The Rancher's Bride. Pamela Britton
her son had…well, suffice it to say the apple had fallen far from this tree.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you two.”
“I think he’s unloading hay.”
“Did you see him?” the woman asked, motioning Jorie to follow as they headed down a wide aisle along the front of the building and toward the row of stalls. Jorie noticed her hat then, fancy stitching embroidered into the brim. Some kind of floral design with rhinestone crystals in the middle.
Pretty.
“Actually, I think we’ve already met.”
The woman stopped, gray brows lifting nearly to the brim of her hat. “Oh?”
“He’s the one who told me where the barn was.”
“Ah,” the woman said, as though given the key to a great mystery, at least judging by the expression on her face. “And I’m sure he was his usual charming self.”
That was an understatement.
“Don’t mind him.” Her new boss smirked a bit as she shook her head. “He hates how my idea has taken off. Thinks it’s silly. Can’t stand sharing the ranch with a bunch of spoiled brides, as he calls them. Claims it’s a pain in the butt to be dealing with a steady stream of visitors.”
“Move your car.”
Yeah, she could see that.
“We have a wedding coming up and he always gets a little cranky beforehand.”
“Good to know.”
“Calls it the ‘invasion of Normandy.’” The woman looked heavenward in mock dismay. “Come on.” Jorie felt something nudge her shoulder, and she eyed the horse warily. She wasn’t a big fan of the animals, not that she’d had a whole lot of interaction with them in Georgia.
“We’ll take your car up there. That way you can park it out in front of your new apartment,” Odelia said. “Let me put Chex away.”
Her own apartment. A place to live. A monthly salary. Financial security. It was why she’d driven hundreds of miles to go to work for a woman she’d never met, all in the hope of taking Odelia’s little “hobby” to the next level. The reason she would suck it up and make nice to her new boss’s son, even though she suspected she and this Ryan guy would never get along.
“I’m so glad you’ve met him,” Odelia was saying.
“Um, yeah. Me, too.”
“The two of you needed to make each other’s acquaintance.”
As long as she got to keep her distance from here on out, they’d get along just fine.
“Especially since the two of you will be sharing an office.”
Jorie stumbled.
Odelia must have seen her surprise. “Oh, don’t worry.” She gave Jorie a wide smile. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
Chapter Two
Ryan heard them coming before he saw them.
“I guess you were right, boss.”
Ryan glanced at Sam, who leaned against the cab of the squeeze he’d been driving, a smirk on his face. Sam had worked for them since he was fourteen years old, and he knew Ryan’s mother about as well as he knew his own, which meant he knew Odelia’s latest hobby drove Ryan nuts.
“Damn,” Ryan muttered. He’d been hoping for at least a day of peace and quiet. He still had to drag the arena, disc the back pasture and fix a whole host of other little things that were the bane of his existence. Then there were his mom’s little wedding guest fixes. Oil the hinges on the gate so they didn’t squeak. Fix a broken sash in the “bridal cottage.” Dump a load of gravel in one of the potholes so wedding guests wouldn’t “bounce.”
God help him.
Sam must have read the expression on his face because he chuckled. “I guess she’s pretty serious about this little venture of hers, huh?” Sam was three-quarters Cherokee, but he didn’t need a sixth sense to know Ryan’s mom had gone insane.
Ten years ago it’d been floral arrangements. Ryan would bet she’d created memorial bouquets for half the county’s deceased. From there she’d moved on to stained glass. That hadn’t lasted too long, something about being too clumsy, thank God. Antiques had been next. He’d gotten to the point that he refused to go anywhere with her. To this day he couldn’t drive past an estate sale without cringing. Now it was weddings.
Weddings.
He wished to the good Lord above that he knew who’d put such a stupid idea in his mother’s head. If he ever found out, he’d drag the person behind a horse. For six months he’d been putting up with uptight brides, cranky mamas and wedding guests who’d never been on a real working ranch. But the most shocking thing of all, the thing that really had him twisted up in knots, was that the damn business had taken off. They were completely booked for the rest of the year. And now she’d gone and hired some kind of big-time coordinator. From Georgia.
“We just need to hang in there a little longer,” he said. “My mom will get over her obsession.”
And that fancy little wedding coordinator could go back to Georgia and his life would return to normal.
“That’s what you said three months ago.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
His friend glanced over at him sharply, laughed, but whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off by the arrival of the same blue compact car as before, only this time his mother was in the passenger seat. On the other side of the windshield he could see her mouth going a hundred miles an hour, typical of his mom. The woman driving was nodding and smiling.
Until she caught sight of him.
The smile dropped from her face like a brick. Okay. So maybe he’d been a little hard on her earlier. No. Not hard. Unwelcoming. But, damn it, this whole wedding thing was BS.
“You didn’t tell me she was smokin’ hot.”
Ryan didn’t need to ask who Sam was talking about. “Doesn’t matter what she looks like.”
It was true, though. His mom’s new wedding coordinator was pretty. She had hair so blond he would have sworn it was from a bottle except he’d looked for the telltale signs: the dark roots, the fake streaks of blond, the black eyebrows. He’d spotted none of those things which meant it might be real. She had the blue eyes to go along with it, too.
“Good thing Laurel’s so sweet, else she might be jealous.”
Laurel. His fiancée.
“She’ll probably welcome her with open arms,” he heard himself say before shoving off to greet his mother. He didn’t like thinking about Laurel.
His future bride.
He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his brow.
“My, my, my,” his mother marveled as she got out of the car. “You finished putting all that hay up in record time.” She glanced back at the driver. “Come on out, Jorie. You need to meet Sam.”
She was wearing one of her Annie Oakley outfits again. Lord help him. She’d never dressed like that before, but lately she’d been wearing the fringed shirts and fancy Western hats as if they lived in some kind of theme park—and maybe they did. His mom had told him time and time again that city people loved their ranch because of the ambience. That must be why she’d been channeling the ghost of Westerns past.
“Not quite,” Ryan said. “We’ve still got one more load to go.”
“Well, that can wait.” She hooked an arm through her new employee’s. “Jorie, this is Sam.”
“Nice