Making Room for the Rancher Page 2

  “I’m Connor Remington. The new owner of the Rocking D.” He glanced at the sun sinking behind the trees, but didn’t seem especially concerned by the fact that, in less than twenty minutes, it would probably be pitch-black outside and at least twenty degrees colder.

  His story was at least plausible, considering the owner of the neighboring ranch had recently passed away. Besides, if the man was going to pretend to be a local rancher in order to flag down a passing motorist, he would’ve at least tried to dress and act the part. Which meant he wasn’t pretending.

  Lord, save her from dumb city boys who had absolutely zero sense of direction. Dahlia sighed in resignation. “Hop in the truck. I’ll give you a ride.”

  * * *

  Connor Remington hadn’t been planning to meet any of his neighbors on his first day in town, but here he sat. In the front seat of an older truck, next to a quiet woman whose face was obscured by the largest sunglasses he’d ever seen, and fielding questions from a magpie of a little girl who was making her mother’s white knuckles—no wedding ring on the left hand—grip the steering wheel tighter every time she asked a question.

  “So I take it you live nearby?” he asked, trying to be polite.

  The woman gave a tense nod. Her hair was a dark blond and twisted into a tight knot on top of her head. Her somber black outfit, coupled with the little girl’s comments about her dead grandfather, suggested they’d just come from a funeral.

  “We live in town” the little girl offered. “Gan Gan wants us to live at the big house on the ranch, but Mommy says she’d rather live in Siberia. Have you ever lived in Siberia?”

  “Actually, I’ve stayed in a tent there once.” Connor turned in his seat to smile at the child in the back seat. “It was summer, though, so it wasn’t as cold as you’d think.”

  “You don’t have to play along,” the woman murmured out the side of her mouth. “It’ll only make her ask more questions.”

  “I don’t mind,” Connor answered honestly. Besides, he was getting a free ride back to his ghost town of a ranch. The least he could do was be hospitable. Even if only one of the other occupants in this vehicle felt like engaging in conversation. “So since you’re the first neighbors I’ve met, what else do I need to know about living in Teton Ridge?”

  “Well, my Mommy’s name is Dahlia but my aunts and uncles call her Dia. ’Cept Grandpa. He was the only one allowed to call her Dolly.”

  Connor caught a slight tightening of the muscles along the woman’s already rigid jaw line and again felt the need to apologize for their loss. However, when his own father had passed away all those years ago, Connor hadn’t been comfortable being on the receiving end of condolences for a man most people never really knew. It had felt forced and overly polite. So instead, he remained silent as she took a right onto the road that led to the Rocking D. Clearly, she’d been here before.

  The adults’ awkward silence, though, didn’t stop the little girl in the back seat from continuing. “All of Mommy’s brothers and sisters have nicknames. ’Cept Uncle Marcus. But he kinda has a nickname because everyone calls him Sheriff. Do you have a nickname?”

  “Some of my friends at my old job call me by my last name,” he replied, but the child squinted at him as though she were about to tell him that didn’t count. “My dad used to call me Con.”

  Whoa. Now that wasn’t something he’d thought about in a long time. Maybe it was being here in Wyoming, fulfilling a promise his dad broke, that had Connor thinking so much about the old man. Or maybe it was all this talk about dead fathers and their unique names for their kids.

  “Well, I’m Amelia, but my friends call me Bindi.”

  Dahlia whipped her head around, a line creasing the smooth area right above her sunglasses. “No, Peanut, nobody calls you that.”

  “They will. When I go to school, I’m gonna ask Miss Walker to tell all the kids to call me Bindi Irwin from now on because I love kangaroos and doggies and owls and hamsters and someday I’m gonna be a zookeeper for all the animals and be on TV like my aunt—”

  “Here’s the Rocking D,” Dahlia loudly cut off her daughter. The truck hit a huge pothole in the rutted-out dirt driveway, but the woman didn’t seem to notice as she murmured again to Connor, “They were having a Crocodile Hunter marathon on the Animal Planet channel last week.”

  “Where’s your chicken coop?” Amelia asked, her head on a swivel as they pulled into the driveway between the farmhouse and the barn. “Where are all the cows and horses?”

  “Well, I just moved here today so I don’t have any animals yet. At least none that I know of.” Hell, he’d only had one real conversation with his great-aunt before she’d passed away. At the time, he’d been so busy trying to absorb the shock of having a long lost relative that he hadn’t thought to ask her about the livestock. “In fact, I haven’t even gone inside the house yet. All my stuff is still in the car over there.”

  “That car’s just like the one in the Princess Dream House commercial. It’s even white like Princess Dream’s.”

  “It’s actually a rental,” Connor explained when Dahlia parked behind it. He wasn’t the flashy sports car type, but when his plane was diverted to Rock Springs late this morning, the white convertible had been the only option available. Having lived on military bases the past twelve years, Connor was in a hurry to finally settle into a place of his very own and gladly took the keys to the last vehicle in the lot.

  Plus, in his one and only conversation with his great-aunt, he’d promised her that he’d take care of her ranch and make her proud. He didn’t have much experience with fulfilling dying wishes, but from what he’d learned from her probate attorney about the state of things out here, Connor was already way behind.

  Amelia burst out of the truck before either of the adults, but luckily didn’t go too far. Dahlia was quick to follow and caught up with the little girl by the overgrown bushes that were blocking the path leading to the house.

  “So you bought the old Daniels ranch? Sight unseen?” Dahlia finally removed her sunglasses, and Connor was rendered almost speechless at the clear blue depths. They were slightly red-rimmed—from crying?—but that didn’t take away from her beauty.

  “Actually—” his own eyes followed hers and he saw what she saw “—I inherited it. My great-aunt was Constance Daniels.”

  “So you’re the one she always talked about?” she asked, her words crashing into him like a wave of guilt. Before he could explain the unusual family connection, she added, “The one who was supposedly going to bring her ranch back to life?”

  Something about the sarcasm in her tone immediately put him on the defensive. “That’s the plan.”

  “Let me guess.” She glanced down at the creased jeans he’d bought at the mercantile on his way into town. “You’ve just moved here from the big city, but you’ve always dreamed of being a cowboy.”

  “The way you say it makes me sound like a cliché who is destined to fail.” He was repeating the same words his own mother had used when he’d told her about the Rocking D and his promise to his dying great-aunt. Connor narrowed his eyes slightly, practically daring this woman to doubt him, as well.

  She returned his challenging stare, her expression completely unapologetic as she boldly sized him up. “Destined might not have been the word I would have used. But tougher men than you have tried their hand at making a name for themselves out here in the wilds of Teton Ridge and most of them gave up before their first full winter.”

  Fortunately, Connor had a history of proving people wrong. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his biceps muscles flexing on their own accord. “How do you know how tough I am?”

  Dahlia’s lashes flickered ever so slightly as her pupils dilated, but she didn’t break eye contact. Her full lips pursed ever so slightly, as though she were holding back the perfect retort, and his eyes dared her to say it out l
oud.

  “So where is the white doggy now?” Amelia interrupted the adults’ intense but unspoken staring competition. “Do you think it’ll come back here? Do you have food for him? Where will he sleep if it snows?”

  “Amelia,” Dahlia sighed and finally looked down at her daughter. “Let Mr. Remington settle into the place before you start bombarding him with all your questions.”

  It was a little too late for that. The corner of Connor’s lip tugged up in a smirk. Not that her mom’s warning would do any good. The child hadn’t stopped asking questions in the entire thirty minutes he’d known her.

  He bent down because he could see that the girl was genuinely worried about the lost dog. Hell, Connor had been worried about the scruffy thing himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have tracked it on foot for almost seven miles. He guessed he was like Amelia that way, too. Once he got on a trail, he didn’t like to veer off course until he had all the answers. “I’ll leave a little bowl of water and some blankets outside on the porch for him in case he comes back. Hopefully, he’s at home now, all cozy in front of the fire and dreaming about his next adventure tomorrow.”

  The child nodded, but the concern didn’t entirely leave her face. She tilted her head and started a new line of questioning. “Why is there still a sticker on your leg?”

  “Because the boots and jeans I was wearing when I first got here were all muddy.” He didn’t mention the abandoned well he’d nearly fallen into when he’d been exploring earlier. That would’ve only given Dahlia more ammo for her claim that he had no business owning a ranch. “But then I saw the little white dog and these new pants were the closest thing I could put on before the dog ran off.”

  “You mean you took your pants off outside?” she asked, her round eyes growing even rounder.

  He dared a glance at Dahlia, whose cheeks had gone a charming shade of pink. “Well, nobody was out here to see me.”

  “One time, Mommy went into the river because my pet salmon was stuck on a rock. She had to take off all her clothes so she didn’t catch the new-moan-yah. Aunt Finn said cowgirls gotta do what cowgirls gotta do. But Gan Gan says a lady never knows who could be watching.”

  Connor really needed to hear more about this pet salmon, he thought, smothering a laugh. Although, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to ask for any more details about a naked and soaking wet Dahlia while her daughter was standing between them.

  Instead of offering an explanation, the supposed fish rescuer rubbed her temples, which didn’t lessen the rosy color now staining her cheeks.

  “Okay, Peanut, we really need to get back on the road. We can look for the dog on our way into town.” The promise did the trick because Amelia waved goodbye and skipped toward the truck. Dahlia stuck out a hand. “Good luck with the Rocking D, Mr. Remington.”

  “Thanks again for the ride home.” He took the smooth but firm palm in his own and an unexpected current of electricity shot through him. The jolt must’ve made its way to his brain because before he could stop himself, he added, “Maybe I’ll see you in town some time and can repay the favor?”

  She jerked her hand back quickly, but her face went perfectly neutral, as though she’d used the same thanks-but-no-thanks expression a thousand times before.

  “I’m sure you’ll be far too busy out here.” She gave a pointed look to the broken wood slats in a fence that might’ve been a corral at one point. Then she glanced at his favorite basketball shoes, which felt about as out of place on this rundown ranch as her black high heels. “A city boy like you is going to have his work cut out for him.”

  As she and her daughter drove away, Connor recalled his aunt’s probate attorney making a similar comment when she’d offered to sell the property for him. The lawyer had warned him that it was going to take a lot of determination and a hell of a lot more money to get the place operational again.

  Yet, he was just as undeterred then as he was now.

  Clearly, Dahlia wasn’t going to be the only skeptical local who doubted his ability to make this ranch a success. The prettiest, maybe, but not the only one.

  Good thing he hadn’t come to Wyoming to make friends.

  Chapter Two

  Connor slept like crap in the musty-smelling, knickknack-filled three-bedroom house his great-aunt had bequeathed him. Thank goodness some thoughtful neighbor had cleaned out the fridge and shut off the gas and water pipes long ago. At least he hadn’t arrived last night to a flooded living room and the smell of rotting food.

  Growing up, his old man had told plenty of stories about spending his summers on a ranch in Wyoming, but never once mentioned the woman who’d owned the place. Even if he had spoken about his aunt Constance, Connor’s mom wouldn’t have believed a word Steve Remington said.

  That was why nobody was more surprised than Linda Remington when Connor got a call from an assisted living facility in Wyoming. Because of Steve’s transient lifestyle—bouncing in and out of different correctional facilities in between his occasional visits to his son and wife in Boston—followed by Connor’s numerous military deployments, it had taken a dedicated social worker and a wily trusts-and-estates attorney nearly three years to help a determined Constance Daniels track down her next of kin.

  Connor had only met his great-aunt a few weeks ago—via video chat and a spotty satellite connection onboard an aircraft carrier in the Pacific Ocean. She’d passed away before he’d returned from his final deployment. However, her probate attorney informed him over the phone that the ranch had been abandoned since Connie’s first stroke, nearly three years ago.

  So it wasn’t as though Connor had been expecting anything fancy when he’d arrived at the Rocking D yesterday afternoon. Besides, he’d slept in worse conditions when he’d been on assignment with his scouting unit in the desolate regions of the Altai Mountains between Kazakhstan and Russia. He hadn’t been lying to Amelia when he’d said he’d once been to Siberia.

  He was no longer in the business of tracking people, though. Which was why Connor tried not to look for the little girl and her mother as he drove into downtown Teton Ridge the following morning. Actually, downtown was a generous name for the center of a city with a population of less than two thousand. So he was sure that if he wanted to find them, it wouldn’t be too difficult.

  There were a handful of restaurants and shops, a sheriff’s station attached to a county courthouse that likely housed all the local government offices, a giant feed-and-grain store, and a small nondescript hardware store. If residents needed anything more than that, they’d either have to order it online or drive into Jackson Hole or Pinedale to get it.

  Most of the buildings appeared to have been built in the heyday of the Wild West, a combination of wood and brick structures constructed so close together only a horse could pass between them.

  His first order of business would be to go to the hardware store with the long list he’d made last night in Great-Aunt Connie’s empty kitchen. Then he’d go to the market down the street for some groceries.

  Scratch that. He needed a hot coffee and an even hotter breakfast before he did anything. He slowed his rental car and pulled into a parking space in front of a place called Biscuit Betty’s. The smell of bacon hit him as soon as he climbed out of the convertible and his stomach growled. He was halfway to the front entrance of the restaurant when he caught sight of a blond girl skipping out of the bakery next door.

  Amelia.

  His skin itched in recognition, and then tightened when he saw Dahlia exit behind her, a stack of pink bakery boxes stacked so high in her arms he could only see the top of her bouncing ponytail.

  Connor jogged over and took the top three boxes before she could object. “Let me help you carry these.”

  Dahlia’s smile faded when she realized who’d relieved her of her load. Was she expecting someone else? A boyfriend, perhaps?

  “I can get them,” she i
nsisted, her face now slightly pinched in annoyance.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Rem-ton.” Amelia smiled brightly, the opposite reaction of her mother. “Mommy said we wouldn’t see you again for a long time ’cause you’d be too busy working on your old junky ranch.”

  “I didn’t say junky,” Dahlia interjected a bit more quickly than she had yesterday when Amelia had made similar candid comments. She must’ve gotten a good night’s sleep last night because she gave her daughter a discreet but pointed look rather than a resigned sigh. “I said run-down.”

  “It’s both run-down and junky,” Connor admitted, holding back a smile at their honesty. “And I plan to get busy on it as soon as I buy some supplies.”

  “Mommy told Ms. Burnworth at the bakery that the inside of your house was probably worse than the outside and that—”

  “Here, Peanut.” Dahlia shoved a pink box into Amelia’s arms right before she could get to the good part. “Carry this for me and you can have one of the apple spice muffins when you get inside.”

  The little girl tipped the box sideways, the flimsy lid threatening to spill the contents, as she ran down the sidewalk.

  Connor smothered his grin when Dahlia darted a glance his way. “Sorry about that. I should remember to watch what I say around her. I never know what she’s going to blurt out.”

  “Like I told you yesterday, I really don’t mind talking to her. She’s a smart girl and...” Connor’s voice trailed off as he saw Amelia rush inside a wide door below a wooden sign that read Saloon. He had a sudden flashback to his own childhood and his old man taking a way-too-young Connor to some of the less finer drinking establishments in Dorchester, Massachusetts. “Did she just go inside that bar?”