by Joann Baker
BY THE BOOK BRIDE: RYDER
Matchmaking a Marriage
Copyright 2016 by
Joann Baker and Patricia Mason
Blush Publishing
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ABOUT THIS BOOK
Ryder Anderson loved women—short, tall, round, thin, blonde, brunette and redhead. Of course, the youngest of the three Anderson brothers couldn’t hold a candle to his oldest brother’s womanizing ways. Still, he’d had his share of relationships and then some, but he’d never known true love. Until Georgia.
Georgia Stevens moved to the quaint town of Devil’s Spur, Texas, to put some distance between herself and her younger, thinner sisters. She loved them, and they loved her, but maybe now that she was on her own, the dating gods would be kinder. Red-hot cowboy, Ryder Anderson, may seem like the answer to her unspoken prayers, but he’s a player. Will she be able to read between his lines and find true love?
CHAPTER ONE
“GOL-DARN IT, SILAS, at the rate you and Harvey are losing, I just might be able to buy that truck of Zeke Smith’s after all.”
The ‘truck’ was a 1948 Willy CJ-2A, three-quarter ton truck that Zeke had restored to mint condition. When his wife had suddenly passed away two months ago, he’d put everything he owned up for sale and moved to Fort Worth to be closer to his niece and only living relative.
“Humph.” Silas Moore watched as Frank Tilman, affectionately known to the whole town as Doc, pulled the poker winnings toward him, a gleeful look on his jowly face. “You don’t need my measly chump change, you old skinflint. All you need to do is pull some of those big bills out of that rusty wallet of yours.”
“Probably creaks when it opens,” Harvey Anderson commented, leaning his tall frame back in the chair. “What do you think, Otis?”
Otis Scott, a short, stocky accountant with a balding palette and a penchant for Kentucky bourbon, studied the pile of money in front of Frank with a critical eye. “I think his tax rate just went up,” he replied drolly.
“Shit, Otis, don’t you ever think of anything except work?” Silas reached for the cards Otis had dealt, anteing up automatically with a dollar.
“Sure,” Otis’s blue eyes glimmered with laughter, “I think about women all the time, but none of the ladies around here seem to be too interested in a short, bald man with failing eyesight and a bad case of hemorrhoids.
“I told you, I can get rid of the hemorrhoids, Otie, but there’s nothing I can do about the rest.” Doc studied his hand thoughtfully. “I hear Prudence Moore over at the library is on the prowl.”
Otis shuddered, dealing himself two more cards. “Even I ain’t that hard up, Doc. Besides, I heard tell she retired and the new librarian is already on the job.” He held up the deck. “Anybody else need cards?”
“Three,” Harvey called. “Who told you that?”
Silas held up two fingers, and Otis carefully dealt the cards before turning to Doc, who declined. “Pete Blanchard. I called to see if he could build another bookcase for me and he said he was busy till the end of the week at the library putting in more shelves. Seems the new librarian has a bunch of fancy ideas and is already making a lot of changes to the place.”
“Is she married?” Harvey looked at Silas over the top of his cards.
“I raise another dollar.” Frank threw his bill onto the pile in the middle of the small table, then turned toward Harvey. “Didn’t know you were considering the marriage market again.”
Harvey snorted. “Not likely. My Ruth may be gone, but she’s the only woman I’ll ever need. Her memory, rest her soul, is enough for me.”
Otis called, throwing his dollar into the pot. “Then why the interest in the new book lady?”
“Cause Silas and I are tired of every man in Devil’s Spur getting to bounce grandchildren on their knees except us.”
“Your grandsons seem to do alright with the ladies,” Otis nodded, studying the cards in his hand. “If I were half as good looking as any one of them, why I’d—”
“Still be single,” Frank interrupted, throwing his cards on the table. “Full house. Beat that, losers.”
He reached for the pile of money and Harvey’s hand snaked out, stopping him from raking in the pot. “Four aces. Read ‘em and weep.”
Otis dropped his cards, shaking his head. “Damn, you are one lucky son-of-a-gun.” He reached for a pretzel. “Guess it runs in the blood, though, considering your great-grandfather won the best spread in these parts in a poker game. Helluva thing, naming it Ace in the Hole.”
“That’s how he met my great-grandmother, too. She was squatting on the land and he tried to run her off. She filled his backside with a load of buckshot and then felt so guilty about it that she stayed and took care of him.” He sighed. “The rest—as they say—was history. And that’s what Silas and I want for Gabe, Cal, and Ry. Their lives should be filled with more than working on the ranch and chasing the ladies. We want them to find good wives and have us some grandkids before we’re too old to enjoy ‘em. Besides, they’ve been through every woman in this and the surrounding counties and ain’t one of them made a commitment yet.”
“Well,” Otis rubbed his chin, “Pete doesn’t know for sure, but he said he gets the feeling that she’s not married. Ain’t no man coming in during the day or calling her, that he’s seen or heard.”
Silas grinned for the first time that night. Pete was one hell of a handyman, but he was nosier than any old blue-haired biddy. He glanced at Harvey. “I do believe our luck may be changing.” Picking up the cards, he began to shuffle as the other man stacked his winnings neatly in front of him. “About how old is she, did Pete say?”
“Mid to late twenties, he estimates. Said she was a quiet little thing, but real smart.” He took a drink of his beer. “Oh, and she’s looking for a place to rent. Pete said she’s staying at the boarding house right now but wants something a little more… permanent.”
Harvey reached for his cards, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I just happen to know the perfect place.”
One week later…
“I don’t have time to paint over at the old house, Poppy. We’ve got three new mares coming in this week.”
“That’s on Monday, son. This is only Saturday.”
“Why don’t you call Pete? I’m sure he could use the money with all those mouths to feed.” Pete had five kids and one on the way.
“Pete’s got a job right now. Besides, it’s my house, and I want my grandson to do it.”
“Then why don’t you ask Gabe or Cal.”
“Because I’m asking you, Ry.” Harvey glared at his youngest grandchild. At thirty, Ryder was the baby of three, but was, as Harvey and Silas quietly referred to him, a man-whore. While he didn’t shirk his part of the work on the massive Ace in the Hole Ranch, he spent his free time chasing anything in a skirt. Smart as a whip and with a heart of gold, he was the one that needed settling down the most before his heart got broke and couldn’t be fixed. “I guess I could try and do i
t myself…”
“No, Pops.” Ryder’s dark brows twisted into a frown. “With your vertigo, you’d never be able to paint the walls, let alone the ceilings.”
“Maybe Silas can help me when he gets home from the store.”
“Gramps is too tired after standing on his feet all day.” Ryder sighed, glancing down at his half-empty coffee cup. He loved his grandfathers, truly he did, and he appreciated both of them taking on the responsibility of raising him and his brothers after their parents’ death. But sometimes they were a little too controlling.
He’d been twelve when his parents had died, Cal thirteen and Gabe fourteen. Their father, Caleb Anderson, had been his Poppy’s only son. As much as his father’s death had hurt him and his brothers, he knew that it had almost killed his Pops. Same as his mother’s death had almost done in Gramps. He sighed again. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
A wide grin split the older man’s face. “Don’t tell Gabe and Cal, but you’re my favorite.”
Ryder chuckled. “That’s exactly what you tell each of us, Pops.” He hugged the older man, frowning as he recognized the frailty of the body that he’d once thought had the strength to pull the moon from the sky if he wanted. “So what color do you want?”
“Oh,” he waved a hand, “the color is already picked out and the paint is at the house, along with all the supplies you’ll need.”
Ryder nodded. “I’ll head over as soon as I finish my coffee.”
“Thanks, Ry.”
Ryder shook his head, his frown returning as his grandfather left the kitchen humming something that sounded suspiciously like the wedding march.
Nearly an hour later, Ryder pulled his truck to a stop near the back door of Pop’s old house, the one he and Nana Ruth had shared until the death of their only child. Shortly after that tragic event, both of them had moved into the big house that Ryder’s father had built for his new bride almost forty years ago. Following the death of Nana Ruth from a massive heart attack only two short years later, the temporary living situation had become permanent.
The home was in good shape, kept up over the years by Pops. He wondered at the sudden interest in painting it now. It had been renovated a few years back and used as a foreman’s house when needed. As far as Ryder knew, they weren’t hiring any new hands. Maybe Pops was considering moving back. The thought bothered Ry and he made a mental note to talk to Gabe and Cal about it. Surely he didn’t think he was in the way.
Ry jogged up the few steps to the door, key in hand. It gave way under the touch of his hand, unlocked. Suddenly alert, he stepped cautiously into the kitchen. They’d had trouble with vagrants in the past, but nothing serious. Maybe this was another one. The Ace in the Hole was known for hiring down and out men who needed a second chance.
The sun shone through the windows over the sink, giving the room a cheerful, homey feel. Moving quietly down the hall, he rounded the doorway into the living and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the upturned backside of a curvy woman carefully applying painter’s tape along the baseboards. The sight of her beautifully round derriere made his mouth go dry while another part of his anatomy came to instant attention. His groan of appreciation startled her, and she turned with a gasp, dropping the blue disc of tape to the floor. One hand fluttered across her ample chest and the other reached toward him, palm up as if she could ward him off by sheer force of will.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Ryder advanced a step, stopping when she backed up, a look of fear crossing her lovely features. Big green eyes stared at him from behind a pair of hideous black glasses. “Sorry, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Who… who are you?”
“I think that should be my line,” he grinned, leisurely taking note of the lush breasts, wide hips, and a mouth that made him long suddenly for the taste of sweet strawberries. Or a taste of her. He shrugged. “But I’ll play along, sweetheart. My name is Ryder Anderson, and this is my grandfather’s house.” His head tilted in the way that made most women swoon. “Your turn.”
Georgia dropped her hand, feeling both a sense of relief and aggravation at once. She was relieved that he wasn’t some drifter who could kill her and dispose of her body without anyone being the wiser. Yes, she watched way too much crime drama in the evenings. Still, she couldn’t help but be irritated by his cavalier use of endearments. Gorgeous. Love. Sweetheart. She snorted. Like any man with a good pair of eyes in his head would ever call her any of those things and mean them. Her initial impression of the man had been big, brawny, and incredibly handsome. She could add player to his list of attributes. It was a trait that she despised in men. Especially handsome devils like Ryder Anderson.
“So you’re Harvey’s…?”
“Grandson.” Ryder’s smile vanished and a frown took its place. “How do you know my Pops?”
“Well, obviously, I’ve rented his house.” Now that her initial fear was fading away, her instinctive shields against men like Ryder were automatically going up.
“Touché, gorgeous and curvy stranger whose name I still don’t know.” He stepped further into the room and immediately Georgia stepped back, only to bump into the wall she had been ready to start painting.
“Georgia Stevens.”
He stopped walking when he was a mere foot away. This close, she had to tilt her head back to see his face. And what a face it was. She guessed that he was younger than he appeared, having a rancher’s golden tan that aged a person before their time. Small laugh lines crinkled at the corners of deep, almost whiskey-colored eyes surrounded by long, black lashes. His nose was straight for the most part. A slight bump appeared on the bridge as if it had been broken at least once. She sighed, wondering what fool had thought he should mess with such perfection.
She couldn’t help it when her gaze fell to his lips. They were curved into a mischievous grin that must have been given to him by the devil himself. They were also full and firm and she just knew would taste divine.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Georgia.”
She realized he was holding out his hand, waiting for her to take it. She tore her gaze away from his face. His hand was tanned just like his face. The backs were covered with a myriad of cuts in all stages of healing. She knew his palms would be rough and calloused. The hands of a working man. Reluctantly, somehow knowing once she touched this man her life would be altered, she took the proffered appendage. While she’d planned to give his hand a quick shake and drop it like a hot potato, he had other ideas.
She gasped as his fingers closed around hers, a sizzle of electricity racing from their connected palms, up her arm and straight to her heart. She heard his gasp and realized he had felt the same thing. Her gaze flew to his face.
The carefree, flirtatious look on the cowboy’s face had been replaced with a shuttered, almost hungry look. As if he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.
She mentally took a step back. Okay, maybe she needed to open a few more windows for ventilation. Obviously, the paint fumes were getting to her if she thought one touch from her could make a man as good-looking as this one suddenly feel uncontrollable, raging desire.
She quickly pulled her hand away and stepped to the side. Away from a man who made her body sing with need. And want.
What the hell? Ryder shook his head as his grandfather’s new renter stepped away from him. A jolt of something he’d never felt before had skittered through his body the moment the woman had placed the palm of her hand against his.
He shook off the odd sensation and picked up the painter’s tape she’d dropped when he’d startled her. He needed something to do, and fast. “Let’s get this show on the road, sweetheart. I’ll finish taping, and then we’ll start painting. I’ll go high, you go low, and we’ll have this done faster than a jackrabbit on its morning constitutional.”
Ryder did not like the tedious chore of taping, but it was better than having his body spontaneously combust from watching her bent over doing the job. As he worked
, he let his eyes wander over the house he knew almost as well as the back of his hand. He’d spent plenty of his childhood days’ right here in this room, waiting for his grandmother to take out a batch of freshly baked cookies in the kitchen. He didn’t remember much about her, but he’d heard enough stories to know she’d been a wonderful woman. Poppy had told all three of his grandsons he’d married a woman in a million.
He eyed the fresh-looking walls with a suspicious eye, wondering if his grandfather had sent him over here for something other than painting. But, as cool as his reception had been from the quiet beauty busily working a few feet away, probably not. He shrugged mentally, deciding the older home could do with a fresh coat of paint. “You know,” he looked up critically, “we really need to paint these ceilings first. Do you have paint for that?”
Georgia had set up a small folding table in the middle of the room. She stood by it now, prying open a can of fresh paint. She looked up as she spoke. “No,” she grimaced, “I don’t really like heights, and I didn’t figure I could reach them without being on a ladder, so I decided to leave well enough alone.”
Ryder straightened, stretching as he did. He’d spent the last week breaking a particularly stubborn horse and had taken more than one spill against the hard-packed earth. But he’d earned the horse’s respect which was well worth a strained muscle or two. Well worth it, he grinned to himself as he noted Georgia’s wide green eyes following the lines of his body as he worked the kinks out.
“Well, I guess we’d better go get some then.” His long legs closed the short distance to the table. He picked up the lid to the can of paint she’d opened, a medium tan color that went well with the darker hardwood floors, and placed it back on, giving it a few hard taps with his closed fist to seal it. “Come on.” Before she could form a protest to his high-handed manner, he’d taken her arm and pulled her along beside him. As they neared the front door, his hand dropped to clasp hers.
