Making Room for the Rancher Page 8

  Connor might be good with horses, but he’d never had to tow them in a trailer until recently. The transportation unit had always done that for him. It took him several attempts to navigate the trailer into the wide-open doors of the stables and then line it up perfectly with the gate to the southwest chute where someone had hung a wood-carved sign that read Tunnel of Love.

  “Feels like we’re both under some serious pressure, Pep,” Connor said to the horse who couldn’t hear him, anyway. To say he was already overwhelmed by the time he caught sight of Rider in his rearview mirror, arms crossed over that distinctive barrel chest, was an understatement. He wanted to yell out the window that he was way better with a horse than he was with a trailer, but he’d show them soon enough.

  Shoving the stiff truck gear into Park, Connor gulped in a deep breath before opening the door to exit. It took every ounce of control he possessed to stand there and pretend that he always drove up to multi-million-dollar cattle ranches and wasn’t completely starstruck by the vastness of the successful operation. Hell, even the stable was more like an indoor arena, with several corrals and hundreds of paddocks. It was tough to act like any of this was normal. Especially when he couldn’t even keep his own dog from leaping out excitedly.

  Instead of one of the nearby stable hands catching Goatee, though, it was little Amelia Deacon who lifted the dog in her arms and rubbed her face against its scratchy white fur. Connor could feel his eyes widening in surprise at seeing the child here, but there was also something about her familiar face and excited greeting that made him feel as if he were on his own turf. As though he weren’t a complete fish out of water. But then his eyes landed on Dahlia holding on to the lead of a gray pony and suddenly it all snapped into place.

  The funeral Dahlia and Amelia had been coming home from the night they’d met on the side of the highway.

  The ranch security detail, who dressed like Secret Service agents.

  Twin Kings Ranch.

  Holy crap.

  Dahlia’s father was Roper King, the former vice president of the United States.

  Which meant her uncle was Rider King.

  Connor hadn’t followed the news much since his discharge, but how’d he miss something this big? He was a neighbor to one of the most powerful political and cattle families in the world.

  His forehead broke out in a sweat and he quickly slammed the felt brim of his Stetson lower on his brow as Rider approached the window of the horse trailer first. The stallion’s impatient snorts coming from inside grounded Connor, immediately returning his pulse to a steady rate. Being around horses always made things simpler. And this was just a job, same as any other.

  “So you’re Private Peppercorn, huh?” The older man lifted a weathered hand between the bars and stroked the horse’s silky black forelock. “Lil’ Amelia tells me you got a demotion, young fella.”

  “That’s true,” Connor admitted, watching Dahlia as carefully as she was watching his meeting with her uncle. A tingle traveled up the back of his neck. She was probably too far away to hear them, which likely explained the crease in her forehead. Clearly, she didn’t trust him around anyone in her family. “His previous owner gave him a rank he hadn’t earned yet.”

  “Smart decision. What branch were you in, son?” Rider asked, and it took Connor a moment to pull his eyes away from where Dahlia was directing Amelia to stop giving Goatee chunks of carrots she had in her pocket—no doubt for the pony.

  “The Corps.”

  “I knew I liked you,” Rider replied, his beefy hand slapping Connor on the back. “I was Third Recon Battalion. From ’67 to ’71.”

  Amelia approached with the gray pony. Goatee was now in Dahlia’s arms, looking perfectly content to be carried around as if he were the emperor of the stables.

  “Sorry to do this to you, son, but I accidentally double-booked this afternoon.” Rider’s bushy gray brows and mustache made it difficult to determine whether or not he was truly remorseful. Or if it was in fact an accident. The glint of satisfaction in the older man’s blue eyes—the same shade as Dahlia’s and Amelia’s—seemed almost scheming. “I’ve got a riding lesson with this fine cowgirl right now. But Lil’ Amelia’s mom will keep you company while you introduce your stallion to the ladies over there.”

  “I’ll what?” Dahlia blinked several times and Connor would’ve laughed at her trying to contain both her surprise and annoyance at the assignment her uncle had just dealt her.

  Rider threw a heavy arm around Connor’s shoulder. “Now Dahlia, we can’t keep this young stud in the prime of his life pinned up when there are plenty of gals practically lined up to meet him.”

  “You better be talking about the stud in the back of the trailer.” The look she shot her uncle would’ve broken lesser men. But apparently the older man wasn’t the least bit fazed.

  “Who else would I be talking about?” Rider’s hearty laughter rang out as he squeezed Connor’s shoulder with enough force to practically steer him toward Dahlia. “Look at those fillies over there just waiting to be neighborly. Love is in the air, all right.”

  “What does be neighborly mean?” Amelia asked, and Dahlia shot her uncle another withering look.

  Rider cleared his throat before giving the child a leg up into her small pink saddle. “Never mind all that, Peanut. Now take the reins like I showed you...”

  The older cowboy quickly led Amelia and her pony to a smaller corral inside the stables. Which left Connor and Dahlia alone near the horse trailer.

  “Sorry you got ditched like that,” she said to him. “I’m sure you were pretty excited to score the Twin Kings as a potential client, but, well, my uncle takes his family responsibilities pretty seriously.”

  “I would’ve been excited to have anyone as a potential client.” Although, there definitely was the potential for some professional recognition if one of the most successful ranches in the state recommended him. “But I never got a chance to get excited because I was still processing it all when I finally put two and two together. I’m guessing there’s a reason why you didn’t want to give me the heads-up?”

  “Yes. Millions of reasons.” She didn’t expound, but he guessed that she was referring to the financial ones. “Men tend to act differently around me when they know my last name.”

  He lifted a brow. “Only men?”

  “No, but they’re typically the ones who are bold enough to actually think that if they can get into my pants, then they can get into my family.”

  Whoa. Connor’s fingers flexed impulsively at her candor. He didn’t like the idea of anyone using Dahlia. Or getting into her pants. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t know you were related to the Kings until right now. But it certainly explains why you were so standoffish before. And why everyone in town clammed up the second I asked about you.”

  “First, I’m not standoffish. Second, you were asking people in town about me?”

  Should he deny it? Connor might not have time to invest in a full-fledged relationship, but he also didn’t have time to play games.

  “Of course I asked around. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t interested in you. I still am, even though I’m way more cautious now that I know how it might be perceived.” Hearing a whinny and the stomp of an impatient hoof reminded Connor that he wasn’t here to flirt with the single mom. “But right now, I need to see to my horse.”

  * * *

  Connor hadn’t asked Dahlia to keep Goatee in her arms as he unhitched the trailer, but it gave her something to do instead of standing there awkwardly and thinking about his admission that he was in fact interested in her.

  Her knees had gone a little wobbly and if more people hadn’t been standing around the stables staring at them, she might’ve made a similar admission. Of course, it didn’t help that some smart aleck, probably Finn, had hung up a sign over the entrance to the breeding chut
e that read Tunnel of Love.

  It must be all the equestrian pheromones in the air that were throwing her off balance. Since she had no intention of following her uncle’s request to walk him into the enclosure where the waiting mares had already caught Peppercorn’s scent, she made her way to the cab of the truck and found a leash for the dog.

  The stallion was young and, from the looks of things, eager to strut its stuff in front of his female audience. Connor had to circle the animal around several times to get it calm enough to lead the animal into the enclosure. Mr. Truong and several other experienced handlers watched Connor and the stallion intently, probably in case they needed to jump in and help control the reins.

  Dahlia held her breath for a few seconds when Peppercorn reared back on his hind legs, but Connor proved to be more than capable of redirecting the horse. A warmth spread to her lower extremities as she watched him maintain control with a steady hand on the bridle and gentle words in the horse’s ear. His command over the situation in the stables suddenly made her wonder if he’d just as easily take charge in other places. Like the bedroom.

  Oh, Lord. Dahlia quickly clipped the leash to Goatee’s collar and decided to go get some fresh air and cool down before someone confused her for one of the mares in heat.

  When she returned an hour later from her walk, Finn had finally arrived and Rider was balancing Amelia on his shoulders as they watched Connor loading a very reluctant stallion into his trailer.

  Her family wasn’t only sizing up Private Peppercorn, they were sizing up Connor, as well. Seeing how he handled himself. And apparently, they must’ve approved of something because when Amelia caught sight of her and the dog returning to the stable, she yelled, “Hey, Mommy, Private Peppercorn picked Rita Margarita to be his new girlfriend. Connor’s gonna bring him back tomorrow morning to visit again, but Aunt Finn says I don’t get to be here for that.”

  “Aunt Finn is right,” Dahlia replied loudly, before murmuring to Goatee. “For once.”

  “Aunt Finn says that Connor and Goatee can stay and have dinner with us, though.”

  “As long as Gan Gan doesn’t mind,” Dahlia replied as she kept her expression neutral. If she hinted at the slightest protest, her family would know something was up. But if she acted happy to have him stay, then he’d get the wrong impression.

  “Actually, I should probably get Private Peppercorn home,” Connor replied, saving both of them. “He’s had a bigger day than I was expecting and needs his rest before he meets Rita Margarita’s friends tomorrow.”

  “Speaking of military ranks, son,” Rider said. “What was your MOS when you were in the Corps?”

  “Here comes the inquisition,” Dahlia murmured to Goatee, while a small part of her hoped the man passed her family’s test with flying colors. “Let’s see if your owner holds up to the spotlight.”

  “Initially, I was Infantry. After my three years were up, though, I had a buddy from boot camp who talked me into applying to MARSOC.”

  “What’s MARSOC?” Finn asked.

  Rider answered before Connor could. “It stands for Marine Forces Special Operations Command.”

  “Wait.” Dahlia narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were Special Forces.”

  “You never asked.” He smirked, before returning his attention to her uncle. “I was selected for the Marine Raider Regiment.”

  Rider let out a whistle. “So you were a Raider. Pretty impressive. Almost as impressive as Private Peppercorn’s charm with those mares over there.”

  “Let me ask you this, Mr. Remington.” Finn winked at Dahlia and she knew exactly what was about to come next.

  “Please don’t...” Dahlia said despite the already sinking sensation in her stomach. But her twin ignored her.

  “My sister told me you were new to owning a ranch.”

  Connor was now staring directly at Dahlia, his knowing smirk making her go weak the knees. She suddenly felt the need to sit down. “I believe the exact term she used was goat roper?”

  Finn laughed. “Her words. Not mine. But what I wanna know is how does a newbie cowboy who grew up in... Where did you grow up?”

  “Primarily Dorchester. We moved around a lot.”

  “So how does a kid from one of the toughest neighborhoods in Boston know so much about quality horseflesh? Clearly, you picked a winner with your first stud over there.”

  “When I was an operator, my company commander made us attend a course at the Mountain Warfare Training Center. He wanted us to learn how to hump our supplies into some rough desert terrains we couldn’t get to with a Humvee. Turned out I was pretty good with the pack animals and outdoor tracking. Several of us from my unit were integrated with various Army Operational Detachment Alpha teams. As one of the intelligence sergeants, I spent the last two years of my career tracking enemy combatants on horseback.”

  “Dang,” Finn replied. “I knew Dahlia had you all wrong.”

  Crap. Dahlia usually prided herself on her ability to read people, yet she’d totally missed the mark on him. Although, in her defense, the man didn’t really dress like a cowboy. And how was she supposed to know that the military still used horses?

  As if the embarrassment and awkwardness coursing through her wasn’t enough to make her want to hop in her own truck and take off, the well-dressed and overly protective Sherilee King appeared at the stable doors.

  “Dinner was ready ten minutes ago,” Dahlia’s mother scolded the group still standing around the trailer before her eyes landed on Connor. “Are you who I think you are?”

  “Jeez, Mom,” Finn chastised the former socialite who was normally well-known for her diplomatic hostessing skills. “Is that any way to greet our new neighbor?”

  “Is this Dahlia’s new man?” Aunt Freckles appeared behind Sherilee.

  “He’s not my new—” Dahlia started at the same time Amelia replied. “Yes. This is our new friend Connor and his dog, Goatee. Mommy said they could stay for dinner if it was all right with you, Gan Gan.”

  “That’s not exactly what I said,” Dahlia pointed out, not daring so much as a glance in Connor’s direction. Her family was overwhelming enough under normal circumstances.

  “You might as well join us, Mr. Remington.” Sherilee sighed, a rare sign that the perfectly composed King matriarch was at her wits’ end. “I mean, why wouldn’t you want to sit at our table and bear witness to my oldest son arguing legal defenses with his ex-girlfriend. Or enjoy the hospitality of my youngest son pouting while he spends the whole evening texting with his underage drinking buddies about how the Secret Service is trying to ruin his life? Unless, that is, you care at all about your arteries. My former sister-in-law made enough fried chicken and country gravy to clog even the healthiest of hearts.”

  “And my former sister-in-law,” Freckles countered, “already ate enough biscuits and freshly whipped honey butter to choke a small horse.”

  “I had half a biscuit, maybe two.” Sherliee began launching an intense argument about how stress eating actually burned calories.

  Finn, who usually loved watching a good verbal sparring match, used an elbow to nudge Dahlia in the rib cage. “They really know how to sell the King family dining experience, huh?”

  Dahlia shook her head, then dared a glance at Connor, whose face was pivoting back and forth as though he were watching a tennis match between the two older women who had never really gotten along.

  Pushing through her own growing headache, Dahlia said, “Please don’t feel like you have to accept my mother’s not-so-tempting invitation. Our family dynamics are a little...off...since my dad passed away, and I’m sure you have more important things going on tonight.”

  It was a weekend, when most single men in town showed up at Big Millie’s. Her manager Rena would’ve said something if Connor had so much as stepped foot inside the bar. So maybe he was finding his wee
kend entertainment elsewhere. Not that it was any of Dahlia’s business.

  “What’s more important than getting to know your new neighbors?” Finn asked Connor, although she didn’t do that obnoxious wink in Dahlia’s direction this time. “You can pull the trailer up to the house and Private Peppercorn should be fine thinking about his fruitful endeavors.”

  “Plus...” Dahlia’s uncle lifted Amelia off his shoulders and easily transferred her onto Connor’s before he could object. “My wife makes a mean fried chicken and uses real cream in her mashed potatoes.”

  Freckles paused mid-argument with Sherilee to point a long acrylic fingernail at Rider. “I’m not your wife anymore, you addle-brained cowboy.”

  “That’s not what you said last night when you snuck out to my cabin.”

  Dahlia groaned at the implication, Finn covered her ears and made a gagging sound, while Sherilee pinched the bridge of her surgically-enhanced nose.

  “Everyone get up to the house before dinner gets cold,” her mother finally snapped. Then she smiled sweetly at Connor. “You, too, son. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Connor did a mock salute, then winked at Dahlia. “How can I refuse an order?”

  Chapter Six

  How could Connor refuse the order, indeed?

  The main house was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He’d entered through the massive kitchen, which was fancy enough to be in one of those magazines his mom used to subscribe to. The formal dining room had a table big enough for thirty and the living room looked like the lobby of a five-star hotel. That is, if five-star hotel lobbies had six-foot tall portraits of a fearsome King ancestor creepily staring down her hawkish nose at him from over the fireplace.