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Trust Me With Your Heart, Cowboy (Cavanagh Cowboys 6)

By Valerie Comer

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Chapter 1

“Hey, thanks for coming to help. I thought for sure you would pick moving cattle over helping us get this grass planted.”

Ryder Cavanagh shrugged as he grabbed a bottle of water from the back of his stepbrother’s truck. “I’ve moved cattle a thousand times in my life, but I’ve never sown a lawn before.”

“Me, neither.” Nathaniel laughed. “I only hope the seed germinates somewhat evenly. I was all for getting a landscaping company to come in and lay sod, but Ainsley figured this way was better. Not to mention cheaper.”

“I’m sure she’s right.” Ryder guzzled the water. It was excessively warm for late April in Montana, which gave him the excuse to remove his shirt while he worked. Hey, Nathaniel did it first, so why not?

Most of the brothers had broad shoulders and serious muscles, especially Noah, who was a blacksmith. Ryder was built more like Nat, though they weren’t actually related. When they’d been kids, Blake had jeered at him and called him scrawny.

It had taken Ryder years to get over those taunts. Now, he preferred to think of himself as wiry.

Women doubtless favored built cowboys. The girls in Creekside Fellowship’s youth group had always seemed to go for the bold, swaggering types and, since the blended Cavanagh clan had been home-schooled far from town, Ryder hadn’t had a lot of other exposure to the fairer sex. Somehow his five older brothers had managed to escape Rockstead Ranch and meet the women of their dreams, but he lacked their confidence.

Coming up on twenty-five with no meaningful relationship? He couldn’t blame it all on isolation. No girl could hold a candle to Carey Anderson, and she was off-limits.

Didn’t keep a guy from hoping, though. Which was the precise reason he was down at Nathaniel and Ainsley’s new house helping with the lawn. Ainsley and Carey were good friends, and maybe flexing his scrawny — no, wiry — muscles would get Carey’s attention.

It was a stupid plan.

He glanced toward the house, but there was no one on the deck or visible through the windows. This was probably a total waste of time. Except for the grass. He parked his water bottle on the tailgate. “Ready for that last section?”

Nathaniel wiped his brow and resettled his cowboy hat. “Yep. You want to run the seeder or the roller this time?”

“Whichever.” Ryder was easy.

“Grab the roller then.” Nathaniel shook his head. “It’s okay to have an opinion, bro.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Nat dumped a bag of seed into the drop spreader. “You may not want my advice…”

Nothing good could come from a sentence beginning like that.

“…but you’re always holding back and taking the scraps, whatever someone else doesn’t want. You don’t have to be a bully and demand your own way every time, but it’s okay to speak up once in a while, too.”

“And here I thought easygoing was an art form.” A movement at the window caught Ryder’s attention, but he didn’t look over.

Not when Nathaniel eyed him like that. “I worry about you.”

“Don’t.” Ryder gave the roller an experimental back-and-forth. The thing was too light to show off his muscles. Whatever.

Half an hour later, he finished rolling the seed into firmer contact with the soil while Nathaniel emptied the spreader’s hopper.

“Looking good, guys!” Ainsley called from the back deck. “Want some lemonade and cookies?”

“Do I ever not want lemonade and cookies?” Ryder cocked his eyebrow at Nathaniel’s wife.

“You’ve got a point there, little brother. Come on in before you head back up to the ranch. Carey and I are just organizing things in the kitchen cupboards. I can’t wait to be completely moved in. This house is amazing.”

Ryder’s heart hitched at the mention of Carey’s name, but he ignored it. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the other brand-spanking-new house next door. “Travis and Dakota finished moving in, right?”

“Last week.” Nathaniel set his cowboy hat on the tailgate and tugged his T-shirt back on over his head.

Ryder supposed he should do the same. He’d rather have a quick shower before coming near Carey. She likely wouldn’t appreciate the smell of sweat.

Nathaniel hooked his arm around his wife’s waist and twirled her in for a long kiss.

So, maybe perspiration wasn’t an automatic turnoff.

Ryder shrugged into his snap-front shirt before glancing toward the house again.

Carey stood in the doorway, her shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a ponytail that left wisps around her face. Her pink T-shirt and shortish floral skirt looked amazing on her slim build, and pink toenails gleamed from her bare feet.

His gaze met her brown eyes. Ugh, she’d caught him perusing her. He managed a smile. “Hey, Carey.”

“Hi, Ryder.”

A crash sounded from inside, followed by a piercing wail. Carey pivoted and darted off half a step ahead of Ainsley, who’d needed to disentangle from Nathaniel first.

“Bella!” Ainsley screamed. “Oh, no. Don’t move!”

Ryder dashed into the house on Nathaniel’s heels. The sobbing three-year-old stood in the middle of a puddle surrounded by broken glass, ice cubes, slices of lemon, and sprigs of mint.

A newborn echoed the crying from the other end of the house.

Nathaniel plucked his daughter out of the mess. “You okay, sweetie?”

Ainsley wrung her hands. “I can’t believe she tried to pour the lemonade. I can’t believe I turned my back on her for five seconds. I can’t believe—”

“Shh. She’s not hurt, love. I think she was too frightened to take a step.”

“But she could have stepped on the broken glass! I should have—”

“It’s okay.” Nathaniel shifted Bella to one arm then pulled Ainsley to his side. “I bet she won’t do that again, will you, baby?”

With a hiccupping sob, the little girl leaned her curly head against her daddy’s shoulder and tucked her thumb in her mouth. Nathaniel’s hand nearly covered Bella’s small back as he rubbed it.

Ryder dared breathe. That could have been a lot worse. The heavy pitcher could have dropped on her head and given her a concussion. A lemonade shower was a small price to pay.

Ainsley darted off, and the infant’s cry shushed, too.

Nathaniel met Ryder’s gaze. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just going to get Bella cleaned up and make sure she’s not hurt.”

“Don’t worry about a thing.” Ryder waved his hand. “I’ve got this.”

“Thanks, bro.” Still carrying Bella, Nathaniel strode down the hallway.

Being a husband and father of two suited Nat to a tee. Would Ryder ever get the chance to experience those things himself?

When the bathroom door clicked shut, Ryder turned to survey the mess he’d promised to mop up.

Carey already squatted on the other side, picking up shards and dropping them into the somewhat-intact pitcher base.

His heart lurched. “You shouldn’t be in there with bare feet. I don’t want you to step on any glass.”

She glanced up at him. “I’m being careful. Besides, I think I’ve got most of it already.” She began to stand, wobbling a little as she noticed another shard and stretched for it.

Ryder didn’t stop to think. He simply reached for her to keep her from falling. But, oh. Touching her felt good.

*

Carey nearly stopped breathing as Ryder’s strong hands caught her flailing ones and kept her from tumbling seat first into the puddle of lemonade. Wouldn’t that be undignified, especially in a skirt! She only wanted to prove she was no damsel in distress who would stand by and wring her hands while watching a guy clean up such a big mess.

She was probably as much to blame as Ainsley for leaving the toddler in the same room as temptation. After all, didn’t Bella adore lemonade? Hadn’t she perched on the counter and clapped gleefully as every citrus slice dropped to the bottom before floating upward again?

But now, here Carey was, both wrists caught in Ryder’s grasp as he helped pull her to standing. The cowboy had amazing deep blue eyes. She’d never noticed them quite like this before. She’d only watched him from a distance, because there was no way a guy like him would be interested in a girl like her.

His gaze still holding hers, he loosened his grip. “You okay now?”

“Yes. Thanks.” If only she didn’t sound so breathy, like a vapid female fanning herself in a Regency romance. Her wrists felt a little chilled without his touch, which was all kinds of weird since it must be nearly eighty degrees in here.

“All right.” Ryder took a step back.

So did Carey, but a piercing pain dug into her heel. “Ouch!” She tried to rebalance, get some clear footing, but a slippery lemon slice seemed to be under her other foot.

She was going down.

Except Ryder caught her again, this time swooping her all the way into his arms as the broken pitcher dropped and tipped, some of the shards tumbling back out onto the tile.

“Are you all right?”

He was so close she could smell the sweat on his body from the honest work he’d been doing with Nathaniel. But she could also smell the scent of his aftershave and the mint of his breath.

“Sorry I’m so clumsy.”

He grinned. “I’ve got you.”

“You sure do.” Carey stared back.

Ryder cleared his throat. “Here, let me put you down on a barstool and have a look at your foot. And then you just stay put while I get this cleaned up. I’ve got boots on. I’ll be fine.”

Who was she to argue? “Okay.”

He deposited her gently on a tall stool then squatted in front of her, his strong warm hands angling her foot so he could see the bottom. “Looks like just the one bit.” He flicked it away. “If you feel more, I’ll ask Ainsley for a pair of tweezers, but I think you’re good.”

“Thanks.”

Ryder searched her face for a few seconds.

What was going through his mind? She had no idea. It drove her crazy, because she never could tell with him. Every once in a while, she thought for sure he was interested in her, but then he never said anything, never made any movement in that direction, so she was certain she imagined it. But it happened just often enough — every few months — that she kept wondering.

It was kind of ridiculous, actually. She was a grown woman of twenty-eight, a physical therapist at a great clinic in downtown Jewel Lake. She shouldn’t be pining away after a man who was several years younger than she was, especially not the stepbrother of her cousins. That practically made Ryder family, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

In the twenty-first century, it was perfectly fine for a woman to make the first move. Of course, her maternal grandmother would turn over in her grave at the very thought of such impropriety, but it was all Granny Wilson’s fault for not doing a better job of hiding her stash of Georgette Heyer novels. Carey had been heartbroken after her parents’ divorce and having to start over in a new neighborhood and school in Missoula. She’d discovered Granny’s bookshelf at a rather impressionable age, and the escape into another time and world had been a healing balm.

Granny had been horrified when she discovered Carey tucked up with Cotillion, dreaming that, like Kitty Charing, a rich, handsome suitor would fall in love with her. The shelf in Granny’s room had emptied overnight, but by then Carey had a library card and kept reading until she’d exhausted every one of the Queen of Regency’s novels she could find.

She watched as Ryder used half a roll of paper towel to gather the mess, dropping the saturated wads into the trash can. He was nearly done when she heard Ainsley’s voice coming nearer.

Carey should probably be down on the floor helping, but hadn’t Ryder given her strict orders? Far be it from her to upset the guy, even though he didn’t seem to have the temper some of his family was reputed to have.

“Oh, Ryder!” Ainsley stopped in the doorway holding two-week-old Oakley. “I’m so sorry you felt you had to clean all that up.”

“No prob, Ainsley.” He shot his sister-in-law an easy grin. “Is Bella okay? Carey stepped on a little piece of glass, but I think she’s good now.”

“Bella’s fine. Nathaniel is giving her a bath.” Ainsley’s gaze found Carey’s. “And you got cut?”

“I’m really fine. Ryder took care of it, just like he’s taking care of the rest of it.” She couldn’t even be bitter about being sidelined. Wasn’t that what a gentleman was supposed to do?

“I just need a bucket of soapy water now.” Ryder set the diminished roll of paper towel on the counter across the room. “Before your new tiles dry all sticky.”

“You’re amazing, Ryder.” Ainsley stretched to give her brother-in-law a little peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Red bloomed across his face as he shot a teensy glance at Carey. “Glad I could help.”

“I don’t even know where a bucket is. I can’t believe my baby brain.” Ainsley wrung her hands. “Did we unpack cleaning supplies yet, Carey?”

“Hall closet. I’d get it myself, but I have strict orders…” Carey gestured to her feet. They were nearly as sticky as the floor. “If someone would bring me warm water, I’d love to wash, and then I can help.”

“I’ll get that for you.” Ryder pivoted toward the hallway.

“What got into him?” Ainsley frowned, jiggling Oakley. “He’s acting all weird.”

No way was Carey going to express her opinion on that one because, just this once, it seemed as though Ryder saw her. For real.

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