Page 2 of Bringing Home A Cowboy
I hesitate, then nod. “Go ahead. It’s not exactly a secret.”
The lawyer folds his hands. “Your grandfather’s will stipulates that in order for Olivia to retain ownership of the ranch—and the trust attached—she must be married by Christmas.”
James blinks. “Married?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Harlan replies. “Otherwise, the land transfers to the county trust.”
I let out a dry laugh. “So unless I find a husband in about two weeks, the ranch and everything my grandfather built gets handed over to bureaucrats.”
James studies me for a long moment, expression unreadable. “That’s a tough break.”
“You could say that.”
“Anyone in mind?” he asks, curious but not teasing.
“Not unless I can bribe someone at the diner.”
He tilts his head slightly. “Cady Springs might surprise you.”
Our eyes meet for longer than necessary. The room feels smaller, and Mr. Harlan senses something too. He interrupts the quiet.
“Olivia, where are you staying while you’re here?”
“Well, I planned on staying at the ranch. I’m allowed, right?”
“Certainly, you are. James will get you settled in there. Right, James?”
“It would be my pleasure, ma’am,” he says, tipping his hat toward me in that sexy western way. Won’t see any men in New York doing that. Maybe Cady Springs does hold some possibilities for me. We’ll see.
Chapter 2
James
When I follow her outside, the cold hits sharp enough to wake every thought in my head. Miss Martin moves fast with her breath puffing out in little white bursts. I suppose she’s in a big hurry to find a husband and keep the ranch. Or maybe she’s just wound tight. Her every movement screams city.
“You all right, ma’am?” I ask.
She laughs, short and dry. “Define all right. I’ve been in Colorado for less than four hours, and apparently I need a husband before Christmas or I lose everything I stand to inherit.”
“That’d rattle anyone,” I say. It’s not pity … just the truth.
We stop near my truck, both looking out over the snow-dusted street.
“My grandfather always said this town could survive anything,” she murmurs. “I guess he meant everyone except me.”
“When was the last time you came here?” I ask.
“Teenager,” she says. “I spent every summer here until college. My siblings hated it, but I …” Her voice softens. “I loved it. The quiet. The smell of hay and coffee in the mornings. Grandpa used to say you can tell a person’s heart by the way they treat their land.”
“He wasn’t wrong,” I tell her. She looks away, but I can see the way the memory sits heavy on her.
I respect her granddad. Always did. He paid fair, treated folks right, never cut corners. I’ve been running his ranch the same way because it felt like the right thing to do and … that’s who I am.
“I should probably go up to the ranch,” she says after a moment. “It’s been years.”
“I can drive you.”
She blinks. “Oh. You don’t have to. I have a rental car.”
