Making Room for the Rancher Page 6

  “Nice to know.” She shoved the doughnut box at him, quickly putting a stop to any flirtatious thoughts he might be harboring. “Now you won’t be surprised if my daughter turns your ranch into a full-blown refuge for stray and injured animals.”

  “I have a feeling both you and your daughter are always going to keep me on my toes with your surprises.” He took a maple bar out of the pink box and held it up like a salute. “Thanks for the warning, though. And thanks again for stopping by with breakfast, Amelia!”

  Her daughter heard only the last sentence and waved enthusiastically out the back window. “See you next time!”

  “Looking forward to it.” Connor winked at Dahlia before taking a big bite of his doughnut. When he licked the corner of his mouth, she knew she had to get out of there. Fast.

  She mumbled a goodbye and turned to retreat to the truck before she started licking her own lips.

  Driving away, Dahlia kept herself from looking in the rearview mirror. Obviously, she had no intention of showing up unannounced again and dumping any more of Amelia’s lost causes on the unsuspecting rancher. But somebody needed to tell him not to get his hopes up, thinking there might be something to this spark between them.

  Clearly, nobody else in town had bothered to warn Connor Remington that Dahlia King Deacon and her family would always be a whole lot more than he bargained for.

  Chapter Four

  “So what’s up with you and this new guy who inherited the Rocking D?” Dauphine “Finn” King asked her twin sister as they sat on the top ledge of the smaller indoor corral, watching Amelia’s riding lesson.

  “Nothing is up with us.” Dahlia hadn’t gone back to Connor’s ranch the following day like Amelia had wanted to. Nor did she have any intention of returning. Ever. Instead, she focused on her daughter sitting high and proud in the tiny custom-made saddle as her uncle led the five-year-old in slow circles. “Remember when Dad taught us how to ride? It’s weird to think he’s gone now and our kids won’t get to know him like we did.”

  “One, I’m never going to have kids. And two, Dad didn’t teach me. Uncle Rider did. Probably because I didn’t need as many lessons as you.” Finn, who was an accomplished horsewoman, gave Dahlia a light shove. “And don’t change the subject. I heard this new guy was asking about you around town.”

  Out of all the siblings, Finn was probably taking the loss of Roper King the hardest. But she was the most stubborn and refused to talk about her feelings. So Dahlia didn’t push. Her tough-as-nails sister would talk about it in her own time and under her own terms.

  Instead, Dahlia sighed and answered, “He’s probably only asking about me because he was there when Amelia spied a stray dog and talked him into keeping it.”

  “Amelia could sell a drowning man a glass of water.” Finn laughed. “I heard about the stray. I also heard that the mutt follows him everywhere. He was sitting outside on the patio at Biscuit Betty’s with the thing. And nobody sits on the patio at Biscuit Betty’s before March.”

  “Foolish man. The guy is a total goat roper,” Dahlia said, using the slang term for a wannabe cowboy. “He has no business trying to play rancher out here in the middle of Wyoming.”

  “Look at me, Aunt Finn.” Amelia waved as she rode by. “I’m doing it all by myself.”

  “Stop waving and keep both hands on her reins, Peanut,” Finn coached. “Gray Goose will be more comfortable if you’re in charge.”

  Dahlia shook her head. “I can’t believe you have my daughter riding a pony named after vodka.”

  “I can’t believe you would mind, considering y’all live at a brothel.”

  “It’s a saloon,” Dahlia replied. Finn was always teasing someone about something. So Dahlia indulged her by engaging in yet another argument about her choice of profession just so she could distract her sister from the real topic she wanted to avoid: Connor Remington.

  “So what’s his story?” Her twin must’ve sensed the one thing Dahlia didn’t want to talk about. “Why’s he here? Is there a Mrs. Goat Roper?”

  Good question. The guy had to be single, right? He certainly acted as though he was, with that sexy smirk and those heat-filled stares. Besides, Dahlia could usually spy a married man a mile away. Still, she chose to ignore the second part of Finn’s question. “Judging by his tan, I think he’s from California, maybe? Or some big city. I’m pretty sure he was in the military at some point because he stands like he’s constantly in the ‘at ease’ position. He never knew about his great-aunt Connie until just a bit before she passed away. From what I could tell, he was pretty shocked about inheriting the ranch, but he’s intent on making it work. Which tells me he probably has all his savings riding on this and nothing else to fall back on. Oh, and I did find out that he was an only child. But I didn’t pry into his personal business because it’s personal.”

  “Yet, you felt comfortable foisting one of your daughter’s strays off on him?” Finn asked, one eyebrow lifted.

  “It was either I take the dog or he takes it. Have you met Mr. Burnworth?”

  “Mr. Burnworth is a cranky pile of bones who told me I smelled like I’d been rolling around in manure last time I was in the bakery. How does such a skinny and bitter old man manage to make the best damn pies around? His baking skill is the only thing that’s kept him in business all these years. It certainly isn’t because of his customer service.”

  “Well, his baking and his sweet sister. She deserves a medal for putting up with him for so long.”

  “That’s the same thing people say about you.” Finn made her voice high-pitched as she mimicked most of their elementary school teachers. “Dahlia’s so chill and gets along with everyone. What in the world happened to Finn?”

  “Oh, please.” Dahlia playfully shoved her sister. “Deep down, you’re the softest one of all of us Kings. You just have the toughest exterior. And the hardest head.”

  “Take it back. I am not soft.” Finn’s boot swiped at Dahlia’s, but she dodged the kick just in time. Her sister stuck out her tongue in response, then added, “I’m certainly not soft enough to let you and your sweet-talking daughter pawn off any more animals on me. Unlike that so-called cowboy of yours.”

  An image quickly appeared in Dahlia’s mind—of the wannabe rancher’s broad chest and flat stomach in that snug T-shirt he’d been wearing the day they’d first met. There was certainly nothing soft about Connor Remington. Except maybe his lips...

  “Whoa, that’s a look I haven’t seen in a while,” Finn interrupted her thoughts. “You’re interested in this new guy.”

  “No I’m not. I merely took pity on him because he has a decent-sized ranch without a single animal on it.”

  “So you’ve been spending time at his ranch?” Finn raised an eyebrow.

  “Only twice. You make it sound like I’m stalking the man. I dropped him off the first time we met.” She told her sister the story about how he was out on the road looking for the stray in a T-shirt—don’t think about the shirt—crisp new jeans and sneakers. “And then a few days ago when Amelia wanted to check in on the dog.”

  “But he’s getting more animals, right? I heard Uncle Rider wants him to bring his new stallion out here to see how he does in the breeding stalls. Rider actually got a kick out of the fact that the man had no idea who he was when he ran into him at the feed and grain.”

  “See. That’s my point,” Dahlia told her sister. “How can any legitimate rancher in a thousand-mile radius not know who Rider King is?”

  “Fair enough. At least you can be assured that he isn’t using you to get closer to the Kings.” This time, Finn’s voice was more solemn than playful. Both sisters unfortunately learned at a young age to be wary of men wanting to lasso themselves to their family’s ranching connections. “Speaking of which, what’s the latest on the donkey’s behind, anyway?”

  “I’m assuming you’re ref
erring to the father of my child?” For some reason, Dahlia’s twin had never really taken to Micah Deacon, even though there was never any animosity between Dahlia and her ex. Besides, Micah was a good dad and would drop anything for Amelia if she needed it. “You know full well that Micah was never using me to get close to the Kings. That was the drummer in his college band. Remember, you had him in your Intro to Animal Science class our freshman year at UW?”

  “Oh, yeah. That guy who tried to move in on you before the divorce papers were even signed, then tried to get his name on the deed for Big Millie’s.”

  “It didn’t go quite that far.” Dahlia’s lower spine stiffened at the reminder. “I had a lot going on at the time.”

  “Speaking of staying busy, I heard Micah was going to be doing another tour this summer. Does Amelia ever get to see her dad?”

  Dahlia straightened her shoulders. “They FaceTime on the phone a few nights a week and he bought her that iPad to make the video calls easier and so she could text him whenever she wants. And, of course, so she can play her favorite games. He might be able to fly in from Nashville for spring break. Everyone’s doing their best to make it work.”

  She often got tired of explaining her unique co-parenting situation to people, including her own family. Someone always wanted there to be a bad guy when a relationship ended, but the truth was that she and Micah were both the good guys, they just weren’t good together.

  “Lil’ Amelia looks like a natural up there,” Aunt Freckles called from a few feet away. Technically, Freckles was no longer their aunt since she’d been separated from Rider longer than she’d ever been married to him. But she loved the King children like her own and when Roper died, she’d dropped everything and came out to Wyoming to help.

  “She’s sure got it, all right.” Finn hopped off the fence and walked over to Freckles.

  “That reminds me.” Dahlia jumped down and followed. “When you teach my daughter expressions like that, she usually repeats them at the most inopportune times.”

  “Expressions like what?” Freckles asked.

  “The other day she told some random man that her aunt says when you got it, the guys will follow you.”

  “Got what?” Freckles narrowed a teal-shadowed eye and put her hand on one leopard-printed spandex covered hip. The older woman had to be pushing eighty, but she wore more makeup, hairspray and Lycra than four twenty-year-old beauty queens. Combined.

  “Itttt,” Dahlia repeated, pointedly sounding it out. Although, Amelia had no idea what she was even referencing at the time. And to be honest, now Dahlia wasn’t quite sure, either.

  “Oh.” Freckles nodded. “Itttt. Well, the girl ain’t wrong. Men are easily led around by their—”

  “She was trying to explain why the guy’s dog was following her,” Dahlia quickly cut off Freckles. “So she was repeating a phrase she’d heard from Finn.”

  Finn shrugged. “Sounds like the phrase works in both situations.”

  Freckles smiled, revealing a bright red streak of lipstick on her front tooth. “Any chance this random man with the dog is that new rancher in town who’s been asking about you?”

  “My guess is yes,” Finn replied. “Otherwise, Dahlia wouldn’t be so embarrassed about it. She has a thing for him.”

  “Who do you have a thing for, Mommy?” Amelia asked as she led the gray pony out of the corral.

  “No one,” Dahlia said a little too quickly and the women beside her shared a knowing look. Finn and Freckles might not be related by blood or fashion sense, but they were definitely two birds of a feather.

  Everyone was reading way too much into Dahlia’s nonexistent dating life. There was nothing going on between her and Connor. But if she protested, they’d only become more suspicious.

  So Dahlia shoved her sunglasses higher on her nose and quietly vowed to stay away from the man before the rumors really started to spread.

  * * *

  When Amelia and Dahlia didn’t show up on the ranch the following day, Connor told the dog, “I should still call you Casper.”

  Of course, as soon as he settled on a name, he’d likely run into the adorable and persuasive child who’d insist on renaming the mutt, anyway. After all, it wasn’t a matter of if, but when he’d see Amelia and her mom again. He’d learned a lot since he’d moved to Teton Ridge, but the one thing that still kept him on his toes was the small-town rumor mill. He might be able to physically avoid seeing the co-rescuers of his new pet, but he wouldn’t be able to avoid hearing about them. Or vice versa.

  So he spent the following week the same as the past two weeks, working on the ranch, meeting more townspeople and not referring to the dog by any name. Oh, and thinking about Dahlia when he wasn’t busy with everything else.

  It helped that his new stallion arrived on Monday and he didn’t have as much time on his hands to think about anything but his ranch. By Friday, though, he needed to go back into town for a specialty feed Dr. Roman had recommended for Private Peppercorn.

  The three-year-old stallion’s grand sire was a proven Morgan stud who successfully covered more than fifty mares a season. Technically, he’d been registered as Colonel Peppercorn on his official papers, but Connor gave the untried stallion a demotion until he proved himself and earned his rank.

  “Well, boy, if we go now, we can grab you a muffin before the feed store opens.” He held open the truck door as the shorter dog defied gravity and easily launched himself into the cab of the truck.

  When he parked outside Burnworth’s—which had to be the worst name for a bakery ever—he cracked the window. The dog’s ears perked up and he bounced across the bench seat, but Connor held up his hand, using the command signal he’d used in the Marine Corps when they’d had to silently post up outside a suspicious location.

  “Stay,” he told the dog before shutting the truck door. The animal’s ears fell and its eyes blinked in confusion. “Come on. Don’t look at me like that. Mr. Burnworth threatened to cut us both off if I brought you into the bakery again. Just wait for me here. I’ll be right back.”

  But Connor was no more than halfway across the sidewalk when he heard an excited yip and turned around in time to see the scrappy white mutt wiggle out of the opening in the window. Instead of running toward Connor, though, the animal ran straight for Amelia who dropped to her knees just in time to be greeted by a wet nose and an even wetter puppy tongue.

  “Hi, Goatee! I’ve missed you, too. How’s my best boy?” As Amelia rambled on, the dog responded with more licking and tail wagging. “I’ve been wanting to come visit you at the ranch again, but Mommy said we should let you get settled and... Oh, hi, Mr. Rem’ton. Look, Mommy, Mr. Rem’ton and Goatee are here.”

  “I see that,” Dahlia said as she balanced a travel mug of coffee in one hand and a red backpack in the other. She was bundled into a coat and scarf, her honey-blond hair hanging in loose curls under a Dorsey Tractor Supply ball cap. “Hi, Mr. Remington.”

  “Connor,” he reminded her. “And apparently, this is my dog, Goatee? Is that what we’re calling him?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you love it?” the little girl asked.

  Connor squinted at the animal who, despite his recent grooming, still had a slight patch of longer hair that the clippers must’ve missed. “I’m guessing because that fur on his chin makes him look like he has a little beard?”

  “No. Because Mommy and Aunt Finn were talking about you being a goat roper, even though you don’t got no goats on your ranch.”

  “What’s a goat roper?” he asked. But he could tell by the pink staining Dahlia’s cheeks that the term wasn’t complimentary.

  “Amelia, how did you even hear that? You were supposed to be paying attention to your riding... Never mind.” Dahlia turned toward him, but seemed to have trouble making eye contact. “It just means you’re new to ranching.”

  “When I ta
lked to Daddy on FaceTime last night, I had to ask him what it meant, too,” Amelia reassured Connor. “He said that if I heard it from Aunt Finn, it couldn’t be good. But I told him it was Mommy who called you that and then he just laughed and laughed and said Mommy has lots of experience with goat ropers.”

  Dahlia’s face was now so red she almost matched the kid-sized backpack, which was sliding off her shoulder. “Peanut, why don’t you go ask Ms. Burnworth for a muffin for both you and Mr. Remington. I mean for you and Connor,” she amended with a bit too much emphasis. It was almost as though she wanted to remind everyone that he actually had a real name and not the unexplained nickname.

  Feeling a mischievous grin tugging on the corners of his mouth, Connor reached into his pocket for a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to the girl. He wasn’t about to let Dahlia off the hook with this one.

  “And will you get something for Goatee, too?” Just in case Dahlia didn’t hear him emphasizing the goat reference, he repeated it. “Goatee likes the banana muffins best.”

  “What about for you, Connor?” Amelia asked. His name had never sounded so innocent or so endearing. “What kind do you want?”

  “Oh, surprise me.” As the dog started to follow the girl, Connor swooped him into his arms. “Not you, Goatee. You’re staying here with us. Even if your name is the result of someone’s trash-talking session about your owner.”

  “It wasn’t trash-talking so much as me voicing concern that perhaps the Rocking D is a bit more than you can handle.” Dahlia lifted her own chin proudly before petting the dog under his. “Besides, he does look like he has a little goatee.”

  “How do you know what I can handle?”

  With the dog still secured in his arms, Dahlia stood only inches away. The tip of her tongue darted out to touch her lips before she cleared her throat. “I don’t. I really don’t know you at all.”

  “Exactly. So maybe you should get to know me a little better.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded like an invitation. A dare. “I mean, before you jump to any more conclusions.”