The Cowboy's Perfect Match

by Cathy McDavid

  He hadn’t required much instruction from Big Jim. Ryan had gone on plenty of hayrides during his life. His father used to hitch up the horses every Halloween and take the DeMere kids and their many friends from house to house. He still did, only now the kids were Ryan’s many nieces and nephews. Grandpa DeMere was a favorite relative with them.

  Besides Halloween, there’d been church outings and parades and birthday parties. Ryan had also driven the wagon at his cousin’s wedding. He’d forgotten to mention that to Emily during their interview.

  She hadn’t come on the ride. Neither had Bridget, not that Ryan expected her to. He assumed she was busy with the cookout preparations. Nonetheless, he’d suffered a small stab of disappointment.

  Ryan had caught only the tail end of Bridget’s conversation with her grandmother earlier. Enough to know she was going out with the local doctor or wanted to go out with him. Ryan wasn’t sure which. Her remarks had caused a different sort of stab—one of envy. Whoever this doctor was, Ryan didn’t like him. He didn’t care if the man discovered a cure for cancer, he wasn’t right for Bridget.

  Neither was Ryan, but that hadn’t stopped the giant fist from squeezing his insides. To mask his reaction, he’d smiled and winked at Bridget when leaving with her grandmother. She hadn’t responded, and Ryan had been forced to put aside thoughts of her while he handled Emily’s various chores and then went home to change clothes for the hayride.

  While the horses walked sedately down the long dirt road leading away from the ranch, the sun inched slowly toward the horizon. A wet spring had caused an abundance of blossoms to sprout, turning the normally dry and prickly cacti into striking displays of color that drew a variety of birds and flying insects.

  Big Jim pointed out various spots of interest to their passengers. Ryan paid close attention, as he would soon be doing the same thing when he was in charge of the hayrides.

  “Over there are the McDowell Mountains, home to the largest urban preserve in the continental United States,” Big Jim said. “If you go on a trail ride, and I highly recommend you do, you’ll travel through the northern tip of the preserve.”

  Two couples were already signed up for trail rides on Wednesday and two more on Friday. Ryan figured he’d be going along with Big Jim in order to learn the different routes. Too bad Bridget couldn’t come with them. He’d enjoy seeing her in the saddle and away from the kitchen.

  The hayride lasted a little over an hour. By then their passengers were in good spirits, hungry from an abundance of fresh air and ready to relax around the campfire.

  While everyone strolled to the ranch house, where the fire pit was located, Ryan helped Big Jim unharness and brush down the horses. Ryan had been impressed with the team’s performance and mentioned as much to Big Jim.

  The older man patted Moses’s neck before closing the door on the big gelding’s stall. “They’re good boys. I’ll miss working with them.”

  Both horses went straight for their water troughs, then examined their feed bins, which Ryan had filled right before departing on the hayride. The other three horses showed considerable interest in the goings-on only to grow bored when more food wasn’t forthcoming.

  “What time is the first trail ride on Wednesday?” Ryan asked. “I can bring my own horse if we need an extra one.”

  “Here’s the problem.” Big Jim closed and locked the stable door behind them. “Doris is having some tests done over the next few days.” He’d mentioned his wife’s heart condition earlier. While not life-threatening, it was concerning enough that she was under the care of a cardiologist. Her health issues were the main reason Big Jim wanted to retire. “Maybe Owen can go with you. He’s familiar with the mountains.”

  “I’ll ask him.”

  “Have yourself a good evening.” Big Jim headed for his truck.

  “Aren’t you coming to the cookout?”

  “Naw.” He yanked open the driver’s side door. “Doris gets nervous when she’s home alone for too long.”

  “Good night, then.”

  Ryan ambled down the road leading to the ranch house. Well before he arrived at the fire pit, he smelled the delicious aroma of food cooking over hot embers. He knew this meal would far surpass the breakfast Bridget had prepared and make returning to his regular diet of bologna sandwiches hard.

  She was there, bent over the fire pit and turning foil-wrapped ears of corn on a metal rack. Streaks of soot marred her cheeks and loose hair tumbled into her eyes. She brushed away the strands with the back of her hand.

  Ryan was immediately captivated, not that he hadn’t been from the moment they’d met.

  He passed the ranch guests he’d recently driven on the hayride. Most were sitting at the picnic table or in lawn chairs and sipping adult beverages. They returned his hellos, some thanking him again for the hayride. The two girls insisted on venturing too close to the fire pit and had to be warned away repeatedly by their parents.

  Bridget worked quickly, expertly flipping steaks and skewers of shrimp and stirring a cast-iron pot of beans. She fussed and fretted as if creating a masterpiece.

  Coming up behind her, he asked, “Need any help?”

  She cranked her head around. “I’m good, thanks.”

  He stayed nearby, anyway, mostly to watch her.

  Owen wandered over, two longneck beer bottles in his hands. He’d arrived a short while ago to join the family for the cookout. “Have a seat.” He indicated a pair of vacant lawn chairs.

  Ryan gladly accepted the offer—of the chair and the beer. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  “How’d your first day go?” Owen asked.

  “I think I’m going to like it here.” Ryan’s gaze strayed to Bridget.

  Owen obviously noticed. “She’s something else. Works like a fiend with seven arms.”

  “I don’t know how she does it.”

  “She and Molly grew up in the hospitality business. Emily and her first husband owned and operated the Morning Side Inn in town for over thirty years. The girls spent their summers here, learning the ropes from a young age.”

  “Runs in the family then.”

  “This ranch means everything to them.”

  Ryan couldn’t decide if Owen was simply making small talk or issuing a warning. “It’s an incredible place.”

  “Emily’s idea. She sold the inn after her first husband died and sunk her entire savings into Sweetheart Ranch.”

  Definitely a warning, Ryan decided. He wasn’t mad. If he had a vested interest in both the ranch and the O’Malley family, like Owen did, he’d be sure the new employee knew the score.

  “I appreciate the job,” Ryan said, “and I fully plan to give the O’Malleys my best while I’m here.”

  “Thinking of leaving soon?”

  Too late, Ryan realized his mistake. “Are you kidding? That money pit I bought is going to keep me in Mustang Valley for a while.”

  “You’ve taken on a big project,” Owen agreed. “You doing all the work yourself?”

  “As much as I can. The house and outbuildings have good bones, sound electrical and decent plumbing. I know it looks bad but fortunately most of the work is cosmetic. Patch the drywall, a fresh coat of paint, repair the fencing and replace the rotted floorboards on the front porch, and you won’t recognize the place.”

  He then asked Owen about leading the trail rides on Wednesday.

  “Wish I could, but I’ve got no one to cover for me at the store.”

  “It’s okay.” Ryan would think of something.

  Hearing Molly call his name from the front porch, Owen rose. “Seems I’m needed. If you’ll excuse me.” He left, reminding the more inquisitive of the two little girls to stay away from the fire.

  Ryan got up as well and sought out Bridget to see if she’d changed her mind about requiring his help. The guests were mingling, and he c
aught bits and pieces of conversations. Most were the couples comparing notes on their weddings and honeymoon stay at the ranch.

  A folding table with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth had been set up not far from the picnic table. Emily and an older gentleman who hadn’t been on the hayride were arranging paper plates, plasticware and trays of food. Ryan pegged the man as Emily’s new husband from the way he leaned in close to when she talked.

  He came up behind Bridget. She’d returned to the fire pit and was poking the glowing embers with a metal rod.

  “There you are,” she said, as if expecting him. “Can you please check on the coffee? The urn is in the kitchen. If it’s done, the light on the front will be green. Pour the coffee into the thermos and bring it out here.”

  “Can do.”

  When Ryan returned with the thermos, Bridget was delivering platters of steaks and shrimp to the table. He set down the thermos where she indicated.

  “Dinner’s served,” she called and promptly cleared out of the way. The table was instantly mobbed by hungry guests. “Get yourself some dinner,” she told Ryan.

  “I will when the rush dies down.” He nodded at the generous spread. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I generally wait until later.”

  “You’ve been going hard all day. You deserve a break.”

  “Today’s especially busy with the cookout. I actually have some time off tomorrow.” Her eyes never veered from the guests, her tense posture indicating she was ready to spring into action if necessary.

  What, he wondered, would she be like relaxed and unhurried? He suddenly wanted to know.

  “Big Jim’s busy with his wife this week and can’t lead the trail rides. I asked Owen if he could take me, but he’s working.” He flashed what he hoped was an enticing smile. “Any possibility you can go with me? I’d hate to get lost in those mountains.”

  “I...” She hesitated.

  “Come on. I promise I’m good company.”

  She glanced away. “That’s what worries me.”

  He laughed, liking her honest admission.

  “Ryan.” She turned back to him. “I don’t think—”

  Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek filled the air, cutting off Bridget’s reply. Ryan whirled and saw that one of the girls had fallen against the low block wall surrounding the fire pit, likely pushed there by her sister. A wildly flung arm had hit the grill, knocking it askew.

  Ryan didn’t think. He dove for the fire pit, his hands already outstretched. Bridget was right behind him.

  He grabbed the little girl by the waist and hauled her to safety. Fear and possibly pain contorted her cherub face and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Mommy!” Her scream filled Ryan’s ears. “Mommy!”

  “I’m right here, baby.” The distraught woman shouldered between two people. “Oh, my gosh. Are you okay?”

  Ryan passed the little girl to her mother. “Had yourself a scare, did you? But you’re safe now, and you have a good story to tell your friends.”

  “Thank you so much.” The mother immediately began inspecting her daughter for injuries and found nothing worse than a small red mark on the inside of her wrist. With a kiss to the spot and some cooing, the girl’s sobs quieted. “This was my fault. I should have been watching her.”

  Bridget reached out and stroked the little girl’s hair. “How about a pink lemonade? If your mom says yes.”

  The girl nodded.

  Her sister beamed a smile at Bridget. “Me, too, please.”

  “After you apologize to your sister,” the mother admonished. She took hold of both girls’ hands. “No more playing near the fire, you hear me?”

  Emily came over after the mother and girls left. “I see the crisis was averted. Good job, Ryan.”

  “Just glad I was there.”

  Dinner resumed. By then, Ryan was ready to eat. He paused while helping himself to both steak and shrimp, and listened to Emily and Bridget’s conversation a few feet away, their backs to him.

  “Why can’t you show him the trails?” Emily asked.

  “Grandma...”

  “Bridget, he needs a guide. You’re the only one available.”

  They walked away, their voices too low for Ryan to catch more than a random word. Halfway through his meal, Bridget approached. His fork came to a stop midway to his mouth.

  “I changed my mind,” she said. “I’ll go riding with you tomorrow. Meet me at ten sharp.”

  * * *

  BRIDGET WENT ON foot to the stables rather than take the golf cart. She figured she could use the few extra minutes before meeting Ryan to clear her head.

  She wasn’t exactly regretting her decision to go riding with him. Grandma Em was right: he did need to learn the surrounding area before the ranch’s first official trail ride tomorrow, and she was the only person available.

  Okay, not entirely true. Grandma Em could show him, but with her bad hip she didn’t ride much these days. And Molly was occupied with a last-minute midweek wedding tonight, making her unavailable. The couple was requiring very little from Bridget. They’d met at a weight-loss center and were providing their own low-cal cake and refreshments. They were, however, making innumerable requests that Molly and Grandma Em were scrambling to accommodate.

  Fortunately, the wedding was a small one. Twenty-five guests, give or take. Though the ranch could accommodate considerably more, their average number hovered in the thirty to forty range. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, smaller, more intimate weddings were very popular. Especially when the couple could then stay at a Western-themed bed-and-breakfast.

  Friday was a different story. That wedding would be Bridget’s first attempt at providing light catering. She wasn’t nervous. Or so she told herself. She was well prepared and experienced, having practiced the dishes multiple times.

  Last week, the bride, her groom and her mother had visited the ranch in order to taste-test a variety of menu options. They’d chosen mini sliders, fried mac-and-cheese lollipops and fruit kebabs. The fried mac-and-cheese lollipops were something new for Bridget and a little tricky to prepare. They were also delicious and an entertaining novelty.

  After her ride with Ryan, she was making a trip to the giant membership box store for everything she needed. Other than the fruit, of course, which she’d buy fresh on Friday morning at the farmers’ market.

  All was going as planned. Every list had been checked and double-checked and every detail scrutinized. No cause to worry, she assured herself.

  Ryan’s pickup truck came into view as she crested the small rise. She recognized it from yesterday. Hooked to the rear of the truck was an equally road-weary trailer with two unfamiliar horses tied to the side. His, she presumed.

  The large bald-faced paint was saddled and bridled. A smaller bay mare wore only a halter and carried a canvas pack saddle, which had empty pouches hanging from each side of the wooden frame. The three mounts belonging to the ranch were tethered to the hitching post outside the stables. All were saddled but only one was bridled. The remaining two wore halters.

  Ryan had yet to see Bridget. As she approached, he untied one of the ranch horses and walked it over to the small mare wearing the pack saddle. Bridget watched as he expertly tied the ranch horse’s lead rope to a metal ring on the side of the pack saddle. Both horses stood quietly as if this was old hat to them, tails swishing in matching rhythm to chase away pesky flies.

  Curious what he was up to, Bridget asked, “Who else is coming with us?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression lighting up. “No one. Just you and me.”

  “Why so many horses?”

  “I figured they could use some exercise and a little practice.” He gestured toward the palomino standing at the hitching rail alongside her stablemate. “She’s for you, unless yo
u want a different horse. I guessed at which saddle was yours.”

  He was correct on both counts. The palomino was her preferred mount and the saddle hers.

  “Did my initials burned into the pommel give it away?”

  “They might have.” He chuckled, a warm, appealing sound.

  She went over to the horse and inspected the job he’d done. Cinch tight. Stirrups the right length. She usually used a different bridle but this one would suffice for today.

  “Her name is Goldie.” Bridget finger-combed the horse’s tangled forelock into a semblance of order. “Not very original, I know. She’s a sweetie, though.”

  “You have a farrier?” Ryan went about tying a third horse to the second one, forming a long line.

  “He’s due next Monday.”

  “You might want to call him. Goldie’s lost a shoe. Right front.”

  Bridget glanced down, dismayed to see the shoe was indeed missing. “There’s a hoof boot in the stables. I’ll get it.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I haven’t had a chance yet to look around.”

  Bridget entered the stables and located the hoof boot in a storage cabinet. Back outside, she slipped the rubber boot onto Goldie’s unshod hoof and adjusted the different buckles and straps to ensure a snug fit. It was strictly a temporary measure—the boot would protect the vulnerable underside of Goldie’s hoof from the hard, rocky ground until the farrier arrived.

  Before long, she and Ryan were on their way. Bridget went ahead, because she knew the trails and Ryan was ponying three horses behind him—his mare and the ranch’s two geldings.

  Their small parade must have made quite a sight as they left the ranch behind. At the gate, Bridget leaned down and opened the latch one-handed. Once Ryan and the rest of the horses went through, she pushed the gate closed and secured the latch in much the same manner.

  “Nicely done,” Ryan commented.

  “A hangover from years of competing in trail classes.”