The Rancher's Bride

by Pamela Britton

  It was chilly outside the car. She paused for a moment to look for a jacket or sweater or something in the backseat of her car. She should have grabbed one earlier, but she’d been in too much of a hurry.

  She heard them first.

  Jorie straightened away from her car, cocking her ear toward the arena and the snuffling, snorting, growling sound that came from inside.

  Jackson was the leader, rounding the wall to her right like Wile E. Coyote.

  “Jackson, no,” she said as he ran toward her legs.

  The other three rounded the corner next.

  “No,” she warned them, too, because they weren’t slowing down. The big one, Beowulf, galloped toward her like a horse in the Kentucky Derby.

  “Beowulf,” she commanded. “No.”

  He wouldn’t listen.

  She backed away.

  He kept coming.

  “No,” she cried, louder.

  He reared back. She thrust her arms out in front of her.

  His paws hit her with the force of a battering ram, a silly canine grin on his face as he wrestled her to the ground.

  One minute she was on her feet, the next she wasn’t. Fortunately, or perhaps not so fortunately, she landed in a puddle of water, or maybe more appropriately a puddle of ooze.

  “Beowulf!”

  It was Ryan’s voice. Jorie had just enough time to recognize it before Beowulf put a big, muddy paw on her chest and then lowered his head.

  She covered her face. It didn’t help. His big, wet tongue swiped at her cheeks, the other dogs swarming around him, tails wagging, tongues lolling off to the side. Jorie, who would never have thought her day could get any worse, felt the ooze creep into her shirt and pants and any available crevice it could find.

  “No,” she gasped, trying to shove the dog’s face away.

  Ryan approached. Odelia and Laurel were right on his heels, Laurel pulling Beowulf off of her while Ryan shooed the other dogs away.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Odelia cried when she caught sight of Jorie.

  She wanted to cry, but not because of the ooze that coated her clothes. No, she wanted to cry because when Laurel grabbed Beowulf’s collar, she’d spotted it. The ring. It glittered on her finger like a miniature constellation, proof positive that Ryan had thought nothing about their kiss.

  Nothing at all.

  * * *

  “DAMN DOGS,” RYAN muttered as he shoved the last of them, Herbie, into the tack room. “Bad dogs,” he told the three other canine faces that peered up at him.

  Poor Jorie.

  She’d looked miserable lying there on the ground, muddy paw prints all over her.

  Accusation in her eyes.

  When he returned, his mom was trying to clean her up. So was Laurel. Jorie waved off their assistance.

  “You look like a mud wrestler,” he heard his mother say.

  “I think your clothes are ruined,” Laurel added.

  “I’m okay,” she said, though it was clear that she was not. “And if I hadn’t overslept none of this would have happened. I would have walked up here as usual and the dogs wouldn’t have come running at the sound of my car.”

  “Laurel, maybe you can get us some towels,” his mom said. “There’s a bunch beneath the sink in the bathroom upstairs.”

  “No, no, that’s okay,” Jorie said quickly.

  She had tears in her eyes.

  And though he tried to tell himself otherwise, he knew it wasn’t because of the mud. Walking away from her last night, it’d hurt her. By now she’d probably spotted Laurel’s ring, and the sight of it had been a stab to her heart.

  Damn.

  “I’m going to head back to the house,” she said. “Go change.”

  “Oh, Jorie,” his mom said, eyes wide. “I feel just horrible. I swear I’m sending those dogs for obedience training.”

  “They’re just clothes,” Jorie murmured.

  “Yeah, but I think Laurel was right. Your clothes are ruined. Ryan will drive you back to your place. Don’t get your car all muddy inside.”

  “No.”

  His mom froze. So did Ryan. The word had been a pistol crack of rejection.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” his mom said. “It’s not your fault my dogs knocked you down.”

  He watched Jorie suck in a breath, one that clearly gave away how close to tears she was. “I just want to go home.”

  His mom drew back, shot him a look of helplessness, then patted Jorie on the back. She must have touched some mud because he saw her wince, then glance at her hand. “Of course you do, dear.” She turned toward him. “Ryan, go get the Mule.”

  “Really, Mrs. Clayborne, that’s not necessary—”

  “Ryan, go!”

  Ryan went. The Mule was only parked around the corner, but Jorie was trying to climb into her own car when he returned. His mom was holding her back like a wrestler pulling someone off the ropes.

  “Here he is.” She hooked her arm through Jorie’s. “Ryan will take you to your place and then bring you back here.”

  She didn’t want to go with him, that much was obvious. His mother, however, all but dragged her toward the passenger side of the Mule. Jorie obviously didn’t feel comfortable enough to argue.

  “Take your time,” his mother said as Jorie climbed inside.

  He took off the moment Jorie closed the door. She had to clutch at the handle, but she didn’t say anything in protest. Instead she just sat there as he drove away from the barn, and he caught a glimpse of his mother and Laurel—who’d returned with the towels—in the Mule’s rearview mirror. He told himself silence was good. Conversation wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t as if he owed her an explanation or anything.

  You shouldn’t have kissed her last night, bud.

  Okay, fine. Yes, he knew that. He just didn’t know what the hell to say to her. “Sorry” seemed so damn inadequate. He’d just been so overcome with curiosity. Felt a need to know if there was something there.

  Boy, howdy, had he gotten an answer.

  “How did Laurel like her engagement ring?”

  He glanced over at her, admitting that even with mud in her hair and paw prints staining her blouse, she was still frickin’ gorgeous.

  “She loved it,” he lied. Truth be told, he hadn’t hung around to find out what Laurel had thought about it, although she sure hadn’t wasted any time coming over this morning and showing it off to his mom.

  That’s not fair.

  He’d asked her to come over. She’d just been pretending to be thrilled about the whole thing. He knew that. Thank God his mother hadn’t picked up on the tension between the two of them.

  He pointed the Mule between the hay barn and the maintenance shed and searched around for something to say, something that would break the silence that hung between them like an undisturbed tomb.

  “I had to do it.” He didn’t know where the words came from, but once they were out, he felt immediate relief. “I followed you to your porch because I wanted you to know the truth about Laurel and me.” He wished they could stop. Hated the way he had to focus on driving instead of looking into her eyes. He would be an even bigger ass if he forced her to sit there in her mud-stained clothes. “There’s just something about you—”

  “Stop.” She held up a hand. “Just stop.”

  “I know it’s no excuse.” He studied her for as long as he dared while driving. She was peering out her window, her face too far in profile for him to read. “I know it was wrong.”

  But I just couldn’t resist.

  The words were there, unspoken, but there.

  “Do you love her?”

  His stomach flipped. “I answered that question last night.”

  Out of the corner of h
is eye, he saw her turn toward him. “Yet you still asked her to marry you.”

  They were traveling down the hill that led to the old ranch house, the wedding barn off to their right, and he knew he was going to lose her, that she’d disappear inside the house and think of a reason not to return to the office with him. She’d avoid him from here on out, too, except on those days when he worked in his office and she’d be forced to spend some time with him.

  “I don’t know how to explain this to you.” He shook his head. “I told Laurel I would take care of her. I can’t back out of that now.”

  “Why not?”

  Did she want him to back out? Had their kiss actually meant something to her? He glanced over at her, trying to read her eyes, but she was like a folded up newspaper. He couldn’t even glimpse the headlines with her face partially turned away.

  “Because her father, Lyle, is the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. Because Laurel is a friend in trouble. Because she has nobody else but me.”

  “She has a father who loves her, and a second family in you and your mother. She would be okay.”

  She didn’t know Laurel very well if she thought that. She hadn’t been there on that night when she’d been in hysterics, Thad’s note clutched in her hands, a pregnant Laurel begging him to help her out, just for a while, just until the baby was born. And it’d seemed so simple then, so sensible.

  “I can’t change the way things are.”

  They’d made it back to her quarters and Ryan pulled to a stop in front. She didn’t hesitate in getting out, not that he blamed her. She had to be miserable in her soggy, muddy clothes. But she paused for a moment after slipping out of the vehicle.

  “Can’t you?” she asked him, with Ryan looking full into her eyes.

  And then she was gone.

  Chapter Twelve

  At least he’d driven away, Jorie thought, turning away from her window and stripping out of her clothes. It took her twenty minutes to take a quick shower and change, this time into jeans and a light brown sweater in case the dreaded dogs were still around. She pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, glancing out the window one more time to ensure Ryan hadn’t returned. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Odelia had sent him back for her.

  She hadn’t. Thank goodness.

  With one last glance in the mirror, she stepped out onto the porch. It was as though she’d traveled back in time. She remembered Ryan’s lips. Recalled his taste. Remembered how he felt up against her.

  Jerk.

  So what if he’d kissed her and then gotten engaged the same night? Typical man. Couldn’t be trusted. Her mom would have told her that if she’d been alive.

  “Whatever,” she firmly told herself, tipping her head back to the sunshine. Hard to believe less than twenty-four hours ago it’d been pouring rain. The air smelled freshly washed, the sun warming her damp hair.

  Ryan’s ATV was nowhere to be seen when she approached the arena. She cocked her head and listened for Odelia’s pack of dogs. Fortunately, they seemed to be MIA, too, as Jorie climbed the steps to the offices two at a time.

  “There you are.” Odelia’s smile was wide and welcoming as Jorie walked in, door hinges squeaking behind her. “And you look much better.”

  “I feel much better,” Jorie said, her mood improving when she noticed Ryan wasn’t around. “Odelia,” she said, taking a seat at her desk. “I’m so sorry I was late this morning.”

  Her boss waved a hand in front of her face. “Oh, nonsense. Everyone oversleeps once in a while.”

  “Yeah, but none of this would have happened—”

  “Stop,” Odelia interrupted, lifting a hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It was those damn dogs of mine. I swear I’m going to find new homes for them.”

  “No,” Jorie gasped. “Don’t do that.”

  Odelia shook her head and smiled. “Kidding, my dear. I would never do that. But I will take greater care to keep them contained. Heaven forbid one of our customers arrives at the ranch only to be knocked on their bottom.”

  She had a point.

  “Speaking of customers, did Sophia call you?”

  “She did.” Jorie hunted on her desk for the woman’s file. “I was hoping you might be able to drive me around the property today, instead of Ryan.”

  “Actually, I have a surprise for you. Something to cheer you up.”

  Jorie jerked her gaze upward.

  “You get to go on a horse ride.”

  “No.”

  Odelia leaned back in surprise. “Why not? You’re even dressed appropriately. Speaking of which, I really wish you wouldn’t wear such fancy clothes. Not that there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear,” she said quickly. “You always look stunning, I just think it makes more sense to work in jeans. This is Texas. We’re not fancy like Georgia.”

  Funny how little she’d thought of Georgia and her office back there. Then, too. That’s exactly why she’d moved away—so she wouldn’t have to drive by it and constantly be reminded of her failure.

  “I don’t really own many pairs of jeans.”

  “Well then.” Odelia’s smile grew wide. “We’ll just have to go out and get you some. I love shopping.”

  “Odelia, no. You don’t have to do that. And if driving me around the ranch is too much for you, I can have one of the other ranch hands take me around, there’s no need to bother Ryan. Maybe Sam. Or maybe I could drive the Mule myself.”

  “Don’t be silly. I told you before that you need to get more comfortable with horses. Heaven forbid you’re asked to hold the reins for one of our brides. What would you do? That’s why this is so perfect. You’ll discover how wonderful horses are. That way, you can sell the experience to our brides.”

  Sell it? Horses? Wonderful.

  “I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Now, now. One of the things you’ll learn about me, Jorie, is that I firmly believe in trying new things. I’m going to insist you do this. After all, you never know. You might find you have a passion for horses.”

  She would never have a passion for horses. She wanted to tell Odelia exactly that, except her new boss seemed so earnest about the whole thing.

  “What if I fall off?”

  It was a Hail Mary. A last-ditch effort to get her to change her mind.

  Odelia dismissed her concerns with a snort.

  “We only own quarter horses, honey. Believe me. They don’t have a mean bone in their bodies. You’ll do fine. And trust me when I say horseback is the best way to see the ranch. It’s kind of a long ride out to the lake, but it’s worth it. I’ve never seen prettier countryside than ours.”

  Jorie wondered if she felt bad about the dog incident and this was Odelia’s way to make it up to her. With horses. She probably thought Jorie was secretly excited.

  “When?”

  A smile bloomed upon Odelia’s face like a rose in winter. “Why not right now?”

  Jorie groaned inwardly. Clearly, Odelia was delighted by her own idea, so much so that Jorie knew she was doomed.

  Doomed to spend half a day with Ryan.

  * * *

  “DAMN, STUPID, FOOLISH idea,” Ryan grumbled as he tossed a saddle onto Belle’s back. He was in one of two side-by-side groom stalls in the middle of the long barn aisle. Across from him, on the other side of a pipe panel rail, the arena sat empty. His mom preferred to ride her show horses in the evening after work, which is what she was doing now, leaving him to deal with Jorie.

  “The woman doesn’t even know how to ride,” he muttered to himself.

  “No, I don’t.”

  He turned, the girth he’d just picked up slipping from his hands. “Didn’t see you there.”

  “No.” She lifted her chin. “I guess you didn’t.”r />
  She’d changed, although whether she’d done so before or after his mom had ordered the two of them to go on a ride together, he had no idea. She wore jeans and a brown sweater that was the same color as hot chocolate and that hugged every curve.

  He looked away.

  “If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to do this any more than you do.”

  He leaned down, grabbed the two-inch-wide leather strap and stood up again. He could hear horses rustling about in their nearby stalls. The smell of pine shaving filled the air.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

  He fished the strap through the ring on the saddle, then pulled it taught. Damn it. The girth needed to be shortened on the other side. He ducked underneath one of the two ties that kept the horse inside the grooming stall, the rubber mats beneath his feet masking his footsteps.

  “Can I help?”

  He let out a breath, forced himself to glance in her direction. “No,” he said before moving back to the left side of the horse.

  She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She had so much thick, blond hair, he wondered how it stayed in one place. Her almond-shaped eyes looked even more so with her hair pulled back.

  Damn his mother for making him do this.

  “What’s its name?”

  “Belle,” he said sharply, once again fishing the girth through the ring.

  “Is she nice?”

  “All of our horses are nice.”

  He already had his horse tacked up in the groom stall next to Belle’s. He’d been planning on riding out to check the condition of the ground. It was getting close to the time of year when they moved the cows to their winter pasture, but it might be early yet. Depended on the length of the grass back there.

  “Hand me that bridle there,” he said, finishing up with the girth and pointing to the rack of bridles behind him.

  “Which one?”

  “The broken bit with the silver shank.”

  “Broken?” she asked, clearly horrified. “You’re making me use a broken one?”