Cowboys And Cradles. Sharon Swan
the property ever went on the market. You know the rest. Long before I signed the purchase papers, though, one of my goals was to establish a free day care facility someday, somewhere. It seemed as though fate was working in my favor when I was able to do it here.”
“I’m glad fate’s working in someone’s favor,” he muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.
She’d been going on and on, she abruptly realized. This man now knew a good part of her life history, and she knew practically nothing about him. Except that he’d wanted the ranch just as much as or maybe more than she had. Perhaps far more.
“Why did it have to be the Creedence Creek, Ryder?”
She’d struck a nerve. The way he stilled completely for an instant told her that. He didn’t pretend not to know what she referred to. And he didn’t respond immediately. Several silent seconds passed before he spoke.
“It’s a long story.”
A civil way of saying, Mind your own business, she knew. And she would. Yet she couldn’t help wondering.
“Well, all my cards are on the table now, and I suppose I should give you a last chance to back out.” She stepped forward, held out a hand. “Do we still have a deal, cowboy?”
Ryder studied her for a long moment before he took her hand in his for a firm handshake. “We still have a deal, lady.”
JUST OVER A WEEK LATER, Ryder watched a large truck pull up to the back of the ranch house. Although he was more than fifty yards away, standing near a corral, he had no trouble making out what two uniformed deliverymen quickly began to unload. One sparkling white baby crib after another was hauled out and lined up in a long row.
“You got to do something, Ry. The woman’s a pure menace.”
Ryder clamped a companionable hand around the sturdy shoulder of the person standing beside him. “Hang in there, Pete. I told you she won’t be here long.”
And he didn’t plan on revising that statement, Ryder reflected. No, not for a minute. Eve Terry was sincere about the whole thing, he had to give her that. She’d meant everything she’d said before they’d shaken hands to seal their agreement. But she hadn’t changed his mind about anything. She wouldn’t be able to stick it out.
Right now he had to hope Pete Rawlins could dredge up enough patience to make it through until the inevitable happened, well aware that to the solidly built man on the far side of sixty only four things in life were truly important: a tender steak, a decent brand of whisky, a big-screen television and no fussy female around to spoil his enjoyment of the other three.
“How long’s long?” Pete asked.
Ryder shrugged. “A few weeks. Maybe a couple of months.”
“Months.”
“Could be,” he had to acknowledge. “So far she’s had plenty on her plate to keep her busy. She hasn’t had time yet to start getting bored.”
“She’s been busy, all right.” Pete snorted his displeasure. “Amos must be turning over in his grave. Jeez, he’s probably spinning like a tumbleweed on a gusty day! Frilly curtains and fancy rugs all over the house. One whole side of the place looking like a circus ad with that clown wallpaper everywhere. And the kitchen…Why’d she have to mess with the kitchen?” A hint of anguish underscored that question.
“All she did was buy a new refrigerator and put in a dishwasher,” Ryder said in a soothing tone.
“The old fridge was fine, and we don’t need a dishwasher.”
We will when the baby bottles start piling up. Ryder decided not to voice that thought. Pete obviously had enough to handle at the moment.
“Do you know what was in one of the dozen shopping bags she hauled in this morning? A tablecloth.” If Pete had said horse manure, it would have come out the same way. “Jeez. How’s a man supposed to enjoy his supper when he has to face a tablecloth?”
Ryder’s lips twitched. “It’s a new experience, I know.” He waited a beat. “Of course, you could always eat with the bunch down at the bunkhouse.”
As expected, that suggestion was turned down flat. “There’s been enough changes around here. For more years than I care to count, I fed the whole crew, and then Amos and I had our supper in the room off the kitchen where we could see the mountains. Along the way, you joined us. Now Amos is gone, but you and I are eating together at that old oak table, even if it does have a fancy-dancy cloth on it.”
“I appreciate your sticking by me, Pete. I’d hate to face that trial alone.”
He knew he’d laid it on too thick when a sidelong glance found midnight-black eyes narrowing. Once Pete’s hair had been as dark as his eyes. Now black hair had given way to silver, although it was still as plentiful as ever.
“This is nothin’ to joke about, Ry,” the older man said. “It’s serious. And you wouldn’t be alone at that table. You’d be eating with her.”
As if on cue, Eve stepped out of the house, wearing more “upscale Western wear for women,” as she’d termed it. She began to instruct the two deliverymen, and the lined-up cribs soon made their way up the short porch steps and through the back door.
Sharing the evening meal was about the only time Ryder had spent with his boss since their initial meeting, a deliberate decision on his part. He was staying out of her way as much as he could, but she probably hadn’t even noticed. She’d been busy as a bee giving the house a makeover and driving Pete crazy.
Much of his own days had been spent outdoors. While the good weather held, there was plenty to be done. March, typically a dry month, might turn out to be wetter than normal. A large storm was brewing in the Pacific, and rain was a definite possibility, the forecasters said, hedging their bets, as usual. But rain or not he had to put some time in at the ranch office soon. He had records to update and investments to check on. Ordinarily, he enjoyed working at the computer, but he wasn’t looking forward to the next session. It would put him too close to Eve Terry.
“How old do you suppose she is?”
Since Ryder had already given the matter some thought, he had a ready answer. “Around thirty, I’d guess.”
“Humph. She looks younger. Of course, that makeup females use can probably change night into day.”
Ryder had a hunch Eve would look just as good without a stitch of makeup, and he didn’t even want to consider how she’d look in nothing at all. A vivid dream picturing that sight had already rattled his peace of mind. It was one of the reasons he was staying out of her way.
Okay, make that the first and foremost reason, he admitted. Certain parts of him were way too attracted to her, and if he didn’t keep a rein on his libido, things could get…complicated.
Ryder’s brow knitted under the wide rim of his black Stetson. If he had to come up with a single word to describe his past relationships with women—and there hadn’t been all that many after his younger, wilder days—that word would probably be uncomplicated. Complications were something he’d never felt he could afford, not as long as the major part of his time and attention was solidly focused on eventually owning the Creedence Creek—a firmly held goal grounded in the past, with roots going back many years.
Thirty-three years, to be exact.
Those roots could be traced back to the day he was born, a fact he’d always kept to himself.
Now, at least for the present, a woman stood between him and his ability to achieve that goal. When she packed up and left, he’d have what he wanted. The last thing he needed was to start wanting her, as well. And if he were foolish enough to act on it, things were bound to get complicated in a hurry.
So it has to be kept simple, Quinn, he told himself. But he hadn’t forgotten that simple didn’t apply with this woman.
“Must