The Rancher's Bride

“I know that doesn’t give you a whole lot of time. If it’s any consolation, the kids just told me about it last week, but we can do it. We’ve already got the location. All we need are a few minor details ironed out.”

“Here.” A bowl of oatmeal was set in front of her, its steam wafting up and teasing her nose. She watched Ryan’s eyes dart over her face. They were filling with something like concern. Concern and something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I put some brown sugar and milk on it. Hope that’s okay.”

Gone was the teasing smile. In its place was a look that appeared almost troubled.

Engaged.

Of course. He was a hardworking, attractive male who would one day inherit a huge ranch. Frankly, she was surprised someone hadn’t snapped him up years ago. Half the eligible females in the county must have set their caps at him over the years.

“Eat,” Odelia ordered, the woman’s kindly blue-green eyes filled with encouragement.

She felt rather than saw Ryan move back from the table. He hovered near her for a moment, almost as if he was waiting to see how she liked the oatmeal. The spoon she picked up felt cold in her hands. She took a bite and almost sighed in delight as the hot food filled her mouth.

“I’m going down to the maintenance barn. Gonna lay materials out for Sam,” she heard Ryan say. “So we can get started on replacing those boards.”

“Oh, perfect,” Odelia said. “Jorie can see where you’re going to get married.”

The spoon froze halfway between the bowl and her mouth, and though she’d only had a few mouthfuls, it didn’t taste as good as it had a moment before.

“She can do that tomorrow.”

When she met Ryan’s gaze, his concern for the way she was looking—because that’s what it’d been, she suddenly realized—had faded. He didn’t look happy. Odelia, however, appeared oblivious to his discontent.

“Hurry up and eat that oatmeal, dear,” she said. “Ryan’s going to give you a tour of the ranch.”

And for some strange reason, Jorie lost her appetite.

Chapter Six

She looked about as happy to be with him as he felt, Ryan thought, walking her toward the all-terrain vehicle that looked like a kid’s toy. It was a miniaturized truck, right down to the bed in the back and the enclosed cab in the front. Its bright green color nearly perfectly matched the grassy backdrop. Though the sun was higher now, it was still early morning, the grass a deep green.

“We’re not allowed to drive regular-sized vehicles down to the barn,” he said, hoping to break the ice by injecting a note of humor. “God forbid we gouge tracks into the virgin soil.”

“How long have you known your fiancеe?”

“All my life.”

And he had. Laurel was like a sister, someone who always seemed to be underfoot…which seemed like an odd way to think of his fiancеe, he admitted to himself. But she was his best friend, which was why he’d agreed—

He didn’t want to think about that.

She was nodding as she slid inside the golf-cart-sized cab. She still wore the same outfit, and even though her slacks were supposed to conceal the shape of her legs he could still imagine the tanned length of them beneath the black fabric.

Stop it.

He slammed the door closed with more force than necessary. Accident. That’s all it was. His hand found the crown of his Stetson and lifted it, his free hand scratching his forehead before cramming the hat back down on his head.

He was just a man in need of a little hanky-panky. Lord knows he wouldn’t get that from Laurel. Not now. Maybe not ever.

That’s the life you’re signing up for, bud. Better get used to it.

He rounded the vehicle to the driver’s side and reached for the door handle, causing his nails to bend back, a bolt of pain shooting up his fingers and into his arm. He jumped back and shook his hand to ease the stinging. “Son of a—”

“You okay?” he heard her ask.

No, he wanted to gasp. He was far from okay. Ever since she’d arrived he’d been on edge. Short-tempered. Maybe even rude. Ah, hell. All he knew was that he didn’t want to drive Miss Daisy around the ranch when what he really needed to do was get to work.

He tried the door again. Thankfully it opened smoothly this time.

“Let’s go.” And even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh.

“Good thing you don’t have false nails.”

He glanced over at her.

“It’s a form of torture when you bend them back if you have acrylic nails on.”

The sun, which had climbed higher, caught the edge of her hair, setting it aglow.