Ryder (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 1)

by Barbara Freethy

  "I agree."

  "I like my shirt even better on you."

  "I probably should have asked first."

  "You never have to ask," he returned.

  She sat down at the kitchen table and looked at a large plastic bin that was filled with papers and notebooks. "What's all this?"

  "My grandmother's recipes and food journals, memories of her and my grandfather sharing trips and special meals," he replied. "Leticia gave it to me. She's my grandfather's housekeeper. She's been with him for about forty years, so she knows him as well as anyone does." He walked over to the table and popped open the lid on the bin. "I asked her to help you figure out the perfect meal for his birthday party, and she said you'd find the answer here."

  "You told Leticia I agreed to cook dinner? What did she say?"

  "That she thought it was a dangerous idea, but if I could keep my mother out of the kitchen, she wouldn't say anything."

  "Maybe it is too dangerous, Ryder. I don't want to ruin your grandfather's ninety-fifth birthday party. It's such a special occasion."

  "And you're an excellent chef. I know you can make an amazing meal."

  "I know I can, too, but that won't matter when he finds out it's me cooking."

  "He won't find out."

  "Someone in your family will tell him. How will you keep your mother out of the kitchen?"

  "Let me worry about that. All you have to do is agree to cook."

  She picked up a menu from Veronica's restaurant and read through the entrees, which included quite a few classical French dishes: coquilles Saint-Jacques, which were scallops poached in white wine and placed atop a purée of mushrooms in a scallop shell, then gratinéed under a broiler; hachis Parmentier, the French version of shepherd's pie with a layer of mashed potatoes over beef; and a chocolate soufflé.

  "I forgot that Veronica's served a lot of French dishes," she commented.

  "My grandparents loved Paris. They went there on their honeymoon, and several times after that." Ryder returned to the oven, pulled out the pizza, and then grabbed plates out of the cupboard. "How many pieces do you want?"

  "I'll start with two."

  He brought over a plate with two slices of vegetable-laden pizza. "What would you like to drink?"

  "Water is fine."

  She picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite while she looked through some of the other items in the bin. Along with the menus, there were handwritten recipe cards, magazine recipes ripped out from wherever they'd first been printed, and several paper menus. One was from a café in Paris. She set down her pizza to take a better look. There was a handwritten note on the back of the menu.

  Last night of our honeymoon. A rare blue moon, a walk along the Seine, a perfect meal with the most perfect chocolate soufflé.

  "This is sweet," she said, handing the menu to Ryder, as he handed her a water bottle and set down a bowl of salad and a couple of forks.

  "She sounds happy," he said.

  "Very." She dug a little deeper and pulled out a photograph of a very young John and Veronica Westbrook. She suspected it had been taken on that same honeymoon trip. She flipped it over and read the short note aloud. "My beautiful bride. I never knew love could be like this. How lucky am I?" Pausing, she looked across the table at Ryder. "Your grandfather wrote this. I've always thought of him as a hard, angry man, but he obviously had another side. He loved your grandmother a lot."

  "He's a complex man, and he has strong opinions on everything. There's no middle ground with him. And when he wants something, he gets it."

  "Now that sounds more like the man my grandfather hates." She looked back at the bin, starting to get excited about making dinner for the Westbrooks. "I know what to do, Ryder. I'm going to bring back your grandfather's memories of Paris and Veronica and French cooking, which is what I love to cook anyway. You know, I spent a year in Paris learning how to cook French cuisine."

  "I didn't know that. What a great experience. When did you do that?"

  "Six years ago. It was a dream come true. I had just gotten out of culinary school in New York, and one of my instructors was going back to Paris to open a restaurant and he gave me a job. I started off at the bottom, making salads, and then graduated to sauces. Eventually, I was able to make some of the main dishes."

  "Why did you leave?"

  "He sold the restaurant to a new owner, who wanted to hire their own staff. I was very sad about it. After that, I traveled for two months through Italy and Spain, learning all I could about those cuisines, and then I headed to New York, hoping to put all my new skills to use. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy to get just the right job. I worked at a couple of different places, some fairly mediocre. I was working at a French restaurant when Franco came in one night and decided to make me a job offer. At the time, I thought I was incredibly lucky, but it turned out my luck was all bad."

  "I know it's easier to say let it go than to actually do it, but you have to try, Bailey. You can't change the decisions you made. You can't go back in time. And that's okay. Because, good or bad, our experiences make us who we are."

  "That sounds very Zen," she said lightly. "Like something my yoga teacher would say."

  He smiled. "I've never taken yoga, but I have learned that accepting reality and moving on is better than wasting time wishing things were different. You have a long life ahead of you and many more dreams to go after."

  "Dreams that will be mine and not someone else's," she agreed. "I don't want to be second-in-command. I want to run my own restaurant. It's so clear to me now."

  "And you'll do that. Maybe at Veronica's."

  "It is in a great location, but we both know your grandfather will be tough to convince."

  "We'll start with his birthday dinner and go from there."

  "Can I take this bin home and look through it? I already have some ideas but I want to think about it."

  "Of course. You can take it when you leave—in the morning."

  A warm current ran through her at his words, and as she met his dark gaze, her heart skipped another beat. "You want me to spend the night?"

  "I do. Very much. What about you?"

  "Yes. And I think the rest of tonight should start right now." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet.

  "Wait! Have you had enough to eat?" he asked.

  "Yes. What I haven't had enough of is you."

  He took a quick breath. "You're going to kill me when you say things like that, Bailey."

  "I don't plan on just using my words tonight," she said, pressing her hands against his bare chest as she moved on to her tiptoes to kiss him. "I have a lot of other things in mind."

  "Show me," he said huskily, as he took her into the bedroom.

  * * *

  "You're late," her dad said, as Bailey rushed into the diner at seven thirty on Sunday morning. "And you didn't come home last night." He leaned against the kitchen counter and gave her a stern look. "I know you're a grown woman, but I still worry about you."

  "I'm sorry." She hung up her coat, trying not to feel like a guilty teenager who'd missed curfew. But that was difficult to do, considering she'd recently jumped out of Ryder's bed, taken a quick shower and air-dried her hair on the way back to the diner. It was now curling in a riotous and revealing mess. "I should have let you know I wasn't coming home."

  "Just tell me one thing. Are you all right?"

  "I am," she replied, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

  He looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end, he moved back toward the stove. "Then get to work. Sunday breakfast is our busiest meal of the day."

  She was happy he hadn't asked where she'd spent the night or who she was with, but then her dad had never been one to pry too deeply into her life. Girl stuff, as he called it, always made him uncomfortable.

  She put on an apron and went to work. The next few hours flew by, and before she knew it, Brenda came in to tell her that Ryder was looking for her.

  "
I'll be right there," she said, finishing up an omelet.

  "What are you doing with Westbrook?" her dad asked, as he flipped a batch of pancakes onto a plate and set it on the pass.

  "I'm taking him to see Grandpa. He agreed to hear Ryder's plans for the airport."

  Her father raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Since when?"

  "Since I spoke to him yesterday."

  "Seriously?"

  She nodded. "Yes."

  "I can't believe he's going to let a Westbrook into his house."

  "He told me to bring Ryder there."

  Her dad shook his head in bemusement. "That's going to be a first."

  "I hope it's the first step to a new relationship between our families. I don't want to be at war with the Westbrooks."

  His sharp gaze swept over her once more. "I hope you know what you're doing, Bailey, and I'm not just talking about taking Ryder to see your grandfather."

  "I know. I hope so, too." She grabbed her coat and bag and made her way out to the dining room.

  Ryder was standing by the counter, chatting with Brenda, but when he saw her, his eyes flashed with welcome and remembered intimacy. Heat warmed her cheeks, revealing far too much when Brenda turned an inquiring gaze in her direction.

  "Where are you two off to?" Brenda asked.

  "To see Grandpa," she said.

  Her words brought forth another shocked reaction. "You're going with Ryder to Max's house?"

  "Yes."

  "Then it must be a cold day in hell," Brenda said dryly.

  "Ryder is not the devil," she said. "And it's about time my grandfather realized that."

  She took Ryder's hand in hers, and walked out of the diner with him, knowing that everyone was watching them. Whatever their relationship was—it was definitely not a secret.

  Fourteen

  Ryder started the car and drove away from the restaurant, then surprised her by pulling over at the next street.

  "Why are we stopping?" she asked.

  "I haven't had a chance to kiss you yet."

  As he leaned across the console, she met him halfway. The touch of his lips on hers took her back to the night before when they'd made sweet and sexy love for most of the night. Her memories made parts of her body ache with remembered pleasure and renewed desire. She could get addicted to Ryder. He knew just how to kiss her, touch her, taste her…drive her crazy.

  He lifted his head and said, "That's better." Then he gave her such a sexy smile that her heart fluttered in her chest.

  She'd sworn she was off men, but this man had pushed past all her resolutions, all her barriers. She'd let him in, and there was a part of her that was terrified that she'd made herself vulnerable, that she could get hurt again. But it was too late to go backward. And she couldn't bring herself to have any regrets, because Ryder made her feel so damn good about herself. If it ended, it ended; but right now, she was going to enjoy being with him.

  "I do feel better," she admitted, meeting his gaze. "But we should go. Grandpa doesn't like it when people are late."

  "Okay." He put the car back into drive and pulled out onto the road. They drove past her dad's house, and the meadow where Gambler had first wandered off and brought them together. She smiled to herself at the memory. Zane's neurotic dog and a bunch of frogs had certainly made their first meeting memorable.

  When Ryder parked in front of her grandfather's house, she couldn't help noticing how high the river had risen since yesterday, lapping at the edge of the road in places, and there was more rain in the forecast for tonight and tomorrow.

  "If the river gets much higher, this road is going to be underwater," she said, as they got out of the car.

  "Your grandfather might want to stay at your dad's house for a couple of days."

  She frowned, predicting that would not be an easy sell. "Maybe it won't get much worse."

  "I hope not."

  She could see that Ryder was distracted and not even looking at the water; his gaze was on the house. He was mentally prepping for his meeting with her grandfather, and she probably should be focusing on that as well.

  "Just make him understand that the runway expansion is for the whole town, especially benefiting the Tucker family," she reminded him.

  "I know what to say; I just hope he's ready to listen."

  "He's as ready as he's ever going to be."

  She led the way up to the front door and rang the bell. Her grandfather answered a moment later, his expression about as cold and stubborn as she'd ever seen it, especially when his gaze landed on Ryder.

  "Hello, Grandpa. This is Ryder Westbrook. And this is my grandfather, Max Tucker," she added, as the two men stared at each other.

  The dislike in her grandfather's eyes bothered her. Ryder was becoming very important to her, and deep down she wanted to find a way for the two of them to like each other. That was probably a foolish hope.

  When no one spoke, she said, "Can we come in, Grandpa?"

  Max stepped back and waved them inside.

  She wanted to slip her hand into Ryder's, but she didn't think that action would make this moment any easier and would probably only add an unnecessary complication by linking them together in a personal way. Instead, she sat down on the loveseat while Ryder took a seat on the couch and her grandfather opted for his recliner. A low fire burned in the fireplace, but there was a definite chill in the air.

  "Thank you for seeing me, sir," Ryder began.

  "Say what you have to say and then go," her grandfather returned.

  She wanted to tell her grandfather to be nice, but she also sensed that it was her time to take a backseat and just listen.

  Ryder presented his case in clear, concise, enthusiastic terms, the passion for his project evident in his voice as he spoke about economic benefits, making Eagle's Ridge an even better and bigger tourist destination, thereby helping Adam and Zane and all the other young men and women coming home from college or the service who wanted to make Eagle's Ridge their home but also needed to make money. In addition, he brought up the opportunity for better search and rescue operations for stranded hikers and injured rafters, and the wildfire abatement that could be started at the first sign of smoke.

  Ryder was intelligent, charming, persuasive, and so good-looking, she thought, unable to take her gaze away from his strong profile, his handsome body, his intense words. When Ryder went all in on something, he was total commitment. He'd come today to make his case, and she couldn't imagine how her grandfather could say no to such a convincing argument.

  She also couldn't imagine how she could ever say no to Ryder if he wanted her with the same conviction. No wonder he'd won everything in high school. No wonder he'd been the golden boy of Eagle's Ridge; he had a magnetism, a charisma, a way to connect with people that was truly impressive. And she knew it wasn't fake; he believed everything he was saying. Ryder was a warrior. He knew how to fight.

  Unfortunately, her grandfather was a warrior, too, and he remained silent throughout, showing absolutely no reaction in his eyes. But he was listening to every word, which gave Bailey a small gleam of hope.

  "The city would like to buy the land and eventually they will do that," Ryder finished. "But they don't have the budget now, so they need an intermediary. I know my last name isn't what you would want to see on a real-estate purchase, but this really isn't about me. I hope I've made that clear."

  "Of course, it's about you," Max said, speaking for the first time. "It's what you want to do with your life, and you can't do it without the land."

  "The land doesn't benefit you in any way," Ryder reminded him. "It's right under the flight path. You can't build homes there. It's no good for farming. It's only of value to the airport."

  "But it's mine. It's what I have left—worthless, no-good land that your grandfather was happy to stick me with. Now you want it."

  "If you got stuck with the land, then my offer should make you happy. This isn't charity. This is a business deal. You'll make money for
something you consider worthless, and my grandfather has nothing to do with this. He didn't even want me to ask you."

  "Because he knew I'd say no."

  "Maybe you should surprise him and say yes," Ryder retorted.

  Max stiffened in his chair and while Bailey couldn't be positive, she thought she saw a small hint of admiration in his eyes. Max Tucker liked strong people and Ryder was more than holding his own.

  "Wouldn't you like to take some Westbrook money for land you can't use?" Ryder added. "What's the downside?"

  "The Westbrooks win again by getting what they want."

  "We all win, Grandpa," she put in. "All of us. That's the important thing."

  "I—I don't know," Max said, a scowl on his face.

  She was shocked that he didn't know. While she'd tried to be positive and hopeful, she'd really thought in the end her grandfather would just give Ryder a flat-out no.

  "Will you think about it?" Ryder asked. "Talk to David about it. He's in favor of the idea."

  Her grandfather's dark stare had her heart racing, but Ryder wasn't at all intimidated.

  Finally, her grandfather blew out a breath and stood up. "I'll think on it. You two can go now."

  "Thank you for hearing me out, sir," Ryder said.

  As they stood up and followed her grandfather to the door, she brought up the other issue on her mind. "Grandpa, I'm worried about the river. It's awfully high. What if it comes over the road? You'll be stranded. Why don't you move to Dad's house for a few days? We're on higher ground there, no danger of flooding."

  He immediately shook his head. "I'll be fine here."

  "There's more rain coming."

  "I have a generator and plenty of food and water. I can stay off the road for a few days if I have to. You don't need to worry."

  She frowned. "I'm going to keep checking on you."

  "Well, I can't stop you from doing that," he said, a small smile coming into his eyes when he looked at her.

  She kissed him on the cheek, then hung back as Ryder moved toward the car. "Ryder is a good man. Does it really matter what his last name his?"

  "It always has," he said, his smile fading.