Page 13 of Swift and Saddled

“This isn’t the first time we’ve flooded,” my dad added. “Plus, I make a mean pot of coffee.” He winked at her, and it pulled a smile out of Ada—a real one. My dad had a way of putting people at ease.

Ada looked down at the table for a moment before saying, “As long as you’re sure it isn’t an imposition.”

My dad clapped his hands together. “It’s settled, then. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.” He stood from his chair, and Ada and I stood with him. “Weston can take it from here.” He reached out to shake Ada’s hand again. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Ada. Welcome to Rebel Blue.”

And with that, Amos Ryder grabbed his cowboy hat off the table and, looking every bit the rancher he was, headed out the door.

It was like the air knew it was just the two of us now, because it started to hum.

“I’m sorry if that was weird,” I said, looking at Ada, who was back to avoiding eye contact. “Finding out who I am, and the fact that I grabbed your bag, and my dad offering to have you stay here—that was a lot of content for a ten-minute conversation.”

“Yeah,” she breathed—still not looking at me. “Thank you, though, for the bag thing. That place doesn’t even have a phone number, so I wasn’t holding out hope for a lost and found.”

That made me laugh. “How did you even find the Devil’s Boot? I don’t even know if it shows up on Google Maps. The road you go down to get to it doesn’t even have a name.”

“It shows up,” Ada said—a ghost of a smile was hinting at her lips. “I was looking for somewhere I could get some food, and it was the only place that was still open.” Her smile got bigger—like she was sharing a joke with herself.

“But it doesn’t. Have food, I mean.” I knew it was in Brooks’s plan to start bringing a food truck in on the weekends during the summer, but not yet.

“Yeah. Google is a filthy liar.” She finally looked at me then, and my heart caught in my chest the way it had last night. I smiled at her, but as soon as I did, she snapped her gaze away.

“Well, the pantry here is always stocked, and if you have any favorites, just let me know and we’ll get them for you. Evan is welcome to the pantry too.” I tried to shake off the disappointment I’d felt when she looked away. I didn’t like how weird it felt between us. “I can show you your room, so you can get settled, and then I can take you over to the job site?”

“That would be great. Thank you.”

I assumed that my dad would put her up in Emmy’s old room because it had its own bathroom and it was the most private.

It also had a damn good view.

I led Ada down a hall, where we passed my room, and then toward the back of the house where Emmy’s room was. My dad had left the door open.

“This is where you’ll be,” I said. “It used to be my sister’s room, but it’s got the best view, so my dad likes to leave it for guests when he hasn’t taken it over as his yoga studio.”

Ada let out a little snort. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she said.

“If there’s one thing about Amos Ryder, it’s that he’s full of surprises,” I said with a smile. Some days I wasn’t very proud to be me, but I was always proud to be my dad’s son.

I motioned for Ada to go ahead of me, and she stepped into the room. “That door there”—I pointed—“goes to an en suite bathroom, and if you round the corner just outside the bedroom door”—I gestured toward the door—“there’s a sitting area with a similar view. That’s the very back of the house.” It was where I liked to draw whenever I had a chance.

“This is great. Thank you for letting me stay here. I just feel better when I can be the first one on-site and the last one to leave, and staying close by makes that easier. I would sleep on-site if I could.”

“We’re happy to have you,” I said sincerely. Not because I felt pulled to her, not because she was beautiful, and not because I’d kissed her. I was happy she was here because her being here meant that I was on my way to having something at Rebel Blue that was mine.

And that was priceless to me.

Chapter 7

Ada

At this point, it was very hard to believe that my life wasn’t just some big cosmic joke. Weston Ryder was a hot, age-appropriate, and seemingly kind cowboy—not the weather-beaten old rancher I’d been imagining.

And I’d kissed him.

Well, “kissed” was the benign term—especially when I thought about the way he’d pushed me against the wall and pinned my hands above my head, or when I remembered how he felt pressed up against me.

And the memory of it would be all I was going to have, because it would never happen again.

Not only was my jobhisproject, I was living under his roof, and he was technically myboss.

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