The Ryders: Jared, Royce and Stephanie. Barbara Dunlop
just as twitchy as his horse. Far from the haven he’d always known, the familiar sights and sounds of Montana brought a crush of memories. And a fresh surge of anger roiled in his belly.
His instinct had been to stay far away from the ranch this week. But his sister, Stephanie, needed him. Besides, Chicago had its own problems at the moment.
Ryder International had just signed a long-term lease to rent space to the City of Chicago in the Ryder office tower that was under construction on Washington Street. For some reason, the mayor had insisted on parading Jared from charity ball to art gallery opening. Jared had been out in public so often that the tabloids started to believe there was a reason to take his picture and stuff a microphone in his face.
It was beyond frustrating. He was a businessman, not a politician or a celebrity. And his personal life was none of their damn business. The reporter from Windy City Bizz camping out at the end of his driveway Monday night was the last straw. When he got back to the city, he was looking into restraining orders and disguises.
But for the moment he had no choice but to come to terms with the home front. He cleared the main equestrian barn, and a cluster of people on horseback at the riding arena came into view. His appearance caught their attention. One horse and rider immediately broke free from the group, trotting down the dirt road to meet him. Both Jared and Tango tracked the pair’s progress past the pens, dotted outbuildings and sparse trees.
“The prodigal returns,” sang his twenty-two-year-old sister, Stephanie, pulling her mare to a halt, raising a cloud of dust in the July sunshine. Her smiling, freckle-flecked face peeked out from her riding helmet. Her long legs were clad in tight jodhpurs and high, glossy brown boots, while a loose, tan blouse ballooned around her small frame. Her unruly auburn hair was tied back in a ponytail.
“I think you’re confusing me with Royce,” said Jared, watching her closely. She might not know what he knew, but they’d all been shaken by their grandfather’s death three months ago.
He halted Tango, who eyed the mare with suspicion.
“At least Royce makes it to my competitions,” Stephanie pointed out, shifting in her stirrups. “He was there to watch me win last week at Spruce Meadows.”
“That’s because he lives on his jet plane,” Jared defended. His brother, Royce, routinely flew from New York to London, Rome and points east, checking out companies to add to the Ryder International empire. Royce was mobile.
“I live in a boardroom,” Jared finished.
“Poor baby,” Stephanie teased. She smiled, but Jared caught the veiled sadness in her silver-blue eyes. Stephanie had been only two when their parents died, and Gramps was the closest thing to a parent she’d known.
“Congratulations,” he told her softly, reflexively tamping down his own anger to focus on her needs. He’d been fifteen when they lost their parents, and he liked to think he’d had a hand in raising her, too. He was immensely proud of her accomplishments as both a rider and a trainer.
“Thanks.” She leaned forward to pat Rosie-Jo, her champion gray Hanoverian, briskly on the neck, but not before Jared caught the telltale sheen in her eyes. “Want to see our trophy?”
“Of course,” he answered. There would be plenty of time later to talk about their grandfather.
“We’ve got a few hours before the meeting.” She drew a brave breath and squared her shoulders, shaking off the sadness as she turned the horse to draw alongside Jared.
Together they headed toward her two-story blue-gabled ranch house.
The annual meeting of the Genevieve Memorial Fund, a charitable trust named in memory of their mother, would take place today. Each year, it was scheduled to coincide with the anniversary of their parents’ deaths. Picturing his parents, Jared felt his anger percolating once more. But he had to suck it up, be a man about it. There was absolutely no point in disillusioning his younger brother and sister.
“I saw you in the Chicago paper last week,” Stephanie chimed in as they left the river behind them.
“That was a picture of the mayor,” Jared corrected. He’d done his best to duck behind the burly man.
“They named you in the caption.”
“Slow news day,” he told her, remembering the flashbulbs outside the gallery and how the reporters had shouted inane questions as he’d helped Nadine into the limo.
Stephanie’s expression turned calculating, her tone curious. “So who was she?”
“Who was who?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know exactly where his baby sister was headed. Raised in a male-dominated household, she’d been lobbying for somebody to please marry a nice woman since she was seven years old.
“The bombshell in the picture with you.”
“She was my date,” he offered, letting the statement dangle without elaboration.
Stephanie pasted him with a look of impatience. “And?”
He forced her to wait a beat longer. “And her name is Nadine Romsey. Sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not a bombshell. She’s a lawyer with Comcoe Newsome.”
Stephanie’s interest grew. “Looks and brains. This must be something serious.”
“It was a business arrangement. The mayor invited me to the party, and there were people attending that Nadine wanted to meet.”
Stephanie pouted. “But she’s so pretty.”
“And you’re so hopelessly romantic.”
“Will you take her out again?”
“Only if she needs to get into another party.” He admired Nadine, but he didn’t have any romantic interest in her.
Stephanie compressed her lips in frustration. “You’ve written her off after one date? You know, you’re never going to meet a woman if you don’t get out there and—”
“I’m ‘out there’ 24/7, little sister.” He gestured around the spread. “That’s what pays for all of this.”
Stephanie pointed her nose in the air. “Ryder Equestrian Center brought in a million dollars last year.”
Jared snorted a laugh. “While you spent four million.”
“We also provided dozens of marketing opportunities for the firm, and we improved your corporate image. That is priceless.”
“You rehearsed that, didn’t you?”
“You should get married, Jared.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be angling for a mother figure?”
“I’m looking for a sister now. You should find someone young and fun. Who likes horses,” she added for good measure, kicking her mare into a faster walk.
Jared shook his head. Between the revelation his grandfather had spoken on his deathbed, the mayor and the media, and Ryder International’s accountant’s concerns that the company was expanding too fast, Jared didn’t have a scrap of emotional or intellectual energy left over for romance.
As he followed Stephanie past the open door of a stable, a sudden tingle spread up his spine. He turned sharply and locked gazes with a blond-haired, green-eyed beauty who stood just inside the main doorway. She was wearing blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, and she held a manure fork in both hands.
She quickly glanced away, but his radar pinged.
What was it?
He stared at her a little longer.
It was the makeup. Her makeup was subtle, but she was definitely wearing some. And he’d bet her blond highlights were from a salon, not the sunshine. Her collared shirt was pressed, and the hands that held the manure fork were soft, bare, no gloves.
“Who’s