Home on the Ranch: The Cowboy's Dilemma
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Pamela Britton
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Chapter 1
“Please tell me that isn’t what I think that is.”
Flynn Gillian spun toward the feminine voice, the eviction notice he’d been holding nearly sliding from his fingertips when he spotted the petite brunette who came up behind him.
“Never mind. I can see by your face that it is,” she said. “Which means that a day that couldn’t possibly get worse suddenly has.”
Amy Jensen. That was who she had to be, although he’d never met his dad’s tenant before.
She shook her head a little and he thought she might just walk away—she looked like she was having that kind of day. Instead, she plunked down on the concrete landing that stretched across the front of the one-bedroom farmhouse she rented from his family, then tossed her purse off to one side. The thing tipped over, spilling the contents—breath mints, keys, wallet. She didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Great.”
That was all she said, but in that one word there lay a wealth of emotions. Frustration. Disappointment. Resignation. Maybe he should just set the paper down and walk away.
Except...
He’d never been proof against a woman in distress. Not his little sister, not his mother—back when she’d been alive—and not this one, apparently.
He slid past her, turned back to face her. She rested her chin in her hands, a single tear sliding down her face, and from nowhere came the urge to wipe it away.
“You can go ahead and leave it.” She waved a hand at him. “I know I’m behind. I know I was supposed to make a payment before midnight last night even though, really, who’s going to make a payment at 11:59 at night, especially when it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open lately, which is why I thought there was something seriously wrong with me. Well, that and the fact that I can’t keep anything in my stomach, which is why I went to the doctor today thinking—ohhhhh, I don’t know—maybe I had cancer or something. But, SURPRISE, I’m not terminally ill. No. I’m just pregnant and the father of my unborn child is a piece of you-know-what who ran off with his fitness trainer, who, by the way, is the size of a twig. They both moved to another city, which is why I can’t afford my rental payments, because that piece of you-know-what who was supposed to pay half told me to go fish, but I mean, really, am I surprised? The lease is in my name. And so, my knight in tarnished armor has fled the castle. So much for fairy tales, right?”
She looked ready to lose it. Her voice had gotten higher and higher with each word, her nose redder and redder, and another tear was falling from her eye. He thought about doing as she asked and just leaving, but something made him sit down next to her instead.
“Have you talked to my dad about any of this?”
She leaned away from him, brown hair swinging around to one shoulder as she met his gaze. “Your dad?”
He tipped his cowboy hat back, scooting sideways to give her a bit more space. “I’m Flynn Gillian. Reese, your landlord, is my dad.”
She closed her eyes, turned her face away. “Well, of course you are.”
What was that supposed to mean?
“No, I haven’t talked to him. I honestly thought I would have the money before today. Mrs. Deborah Donatello owes me a bunch of money for all the work I did on her wedding, but in hindsight, maybe I should have given her until 11:58 p.m. to pay me. That way I could make a payment at 11:59.” She sucked in another breath. “Hindsight, right?”
Flynn stared down at the toes of his cowboy boots. “Having a tough go of it, are we?”
He heard her sigh. “You might say that.”
There was a speck of dirt on the tip of his boot. He tried to brush it off. “My mom used to say ‘this, too, shall pass.’”
“Well—” she sighed “—this won’t pass for at least another eight months, and then there’s the whole other eighteen years to deal with, but we don’t need to get into that.”
They sat there in silence and he wondered if he should try to pat her back or something. He hated seeing a woman so upset. When a breeze tugged at the leaves of the nearby oaks, he watched as leaves fell to the ground in a brown-hued blizzard. It was the time of day when the sun had sunk so low on the horizon it painted the whole valley in golds and reds. Holidays were coming soon. It’d be Christmas before he knew it.
“You really don’t have to stay.” She stared at her hands. “I’ll figure this out.”
“So, you’re going to keep it? The baby?”
She inhaled, tipped her head back as if looking to heaven for guidance. “I don’t know. I only just found out today.” She shook her head. “I was thinking, I don’t know, I’d give him or her up for adoption, but then I thought about my childhood and how messed up it was and that here I was being given a chance to do it all over again, only better, and so now...”
She wasn’t sure.
“And the dad? Does he know?”
“He knows.” She shrugged. “I told him today. Doesn’t care. Said I needed to prove it was his. As if I was the one sleeping around.” She wiped at her face. “What an idiot I was to think he was ‘the one.’ More like the one to avoid.”
Her voice sounded muffled. He knew she held back more tears, and even though he didn’t know her, it broke his heart.
“You know...” He shouldn’t do it, not without checking with his dad first, but to hell with it. “I’m just going to rip this thing up for now.”
The sound of him tearing the paper filled the air, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn toward him again, mouth open in shock. His dad would probably kill him, he thought, tucking the ripped halves back in his pocket. The rental property was a relatively new addition to Gillian Ranch. His brother Carson had built the place, a single-story home tucked into a tiny valley at the south end of their property, right off the main road. It’d been his brother’s first major construction project and an homage to the old farmhouses he loved so much. Amy was their first tenant. His dad had said she’d been great...up until now.
“Look, I’ll explain to my dad what’s going on. He’ll understand. You can catch up on your rent later.” He stood up, not at all sure how his dad would feel about the arrangement he’d just made, but oh, well. “I’ll tell him to call you.”
He started to walk away.
“Wait.”
He debated with himself whether to pretend he hadn’t heard her but ended up turning back. She wiped at her eyes again, quickly, squaring her shoulders.
“I’m not...” She stood and he realized she was a good deal shorter than he was. Pretty, if one liked the damsel-in-distress type, which he very definitely did not. And yet he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her heart-shaped face.
“I can’t take your charity.”
Yes, she could, because no matter the brave smile she might try to put on, this was a woman about to face some serious life decisions.
Pregnant. Alone. Broke.
His sister had been in a similar situation not too long ago, and his dad still hated himself for cutting her off. They’d patched things up since then, but Flynn had a feeling once Reese Gillian heard her tale he’d rethink his decision to boot her out.
“Your brother Maverick’s getting married, isn’t he?”
That was the absolute last thing he expected to hear, but he nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s what I thought.” She lifted a hand, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t move.”
And then she was gone with a flick of her brown hair, leaving the scent of her—roses—behind. Flynn stood there wondering just what the heck he’d gotten himself into and why he had a feeling his life would never be the same again.
“Where is it? Where is it?” Amy muttered to herself, opening up drawer after drawer in the tiny little desk to the right of her couch that served as a command center for her fledgling business. “There it is.”
She pulled out a flyer, holding it aloft before turning back to the front of the house.
Pregnant.
She skidded to a stop, lifted a shaking hand to her mouth, sickness threatening to derail her as she stood at the front door, hands over her flat belly. Pregnant with Trent’s baby.
And he didn’t believe it was his.
For a moment the pain from her heart breaking in two swamped her insides like storm surge from a hurricane. She had to rest her head against the front door. It wasn’t that she loved him anymore. Oh, no. Trent had taken that love and bludgeoned it to death the moment he’d admitted his affair with Tiffany. It was that he’d accused her of being unfaithful—her, when all she’d ever done was bend over backward to make Trent happy.
Her fingers began to ache and it was only then that she realized she held on to the knob for dear life. She didn’t have time for self-pity right now. She had to pull herself together. She needed a roof over her head and she had an idea as to how to accomplish that.
Several deep breaths later, she pulled open the front door, relieved to spy Flynn Gillian still standing there, all tall, dark and handsome and so kind and thoughtful that she couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking her a complete loser.
“Here.” She waved the brochure. “Look.”
He seemed puzzled. She didn’t blame him. Poor guy probably thought she was crazy.
“I’m a wedding planner.” She thrust the trifold pamphlet at him. “I could do your brother’s wedding. You know, in trade or something. Or until I get paid by my client. Or however you want to work it.”
The dratted man shook his head. “Nah. I don’t think—”
“No. Please. Let me finish.”
She’d never taken a dime from anyone. Not once. She’d been out on her own since she was seventeen years old. Five years, she’d made it on her own—first college, then opening up her business. Five years and she’d done all right.
Until Trent.
She inhaled again. Enough. No more tears.
“I’m a good wedding planner.” She grabbed his hand, meaning to place the brochure in his palm, but a charge of static electricity zapped them so that she let him go in surprise. She wondered if he’d felt it, too, but when he didn’t say anything, she plunged ahead with her speech. “I have a degree in hospitality. I’ve done half a dozen weddings already. I’m known for whimsical weddings. See, that’s the name of my business. Whimsical Weddings. I don’t do the standard here-comes-the-bride stuff. I do things like tracking down the only pumpkin-shaped carriage in the western United States and arranging for my bride to be dressed like Cinderella, that kind of thing. Here.”
And this time he took the brochure. She couldn’t contain her relief.
“I’m a wedding planner,” she said again. “And I’m super creative. Ask Mrs. Donatello. Her wedding went off without a hitch, and it was beautiful. We did this whole fairy-and-cherub theme for her wedding. Lots of tulle and toadstools. Super cute. I could do the same for your brother.”
He didn’t even look at the paper she’d handed him. “I’m not sure my brother wants tulle or toadstools.”
“No. Of course not. We’d do something different. But please ask. I’ll do anything. I’ll take pictures. Or decorate. Or cater the event. Whatever you guys need.”
Finally, he glanced at her brochure, but it clearly didn’t help to convince him, because he barely even looked at it before meeting her gaze again. “I’m sure my dad will give you more time for the rent. Once I explain to him what’s going on, he’s not going to want to boot you out. There’s no need to go to all this trouble.”
“That’s just it.” She took a step closer. “It’s no trouble at all. It’s what I do.”
“Yes, but still—”
“Please.” She placed a hand on his chest. He stared at it for a moment before taking a small step back. “Just talk to your brother. And your dad.”
He didn’t look like he wanted to, but he nodded. Amy was so relieved she found herself smiling for the first time that day.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
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