, and I mean the works, and convinced Roo to do a dessert night where she invited the women into the kitchen and offered some baking demonstrations. Oh, and there’d have to be dancing and drinks.” With those extras, if a girl like her was shanghaied into such a ridiculous event, she wouldn’t find it a total loss. If the girl had any brains, she might even figure out how to avoid getting on the back of a horse entirely.
