What She'd Do for Love

“I can give you her number, if you want to call her.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure I’m the last person she wants to talk to. Take my advice, son. Stay single as long as you can. There was a time when a woman married a man and took it for granted she’d follow him wherever he led. But those days are long gone. Women are more independent. I’m not saying it’s wrong, but it makes it harder on a marriage—at least if a man’s career requires him to move around.”

“Did you ever think of doing something different—leaving the military and staying in one place?”

“What would I have done? I’m trained as a fighter—a military strategist. Even if I could translate that to the corporate world, I’m not cut out for the daily grind of staying in one place for years. I’d suffocate. You’re the same way—you and I are just alike.”

Ryder couldn’t tell if his dad meant this as praise or not. He’d always admired and looked up to his father, but he didn’t want to end up like him, alone and lonely in his fifties. “I hope you can come see me, Dad,” he said. “I’d like us to spend some time together.”

“I’d like that too, son. I’ll say good night now. Have to get up early in the morning.”

“Me, too. Good night, Dad.”

He laid his phone on the coffee table; his gaze transfixed on the pattern of scars and cup rings. Was he really so much like his father? While he had always looked forward to going to new places and seeing new people, none of the places he’d lived had ever felt suffocating. His moves hadn’t been driven by restlessness or boredom, but by the need to prove himself. He was moving up in his career. If anything, all that moving had been done to try to establish his place in the world.

He wouldn’t be like his dad, always on the move. One day he’d find a location to settle. He’d have a home and family, and a position that would allow him to live where he wanted. It might be a big city, like Dallas, or even a small town, like Cedar Grove. He could see himself settling here, but not yet. He had other things he needed to do first.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHRISTA DIDN’T HAVE a chance to speak with her dad the next morning. Her parents left before dawn to drive to Dallas on some mysterious errand they refused to divulge. “We just have some things we need to take care of,” Mom said as she finished her coffee.

“I could go with you,” Christa said. “We could do some shopping after you finish with whatever you need to do, or have lunch—”

“We won’t have time for that.” Mom avoided meeting Christa’s gaze.

“Besides, I need you to stay here and take delivery of a load of hay.” Her father finished his own coffee and stood. “Rodrigo will help you. Adi, we’d better go.”

They left before Christa could ask any more questions. She stood at the front window and watched until her dad’s truck disappeared down the drive, feeling the same way she had when she was a kid and her parents went on a rare date, leaving her behind.

Ridiculous, she told herself. She wasn’t a kid anymore, and her parents didn’t have to take her everywhere. But it was her parents’ secretiveness that hurt more than their going off without her. She’d expected to come home and easily slip into her old lifestyle, where she and Mom and Dad shared meals and laughter and confidences. But they didn’t seem to want that.

Maybe this was a not-so-subtle way of telling her to grow up and move on. But she couldn’t imagine ever being so mature she wouldn’t want to be close to her family.

She pondered the problem as she changed into jeans, boots and a long-sleeved shirt and tied her hair back in a ponytail. Unloading hay was hot, itchy work, but it would be a better workout than any she’d achieve at the gym. When the tarp-covered eighteen wheeler turned into the drive, she was ready. When her parents returned, they’d see she hadn’t forgotten her cowgirl upbringing.

Rodrigo, a forty-something cowboy, all sinew and muscle, who had worked for her family for as long as Christa could remember, helped unload the big square bales into the hay shed, while the terrier, Jet, sniffed for mice among the stacked bales. They slipped into an easy rhythm, dragging the hay from the truck and across the shed, muscles straining, nose itching. But the hard work felt good, and after an hour or so, the sweet-smelling hay filled the shed in neat rows, like bricks in a wall. Christa signed the manifest and the driver climbed into the truck and rumbled back down the drive.

Christa joined Rodrigo in the shade of the stacked bales. “Why isn’t Duncan helping, too?” she asked. Duncan Walters had also worked for her family for many years.

“Old Dunc decided to retire back in March.” Rodrigo swept off his hat, wiped the sweat from his brow, before replacing the battered Stetson. “Your dad figured we could get by with just him and me.”

The Rocking M had always employed at least two hands—sometimes more. Was Dad cutting back because he really didn’t need the help, or because he couldn’t afford it? She checked the shipping manifest in her hand against the tower of hay stacked in the shed. “I’m surprised he’s buying hay this time of year,” she said. “He used to grow all his own.”

“Hard to grow enough with the drought,” Rodrigo said. “He sold off a lot of the stock last year because they were too expensive to feed. Might have to sell more this year. Prices are still pretty good.”

“I didn’t realize things were that bad.” Her parents hadn’t confided in her. She thought of all the money they had spent on her education. They could have used it here on the ranch. Maybe her being here now, another mouth to feed, was straining their budget, too.

“You don’t have to worry about your dad,” Rodrigo said. “He’s one of the savviest ranchers I know. He plays it safe and always knows what he’s about. When the rains come and the economy picks up again, he’ll be ready.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She leaned back against the hay, the sweet, summery smell filling her head, reminding her of the days she’d spent helping in the hay fields. The hot, sweaty work was made bearable by the promise of swimming in the stock tank when they were done, and Popsicles on the back porch after that. So many memories.

“I guess there’ll be a lot of changes around here, with the new highway coming through.” Rodrigo interrupted her thoughts.

The highway! She couldn’t even get away from it here. “I guess so.” She straightened. “What do you think of it all?”

He snorted. “I think people are in too much of a hurry to get to places. It’s not like I left anything in Dallas that I need.”

She hid a smile. Rodrigo wasn’t alone in his disdain for the city. Once upon a time people in Cedar Grove had found everything they needed in the small town, and had no need to leave. Now they had to travel for everything from groceries to medical care. She hated that it had to be that way.

“What time are you expecting your folks back?” Rodrigo asked.

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

“Looks like we’ve got company.” Rodrigo nodded toward the dust cloud that announced the approach of a vehicle on the long drive leading to the barns and hay sheds. A late-model white pickup with some kind of seal on the driver’s door crept toward them. Jet hurried to stand in front of Christa, barking, his tail wagging furiously.

The truck stopped and Ryder, dressed in his usual crisp khakis and white shirt, stepped out. Today he wore a tan Stetson, similar to the ones Rodrigo and her dad always sported, though much newer.

Christa scooped up the dog and shushed him as Ryder touched his hand to the brim of the Stetson in a salute. “Hello, Christa. Rodrigo. Is Bud around?”

“He’s not here,” Christa said.

“Is he up at the house?” Ryder glanced in the direction of the ranch house.

Clearly, he knew his way around the place. “He and Mom are in Dallas,” she said. “Why did you want to see him?”

“Nothing important. How are you doing?”

Jet had quieted and was wriggling in her arms, so she set him down and resisted the urge to smooth her hair, which she knew was a mess, along with the rest of her. She wore no makeup and was dusty and sweaty, with hay sticking to her clothing, her hair a tangle. “We’ve been unloading hay,” she said, by way of explanation.

“I’ve got some other work to do, so I’ll get on with it,” Rodrigo said. He nodded to Ryder, and sauntered away. Christa resisted the urge to call him back on some pretense. Last night she’d been easy with Ryder, in the café full of people, but now she couldn’t seem to relax. Without the buffer of other people around them, would he sense her attraction to him and get the wrong idea? Even Jet deserted her, distracted by some scent he’d uncovered on the other side of the shed.

“So you grew up here.”

He was still looking toward the house, which sat in the grove of oaks her grandfather had planted when he built the house. “I was born in a hospital in Dallas,” she said. “But I came home to here and didn’t leave until I went to Austin for college.”

“What was that like—being a little girl here?”

“I don’t think I could have asked for a better childhood. I mean, people pay big money to vacation in the kind of environment I lived in every day. I rode horses, swam, went to movies with my friends or hung out at the soda fountain. I knew almost everyone and could safely go almost anywhere in town.” She’d been hoping to recapture a little of those stress-free, uncomplicated times when she’d moved back here. She’d lost more than her job in the city—she’d lost her place in life, her identity. She needed to return to the one place she was always sure of herself in order to figure out where she belonged and what she was supposed to be doing.

“You didn’t long for malls and drive-throughs?” His dimples showed when he smiled and her heart did its trapped butterfly imitation again.

“Maybe sometimes I did,” she said. “I mean, I was a teenage girl. When I left for college in Austin, I was excited about living in the city, being closer to shopping and restaurants and all the things we didn’t have here. But after a while, I missed all of this.” She gestured around her, at the wide-open prairie, the ranch buildings and the little house. “There’s just something about home.”

“I never felt that kind of tie to a place. I’m a little envious.”

He was standing close enough she could smell the faint pine scent of the soap he used, or maybe it was aftershave. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to just below the elbows, revealing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. She’d worked around men all the time growing up, riding horses, bucking hay and mending fences alongside Rodrigo and Duncan and the other cowboys, but none of them had seemed as masculine and desirable as Ryder did right now.

As if sensing her uneasiness, he stepped back, putting more distance between them. “Would you show me around?”