Chapter Three
One look at the older woman who met them in the kitchen and Rylan knew she was Maeve Haywood. Her turquoise-blue eyes gave it away. She’d passed that gene along to Cole like a champ. Tucker moved aside to make coffee while Maeve wrapped Rylan in a hug.
Rylan went stiff.
“I’m so sorry about the mix-up yesterday. It was good luck that Cole was in town, despite where you two ran into each other.” Maeve patted Rylan’s back and pulled away with a welcoming smile. Rylan forced off the shock of being enveloped by a complete stranger. She never had been one for blatant affection, especially after having a husband who spent more time with his hands on other women than on her. Maeve’s expression of immediate acceptance settled Rylan’s nerves a bit, giving her the fleeting sensation of being a long-lost relative instead of the help.
“I was awake when he stumbled in with you last night,” Maeve continued. “I made him fill me in after you’d gone to bed, drunk as he was.”
“Dumbass.” Tucker snickered behind them, and then his cell phone rang. He ducked out of the room to answer.
Maeve shook her head and led Rylan to a stool by the breakfast bar. “I hope he wasn’t too—”
Rylan waved a hand, not wanting her bad first impression with Cole to taint her first moments with Maeve. She actually cared what Maeve thought of her, considering she’d been hired to assist
her
with running the household. “It was fine, Mrs. Haywood. I’m sorry if we woke you.”
Maeve reached for a mug from a neatly stacked row near the large stainless steel coffeemaker. It shook slightly in her hand while she set it in front of Rylan.
“You didn’t. I’m used to the boys coming in at all hours. And please, call me Maeve.”
Maeve turned to open a drawer, and Rylan grabbed the opportunity to look around. The kitchen was decked out with granite countertops, rich cherry cabinets, stainless steel everything, perfect patina on the worn hardwood floors. The breakfast bar separated the kitchen from the dining room, where an oblong table sat in the middle, large enough to seat twenty or more. Peaked windows rose to the cathedral ceiling above a set of French doors that showed off the mountain range. To the right was a spacious living room, adorned with leather furniture and a floor-to-ceiling river stone fireplace. Dark-brown logs with gray chinking between them created the walls, giving the space a rustic vibe.
Excitement lurched in her chest at the beauty of the place. Until she saw a small pink blanket thrown over the side of an armchair.
Rylan’s gut sank, her brain buzzing as she recognized the outline of a princess’s face on the side of the blanket.
Oh, God.
“Ma, what are you doing up so early?” Rylan’s stomach completely bottomed out in response to the deep voice. She snapped her gaze away from the blanket as Cole appeared in the kitchen with his hat in one hand. He gave Rylan a fleeting glance, his eyes narrowing a bit before placing a kiss on Maeve’s cheek.
“Go back to bed. Tucker is going to show her around.” He squeezed Maeve’s shoulder affectionately.
She waved him off with a loving smile. “Oh, hush.”
Tucker walked back in the room, tucked his cell phone into his back pocket, and picked up the coffeepot, tilting it in Cole’s direction. “Thought you had things to do.”
Cole took the coffee with a snort. “I was checking to make sure Birdie was still asleep.” Rylan thought of the tattoo on Cole’s shoulder, her brain riffling through all the possibilities of who Birdie might be. A slow, sinking feeling made her insides heavy—Birdie might be the owner of that blanket, a child. Holding in a blossom of panic, Rylan looked at the counter and tapped her finger over the rim of her mug.
The sounds of coffee being poured and boots shuffling on the floor calmed her, drew her back to her surroundings, though a soft throb had started behind her temple. Children were never mentioned during the interview process. But what if—
Maeve came around the breakfast bar to sit next to her and patted the back of her hand with an affectionate smile. “Did you get enough sleep, Rylan?” A familiar unrest was brewing beneath her ribs, fueling the buzzing in her head and the zing of adrenaline in her veins. Rylan managed to nod and hoped she’d smiled.
“See you later.” Tucker flipped a white hat over his red-brown hair.
“Like hell.” Cole filled Maeve’s cup.
Tucker’s devilish grin made Rylan smile despite the lump in her throat. Serious Cole, troublemaker Tucker. And the family dynamics were just beginning. She crossed her ankles and leaned her forearms on the counter, letting the cool granite seep into her skin.
“We’ve got a broken fence and loose cattle. I’m out of here.” He skirted around Cole, wagged his eyebrows at his brother, and left. Cole’s stony expression softened a bit as he shook his head. He turned to put the coffeepot away when Maeve cleared her throat.
“Rylan, would you like some coffee?” Maeve looked pointedly at Cole.
Rylan gave a little nod, not really caring if she had coffee or not. A deep restlessness brewed throughout her body, making her want to get up and move, run, anything to stop it from becoming more potent.
Damn, not now.
Though the sudden rush of her flight instinct and anxiety like this was as much a part of her life as breathing, Rylan was still never fully prepared when it came on.
“Y-yes, please.” Her mug made a slight grinding sound as she slid it the arm’s length across the marble counter. Cole turned and walked over. A deep furrow marked his brow. His eyes were dark, impatient, when they grabbed hers. He placed the pot over her mug and paused for two beats before pouring her a cup, never releasing her gaze. Whatever Cole had been drinking last night caught up with him this morning. He looked exhausted. She had half a mind to ask him who was ornery now, but instead pulled her mug back and sipped the burning liquid to hold her tongue and calm her rampant nerves.
“I’m going to show Rylan around the ranch.” Maeve tucked a lock of bobbed ash-blond hair behind her ear. Little crow’s feet decorated the outer corners of her eyes. Despite those little marks of age and the subtle creases around her mouth, time looked like it had forgotten about her.
Cole’s voice was gravelly. “You can’t walk the grounds yourself right now, Ma. You might fal—”
“Fine, then come along and give me your arm,” Maeve interrupted. She turned to Rylan. “I love the ranch this early in the morning. You’ll see why.” She rose unsteadily, bracing herself on the counter with one hand. Cole was at Maeve’s side instantly, grabbing her elbow to steady her. Maeve shook her head as they exchanged words Rylan couldn’t hear.
As a cop, she’d been trained to watch the subtleties of body language and expression for clues to a person’s true nature. Cole’s entire demeanor changed, impatience melting into concern, the hard lines around his eyes softening. A small smile pulled at Rylan’s lips as warmth flooded her veins. Boys were supposed to love their mamas, and Cole seemed to fit that bill just fine.
Maeve tossed Rylan a reassuring glance. “Ready?” They walked to the French doors and out onto the wraparound deck. The new light of day was softly gold and peach, the early June air cool with a hint of the warmth to come. Rylan paused in awe. The mountain range in the distance was breathtaking. Peaks disappeared into pristine white clouds, stone reflecting blue and black and gray in the light. Zen didn’t cut it. It was hurt-deep-in-your-chest beautiful. In just that one moment, it was easy to forget about the family she no longer had and the legal trouble still hanging over her head. Not much could do that these days. Rylan breathed it in.
A gruff voice pulled her away. “You coming?” Cole eyed her over his shoulder as he settled Maeve’s hand in the bend of his arm. Man, he was good at being edgy. She looked at the mountains as she went down the steps, grasping for that surreal feeling again, but it was gone. She hoped not for good, though, because it was exactly what she needed.
As they walked, Maeve explained that Paint River was a ranch hybrid. In addition to accommodating tourist and recreation activities like fishing, hiking, and guided horseback rides, as well as providing facilities for weddings and retreats, Paint River was a 38,000-acre working ranch. It housed 650 head of Black Angus cattle, along with the registered quarter horse stock that Cole and Tucker managed for breeding, ranch work, and the show ring. Rylan had grown up on a dairy farm, but a spread of this magnitude was hard to wrap her head around.
They walked a dirt road to the right of the ranch house, passing a two-story log building that served as an office and small store for guests and moving toward a row of bright-red cottages trimmed in white, reminding Rylan of the old Wisconsin barns back home. Fifteen cottages stood in a tidy row, hanging plants and a rocking chair on each small front porch. Behind the cottages was wide-open flatland dotted with wildflowers, the distant mountain range embracing the property. Hiking trails cut through the grass, lined with blue-tipped markers. Perfect for a run.
Taking the same driveway back the way they’d come, they continued past the ranch house and down a slight hill. The scene below was a rustic contrast from the manicured beauty of the guest side of the property. Three lumbering barns—one painted brown, one green, and one weathered gray barn board—sat side by side. A bunkhouse crafted from yellowish pine logs with brown chinking housed fifteen ranch hands who lived on site. Smaller buildings were scattered here and there, large pens with metal fencing dotting the landscape.
This part of the ranch was teeming with activity. Cowboys on horses rode past with dogs following along; a truck and trailer rambled down the drive. Two large pens were filled with cattle, another with a handful of horses munching on hay.
“Want to tour the barns?” Maeve asked.
The barn back home had been her personal sanctuary as a kid. The perfect place to get lost in thought or heal a broken heart. Rylan missed the bustle of activity and hard work that accompanied this kind of life. She’d missed milking the cows with her father at the crack of dawn every morning, cutting hay in the fields, and the freedom that could be found on the back of a horse. She’d given that all up for life as a city cop married to a man who’d rather she forget she was ever a poor farmer’s daughter. Immersing herself in ranch life had been too promising to resist when she’d applied for the job here.
“I’d love to!” Rylan said.
A shadow of a smile crossed Cole’s lips at her eager statement. He tipped his chin, the brim of his hat partially covering his face. It didn’t hide the way he glanced at her feet and worked his way up. Rylan’s cheeks went hot by the time he got to her chest.
“Ma, I’m burning daylight. Can we do this another time? It’s not like she’s going anywhere.”
She
?
I have a name, ass-hat.
Rylan cocked her head to the side. Despite the way he seemed to dismiss her, the tingle in the very bottom of her belly made it hard to deny how good he looked. Sexy. Irritating. Intriguing.
Employer.
The part of her brain that found him deliciously attractive grumbled while the half that considered him off-limits hoped she wouldn’t have to interact too much more with Cole. Work—and healing—might be too darn difficult with him around.
Smiling sweetly while she threw curse words at him in her mind, Rylan gave an agreeable nod. “That’s fine. I’ll walk Maeve back.” Rylan held her arm to Maeve’s free hand. Cole stared her down. She stared back, her heart hitching painfully fast. The battered brown hat sat just so on his head, a lick of black curls peeking out around his ears. He hadn’t shaved last night’s stubble—it was darker, thicker. Sexier.
Just when Rylan thought her retinas would combust from the intensity of his gaze, Cole tipped his hat to his mother and walked toward the barns.
Maeve chuckled as they turned back toward the house. “You won’t see much of Cole. He oversees everything that happens on the ranch. To say he’s busy is an understatement.” Rylan should have felt reassured by that, but disappointment crept in.
Maeve tripped a little on the uneven ground, her body trembling slightly as if she were cold. Rylan almost asked if she was ill but clamped her lips together before the words escaped. Whatever was going on with Maeve’s health, she apparently wasn’t volunteering information.
Back in the ranch house, Maeve gave Rylan a walk-through. The house was resplendent in wood and stone, with rustic touches that echoed the Western landscape. They passed the stairway, paused at the bottom but didn’t go up.
“I sleep in the alcove bedroom behind the kitchen,” Maeve said. “Everyone else is upstairs. So we’ll all just leave laundry outside our doors for you to pick up each day, if that works.”
Rylan followed along behind Maeve’s still-shaky steps as they went to the laundry room and talked household duties. Back in the kitchen, Maeve showed Rylan a weekly meal plan and where the cooking necessities were located.
“I’ll leave most of the cooking up to you. Don’t worry about breakfast—that’s just strong coffee around here. Boys’ll come up around noon, sometimes, for a sandwich. Otherwise, they’ll be in when they can for dinner. I usually get it ready and keep it in the oven to stay warm.”
“Reminds me of my dad and brother back home. I’d cook one big meal a day. Sometimes they’d run in like the devil was after them and shovel it down so fast, they wouldn’t even speak. During harvest, I’d be lucky to see them at all,” Rylan said, the wistfulness in her voice sending rockets through her chest. The memory was fast and sudden. So were the longing and bittersweet joy that went with it. Why the hell that had just come out of her mouth, she had no idea. Talking about herself wasn’t high on her list of things necessary for getting through life.
Maeve sat while Rylan refilled their coffee cups and started another pot.
“Seems strange to people who don’t ranch for a living—grown men living with their mother. But we all need each other to make this place work.” Maeve’s face took on a forlorn look as she rimmed the handle of her cup with a finger. “I have another son, Levi. He’s a Marine, currently in Afghanistan, and my husband passed last year. Cole and Tucker work hard—real hard—to keep this place going and fill in the gaps.”