“Don’t drive yourself crazy, Ryan. It won’t do any good and just keep you up at night.”
“You’re right.”
He reached out and pulled her into a tender hug, their second of the day. He’d also kissed her this morning when she’d arrived at 7:00 a.m. sharp for their ride. They’d been doing that with increasing regularity the past three days. Not in plain sight and not when they were working.
“I just want this sale to go through.” Releasing her, he skimmed his palm down her arm and claimed her hand.
“What if it doesn’t?” she asked, taking measure of their linked fingers and thinking how very nicely they fit. “Would living here be so bad? Once you finish the renovations.”
“I can’t run a small herd on a single acre of land. And the house is small. There’s no place for my folks to live if they decide to move, other than on top of me. I’d like a barn with sufficient space to build them an apartment and sufficient land for a construction office and storage yard. That’s just not feasible here.”
He was right. The property was small by Mustang Valley standards.
He was also right to be thinking ahead to owning his own construction business. His job at Sweetheart Ranch, while great for someone just starting out or was semiretired, like their former wrangler, wasn’t enough pay-wise or benefit-wise or advancement-wise for a man planning on eventually getting married and having a family.
“I have an idea.” Ryan lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the sensitive skin behind her knuckles. “Let’s have an early lunch at the café. I can’t think of anything better to take my mind off the inspections.”
He pulled her along after him, and Bridget went willingly. The time they spent together was quickly becoming magical as her feelings for him deepened. She wasn’t ready for it to be over. Not yet and, at the rate they were going, maybe not ever.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WEREN’T A lot of restaurants in Mustang Valley to choose from. Ryan would have taken Bridget someplace fancier than the Cowboy Up Café, but other than the coffee bar at the bookstore or the food truck selling street tacos that came to town on weekends, their only other choice for lunch was the local bar and grill.
Personally, he liked the fare at the Cowboy Up. Then again, Ryan didn’t possess a refined palate. No one who subsided primarily on sandwiches and boxed meals did.
He hoped Bridget wasn’t too disappointed. She’d acted upbeat on the drive from his place to the café. The reason might have been that they were together. Ryan was feeling rather upbeat himself.
Though it was just past eleven and not quite officially lunchtime, the café was surprisingly busy. The hostess greeting them requested they wait while a table for two was cleared and set up. A large party with reservations was expected, she explained. Hence, the wait.
“You want to sit?” Ryan nodded at a bench just inside the door.
“I’m fine. They’re pretty quick here. We should be seated soon.” Bridget’s smile faltered. “Unless you want to sit.”
Three days into their relationship, and they were already trying to second-guess the other.
“I like standing.”
He did. Especially now. A small group leaving the café squeezed past them, forcing Ryan to press closer to Bridget in order to make room.
Behind them, the door whooshed open. Twenty or so people filed in and congregated to the left of the hostess podium, laughing and talking up a storm. Happily, Ryan was again required to cozy up to Bridget. He secretly wished the wait for their table took longer than promised.
The last two stragglers entering were no strangers: Emily and Homer.
“Grandma!” Bridget motioned them over and gave the older couple affectionate hugs. “I forgot you’d be here.” She turned and looked up at Ryan, placing their faces inches apart. “Grandma and Homer belong to the church lunch bunch.”
“Lunch bunch?” he asked.
“Some of the members meet here for lunch on the last Wednesday of every month,” Homer explained. “Would you like to join us?”
“Thank you,” Bridget said. “That’s very nice—”
“Homer!” Emily gave him an impatient ribbing with her elbow. “They don’t want to sit with us old folks. I’m sure they’d much rather be alone.”
“Oh.” He looked momentarily chagrined, then realization dawned, and he smiled. “Oh! I see. This is a—” his index finger pinged back and forth between Ryan and Bridget “—a tête-à-tête.”
“Who even uses that word anymore?” Emily rolled her eyes.
Ryan chuckled. “Can’t say I’m sure what it means.”
“They’re obviously here on a date.” Emily tugged on Homer’s sleeve. “Now, let’s leave them alone so they can get to know each other better without any interruptions.”
“Maybe next month,” Homer said before being dragged away.
“Sorry about that.” Bridget offered Ryan an apologetic smile when they were once more alone. “Sometimes Grandmother has no filter.”
He chuckled. “Not a problem.”
And it wasn’t. Not to him. He liked their relationship being public knowledge.
By then, the hostess had returned and escorted them to their booth. Ryan slid in opposite Bridget, picking up his menu as he did.
“What’s good?” he asked.
“Pretty much everything. The food here is the home-cooking variety. Meat loaf, chicken-fried steak, chili. They do have some salad entrées. Well, two salad entrées. Chef and grilled-chicken Caesar.”
He supposed there was little on the menu that appealed to her. She probably preferred something along the lines of poached trout or crepes. He, on the other hand, ate almost everything, even liver and onions. That was a favorite of his dad’s.
“Have you decided?” Bridget closed her menu.
“I’m leaning toward the club sandwich.”
“Good choice. The wedge fries are excellent.”
“You?”
“A patty melt.”
He drew back. “No fooling?”
“My guilty pleasure.” Her green eyes flashed with mirth. “I let myself have one every now and then.”
What Ryan wouldn’t give to be her guilty pleasure, and a whole lot more often than every now and then.
They lingered over lunch, chatting about this and that. He avoided any discussion of the inspections and instead shared amusing childhood memories.
While simple, his meal was stick-to-his-ribs good. Bridget finished every last bite of her patty melt. When she voiced a concern about the enormous amount of calories she’d consumed, he let his gaze slide over her.
“You’re gorgeous.”
“And you’re a flatterer,” she chided him.
There was a lot more he could say about what he thought of her. This wasn’t the time or place, however. Another day, like when he took her someplace fancier for dinner and they ate by candlelight.
The church lunch bunch was socializing over dessert and coffee when Ryan and Bridget left and returned to his truck. On the drive to his place, his phone beeped, signaling an email.
His glance cut from the road to Bridget. “I wonder if that could be the plumbing inspector’s report.”
“Do you think? It’s awfully quick.”
At the upcoming stop sign, he quickly checked his phone. Seeing the sender’s name, his pulse quickened. “Mind if we pull over?”
Bridget shook her head. “Not at all.”
In the bank parking lot, he let the engine idle and the air-conditioning run while he accessed his email app.
“It’s from the inspector.” Downloading the report to his phone, Ryan tried to view it. “Too difficult to read on this small screen,” he complained, his frustration mounting.
“Do you have a computer?” Bridget asked.
“Not anymore.” His old laptop had died a terrible death a few months ago, and a new one was an expense he’d decided could wait. Now, he wished he’d been less frugal.
“You can use the computer at the ranch if you want to print out the report. No one will mind.” She suddenly reached for her door handle. “Wait! If you want, you could email me the report. I’ll open it on my tablet when we get back to the house. The screen is larger than your phone.”
“You brought your tablet?”
“I always bring my tablet.”
He should have figured as much. “What’s your email address?”
She told him. Ryan forwarded her the report before pulling into traffic. He drove as fast as the speed limit allowed, his club sandwich wreaking havoc on his stomach and his hands choking the steering wheel. The moment they reached his house, Bridget hopped out of his truck and scurried to her SUV. Tablet in hand, she climbed back in beside him.
A minute later, she said, “I got it,” and passed him her tablet with the inspector’s report open.
He scrolled through all the mandatory legal mumbo jumbo until he reached the actual report. It was lengthy, but in his experience, these reports usually were. Especially with older properties like Ryan’s.
At that point, the reading got more interesting. The inspector had included a slew of notes and comments along with photographs he’d taken with the regular and infrared cameras. There were also several short videos embedded in the report.
Ryan skimmed. At first, there was nothing he hadn’t already anticipated in the way of recommended repairs. By the third page, the tone of the report changed, and he read more slowly and carefully. Here were findings he hadn’t expected, and they weren’t good.
By the time he reached the summary, a loud roar filled his ears, and his fingers fumbled as he scrolled up and clicked on the first video. The wavy, surreal images moving across the screen made no sense. Then, all at once, they did.
He must have been frowning, because Bridget asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I need to take a look at something.” He set down her tablet on the seat, turned off the truck and shoved open his door.
“Ryan!” She hurried after him.
Inside the house, he went directly to the laundry room.
“Hey, slow down and tell me what’s the matter.” Behind him, Bridget trotted to keep up.
“The inspector says the plumbing system is entirely shot and needs a complete overhaul. Every single pipe inside and outside replaced. Even those in the horse stalls. According to him, the system is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“He said that?”
“Practically word for word.”
“That sounds...like a lot.”
“A lot of money,” Ryan said. “And work and time.” He didn’t want to think about how much a complete plumbing overhaul would set him back.
In the laundry room, he studied the hookup for the washer. According to the inspector, this was a serious trouble spot. In Ryan’s opinion, it looked okay. He didn’t find much in the master bathroom, either, or the one in the hall.
Maybe the inspector had been exceedingly cautious and the whole report was exaggerated.
“Now where?” Bridget asked when he took off again.
“Outside.”
Like the washer hookup in the laundry room, he didn’t think the connection from the underground pipes into the house was in bad shape. Some rust, for sure. A little mold around the spigot. Also some corrosion on the pipes. Leaving Bridget there, he raced to the shed in search of a shovel.
Returning to the house, he dug around the base of the pipe, exposing it in order to get a better look. Infrared cameras were reliable. Even so, he wanted to see with his own eyes.
The tip of the shovel hit the pipe with a dull clank. Ryan ignored it and kept digging, though more carefully.
“Is that water?” Bridget leaned down and pointed.
“Yeah.” He didn’t like what he saw. The rusted pipe was sweating water at an alarming rate. Rivulets were disappearing into the dirt and turning it dark brown. “I’d better get some tape and patch that.”
He no sooner spoke than the pipe shimmied as if alive and split with a sharp cracking sound. The tiny fissure that had allowed drops to leak suddenly ruptured, and water sprayed in a large fan shape, soaking Ryan and hitting Bridget in the face. She jumped back, giving a small shriek.
Squeezing his eyes shut against the water’s assault, Ryan reached in and attempted to tighten the bracket above the rupture with his bare hand. His efforts only made matters worse. The weakened pipe separated completely, and water rushed out in a fast torrent, instantly flooding the hole.
Ryan muttered choice words under his breath that he didn’t dare speak aloud. Tossing the shovel aside, he ran to the front of the house. He should have figured Bridget would be behind him.
“Where are you going?” she demanded.
“To shut off the water.”
In the front yard near the street, Ryan located the in-ground box containing the main water valve. Prying off the lid, he reached inside the box and twisted the valve with all his might.
“Run back to the broken pipe and see if the water’s stopped,” he told Bridget.
She did, and a minute later he heard her shout, “It’s off.”
Ryan straightened, scrubbing his wet face and feeling his spirits sink to his knees. He was no expert at plumbing, but even he could tell this was a disaster of monumental proportions.
Bridget returned, her features etched with worry. “What are you going to do?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
For her, the question was probably simple. How to fix the plumbing problem? For him, the questions were many and complex. They started with where would he find the money and ended with how might this affect the sale of his property and, ultimately, his plans for a future with Bridget?
He struggled to maintain focus. One step at a time, he told himself.
“What about the horses?” Bridget asked once they’d returned to the broken pipe. “Won’t they be out of water now that you shut off the main valve?”
“Yeah.” That was the least of his problems. With no running water, the house was practically uninhabitable and construction on it would come to a grinding halt.
“Want to move them to the ranch temporarily? I’m sure Grandma won’t mind.”
“Let’s wait. See how long the repairs take. I’m sure Nora will let me fill a barrel of water at her house.”
“What about you?” She touched his arm. “You can’t stay here. Not for more than a day or two.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sorry, Ryan.” Her voice cracked.
“Me, too.” Not the romantic first-date ending he’d been envisioning.
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing at the moment, but I appreciate the offer.”
She accompanied him through the house and over the entire grounds as he investigated every problem listed in the plumbing inspector’s report. Eventually, she had to leave.
He walked her to her SUV. There, they briefly kissed. Ryan would have liked for his attention to be entirely on her these last minutes together, but he was too distraught.
Before he could pull away, Bridget wrapped her arms around him, laid her head on his chest and held him tight. They remained that way for a full minute. Her silent show of support meant more to him than any words.
“Call me later,” she said and climbed into her vehicle.
“I will.”
He stayed and waved goodbye until she was on the road. Then, he turned and went to the shed, where he found an empty, heavy-duty plastic barrel. Ryan carried it to his truck and loaded it in the bed. He then drove next door to Nora’s.
Luckily she was home an
d very concerned when he told her about the broken pipe and disheartening report from the plumbing inspector. They stood on her back porch, conversing.
“Of course you can have water,” she said. “Take as much as you want.”
“You’re a good friend, Nora.”
“Why don’t you stay here? You can bunk in the spare room the grandkids use when they sleep over.”
“Thanks, but I’m going to rough it. Been there, done that. I’ll survive”
“Living without running water will get old fast.”
“Shouldn’t take more than a day or two for me to hire a plumber to fix the pipe. After that, I can turn the water back on.”
For a while. If he made all the repairs the plumbing inspector recommended, the water would be off and on for weeks.
“What about the sale of the property?” Nora asked. “Will it still go through?”
“No idea. The buyer also gets a copy of the inspection reports. He’ll learn soon enough the plumbing needs a complete overhaul. He may have already contacted the real-estate agent.” Ryan exhaled a long breath. “Depending on what the buyer decides, either the sale will fall through, or I’ll have to reduce my price by the cost of the repairs.”
Neither choice appealed to him. Overhauls of this nature generally ran into the tens of thousands. There went the small percentage of profit he’d hoped to make on the sale.
“I have a good plumber I can recommend,” Nora offered.
“I’ll need one. I’d like to get two or three quotes on the work.”
“Don’t suppose you can do the work yourself.”
“I might be able to jury-rig the broken pipe,” he said. “Overhauling the entire plumbing is way beyond my abilities.”
“Going to be expensive.”
“You can count on that.”
Ryan knew how these things went. There were almost always extra costs because more problems were discovered once the repairs were underway.
“I suppose telling you not to fret is pointless,” Nora said.
“You suppose right.”
The Cowboy's Perfect Match Page 19
