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Back at the Ranch after the helicopter whisked Brady away at Bridge Creek, two horses’ behavior changed. Goldie, the mare who rolled on Brady and broke his leg, no longer joined in nose-to-nose with the rest of the horses. She moped by herself in the corner of the corral, looking wistfully toward the beginning of the trail they had taken on Brady’s last ride.
And Boone, Brady’s gelding, moped in a different corner of the corral, looking as if he’d just lost his best friend.
Ingrid brushed both horses every day, took them apple slices, which Goldie ignored as she gazed at Ingrid with her huge, sorrowful eyes. Boone would take an apple slice, chew it slowly, then sigh after the last bit of apple was gone.
The afternoon Brady’s son was supposed to arrive, Ingrid had just returned from taking a family of four on the shorter trail ride to Coon Lake. It was warmest day they’d had so far, and the horses and Ingrid were sweating.
Ingrid especially fretted over a section of trail that crossed a talus slope—a boulder field. The trail itself was made of scree, bits of broken rock that would give way when stepped on, like sand. Each time she crossed that cursed section, she prayed that Bella, her horse, that all the horses were sure-footed. Undoubtedly, the horses didn’t want to die any more than their riders did.
Ingrid was untacking the horses when Greta popped up. The lunch crowd had cleared out, and before she had maid duty, she chatted as Ingrid went about her work. Mostly Greta complained. She was stuck on kitchen duty, which was only made tolerable because Sam was cute and sweet. She was stuck being a maid. Ingrid got to do the fun, outdoor stuff.
“Yeah,” Ingrid had snapped. “Like listen to bones crunch.” She instantly wished she could take back those words because Greta was right. She had the best job, while Greta had the character-building job, as Ingrid’s mother would say.
“What about Sam?” she asked, trying to redeem herself. “Anything going on there?”
“Nah,” Greta sighed dramatically. “He’s cute and all, but so far, he treats me like the hired help, but in a nice way. No date offers or anything like that.”
Ingrid hauled the saddle off the last horse when Boone nickered. She stopped midstep as Boone, still self-sequestered in his own remote corner of the corral, raised his head and nickered again. That’s when she spotted him. A guy walked toward the corral, toward Boone. When he reached the fence, he put one cowboy boot on the bottom rail, his hand outstretched over the top rail. Boone nickered again and trotted toward the guy and ate something from the palm of his hand. Even Goldie took interest, and wandered slowly over toward the man and Boone, sniffing then eating whatever treat the man offered.
Ingrid felt... rejected! She’d cajoled and babied both horses for the better part of a week. This stranger waltzes in and has both Boone and Goldie literally eating out of his hand.
Ingrid’s breath caught in her throat. This couldn’t be a stranger. This had to be Brady’s son. She forced herself to continue with her chores and put the saddle away in the tack shack. When she walked back into the sun, the man was scratching Goldie behind the ears, as Goldie rested her head on his shoulder!
“Holy Mother, would you look at that?” Greta said as Ingrid joined her.
“Yeah,” Ingrid said bitterly. “Just look at that.
“Who on God’s earth... who is that?” Greta gushed. “He’s gorgeous!”
A weird sensation fluttered in Ingrid’s stomach. “I think that’s my new partner.”
Greta let out a strangled squeak. “That is so not fair!”
Ingrid strode over to the man—who both Goldie and Boone were fawning over—with Greta on her heels. The horses barely glanced their way.
“You must be Brady’s son, here to save the day.” Ingrid couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He had been smiling at the horses, but his smile faltered at the tone of her voice. He turned away from the horses—who shamelessly tried to nuzzle him over the fence rail—rubbed his hand on his jeans then held it out to Ingrid. “Ryder Yates,” he said.
Ingrid hesitated a moment, then shook his hand. It was a big hand, warm and smooth. Minimal calluses. “Ingrid Norgaard.”
“Ingrid. That’s a beautiful name,” he said.
“It’s kind of...” she hesitated. “It’s my grandmother’s name.” She didn’t think she’d ever told anyone that before.
“And I’m Greta.” Greta worked her way around Ingrid and stuck out a hand, gazing up at Ryder with unabashed adoration. Dear God, she looked like she wanted to devour him.
“This is Greta Schneider,” Ingrid introduced them. “We came here together to work for the summer.”
Ryder shook Greta’s hand, and she seemed reluctant to let go.
“You’re Brady’s son?” Ingrid couldn’t see much resemblance between Brady and this tall, handsome man except the cleft in each of their chins.
“That I am.” He finally reclaimed his hand from Greta.
Ryder Yates stood just over six feet tall, wore his brown hair cut short. Easy on the eyes, Ingrid’s mother would say. And those eyes. A honey-colored brown, speckled with darker flecks. He wore jeans and, although he was slender, there appeared to be some well-developed muscle beneath that green plaid shirt.
“How’s Brady doing, the leg and all?” Ingrid asked, wincing.
“He’s back on our ranch, on the couch, leg up, complaining. But healing, at least according to his doctor. So you were there. You’re the one who called the medic helicopter and got the tourists back safely. He speaks highly of you.”
“He does?” Ingrid was surprised to think Brady even thought of her, much less spoke of her.
“Yes, he does.”
Greta hung onto every word, never taking her eyes off him.
Olivia arrived. “I see you two have met,” Olivia said when she reached them.
“Yes, we’ve met Ryder,” Greta replied.
Olivia regarded Greta, then glanced at her watch. “Don’t you have a few rooms to get ready? We’ve got three parties coming in this afternoon.”
Greta’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I should go.” She pulled herself up to full height, all five foot four of it, and held her hand out again to Ryder. “Welcome. Really nice to meet you. See you at dinner. I work the kitchen.”
Ryder graciously took her hand again. “Nice to meet you, too. See you at the dining hall.”
Greta trudged down the trail to the Ranch.
“How’s your dad doing, Ryder?” Olivia asked.
“He’s as ornery as ever, but the doctor says he’s on the mend.”
“I’m glad. I really appreciate you coming, especially on such short notice. As I tried to explain when we talked, Ingrid is doing a fantastic job, but she has horse camp coming up in July and we have too many trail rides already booked. She can’t do it all alone.”
“I understand,” Ryder said. “I’m happy to help out however I can.”
Ingrid had been primed for some kind of confrontation. Ready to put this guy in his place. But he was being so nice, and Olivia was making sure that everyone was clear on their roles. Ingrid didn’t quite know what to do. “Thank you for coming, Ryder,” Ingrid said at last. “I can really use some help around here,”
Olivia walked over and gave Ryder a hug. “So good to see you.”
“You, too, Olivia.” He hugged her back.
“I’ve sent your dad the paperwork for Workman’s Comp, but haven’t heard back. Would you check on that?”
Ryder chuckled. “Sounds like Dad. If I can use your radio, I can get a message to Hunt and Rory.”
“You can use the radio any time.” Olivia glanced at Ingrid. “And you two are good with your co-leadership arrangement here?”
Ingrid fixed her gaze on Ryder. “Co-leaders.”
Ryder returned her gaze. “Co-leaders.”
They fist bumped.
Olivia exhaled, hands open, palms down. “Let peace reign over the corral.” She turned to go. “See you at dinner.” She waved over her shoulder as she walked away.
