Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26140 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Yet, after only a handful of days, the silence Ryder left behind was too noticeable.
I told myself he was busy. He had his own shit to handle and didn’t owe me an explanation for staying away, especially after I had kissed him and then stood there afterward without explaining what the kiss meant to me.
I didn’t even know what any of it meant. That was probably why Ryder hadn’t returned today. He was giving me space to figure out my shit.
I finished my coffee and went inside to find my boots. If Ryder wanted to stay away, that was fine. I had more than enough work to keep me occupied. The house still needed to be cleared, the storm damage needed attention, and the ranch needed to be made presentable before Kacey sent a photographer.
I had returned to Rootstown Creek to settle the estate, not spend my mornings staring down the road hoping a certain cowboy would appear.
I started with the broken branches scattered across the yard. Most were small enough to drag toward the burn pile behind the barn, but the ground was still soft from the storm, and mud clung heavily to my boots. By the time I cleared the area around the porch, sweat dampened the back of my shirt and irritation had settled beneath my skin.
I told myself the irritation had nothing to do with Ryder. But I knew what a big fat lie that was.
The biggest question was whether I could stay away from him.
9
The sound of a vehicle coming up the drive made me stop so fast my boot slid in the mud.
My pulse jumped before I even looked up because all I could think about was it being Ryder. But when I glanced up, my disappointment sank to my stomach.
A white work van rolled toward the house with ROOTSTOWN GLASS printed across the side in faded blue lettering. The driver parked near the porch and climbed out carrying a clipboard. He was an older man with a gray beard, a round stomach, and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
“You Miss Lila Shaw?” he called.
“That’s me.” I used the rag slung over my shoulder to wipe off my hands as I moved toward him.
He glanced toward the plywood covering the living room window. “Figured this was the place.”
Confusion must have been written all over my face because he paused as I stopped in front of him.
“I didn’t call any glass companies,” I said. Then it clicked. Ryder.
“No?” He flipped through the papers on his clipboard. “Got a call this morning. Boss said it needed to be done first. Priority job.” He looked up and smiled, wrinkles forming around his denim-blue eyes. “Must be a friend of the big guy for him to put a rush on it.” He tapped his pen. “I’ve already got the measurements, but I’ll double-check them. Replacement glass should be here tomorrow afternoon or maybe the morning after if the supplier holds us up.”
“Of course he made the call,” I muttered under my breath, thinking of Ryder. An intense flush spread through me before I could stop it.
“Pardon, miss?”
I shook my head. “Sorry. Do you need anything from me?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll just get to work so I can get out of your hair.” He climbed the porch steps and examined the temporary covering.
“Thank you,” I said, still a little stunned.
He was done in about twenty minutes, and when he left, I watched the van disappear down the drive. My mind kept circling back to Ryder. Of course he’d handled it. That was just who he was.
I went back to picking up debris, but the knowledge of all Ryder had been doing and was still doing followed me. It sat with me while I dragged branches away from the house and cleared mud from the porch steps.
It stayed with me when I walked across the yard and into the barn. Everything still looked the same as it had the day I arrived. Worn, weather-beaten, and quietly holding on but I couldn’t shake the knowledge that without Ryder’s years of quiet work, this place would have fallen into ruin long ago.
I spent the rest of the morning clearing more storm debris and adding more sticks and branches to the burn pile. The physical work helped keep my mind off a certain dark and rugged cowboy, but it didn’t quiet the thoughts circling in my head. Every time I looked up, I found myself glancing toward the Kane Ranch, half expecting to see Ryder’s truck coming up the drive. It never did.
Later, a flatbed truck arrived with stacked lumber. The driver confirmed the order was for Shaw Ranch and that it had already been paid for. I almost refused it out of pure habit. Accepting help had never felt safe. With my father, every kindness came with a debt. But this wasn’t my father. This was Ryder.