The Cowboy's Perfect Match. Cathy McdavidЧитать онлайн книгу.
purred softly. “Afraid I’m going to push you out?”
He laughed, glad to see she had a sense of humor.
“Hold on to your hat.” She released the brake, pressed down with her foot and away they went—at about fifteen miles per hour by Ryan’s calculations.
“You have a nice home.” He looked back over his shoulder as they pulled away. “Don’t see many like it in these parts.”
“My great-great-grandparents built the original house in the late 1800s. They were one of the first families to settle in Mustang Valley. Every generation since has remodeled to some degree. Grandma doubled the size of the kitchen when she decided to convert the ranch into a wedding venue and bed-and-breakfast. Made enough room for a walk-in pantry and four-door refrigerator.”
“The cabins are new.” Ryan studied the row of cozy, identical pine structures with redbrick chimneys and green gable roofs.
“As of last summer. Grandma designed them to resemble the house, with my sister Molly’s input. Each one caters to honeymooning couples. Spa tubs. Enclosed courtyards. Privacy windows.”
“Maybe you’ll give me a tour one of these days, seeing as I can’t look inside.”
His remark earned him another pained expression from Bridget. “Are you ever serious?”
“No fun in that. Besides, I’m interested strictly from a design standpoint. I’m renovating the Chandler place.” He supposed he should start calling it the DeMere place, seeing as he was the owner and not the Chandlers. Then again, since he wouldn’t be owning the property for long, sticking to the original name might prove a good idea. It had history, something potentially appealing to a buyer.
“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Bridget turned right, taking them past the pool and clubhouse. “Though I should have. No offense, but the property needs a ton of work.”
“I’m not offended. It does. The run-down condition is the only reason I could afford it.” Ryan prided himself on buying smart and selling smarter. “Are the clubhouse and pool also new?”
They puttered past a long narrow building and wrought-iron railing through which Ryan could see sunlight reflecting off sparkling blue water.
“No, but Grandma had everything completely refurbished and modernized. In its former life, the clubhouse was an equipment shed.”
Ryan’s interest was piqued. “Is there by chance a pool table in there?”
“Nope. Sorry. Just a Ping-Pong table and dartboard.”
“Too bad.”
“You’ll have to go to the Poco Dinero Bar and Grill in town to play pool.”
“Why, Miss O’Malley. Are you asking me out on a date?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Are you always like this?”
“Endearing? Charismatic? ’Fraid so.”
“I was thinking annoying and irritating and very full of yourself.”
“Give me time. I have a tendency to grow on people.”
Bridget sighed and aimed the golf cart toward the second-to-last cabin in the line of six. “I can see why Nora likes you. You’re her type.”
Ryan held on to the side handle when Bridget pulled to a stop, braking a bit harder than was necessary. Perhaps she really was trying to eject him.
“She’s my type, too,” he said. “Or she would be if she was younger.” His neighbor had to be in her midseventies, possibly older. “Then again, I’m a hip guy and might be able to see past the forty-five-year age difference.”
“Wait here,” Bridget instructed and turned off the golf cart.
Ryan started to get out. “Need help?”
“No, thanks. I can manage.” With a quick flip of her fingers, she unfastened the insulated container and carried it up the short walk to the cabin’s front steps.
Ryan watched her, his attention riveted. All the time he kept thinking, too bad. Too bad she was his new boss’s granddaughter. Too bad she was a settling-down kind of gal. Too bad he needed to behave himself, though she’d probably argue he’d been anything but behaving himself on their short drive.
She marched more than walked to the cabin’s front door. Independent, he thought. Feisty. Smart. Talented. Capable. Pretty. Very, very pretty. Those reddish-blond curls of hers were an invitation shouting “Touch me.” He’d discover for himself if her hair felt as silky as it appeared, except she’d no doubt slap away his hand.
At her sharp knock, a young man opened the cabin door. A few words were exchanged, and he took the insulated container. Bridget bade him goodbye and marched back to the golf cart with the same purpose as before, her arms swinging at her sides this time.
Did she realize she still wore her apron? Perhaps the garment was so second nature to her, she forgot she had it on.
The moment she climbed back into the golf cart, a musical chime sounded. Reaching into the pocket on her apron bib, she extracted her cell phone and read a text.
“Grandma says Big Jim’s going to be a few minutes late.”
“Should we go back to the house?” Ryan asked. “If your sister’s free, I can fill out my employment paperwork.”
“Big Jim won’t be long. I’ll drop you off at the stables. You can wait for him there.”
Yet another too bad. In this case, too bad their time together was at an end.
The stables were located farther up the road, a quarter mile past the last cabin. Even at fifteen miles per hour, they made good time. Ryan took in the structure and uttered a low “Wow!”
“We recently expanded the stables as well,” Bridget said. “Four more stalls and we increased the size of the paddock out back.”
Ryan had built covered stalls at the last two properties he’d flipped. Neither were as nice as these stables, which, while not large, were on par with professional horse ranches. Then again, the stalls he’d built were for private use and not to impress paying guests or appear in magazines.
Bridget parked beside the hitching rail. He expected to be dropped off and left to his own devices while he waited on the soon-to-retire wrangler. To Ryan’s vast delight, she shut off the golf cart and hopped out.
“Come on. I’ll show you around.” Pride tinged her voice. She didn’t just work for her grandmother, she loved the ranch.
“I’d like that,” he said.
The stables’ main door stood open, and Bridget went inside first. Ryan crossed the threshold behind her and stopped to stare.
Windows allowed ample natural illumination, eliminating the need for electric lights during bright sunny days like this one. Nickers filled the air as heads immediately popped over stall doors, eager to investigate the newcomers. The scents of hay and leather and grain filled the air.
“I’m impressed.” He went over to the far wall, where the harnesses hung in neat order. Running his hand down the length of a large collar, he noted the fine craftsmanship and pristine condition. Much better than anything his family had ever owned.
“Riding gear’s over there.” Bridget pointed to the other wall, where a variety of saddles sat perched on racks and bridles dangled from wooden pegs.
Every piece looked recently cleaned and recently polished. Also much better than anything his family owned.
Feeling a little like a fish out of water, he meandered over to the nearest horse. Happy for the attention, the large blond gelding nuzzled Ryan’s palm when he extended it.
“Haflinger,” he said, then noticed the other horse in the