Rough Ryder Page 14

  She just snuggled in.

  He yawned. It felt like he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in forever, and he would love to get some shuteye with this sexy, warm woman in his arms. He closed his eyes.

  “Ryder?”

  “Uh huh?”

  “How are you going to be sure McCrae pays that money back?”

  “Schmiddy. He’ll contact the charity and track it.” He took a deep breath and relaxed his muscles.

  “Ryder?”

  “Yes, Brooke?”

  “Can we talk about what happened before? In McCrae’s hotel room?”

  That’d be a good, long one-hour talk, and right now, he was so dead tired, he wouldn’t make any sense. “Let’s rest for a bit first. After what we just did, my mind is as satiated as my body.”

  She kissed his chest. “Sure.” She yawned. “This mile-high club initiation wore me out, too.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll have your membership card mailed to you.” Brooke was so giving, so open to leaving herself vulnerable with him, that this consuming anger she had for her brother surprised him. Sure, McCrae had stolen from her, but according to her father, it sounded like they’d been enemies since they were young.

  Too much, too deep to dive into right now.

  He pushed everything out of his mind and drifted off instantly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brooke woke in Ryder’s arms as a beeping filled the sleeping room of Ryder’s jet.

  “Mr. Landry, it’s the captain speaking. We’re about twenty minutes from landing in Washington DC.”

  She rolled off Ryder and stretched.

  He reached over and pressed a button. “Thanks, Kyle.” He released the button and pulled her back to him. “Let’s get dressed, then we can talk, okay?”

  She nodded and he pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

  When they’d dressed and made the bed transform back into a couch, they wandered into the small kitchen area. Ryder was a gentleman, as always, offering her something to eat, a bottle of water. But he already seemed to have pulled away emotionally. They took their seats in the main cabin and buckled up. “What did you want to discuss?” He checked his phone, thumb-typing a message.

  Brooke snacked on the granola bar he’d talked her into and watched him ignore her. She’d rather have his undivided attention, but she’d failed to wake him earlier, as she’d planned. “Easy stuff first. What do you want me to do about the version of the song I sold to Hope O’Malley?”

  He glanced at her. “That’s the easy part?” He set down his phone. “Let me talk to Hope. I’ll have her get in touch with you after we’ve figured out what to do.”

  He wanted to handle it? Without Brooke’s help? And again, he found a way to not have to call Brooke himself. “Sure, that makes the most sense.” Although she’d prefer to be part of the conversation, she’d give him that latitude. “About what happened in McCrae’s hotel room, I don’t feel like we completely closed everything out.”

  His brows dropped. “How do you mean?”

  Brooke didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but she needed to talk this out. “When my stepbrother told you we wrote together, then showed you that article as proof, did you believe him?”

  Ryder glanced away, then he let out a long breath. “You’ve got to see it from my perspective.” He looked at her. “I can’t say that I know you very well…besides physically, of course.” A half smile curved his lips for a second. “So, when he had a convincing story plus hard evidence…” He shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, there were a few moments of doubt.”

  She tipped her head. “And it was only my father’s testimony that convinced you he was lying?” Why did that hurt so badly?

  He held out one hand, palm up. “Okay, imagine the same scenario, but instead of McCrae saying you were a writing team, he said ‘I told Ryder the song was stolen, but he didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t copyrighted, and he could send his bodyguard to deal with the real songwriter’.”

  She nodded, visualizing the scene. As Ryder said, besides sex, the two of them barely knew one another. “I see your point, and yes, I might have had a few moments of doubt myself.” She reached over and grasped his hand. “But don’t even think that Schmiddy could take me and my taser on.” She smiled.

  He kissed her hand with a laugh. “I think everyone—including Schmiddy—realizes that. Which is why he didn’t return your weapon to you.”

  Two beeps sounded, and within seconds, they’d landed.

  “Are you staying in DC?” Brooke would love to take him back to her apartment and lock the two of them in for a few days.

  Ryder checked his phone. “Sorry cutie.” He didn’t look at her.” I’ve gotta get back to my ranch. I’ve got a car waiting for you on the runway, though.”

  The plane slowed to a standstill. They stood and Ryder took her into his arms. “I can’t get off the plane. Too much risk of photographers.”

  His damn fear of being photographed with a woman he was…what? Seeing? Dating? Having sex with? What were they doing?

  The pilot came out of the cockpit and opened the exterior door, lowering the steps.

  “But I’m glad we had these hours together.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I’ll honestly never forget them.”

  Brooke’s stomach clenched. This sounded like goodbye. “Ryder.” She closed her eyes to ward off any tears, and went up on tiptoes.

  He kissed her, fast and passionately, then let her go. “Bye, cutie.”

  She walked backward two steps, lifted a hand, and gave a quick wave, her vision blurring through the moisture in her eyes. “Bye, cowboy.”

  The pilot walked with her down the steps, then the chauffeur took over, helping her into the back seat as he confirmed her home address. Her stomach rumbled as the black sedan moved through traffic. She hadn’t eaten anything but airplane peanuts since she got the call about McCrae. She checked her watch. Two in the afternoon.

  She needed some comfort food. And some comfort. She pressed the button to open the glass between the front and back seat. “Could I please change my destination?”

  ****

  As Brooke stepped out of the car and thanked the driver, her mom and stepdad were hauling groceries into their little bungalow from their mini-van. Was that the same model Ryder had driven? She smiled as she wandered to the van and grabbed two bags.

  “What are you doing here?” Her mom gave her a hug, crunching the bags between them. “We thought for sure you’d stay in California for a while.”

  “Right. Like hang out with McCrae?” The nasty tone of her own voice made her heart sink.

  Her parents glanced at each other, a silent communication running between them.

  “Sorry.” Brooke closed the hatch and followed them into the house. The quiet suburb had been the perfect place to grow up, but Brooke loved her apartment, right in the middle of town.

  “We understand, sweetheart.” Terry took her bag from her and got busy loading the refrigerator. “So, how did it go?”

  Brooke sat at the kitchen table, out of the way of her parents’ shuffling activity. They’d renovated the 1920s house after she’d moved out, not just refinishing the hardwood floors, but installing new maple cabinetry, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. Somehow, it just didn’t feel like home to her anymore.

  Especially since they’d converted her old bedroom to a home gym. McCrae’s room though—that was left as-is, since they never knew when he’d be coming back, begging for free room and board.

  “McCrae signed an agreement to repay the money. It’ll go to the charity Ryder’s mother mentioned in her will.”

  Both her parents stopped and looked at her. “Shouldn’t that money go to you?” Greta tucked her dark gray, chin-length hair behind her ears.

  “Ryder suggested that, but I don’t want it.” Not that she couldn’t use it. After the flight yesterday, and the money from Hope sitting untouchable until everything got resolved, her bank balance
wasn’t exactly plump.

  Her mother walked over and hugged Brooke from behind. “You are a princess.” Greta kissed the crown of her head then went to a cupboard for three mugs.

  Terry nodded. “Proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” It had been the right thing to do, but now, looking back on how cynical Ryder acted all the time, had he thought it was just her way of getting his attention? She propped her elbows on the table and dropped her chin into her palms.

  “So what’s sitting heavy on your heart?” Her mother filled the mugs with hot water from the fancy device on the sink.

  Terry pulled out a chair and sat, opening a bag of natural-food cookies and grabbing the first one for himself before passing the bag to Brooke.

  She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Probably just the let-down of it all being over. For weeks, I got to chase all over the country, ride in a private plane, hang out with really famous people.” Shifting her head to one hand, she chose a cookie for herself. “Now it’s back to reality.”

  Greta carried the three steaming mugs and set them on the table, along with a small basket of tea bags. “You really fell for him, huh?” Her mother was far too intuitive.

  “I don’t know. He’s got flaws as wide as the Grand Canyon and issues as severe as a third-world country.” She munched on her cookie. “And repressed? Jeez, the guy is as unmoving as a brick wall.”

  Terry grinned as he sorted through the selection of tea. “And you love him, or just like him a lot?”

  Brooke tossed up her hands and slumped in the chair, as dramatic as a teenager. “How the hell can you guys read me so well?” She laughed and pulled the signed photo from her bag. “He didn’t forget.” She slid it to her mother.

  Greta’s smile widened, then froze, then her gaze shot to Brooke. “Did you see what he wrote?”

  Slowly shaking her head, hope warred with caution in Brooke’s heart.

  Her mom handed the photo to Terry. He read it, and his brows shot up. “Well, this puts a new spin on things.”

  “Are you going to tell me…?” Brooke’s voice sounded so weak, she cleared her throat. “Or do I have to guess?”

  Terry set the photo on the table. “The guessing thing would be fun, however…” He slid the picture in front of Brooke.

  She forced her eyes down to the color photo of Ryder’s face and T-shirt-clad chest, his shaggy hair teasing fans to run their fingers through it. His smile…perfection. She glanced down at Ryder’s strong penmanship. Ms. Greta, your daughter is the most amazing woman I know. Ryder Landry. She read it again. Twice. “But he said a final goodbye to me on his airplane.”

  “Did he? Or was that just what you heard?” Greta dipped her teabag up and down in the hot water. “What did his face say?”

  She’d been so sure he was letting her go, she hadn’t thought to use his eyes to see into his soul as her mother had taught her. “I don’t know.” She crunched into another cookie. “But I’m sure as heck going to find out.”

  “That’s our girl!” Terry laughed, and Greta winked at her.

  ****

  Hope arrived on the Landry ranch three days after Ryder had rushed Brooke off his plane in DC. Hope had her own plane, but Ryder provided the transportation from the airport: a ranch truck driven by his foreman, Buck Boudry.

  They pulled up in front of the house, and Ryder jogged from the barn up to the rustic old farmhouse he called home.

  Buck had her door open already, her hand in his, helping her from the truck. His face looked different to Ryder…wait…was that a smile? The displaced Cajun never smiled, not that Ryder knew of.

  Hope slid out of the truck, her caramel-colored skin shining in the noonday sun, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and the look she gave his foreman could have melted rock.

  “Hey.” Ryder walked the last few feet toward them.

  They both started, their gazes flying to his as if they’d been deep in a world of their own. Buck’s straight, shoulder-length black hair blew around his face in the hot Louisiana breeze. Damned if the man hadn’t taken a shower and shaved today. Guess Buck had a hot thing going for Miss Hope. The man finally released her hand and opened the back door of the truck, hefting out three good-sized suitcases.

  Hope pulled Ryder in for a hug. “I’m so excited to be here.” She looked at the house. “I love this. It should be on one of your album covers.”

  Ryder took a good look at what she was seeing. Two levels of wood siding that needed paint, single-pane windows that let the summer heat and winter cold in. “Yeah. I could name the album, Slummin’.

  She swatted his arm. “No. It’s got character. Don’t ever tear it down.”

  Ryder blinked a couple times. It was the only thing left that connected him to his mother. “The thing might just fall down on its own.” He gestured ahead of them. “Ready to get out of this humidity?”

  They walked to the house, up onto the rounded screened-in porch that swept around the front of the house.

  “Oh, sweetness.” Rocking chairs and a porch swing sat on one side, and a wicker table and chairs on the other.

  Ryder pulled open the porch door, let her in, and found Buck following close behind her. “Second bedroom on the right, Buck. Thanks.”

  Hope opened the second screen door that led into the house then pushed open the solid oak door and walked in, the man trailing her, not even acknowledging Ryder’s directions. What had happened between them during the half-hour drive from the airport?

  Hope stood in the cool foyer, looking up the long wooden stairway. “Wow, this is like circa 1950s.” She turned to look at Ryder.

  Buck headed up the steps, and Hope followed his progress with her eyes.

  “Go on up, get settled in first before I give you the grand tour.” Ryder wouldn’t stand in the way of a budding romance.

  “Sure.” Hope followed Buck up the steps and they disappeared around the corner.

  Ryder turned and stepped directly into the kitchen, walking to the refrigerator. Verna had pitchers of lemonade and sweet tea ready to go as well as a “light lunch,” as she’d called it. He automatically reached for a beer, but pulled his hand back. He should be stone-sober for the discussion he and Hope would be having.

  The kitchen had been renovated in the ‘90s. Black appliances, inexpensive dark-wood cabinets, and fake-wood countertops always reminded him how frugal his mother had been, and how sad it made him that she hadn’t been able to share in the fortune he’d made recently.

  Footsteps creaked on the floorboards above him, and he could make out voices, male, then female, male, female… What were they talking about? Ryder poured himself a half-glass of lemonade, leaned back on the kitchen counter, and waited. The voices stopped, shuffling footsteps sounded, then silence. His overactive mind pictured them…kissing?

  Laughter sounded from both of them upstairs, which was a rare thing from Buck. Heavy footsteps traced a path back to the head of the stairs. “Thanks again, Buck. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around in the next few days?” Hope sounded like an unsure teenager.

  “Yes, ma’am. Count on it.”

  Ryder grinned. The Cajun had his lines down pretty well.

  “Okay. B-bye.” She giggled and her footsteps headed back to her room.

  Buck clomped down the stairs. At the bottom he stopped and turned his head, spotting Ryder. The man’s deep complexion turned ruddy at his cheeks. Incredible. “Anything else?”

  “Nope.” Ryder lifted a hand. “B-bye.” He couldn’t stop smirking.

  Buck dropped his head and made it out of the house in record time.

  Ryder really shouldn’t have teased the guy, but Buck was always in control, wound tight, and on his best behavior. This flirtation with Hope…

  “Ah, shit.” What if she was a hit-and-run type? Use the rough-hewn cowboy for a couple nights, then drop him like he’d never existed. It might kill the guy…

  Ryder froze with his drink halfway to his lips. “Fuck me.”
It sounded like his own pattern. Ride ‘Em and Leave ‘Em Landry. He pictured the long line of women who’d been treated just that badly by him. At the head of the line stood Brooke. “Damn.”

  “Something wrong?” Hope stood at the kitchen door. “Your cheeks are all red.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ryder hadn’t heard Hope come downstairs, but there she stood inside his ranch house kitchen. “No. Just realized how lucky I am to get to spend the next few days in the presence of country music’s premier diva.”

  She laughed. “Oh wow, you’re so full of shit, those green eyes of yours should be brown.”

  He nodded and set his cup on the counter. “Yep, I’m definitely full of it.” He smiled, liking her humility. “I hired a cook from town for us for the next few days. She left some chow. You hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  Together they hauled the beverage pitchers, platter of half-sandwiches, bowl of cut fruit, and bag of chips out to the porch and sat at the wicker table, looking out over the ranch.

  Hope dug right in, and Ryder followed, talking about the buildings spaced out in front of them. “I need to do some improvements, especially after seeing the McLairn Ranch’s setup.” Shit, had he said too much? His relationship with Steele was a well-kept secret.

  “That’s right, you and Steele are friends. What kind of improvements are you considering?”

  He talked about the bunkhouse, the barns, and even his house, pointing out the green of the fields at this time of year, the rows of old trees along the fence lines that provided shade for the horses, and the river winding its way through the middle of the land. He hadn’t taken enough time to enjoy it all.

  “The foreman’s house? That’s where Buck lives?” She tried to make it sound casual, but Ryder heard her interest in the words. “All alone?”

  “Yep, all alone.” He forked a piece of cantaloupe melon into his mouth. The flavor burst sweet and juicy.

  “You don’t have a cook for yourself full-time?” Hope chose another of Verna’s delicious egg salad sandwiches and bit into it.