Making Room for the Rancher Read online

  “Dahlia,” he replied when she took a short pause from her adorably sweet and nervous rambling. “We kissed on Saturday night.”

  Her eyes darted to where Keyshawn was telling Amelia about the biggest chicken he’d ever seen. But the blush that stole up her cheeks made her pretty pink lips seem that much more kissable. “Yes. That’s what I said.”

  “No. You said we uh, you know. And I just wanted it to be super clear that we kissed and that I enjoyed it and that I would even like to do it again. Right this second, in fact. But I have a feeling you might not think now is the best time, what with the town veterinarian and the feed store owner’s teenage son here to see us. So, please take my number and maybe we can find another time to make that happen. Soon.”

  “Well, I think I found the problem.” Dr. Roman came out of the back of her trailer, and Keyshawn took a few steps closer to Connor. “It appears that the turkey has what looks to be a broken piece of wood lodged in its upper intestine. Almost looks like half of a Popsicle stick.”

  “The missing part of the corn dog!” Amelia shouted. Then her face went pale. “Is Gobster gonna die?”

  “We should only be so lucky,” Keyshawn mumbled, which Amelia thankfully did not hear. Connor nudged the teen with his elbow, and the young man scrunched his face. “What? You don’t celebrate Thanksgiving?”

  “I don’t think he’ll die,” Dr. Roman said. “I can give him some medicine to help him pass the stick.”

  “You mean like poop it out?” Amelia asked rather loudly. Keyshawn laughed and Dahlia pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Exactly,” Dr. Roman told the child. “If he can’t pass it by himself, then I can do a surgical procedure to retrieve it.”

  “Will it hurt him?” Amelia asked, her eyes full of alarm.

  “Not as much as pooping it out would,” Keyshawn answered.

  “Then we should do it,” Amelia declared.

  Dahlia sighed. “Peanut, Gobster is Connor’s turkey. He gets to make the decision about what’s best for the animal.”

  Connor wasn’t prepared to make this kind of decision. His eyes sought Dahlia’s, but her only response was to lift one of her shoulders in doubt. Did he really want to shell out more money for the opportunity to keep a mean turkey around to continue wreaking havoc on his ranch?

  “What’s the success rate on an operation like this?” Connor asked.

  Dr. Roman’s lips pressed together in a crooked line, as though she were trying to keep a straight face. Finally, she said, “Well, I don’t usually do surgery on a turkey. Why don’t I give him some medicine for his digestive tract and see if that takes care of the problem naturally.”

  “As much as I’d like to hang around and see that,” Keyshawn said, his face scrunched into a look of disgust. “I’ve got one more delivery to make.”

  The teen drove off, and Amelia followed the vet into the back of her mobile clinic, asking a million questions a minute.

  By the time Gobster was returned to the coop—still sleeping, thankfully—and Dahlia was done putting away instruments and sterilizing everything Amelia had touched in the mobile clinic, Dr. Roman seemed more than eager to be on her way.

  The dust was still settling on the driveway that led from the Rocking D to the highway when Amelia slipped her tiny palm into Connor’s hand and said, “I hope Gobster is all better by Friday.”

  “Why Friday?” Connor asked, thinking there was no way it could take that long.

  “That’s the day of the father-daughter dance at my school and I want you to take me.”

  * * *

  Dahlia’s stomach felt as though someone had dropped a bale of hay on her midsection. And it didn’t help that Connor’s normally suntanned face had gone slightly pale.

  “Amelia,” Dahlia chided, her breath rushing out of her chest. “That’s probably not something Connor would be comfortable doing.”

  “Oh. You don’t know how to dance?” Amelia blinked at him. “I could teach you.”

  Connor knelt down to her daughter’s eye level, and Dahlia braced herself for Amelia’s impending disappointment, no matter how polite the man was when he declined.

  “I’m flattered that you invited me,” he started before his eyes flicked up to Dahlia’s, as though seeking her approval to break her child’s heart. All Dahlia could do was nod. After all, she’d brought Amelia out here unannounced, putting them both in this uncomfortable situation. Connor continued, “Wouldn’t you rather your dad take you to the dance?”

  “Daddy is working and can’t come. Besides, Miss Walker said it doesn’t have to be a dad that comes with us. We can bring any grown-up we want and I wanna bring you.”

  This wasn’t the first time Micah couldn’t be here for an important event and Dahlia and Amelia were no strangers to making the best of it. “Peanut, why don’t you ask Uncle Marcus or Uncle Rider to go with you?”

  “’Cause Uncle Marcus has been grumpy since Grandpa’s funeral. Jack and Jordan said it’s ’cause he’s secretly in love with Miss Violet. And last time Uncle Rider came to my school, Peyton said he looked like Santa Claus and then all the kids ran over to him and he didn’t even get to hear the holiday song our class worked so hard on.”

  Connor lifted an eyebrow in Dahlia’s direction and she nodded. “It’s true. Rider showed up for the Winter Wonderland performance last December wearing a red flannel shirt and the kindergarteners mobbed him. It was quite the scene.”

  “But Connor is the same years old as the other dads at my school.” Amelia pointed to the Def Leppard T-shirt. “And he wears the same shirts like my daddy.”

  Dahlia would be lying if she hadn’t also noted the similar tastes in classic rock fashion between the rancher and her ex-husband. But none of the other fathers at Teton Ridge Elementary—including Micah Deacon—were as good-looking as Connor.

  “Come back, Goatee.” Amelia took off running toward the dog who’d mustered up the courage to cautiously approach the chicken coop. “Gobster can’t play right now. He’s sleeping so he can go poop before Connor takes me to the father-daughter dance.”

  “Sounds like she isn’t going to take no for an answer.” Connor stood and ran his hand through his close-cut auburn hair.

  “She usually doesn’t. But don’t worry. I’ll talk to her tonight and find someone else to go with her.”

  “Like your little brother, MJ?” Connor asked.

  Dahlia tipped back her head to stare at the clouds forming in the sky, as though an answer would fall down and land on her like a raindrop. “No, not him. You know how MJ got arrested and charged with drunk and disorderly? He happened to be with Kendra Broman at the time of his arrest, and her father, Deputy Broman, will most likely be at the dance with his younger girls. He still hasn’t forgiven MJ for resisting arrest. I’d ask Mike Truong to take her, but he’ll be going with his daughter.” Now Dahlia was just thinking out loud. “Maybe one of the Secret Service agents still assigned at the ranch could take her.”

  “Or perhaps the friendly and personable Mr. Burnworth from the bakery,” Connor suggested sarcastically—or at least she hoped he was being sarcastic—before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Anyone but me, huh?”

  Great, now she’d insulted him again. “I’m trying to get you off the hook here, Connor. You’ve already done enough for Amelia with the stray dog and then the turkey. You don’t need to take this on, as well.”

  “What if I want to go?”

  Her heart caught in her throat, but then her brain shoved it back down as her senses went on high alert. What’s in it for you? she almost asked. Instead, she narrowed her eyes. “Why would you offer?”

  “Because I grew up knowing what it was like to be the only Cub Scout without an old man at the pinewood derby, or the third wheel with some other father-son team on the annual jamboree camping trip.”

  The red fl
ag warnings inside her head immediately turned to white in surrender. A second ago, she’d been willing to send Amelia to the dance with a Secret Service agent, just so her daughter wouldn’t feel left out. But that would only make them all stand out. Maybe going with Connor wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Amelia adored him and talked about him so much that people in town were already making assumptions about them. Hell, the guy had bought a stupid turkey at a livestock auction just to make her daughter happy. Then he’d paid to have the veterinarian come out to his ranch to examine the thing instead of ringing its neck, plucking it and turning it into his Sunday supper.

  And Dr. Roman wasn’t cheap. Dahlia had certainly paid more than her fair share of vet bills with all of Amelia’s strays. So maybe Connor really was doing this out of the goodness of his heart.

  Still. She had to give him one more opportunity to back out gracefully. “I should warn you that there will be lots of over-sweetened punch and pink cupcakes and Taylor Swift songs at this event.”

  “Doesn’t sound much different from my usual Friday night.” Connor smiled. “What time should I pick her up?”

  * * *

  Maybe there really was something about Remingtons knowing when they’d found “the one.” Or the ones plural where the Deacon-King women were concerned. Because Connor was getting to a point where he couldn’t explain this persisting connection he felt with both of them.

  “How did you get yourself into this mess?” he asked his reflection in the dusty mirror above Aunt Connie’s antique dresser as he knotted, undid, and then re-knotted the only non-military issued tie he owned. One minute, he’d been warning himself not to get too attached to Dahlia, and the next minute he’d practically jumped at the chance to take Amelia to the father-daughter dance.

  A couple of hours later, Connor realized he wasn’t the only man in town who was questioning how he’d landed himself in this situation.

  “Got roped into playing rent-a-dad, I see,” Deputy Broman said, raising his voice over the sound of a dance floor full of giggles and the latest Katy Perry song blasting out of the hired DJ’s speakers.

  Connor had met the man at Biscuit Betty’s the first week he’d been in town. The deputy had been polite enough at the time, expressing his condolences about the loss of Aunt Connie and asking how Connor was settling in at the Rocking D. Then, after noticing Connor’s Air Jordans, he’d made a not-so-subtle suggestion to stop by the new rec center in town to play a few games of pickup basketball.

  But now the man’s words were more insulting than challenging.

  “Looks like your eye has healed up nicely,” Connor replied, purposely referencing the shiner young MJ had landed when he’d resisted arrest.

  “Humph. Kid’s lucky his big brother is my boss. Or else he would’ve had more than a dislocated shoulder after getting my daughter drunk like that. The whole damn family is nuts if you ask me.”

  Connor hadn’t asked him. But that didn’t stop him from standing there silently and gathering intel. The dance had reached the point in the evening when most of the men were gathering on the sidelines, looking at their watches and asking their buddies the score of the UW game. Most of the girls were still swirling around the gym floor in big groups with their friends, their sugar highs peaking from all the buttercream frosting and fruit punch.

  “Here, Connor, can you hold these for me?” Amelia shoved her glitter-encrusted silver shoes at him before running barefoot back to the center of the dance floor where a pile of pink and white balloons were being used as an impromptu trampoline. He added the shoes to the purple cardigan, white-sequined headband and rainbow unicorn purse already shoved under his left arm.

  “She’s a cute kid,” the deputy continued. “Looks just like her dad, too. My cousin went to high school with Micah and played some jam sessions with him back in the day. I mean, I get that he has this big career and stuff, but it’s just weird, you know.”

  Connor hated that his interest was piqued. But that didn’t stop him from asking, “What’s weird?”

  “That he would’ve just taken off for Nashville and left his wife and kid here.”

  Wife? Connor swallowed the bitterness in the back of his throat. “I thought he and Dahlia were divorced?”

  “Only because the rest of the Kings pushed so hard for it. If it had been me, I would’ve stayed here and fought for my kid. I mean, not to the level of Jay Grover over there.” Broman jerked his chin at Amelia’s friend Peyton’s dad, who’d spent half the evening arguing on the phone with his divorce attorney and the other half complaining about his bitter custody case with any unsuspecting dad who walked by the punch bowl. “But I certainly wouldn’t be riding around the country in a tour bus while some guy off the street waltzes in and takes over my parental role.”

  “I’m not taking over any role.” Connor’s shoulders jerked back instinctively, but he maintained his grip on his colorful collection of discarded accessories. “Amelia still has a father. He just isn’t here right now.”

  “Don’t get so defensive.” Broman held up his palms. “You see a hot single mom and a kid who’s so desperate for attention she talks to every stray animal who comes along. I don’t blame you for wanting to step up and do the right thing. Plenty of guys would love to be in your shoes right now. Or at least they think they would until they find out what they’re getting into.”

  Connor was seriously starting to get annoyed with people in this town making assumptions about him. His voice was tense when he asked, “Is this the part of the conversation where you tell me what I’m getting into?”

  “Look, man,” the deputy said right as the last song of the night ended. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “Help what?” Amelia asked from just a few feet away. The balloon in her hands was sagging almost as much as her eyelids, the sugar rush finally wearing off.

  “Carry you to the truck,” Connor said before using his free arm to scoop her up onto his hip. She immediately let her cheek fall on his shoulder.

  “You don’t need any help carrying me, Connor.” Amelia yawned. “You’re stronger than Gray Goose. And he’s the biggest pony at the Twin Kings.”

  They were halfway across the parking lot when Deputy Broman and three of his daughters pulled up beside them in the Ridgecrest County patrol unit.

  “Hey, kid,” Broman called out his window, causing Amelia to sleepily lift her head. “Next time you talk to your dad, tell him I said hi.”

  Connor’s fists clenched at the man’s purposeful tone when he’d said the word dad. He had to practically shake out his knuckles before he started acting like angry Jay Grover back inside the gymnasium.

  Instead of agreeing to pass along the message, Amelia just nuzzled against Connor’s shoulder and mumbled, “I don’t like that policeman. I wish Uncle MJ was allowed to punch him again.”

  Connor’s chest shook from the laughter he tried to hold in. Apparently, Amelia wasn’t that starved for attention, because she certainly recognized an antagonistic jerk when she saw one. As his smile faded, though, he wondered if she also recognized an envious jerk when she saw one, too. Not that Connor was actually jealous of Micah—a man he’d never even met.

  But something about Broman’s words had stirred to life an overwhelming sense of protectiveness toward the child. Connor had never experienced a paternal instinct like he had back inside that dance.

  He wanted to be the one to protect Amelia, and he wanted everyone else in town to know it.

  Chapter Eight

  “Looks like the night was a success,” Dahlia said as Connor carried a sleeping Amelia through her front door.

  “I hope so,” he whispered, following her down the hall to the bedrooms. “We all made it out in one piece, although the last time I saw my tie it was being used as the pole for the limbo contest.”

  Her heart melted at the tender way he carefully tucked
her daughter into the twin-sized bed. When he returned from his second trip from his truck downstairs, everything inside her turned into a complete puddle of sappy mush.

  “It’s so loud downstairs at the saloon right now. How do you guys get any sleep on weekends?” Connor asked as he crossed the threshold. Amelia’s zebra-print booster seat was secured in one of his arms while the strap of the rainbow unicorn purse was falling off the opposite muscular shoulder. He dropped the sparkly shoes, hair bow and purple cardigan in a pile on the entry table and Dahlia thought her knees were going drop, as well.

  “Like this.” She closed the thick front door behind him. “I paid a fortune to soundproof the floor and walls. Can I offer you a drink? I have beer and wine or even fruit punch if you haven’t gotten enough of that tonight.”

  “I would love a beer,” he said, looking much more rumpled than when he’d arrived on their doorstep a few hours ago. His hair was barely mussed, but the sleeves on his now-wrinkled white dress shirt were rolled up and his gray slacks sported a pink frosting stain down the front. “In fact, I was surprised that the booster club at the school wasn’t selling adult beverages at the dance. They could’ve raised so much money.”

  She retrieved two bottles of Snake River Pale Ale from her kitchen fridge before meeting him in the living room. “Plenty of other dads have suggested the same thing.”

  His eyes flashed with something—anger, frustration, annoyance...she wasn’t sure—before he quickly blinked the emotion back and schooled his features. He took the beer from her hand and slumped onto her sofa. “Then I’ll leave it to the other dads to bring it up to the booster club.”

  Dahlia could’ve sat in one of the custom upholstered chairs opposite him, but after making out with the guy on some bleachers and sending her daughter to a school dance with him, purposely distancing herself from him would’ve seemed entirely too formal at this point. She chose the corner of the sofa beside him and asked, “Why did you say it like that?”