“Thanks for the tip.” Rylan shouldered ahead but paused with a flicker of guilt. She had been stupid to go that far so close to dusk. And he had come to get her out of it.
“Thanks for helping me out,” she said, relenting. He stared at her long and hard before heading off to the stable without another word. Rylan looked after him a moment and took a calming breath, realizing the restlessness she’d been fighting all day was gone.
Chapter Six
Cole didn’t bother buttoning his shirt as he left his room. Two days had passed since he’d found Rylan on the trail. He’d purposely kept his distance since then, knowing it was better to quench the stirrings of attraction he felt for her now, rather than risk letting it grow. But now he needed her help, and he couldn’t avoid her any longer.
He’d turned his cell phone on at 5:00 a.m. and a vicious mix of text messages and appointment reminders screamed that he was already moving too slowly. Hosting a celebrity wedding on the ranch in two days meant they were on the countdown, where stress and chaos—and potential disaster—would ensue, as it always did whenever they hosted an event like this.
Despite the money such high-profile events brought in, Cole hated the stress that went with it. Paint River was supposed to be fully staffed right now to help with preparations, but text messages from three employees not coming in today foiled that plan. And left Rylan to fill some gaps.
He finger-combed his wet hair to keep his too-long bangs out of his eyes and knocked lightly on Rylan’s door. Anxiety trickled through him as he waited. She’d blatantly put him in his place with the
Mr. Haywood
barb the last time they’d spoken, and rightly so.
Memo. Noted.
From now on, he’d be professional and brief, and try to stay the hell out of her way as much as possible. Shouldn’t be too hard to do on 38,000 acres. The door cracked, revealing the soft outline of Rylan’s tall, curvy body, and Cole’s mouth went completely dry. The attraction, apparently, hadn’t read the employee handbook.
“Morning,” she greeted, softly. A warm smile graced her lips. Her hair was damp and pulled over one shoulder. A navy blue V-neck T-shirt hugged her breasts just right, the hem falling just above the waist of her old, worn jeans. His eyes fell to her feet, the glossy red of her toenails making his insides sizzle.
His brain seemed a little heavy all of a sudden. “I…need you.”
Her eyebrows arched, pink flushing her cheeks. Cole rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and hurried on. “I need your help. Come with me?”
Smooth, Haywood. Really.
Her eyes swept his chest. He glanced down—he’d forgotten he still hadn’t buttoned his shirt.
“Okay.” She left the door open while she slipped on her sandals, and he quickly buttoned up. They walked through the house and outside in silence, the scent of her sweet shampoo a constant attack on his senses. As they descended the deck steps, he slipped a set of keys into her hand. She looked at him questioningly.
He pointed to a white Ford truck parked next to his Chevy. “Keep the keys. That truck is yours to use while you’re here.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up. Cole walked between the trucks and leaned an elbow on the side of his pickup’s bed. “Have you been up to the tents yet?”
She closed her hand around the keys. “No. Maeve mentioned them, but I haven’t had a chance to see them yet.”
Cole nodded to some boxes in the back of his truck. “That country singer’s wedding is in a couple days. It takes some time to get all those luxury tents ready. Gotta keep the celebrities happy.” He reached inside his truck and produced a clipboard, then handed it to her. It had a diagram of a tent, complete with the arrangement of the furniture and a list of things each tent should have inside.
“We have a girl who comes to stage the tents, but she can’t come in today, so I’m going to need you to take care of it. Follow me up there.” The
tap, tap, tap
of his libido faded away as work mode set in. Cole was suddenly very happy to have too much to do.
“Staging? Isn’t that where you put things together to make a room look nice?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.” He rounded his truck to the driver’s-side door. Rylan was still standing there with the clipboard.
“I’m, uh, not very good at making things look pretty.”
“Did you look in the mirror this morning? I’d say you do just fine.” The wide-eyed look Rylan whipped at him told Cole he’d said that out loud. Christ. Not daring to look at her again for fear of what might spill out his mouth next, he slid into his truck.
“Let’s go,” he called through the open passenger window. Cole punched himself into work mode by reciting his mental to-do list as they drove past the cabins. A well-groomed road led through a spread of wild prairie dotted with pink and purple flowers before curving to the right and taking them to a double-panel gate. Cole jumped out and opened it, letting Rylan through, and then followed her inside. She parked and got out, her face brightening with awe.
Cole felt a swell of pride. They’d done a lot wrong when it came to opening the ranch as a tourist hot spot. But the one thing they’d done right was creating four permanent luxury tents that offered a posh alternative to camping, yet gave patrons the privacy and nature experience they craved. The tents had a one-year waiting list, and with people calling so often to reserve them, they were thinking about putting up more. The stark white tents were set forty feet apart against a backdrop of young trees and a wide creek,
“This place keeps getting more amazing.” Rylan turned wonder-filled eyes on him. Cole paused from lifting a box from his truck, lost in her appreciation. Each time he showed her something new, she lit up like that. In the three years he and Livy had been married, she’d never sparked up like that about anything on the ranch. Not once. It took bank statements to make Livy come alive.
Brushing off the thought and focusing on the task at hand, Cole hefted boxes out of the back of his truck and made a neat row. “That’s the butler house.” He nodded to a stone building near the gate. “It’ll be staffed twenty-four hours a day while the wedding party is here.” Cole walked her to the closest tent.
Supported by a rustic log frame, the white canvas structure sat on a raised wooden platform that was wide enough to offer a small deck area. Rylan followed Cole inside, her breath coming out in a rush. He hadn’t been inside one of these in a while—it was stunning, yet somehow he’d forgotten. The interior was large enough for a king-size bed, dresser and nightstand, and a small round table and chairs, all made from hand-carved logs. A small en suite bathroom was resplendent in colored river stone and wood, the mirror framed in antlers. A hand-braided red-and-brown runner went from the bathroom to the bed, a coordinated rug at the entrance. Everything screamed luxury—from the antique trunk in the corner to the chandelier made from deer antlers hanging from the ceiling.
“Every tent is fully electric and has indoor plumbing. Five hundred square feet of easy money,” Cole quipped, hands in his front pockets. Rylan glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Why do you say that?” She wandered around the bed. Cole tracked her fingers sliding along the log frame of the footboard.
“Rich people spare no expense. We charge more to host exclusive events, like this wedding, and they really don’t care.”
Rylan scoffed and peeked inside the bathroom. “My wedding cost five thousand dollars and I thought that was a lot.” She dipped her head as though she couldn’t believe that just came out of her mouth. He couldn’t either. She was quiet, introspective, and though he shouldn’t care—really, really shouldn’t care—if she was going to talk about herself, he was all ears.
“Can’t even rent these tents for that.”
Rylan turned. “I was brought up not to waste money. Peter wanted a big, expensive event, but to me, it was too much. So, I kept it simple.” He scanned her worn clothes and beat-up leather sandals. Rylan didn’t scream “big spender,” that was true…and refreshing.
“Divorced?” he asked casually.
She paused, her gaze everywhere but on him. “Widowed, actually.” Well, hell. He hadn’t been expecting that. Unease stabbed him beneath the ribs. Before he could think of an appropriate response, his cell phone went haywire in his pocket. He grabbed it, flipped it open.
“You?”
He looked up from the rapid-fire list of text messages that had just come in. “Me?”
She nodded, arms crossing over her breasts.
“Ah…divorced.” Discussing his failed marriage was the last thing he had time for. Cole walked out onto the deck, eyes on his phone. Why people insisted on sending messages instead of just calling, made him want to throw the phone. Rylan stepped out onto the deck behind him.
“How…did your husband pass? I mean, you’re so young,” he said as he scanned the messages.
“Car accident.” Her voice was emotionless, edged in stone. He looked up, his chest tugging for her. He and Livy had parted bitterly, but he couldn’t imagine what it would have been like to lose her to an accident in their early years—when he’d loved her and thought she’d loved him. How wrong he’d been.
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Don’t be.” Her voice kept its neutral tone, but it was edged with razors that time. In that way that she had, Rylan had just put him in his place again. He flipped through the messages, cutting off his ties to the conversation, and putting himself back into boss mode.
“So, these boxes are marked one through four. They are for the corresponding tents. One is on the far left, and then the numbers go up as you work your way down the row. Quilts, accessories, towels, linens, et cetera. All the things you need to make them homey and pretty.” He gave her a nod and walked to his truck. She followed him.
“But—”
“Follow the diagram I gave you. And use your imagination. Just make it look good. Celebrities like things that look expensive, so just do that. It’ll be fine.” He slid inside the truck. “Lunch is being brought in by the wedding planner as a thank-you or something, so don’t worry about cooking. Come up at noon. No household chores for you today—just focus on getting these tents done.”
He pulled around to the gate, drove through, then got out to close it. Rylan was still standing there, arms crossed, looking after him.
“Problem?” he called. She didn’t answer, but he saw the shake of her head right before she turned to the boxes. Good. She was doing what he’d told her to, and he was back to work, just as it should be.
Chapter Seven
Rylan walked into the ranch house laundry room to find a handful of very tiny kittens sleeping in a basket of washed and folded laundry. She looked around for Birdie, pretty sure no one else would put newborn kittens in a place like that. The shock of seeing them there only fueled her exhaustion. Preparing the tents had taken all day. She’d worked through the cool morning to the blaring noon heat to the tepid breeze of midday. After struggling with making the first tent “pretty,” she’d gotten the hang of it, arranging and organizing accessories and essentials. She’d had to give herself a mental pat on the back. After being afraid she didn’t have what it took to do the job, the tents had turned out amazing.
“I got kitties…” Birdie’s shy voice tugged Rylan’s attention. The child appeared in the doorway and eyed her from the frame, pointing at the basket. Rylan gripped her hip with one hand, digging fingers into her flesh and bone, as a tornado of unrest and sadness flared at seeing the little girl’s face. Birdie’s innocent kitty-bed-making was just childhood play—something Rachel might have done, too. Something Rachel would never do. It was so easy to see her lost child in Birdie. A stronger woman might have relished it, but Rylan wasn’t sure she’d ever be strong enough for that.
“They were in the barn.” Birdie came in one step. “They’re brown and white and there’s a black one.” She pointed again, watching Rylan for a reaction. Rylan knew she should pick up the kittens and make a show of giving them hugs and kisses. Her focus shifted to the probability that the cats had probably peed everywhere and the laundry had to be redone. If she forced her brain to think about work, about redoing the laundry, it was easier not to think about Rachel.
She inhaled deeply through her nose and grabbed an empty cardboard box. Birdie watched her every move with her huge, beautiful ocean-green eyes. Her pink mouth bowed as Rylan gently put the kittens in the box. Birdie looked so much like Cole, it hurt. To think that beautiful man produced a gorgeous child like this and she had nothing.
“You’re waking them up,” Birdie protested. The disappointment in her voice cut Rylan deep. She shuddered, her heart leaden with agony as the kittens began to mewl.
Take it slow. It’s not her fault Rachel is gone.
“I’m sorry, but no cats on the laundry, Birdie.” She looked around. “Where’s the mama cat?”
“Barn.” Birdie sucked her thumb, the bright light in her eyes dimmer. Rylan put the box on her hip and shooed Birdie out into the hall.
“You can’t take babies away from their mom, Birdie,” she said more harshly than she’d intended. Softer, she explained, “They need to be with their mama to eat and stay safe, okay?” Birdie let Rylan pass, and followed her out to the barn. The mama cat burst from a hay pile the moment she heard the kittens mewing. An anxious mother, Rylan thought, desperate for her babies. Only the mother cat got her babies back.
“Don’t take the babies away again, Birdie. All right?”
Birdie’s chin tipped to her chest, her thumb and forefinger pulling on her lower lip. “I wanted to show you my kitties.” Birdie hiccupped, and Rylan’s heart went through the meat grinder for a second time.
Rylan swallowed hard, heart racing. Then, tentatively, she held her hand out toward Birdie. She couldn’t look, just focused on the kittens nursing from their mama. Small, warm fingers looped around her pinky and Rylan’s rib cage bottomed out. Anguish quickly spilled into something else…something lighter. The tension in her chest loosened a little.
Birdie continued pulling her lip as they walked back down the dirt drive to the house. Cole came around on his horse, eyes going wide at seeing them. Birdie spotted him, pulled free from Rylan, and ran to him, bursting into tears. Cole reached down with one hand and picked his daughter up into the saddle, looking at Rylan with concern as Birdie cried into his shoulder.
Rylan hugged herself, cold despite the warmth of the late afternoon. Cole looked impressive on his big brown quarter horse, light-tan chaps snug over the length of his legs. His hat sat slightly askew so the curls showed above his ear.
“What’s wrong?” Cole asked Birdie soothingly, looking at Rylan again. Birdie pulled him down to whisper in his ear. “She didn’t like your kittens?” he asked gently as Birdie’s sobbing and head shaking got worse.
A little breathless, Rylan held back the sting of threatened tears in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings—”
His eyes narrowed and took on an icy expression that forced shivers down her spine. Without a word to her, Cole nudged the horse and trotted off, Birdie curled up against his stomach and clinging to his shirt. Rylan watched them go, wondering how she’d screwed that up so badly. Her pinky burned from Birdie’s touch. She flexed her fingers and slid them into the front pocket of her jeans. Learning how to endure Birdie’s presence without turning into a mess of emotions was pretty critical to her mental health, and after the look on Cole’s face, likely her job, too. But could she do that and still hang on to Rachel’s memory? Rylan let the tears fall. She had to, because she wasn’t ever going to let go.
…
“Mail.” Tucker handed Cole a stack of envelopes and took a seat in a leather chair on the other side of the desk. Cole took them, threw them down, and finished typing on his laptop. Guests had started to arrive earlier in the evening for tomorrow’s big wedding. The ranch was buzzing and he was wound tight, his brain spinning with everything left undone from his mental to-do list. A crack and fizz preceded the tasty scent of cold beer, prompting him to take notice. Tucker winked and chewed a toothpick, sliding Cole the beer before cracking open another.
“Anything from Levi?” Cole wasn’t ashamed of the hope in his voice. He missed the hell out of his youngest brother. Each day Levi stayed in Afghanistan was one day too damn long.
“No.” Tucker’s disappointment matched his own. “Sure is hopping around here.” Tuck plopped his feet on the edge of Cole’s desk. “Good thing Ma has help this year. She’s looking pretty run-down.”
“Yeah.” Maeve was looking more fatigued with each day, but she kept going despite protests from her children. Cole tried to convince her to see her doctor, but she insisted it could wait until after the celebrity wedding passed.
“Rylan’s working her ass off,” Tucker said behind a sip.
“Mmm-hmm.” Cole shrugged and closed the laptop. She was supposed to work her ass off. That’s what they paid her to do. Though he had to admit she was doing a hell of a good job. The house was spotless, the laundry was always done, and she cooked like a pro. Plus, she’d filled in to help with the wedding preparations without batting too much of an eye. He knew she’d cleaned up the kitchen and folded Birdie’s laundry after working in the tents all day yesterday, too. She hadn’t come up for lunch as he’d told her to either—hell, he wasn’t sure she ever ate at all.
That thought made him pause. Guilt had been nagging him since he’d ridden off with Birdie. He shouldn’t have stormed off like that, but he had a hard time being objective where his daughter was concerned. He’d been quick to assume Rylan had done something horrible to hurt Birdie’s feelings. Though after Birdie admitted she’d put newborn kittens in the clean laundry, he could understand why Rylan wouldn’t be overjoyed. He really needed to talk to her, smooth things over.
Tucker was eyeballing him in that frustrating Tucker way—as though he had something to say but couldn’t bring himself to let it out.
Cole sighed impatiently and leaned back in his chair. “Spit it out, Tuck.”
“Ma seems to like her.” Tucker clicked the tab on his beer can.
Cole rubbed a hand over his face, knowing damn well that wasn’t really what Tucker had on his mind. “Ma also takes in three-legged horses and rabid raccoons.” She had a knack for picking up offbeat strays and trying her best to make something useful from them. It didn’t usually work out that well. “Ma likes everyone.”
Tucker sat forward in his chair and leaned his forearms on the desk. “You think Rylan’s in some kind of trouble?”
Cole set his beer down, his brows arching at the question. Tucker was the family watchdog and made no qualms about voicing his opinion when he thought something, or someone, was bad for the family or the ranch. Tucker tapped on the letters.
Cole picked up the two envelopes, both addressed to Rylan, both from a legal office in Wisconsin. After her strange reaction to Birdie and her avoidance of family in general, he’d wondered what she might be hiding, too, hadn’t he? Cole shook his head. He didn’t want to worry about whether or not Rylan was a deviant. Her background check came out clean. She’d been a cop, for crying out loud. If they couldn’t trust someone with an impeccable police service record, the world really was going to shit. So far, he had no reason not to trust her as an employee with his home and his family.
Despite the way his mind loved to wander in her general direction for no good reason, maybe he
should
consider her a deviant. If he focused on all the things Rylan might be, maybe he’d stop thinking about the things she was. Sexy. Smoky. Curvy. Women as employees? Fine. Women after his heart? No way.
“Just say whatever is rolling around in that thick skull of yours, Tucker.”
Tucker flicked the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “I’m saying you already got involved with the wrong woman once, who also happened to work here. We can’t afford for you to do it again.”
“Whoa. Hold the fuck on.” Cole leaned forward so fast, his chair squeaked like a cracking tree. His fists curled right next to Tucker’s hands on the walnut desk. He and Tucker were close. Having gone through the brunt of their father’s hostility growing up, they’d learned that sticking together made it easier to handle whatever shit got flung at them. Tucker had been there when Livy showed her true colors, had helped Cole through it. He couldn’t blame Tucker for not wanting to go down that road again.
Cole knew he sure as hell couldn’t do it again. Which is why Rylan was fun to look at but dangerous to play with. He would’ve thought Tuck knew that already.
“I’m not interested in her.”
Tucker faced him squarely with a clear I-don’t-believe-you wink. “Fine, but if you decide to
get
interested just… Have a good time, but don’t get attached.”
Cole scoffed. “Just love ’em and leave ’em like you do, huh?” As soon as he said the words, Cole regretted them. Tucker had been burned once, too. Hell, they even stuck together in heartbreak. “I’m sorry, Tuck. Forget I said that.”
“Asshole.” A slow, crooked grin spread on Tucker’s mouth.
“Mostly, yeah.” Cole knocked his brother’s fist with his own.
Tucker resumed his beer drinking and got quiet again, which only raised Cole’s suspicions. “Is there more?” He kept his arms on the desk, pretty sure by the squint of Tucker’s left eye that he wasn’t going to like what was coming next.
“Speaking of Livy—”
“Fuck,” Cole groaned, closing his eyes. Nope, he wasn’t going to like it.
“She called the house. You’re damn lucky I happened to be there when the phone rang, and not Ma.” Tucker got up, crushed his can in one hand and tossed it in the wastebasket. Cole got up too, simply because every muscle in his body was screaming that he needed to hit something.
“What the hell did she want?”
Tucker shrugged. “I don’t know, but she did say that if you don’t call her soon, she’s coming out here. Spare us her presence, Cole. Call. Her. Back.”
Call Livy back. Doing just that had been nagging him since she’d started hounding him two weeks ago. He’d given Livy exactly what she wanted when they parted ways and took away the one thing she’d never get back: Birdie. In the back of his mind, he had wondered if Livy would pop back up at some point and what she’d want if she did.
He knew only one thing—she’d never get her fake nails on his daughter again.
“I’ll take care of it,” Cole grumbled, grabbing the letters off the desk and walking to the door. “Birdie’s in bed. You staying inside?” he called back to Tucker.
“I’ll keep an eye on Sleeping Beauty. You go blow off some steam.”
Cole walked to Rylan’s room, tapping the envelopes against his palm. He struggled with the desire to ask her what they were about—knew he had no right—and wrestled with himself to just shut up when she answered the door. Another knock later, she still hadn’t answered. It was nine thirty, and he doubted she was sleeping. He cranked the handle, his heart kicking up. It was unlocked.
“Rylan?” he called through the crack, opening the door wide when no answer came. The room was empty. The space was tidy and completely without any of the personal touches he’d expected to see. No pictures or personal effects besides an iPad on the bedside table. Whatever her past held, she hadn’t brought reminders of it with her. At least nothing she wanted anyone else to see. He set the letters on her pillow and stormed from the room, needing the space and comfort only the open air could bring him.
Out on the deck, he was met by the lively strains of fiddle. Each night during the summer, ranch guests were invited to a nightly campfire for s’mores and socializing. Some of the ranch hands would come by and tell stories or scare the kids with ghost tales. Cole usually had nothing to do with it, but the music tonight called to him. Some of the tension inside faded as the fiddle sped up, followed by a banjo. He meandered toward the guest cabins, a vibrant orange glow welcoming him from the fire. The log benches situated around the huge fire ring were packed with guests. Long sticks held sloppy, gooey marshmallows, and the rustle of candy wrappers betrayed that chocolate was near.