“Real food for real men is what I cook. It’s been good enough for the folks around here since God knows when, and it’s good enough now.” That said, he grabbed his plate with one hand and stomped out.
“Isn’t he a darling man?” Cloris asked of no one in particular. She forked up a helping of mashed potatoes and continued her meal as though nothing at all unusual had occurred.
Ryder’s gaze met Eve’s. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t leave.”
“I doubt he’ll do that,” she replied, her tone confident. “He’s probably waiting for me to leave.” Like you are, a glint in her eye added silently. “But I’m staying.” She paused for a beat. “And since I’m staying, I think it’s time I took some riding lessons. Can you suggest someone here who could help?”
Not me.
As determined as ever not to spend more time in her company than strictly necessary, he considered the alternatives as he polished off his steak. It didn’t take long to come up with one. “Zeb Hollister will get you started. He’s our most experienced horseman.”
And he was bound to be less than thrilled about riding herd on a greenhorn. But the old wrangler would do it and keep her out of trouble at the same time, Ryder decided. He’d make it an order if he had to. When it came to the working part of the ranch, he was still in charge. Zeb and every other man on the place knew that. He’d made certain they knew it.
Eve reached for her water glass. “Fine. Early tomorrow afternoon would be a good time for me.”
“I’ll set it up for one o’clock.” Ryder tossed his napkin beside his empty plate and pushed back from the table as pots and pans clanked loudly in the background. “Pete’s probably thrown out dessert, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll check in at the bunkhouse. There may be a few stray crumbs of pie left, if I’m lucky.”
He was barely gone when Cloris slid a sidelong glance Eve’s way. “That man does things to a pair of jeans.”
Having just watched a tight male backside depart, she could hardly argue the matter. “Mmm-hmm,” was her reply.
“He doesn’t look like a business manager,” Cloris tacked on.
“He does when he wears a suit, trust me.”
Despite the fact that she hadn’t seen him in one since the day they’d met, Eve had no trouble recalling the sight. He’d done it to make a point, she was sure. Ryder Quinn, businessman. Impressive? Yes. But then, he’d probably be impressive stripped down to—
No, Eve, don’t go there, she warned herself. Fully clothed, he already captured too many of her thoughts. Much too many of them, she had to admit.
Showing flawless table manners as she had throughout the meal, Cloris dabbed her napkin at the corners of her mouth. “Does Ryder stay at the bunkhouse he mentioned?”
Eve went back to her dinner. “No. Although the single hands stay there, as a rule, while the married ones have homes of their own, Ryder lives in the original house that was built when the ranch was first settled. I’ve been told that it’s a short drive from here, up a steep road toward the mountains. I haven’t had a chance to see it yet.”
Truth was, she’d made no effort to see it, although it was part of her property. And she was in no hurry to change that situation. She knew she’d be better off not being able to picture where a certain man spent his evenings when he left after the late-day meal they regularly shared.
“Pete stays here,” she added. “His bedroom and a small bath are on the other side of the kitchen.”
“So only the three of us will be living here,” Cloris summed up, then winced as metal met metal with a sharp clang.
Eve carefully removed a thin edge of marbled fat and stabbed a last piece of steak. “That’s right. It’s just you and me and Mr. Charm.”
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON Eve walked down a gravel road, headed for the corral and adjoining stable located closest to the house. Other ranch buildings, a tall tin-roofed barn, sheds of various shapes and sizes, together with the large stone bunkhouse, marked the landscape. Up above, fluffy white clouds drifted, creating a moving patchwork quilt of sun and shade on hard-packed ground.
Cloris had left after lunch to visit a friend who was actively involved in several local charities; it was time to spread the news about the day care center and what it had to offer. Pete, sulking to beat the band, had stationed himself in front of the large-screen television in the living room.
And Eve had set out for her date with Zeb Hollister. She’d met Zeb, along with many of the hands, on her second day at the ranch. The bearded man might resemble Willie Nelson more than John Wayne, she thought, yet his bowlegged stance said he’d been all but born in a saddle.
As she approached the corral, taking quick strides in her cream-colored boots, a cowboy came into view leading a stocky gray horse out of the stable. He lifted a gloved hand and waved when he saw her. It wasn’t Zeb, or anyone she readily recognized. Tall and lanky, he couldn’t have been more than in his early twenties.
“Hello, Miz Terry,” he called, his voice ripe with an easygoing twang. Turning his head, he aimed a look over his shoulder. “Come on, Buttercup, old girl. Step lively and meet your new owner.” In response, Buttercup continued to plod along, clearly unenthusiastic about the news.
“I’m Cody Bodeen,” the cowboy said as he and Eve faced each other over a slatted wood fence seconds later. In a courteous gesture that took her by surprise, he lifted his dusty beige hat and tipped it forward, revealing sun-bleached hair before he resettled it on his head. A friendly gaze assessed her in a sweeping glance too quick and casual to give offense.
“I’m glad to meet you, Cody Bodeen,” she said, reaching up to touch the pristine rim of her own creamy Western hat. “I don’t think you were here the day I met a bunch of the hands.”
“No, I was helping stubborn strays fixed on leaving find their way back to the herd.” He grinned ruefully. “They usually save that treat for me.” Then his grin widened. “But I lucked out today. I get to help you.”
Eve arched an eyebrow. “Did Zeb head for the hills when he found himself elected to give riding lessons?”
“Uh-uh. He had an emergency—nothing real serious,” he tacked on before she could ask. “His oldest granddaughter called from Bisbee. Her husband’s out of town and her car broke down in the middle of the highway while she was driving one of her kids to a doctor’s appointment. Zeb and another hand went to see if they could get it started again, or at least get the kid to the doctor. If the head honcho were around, he might have taken Zeb’s place instead of me, but he left for Tucson this morning and he’s not back yet.”
Puzzled, Eve asked, “The head honcho?”
“Ryder Quinn. To the men who work here, he’s the head honcho. You’re the owner now, so you’re the big boss.”
Not only the boss, the big boss. Because the title amused her, and because she was sure it would not amuse the “head honcho,” Eve smiled. “Why don’t we get started?”
Cody nodded his agreement. “Come in through the gate next to the stable and I’ll introduce you to Buttercup.”
If
