The Cowboy's Perfect Match

by Cathy McDavid

  “Okay. As long as we’re done by ten. I have to start prepping food for the cookout as well as make three dozen wedding cupcakes and a cake.”

  Their one wedding on Friday was a small afternoon affair. Of their two Saturday weddings, the first was hosting their reception at a local restaurant rather than the ranch and the other was serving only cake and punch. Bridget would be done in plenty of time for the cookout.

  “Nora may want to be included in the call with her granddaughter,” she suggested.

  “Good idea. I’ll let her know.” Grandma Em didn’t budge. “By the way, I spoke to your mom earlier and asked if she can come early on Saturday to help with the engagement party.”

  “And?”

  “She’ll call back. She was taking Doug to pick up his new golf clubs.”

  Couldn’t he take himself? Bridget gnawed her lower lip. In her opinion, Doug wasn’t needy as much as he was insecure. But her mother didn’t see it that way and Bridget long ago stopped commenting. Why bother? Her mother would simply say, “You know men, they’re all just big children at heart.”

  Bridget thought differently.

  “Aren’t you glad for Gianna?” Grandma Em asked.

  “What?” Bridget blinked. “Of course. She’s very sweet and Nora dotes on her.”

  “Ever since she and Nora came over and announced the engagement, you’ve been out of sorts.”

  Bridget dumped the pretreated towels in the laundry basket, where they’d sit until the load of linens was done.

  “My mind’s been elsewhere.” Like on how Gianna, twelve years Bridget’s junior, had already found her soul mate.

  “Has Ryan invited you to dinner again?”

  Aha! Here was the real reason for her grandmother’s lingering.

  Bridget played dumb. “Again? What makes you think he invited me to dinner a first time?”

  “It’s obvious when a man has been bitten by the love bug, and been bitten hard.”

  Love bug? Ryan?

  “Trust me, Grandma, he hasn’t been bitten, and he didn’t invite me to dinner.” Not yesterday, anyway.

  “Hmm. You said no. I figured as much.”

  Weary of her grandmother’s continued matchmaking efforts, Bridget attempted to redirect the subject. “He gave me a tour of his house after we checked the barn and outbuildings.” She explained about the call from Nora regarding the trespassing teenagers.

  “What did you think of the place? Nora says he’s making progress.”

  “Slow progress. It’ll be a showcase one day, but there’s a lot of work to be done. He plans on remodeling the entire property, inside and outside.”

  “Gotta admire a man with ambition.”

  Bridget set up the ironing board for later. “Did Nora tell you that he flips houses?”

  “What’s that?”

  “He buys fixer-uppers at a low price and then sells them for a profit after he’s done with the remodeling. This is his fourth. He’s making money at it, apparently.”

  Grandma Em drew back in surprise. “Good money?”

  “Enough, apparently. From what he said, he rolls the profit from each house into the next and lives entirely on his wages. His goal is to eventually buy a small ranch and maybe start his own construction company.”

  “He is ambitious. And here I thought I couldn’t like him any more than I do.”

  Bridget resisted rolling her eyes and headed out of the laundry room.

  Grandmother Em trailed after her. “You have to admit, he has much more potential than you originally credited him with.”

  “He’s not looking for a wife.”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Actually, he did. That ambition of his you so admire includes remaining single until he’s bought that ranch.”

  “How long does he suppose that’ll take?”

  “Two years at least.”

  “That’s nothing.” Grandma Em gave a snort. “A man like Ryan might well be worth waiting for.”

  Not to Bridget. She’d be thirty-four in two years, as her biological clock kept reminding her.

  It was true, these days women were getting married and having children in their later thirties and forties all the time. But Bridget was ready now, and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake by not giving the more serious-minded men she’d dated in the past a chance.

  She mentioned none of that to her grandmother. “I’d rather focus on a relationship with immediate potential.”

  “And miss out on a lot of fun in the meantime? Take it from me. I wasn’t serious about Homer when we first dated. That quickly changed.”

  “The difference is, Homer was ready for marriage and having children one day wasn’t part of the picture.” Bridget went to the counter, where she uncovered the mixer and chose the right set of beaters for the cupcake batter.

  “Is it because Ryan’s younger than you?”

  “No.” The small gap in their ages made no difference to Bridget. “Though if he were older, he might be closer to buying that ranch, marrying and starting a family.”

  “I bet he could be persuaded to postpone buying a ranch.”

  “I’d never ask that of him.” She recalled his desire to start out married life with more than his parents had. “He’d eventually come to resent me. We’d both end up miserable and angry and hurt.”

  “I hate to admit that I see your point.” Grandma Em’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t necessarily agree, however. People in love find a way.”

  “We’re not in love.”

  “You could be. If you let yourself.”

  Bridget was tired of the back-and-forth. “When you eloped with Homer after a whirlwind courtship, even missing the opening of Sweetheart Ranch, I supported you. Unconditionally. I’d like you to support my decision to not get involved with a man who isn’t ready to commit.”

  “You’re right.” Grandma went over and tucked an errant lock of hair behind Bridget’s ear. “I just want you to be happy.”

  Like she was happy, Bridget thought. Her grandmother had found a beautiful and satisfying love. It was natural for her to wish the same for Bridget, especially now that Molly had found love with Owen. Not to mention Nora’s granddaughter’s recent engagement.

  “You don’t need to worry about me,” Bridget said, kissing her grandmother’s cheek before breaking away to open the refrigerator door.

  “For what it’s worth, you’re too good for that doctor.”

  Bridget refused to be dragged into another discussion on Gregory. “Did you read my suggestions for Saturday’s menu?”

  “Remind me.”

  “Southwestern grilled chicken with lime butter, cheddar ranch potatoes, shredded zucchini and black-bean salad, and fire-roasted marinated tomatoes.”

  “Sounds delicious. Though we could have had plain old hamburgers and hot dogs. Then you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

  “Grandma! Watch your mouth,” Bridget joked. “This is no ordinary backyard cookout.”

  “What’s for dessert?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  Grandma Em started a fresh pot of coffee. “Will you be able to go on the hayride?”

  “I doubt it. I’ll be too busy with the food.”

  Suddenly, Molly burst into the kitchen, an I’ve-got-news-for-you grin on her face. “You’ll never guess who’s just called and booked an appointment for Saturday morning.” Before anyone could answer, she blurted, “Dr. Hall from the urgent-care clinic!”

  “You don’t say?” Grandma Em’s gaze flew to Bridget, whose heart executed a quick sideways tumble.

  “Yeah.” Molly grabbed a cookie from the jar Bridget kept constantly filled. “He wants some information for his sister. She’s researching venues in the area. She and her fiancé live in Vermont but are having
their wedding here. A second wedding, actually, for her family. They’re also having one next month in Vermont for his. Guess they figure two weddings are easier than making one of their families fly across the country. Anyway, he promised her he’d stop by and get some information.”

  “How very interesting.” Grandma Em didn’t disguise the curious tone in her voice.

  Bridget realized she’d been toying with her hair and forced her hand to her side. Fortunately, Molly had no idea about her designs on Gregory. Neither was she picking up on their grandmother’s subtle innuendoes. Thank goodness.

  “He also signed up for the hayride and cookout on Saturday,” Molly added.

  “He did?” Bridget’s heart executed another tumble, higher this time.

  “Gotta run.” Molly headed for the door. “Just had to tell you. He’ll be here early, before clinic hours.”

  Grandma Em cornered Bridget the instant they were alone. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mind and will be going on the hayride after all?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMILY TILTED THE map in order for Ryan to better see and tapped the center with her finger. “If you take the south road instead of the west, you can make a circle here and people will have a nice view of Pinnacle Peak.”

  They sat at the kitchen table, finishing the last of their pastries and discussing the route for tonight’s hayride. Early morning meetings had become a regular habit for them this past week. Emily liked going over the day’s business with Ryan and troubleshooting any potential problems. He strongly suspected she simply liked the company.

  He didn’t mind. He, too, enjoyed their meetings. Not only did they help him do a better job, but he also got to partake of Bridget’s many culinary delights and had a front-row view of her at work. Her bustling and fussing and mumbling to herself was nothing short of entertaining.

  “The west road’s in better condition for a hayride.” Ryan bit into a melt-in-your-mouth pastry. “Fewer ruts and holes.”

  “True,” Emily agreed.

  He’d ridden both roads yesterday morning before their one scheduled trail ride in order to check conditions and familiarize himself with the routes. He’d rather not encounter any unpleasant surprises during his first solo effort driving the team.

  After more discussion, he and Emily decided on the west road. At the long kitchen counter, Bridget flitted about, busily chopping and dicing and slicing and mixing. Food for the cookout tonight, Ryan assumed.

  She seemed more agitated than usual, and he wondered what was bothering her. Could it be him sitting in close range? Other than square-dance practice last night, they’d had little contact these past two days. And there’d been no close calls during last night’s practice, like the first time.

  Two other couples had been recruited. Molly and Owen, along with friends of Homer’s, had brought the number to eight. As in typical square-dance fashion, Ryan had traded partners frequently. There’d been no opportunity to lose himself in Bridget’s startling green eyes or hold her closer than was necessitated by the dance pattern.

  Knowing minimal contact was for the best hadn’t stopped Ryan from missing their previous intense connection.

  Watching her at work this morning, he pictured her preparing a romantic dinner for two in his newly remodeled kitchen. Out of the question, of course, but tell that to his vivid imagination.

  She clearly wasn’t having similar fantasies. When not gnawing on her lower lip, she was wringing her hands or randomly moving objects about. Then, while pouring marinade sauce over the chicken pieces arranged in a pan, she spilled some and made a much bigger deal of it than was warranted, grumbling complaints under her breath.

  “There’s a total of three carriage rides this weekend,” Emily said, shifting gears from the hayride to the ranch’s signature amenity. “Amos and Moses are going to have quite a workout.”

  The Haflinger draft-horse brothers were up to it. Sturdy and strong, they’d been bred to work and loved to pull. “They’ll do fine,” Ryan assured her. “None of the carriage rides are more than an hour long, and we’ll be walking the entire way.”

  “How are the new trail horses doing? No problems?”

  “Not a single complaint from the guests. The farrier was here on Thursday and replaced Goldie’s shoe.”

  “That’s good.” Emily consulted a printed-out schedule. “We have one to two trail rides every day for the next two weeks, which, by Molly’s calculations, is our break-even point.”

  “Is that enough?” Ryan asked. “Wouldn’t it be better if we were making a profit?” He did worry about job security. The previous wrangler, Big Jim, had been part-time. Ryan had easily logged forty hours his first week and would do so again next week. According to his calculations, he was costing the ranch twice what Big Jim had.

  “Making a profit is always preferable,” Emily said. “For now, trail rides are a popular selling point to potential wedding clients and honeymooning guests. As long as we’re breaking even, I’m tickled pink. The ranch is still in its first year of operation. I wake up most days amazed we’re doing as well as we are and not on the brink of financial ruin.”

  They no sooner moved to the next item on Emily’s list when the bell over the front door jangled, announcing a visitor.

  Bridget gave a small jump and dropped an empty aluminum mixing bowl onto the tile floor. It clattered loudly before spinning in a circle.

  “Sorry.” Flushing profusely, she bent and grabbed the bowl. “My fingers are slippery.”

  Ryan leaned back in his chair and studied her. Something definitely had her on edge today. The visitor, perhaps? A strong possibility given the dropped bowl and her sudden obsession with inspecting each and every potato in the bag.

  “Must be the doctor.” Emily grinned at Bridget. “He’s early.”

  “The same doctor from the clinic?” Ryan pushed aside his suddenly tasteless pastry.

  “Yes, indeed.” Emily’s voice contained an odd lilt Ryan couldn’t quite identify. “He’s here for his sister. She’s researching wedding venues. Isn’t that nice?”

  Again, Emily appeared to find considerable amusement in Bridget’s nervous reaction to her comments. With the force she scrubbed the potatoes, they wouldn’t require peeling. The skin would simply flake right off.

  Ryan tamped down his twinge of jealousy. Bridget’s relationship with the doctor was none of his concern. She’d made that much clear the other day. The same day he’d made it clear to her that he wasn’t ready to settle down.

  Molly abruptly stuck her head into the kitchen. “Bridget, do you have a second? Dr. Hall would like some information for his sister on wedding cakes and the catering menu. Can you talk to him?”

  “Sure, sure.” Bridget ripped off her apron and tossed it aside, seemingly not caring that it landed half in the sink. “Be right there. Let me grab my book and price sheet.”

  Molly left and Bridget flew into a flurry, sweeping a binder and her tablet off the counter in one motion. On her way out, she stopped to study her reflection in the microwave door over the stove. Ryan swore he saw her extract a tube of lipstick from her jeans pocket and uncap it one-handed.

  “Don’t worry about her.”

  Emily’s voice penetrated his thoughts. He turned to face her, realizing he’d been staring after Bridget. “I’m not.”

  “She isn’t interested in him. Not really. She just keeps telling herself she is. It’s a defense mechanism.”

  “Against what?”

  Emily laughed. “Why, you, silly.”

  “Sorry. I’m confused.”

  “She’s afraid of liking you too much.”

  “There’s nothing between us.”

  “More’s the pity,” Emily said sadly.

  Ryan decided not to pursue his boss’s remark. He’d likely get his hopes up only to have them dashed.


  He stood, then carried his plate and coffee cup from the table to the sink and, moving Bridget’s apron aside, loaded them in the dishwasher. “I’d best get to work. Amos and Moses won’t groom themselves.”

  “Me, too, I suppose.”

  All at once they heard the rumble of a large vehicle pulling up in front of the house.

  “Must be Owen,” Emily announced. “He bought a new pony for his children and mentioned stopping by on his way home. Come on, let’s take a look at the little fellow.”

  Ryan accompanied her outside. There, Owen was lowering the rear gate on his horse trailer. A moment later he led out what was quite possibly the cutest pony on the face of the planet. Barely three feet tall at the withers, he was brown with large white patches. Or was he white with large brown patches? Either way, Popeye, as he was named, looked curiously about with large, expressive eyes.

  “He’s adorable,” Emily exclaimed and promptly lavished the pony with scratches between his ears and kisses on his nose. “The children will love him. If they don’t I’ll take him off your hands.”

  Molly came outside and made an even bigger fuss over Popeye than her grandmother. Had she finished her appointment with the doctor? Ryan’s gaze kept drifting to the house’s front door. Neither Bridget nor the doctor had emerged. Were they together?

  Owen returned Popeye to the trailer and was about to close the rear gate when Bridget and the doctor finally appeared. Instead of joining everyone else, they remained on the veranda talking, Bridget quite animatedly. Like at the clinic, she tossed her hair and smiled up at him. Once...no, twice, she reached out and touched his upper arm.

  Ryan took note of the man’s designer cargo pants, the hundred-dollar haircut he sported and his daily workout physique. The BMW in the parking area surely belonged to him. And he was a doctor. An esteemed and respected professional. He probably lived in that cluster of expensive luxury homes in the foothills south of town.

  No way could Ryan, a wrangler who drove a nine-year-old pickup and survived paycheck to paycheck, compete with him.

  With a “See you all later,” Ryan moseyed off toward the stables. Bridget’s flirtatious laughter followed him, carried on the breeze.