Ross: Riding Hard, Book 5

  “Malorys.” Ross sat down as the waitress, looking amused, set an empty cup in front of Callie, then filled both cups with hot brew. “Want any pie, Callie?” Ross asked. “Pecan is the specialty today.”

  He regretted the words as soon as he said them—some women grew offended if offered food that might put an ounce on their hips. He’d once gone out with a woman who’d refused to eat anything but a few leaves of lettuce.

  “I love pecan pie,” Callie gushed. “Sounds like the perfect end to my day. Put lots of whipped cream on it,” she told the waitress, who was one of Mrs. Ward’s daughters.

  “You got it.” She made a note on her pad. “Two slices of pecan pie. One with extra whipped cream.”

  The waitress scooted off, a bounce in her step. Everyone was laughing at Ross tonight.

  “Hope your horse is all right,” Ross said. At least ranchers could talk about animals if they couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Oh, yeah, she is. It was gas.” Callie toyed with the napkin holder as she spoke. “She got a belly full of it and was groaning and rolling around. We were worried, but Anna had her up and fine in no time. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, but I didn’t want to run off until I knew she was okay. I would have called but I didn’t want to phone your office again.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to apologize.”

  Callie looked up at him, and Ross was stunned to see stark fear in her eyes. Afraid of Ross’s reaction to her tardiness? Or something else?

  He covered her hand with his.

  Callie’s eyes widened, and she glanced at the filled tables around them. Everyone would have caught Ross’s move, and it would be all over town tomorrow.

  Ross didn’t lift his hand. Callie’s fingers were cold under his, but also soft, smooth, lovely.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “It’s just coffee and pie. Not the apocalypse.”

  Callie didn’t jerk away, but she didn’t relax. “If you want the truth, I seriously debated coming this evening. I haven’t gone out much, you know, since …”

  Since her asshole of a fiancé had humiliated her in front of the entire town.

  “This isn’t out,” Ross said. Even Manny had recognized the difference. “This is Mrs. Ward’s diner. It’s like most people’s living rooms. My sister-in-law is in the kitchen even now, whipping up pastries for tomorrow’s breakfast crowd.”

  Callie sent him a fleeting smile. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. It’s been tough.”

  Ross gently moved his hand. “If you’re worried about people talking about you—first, everyone in Riverbend talks about everybody else, and second, what happened was his fault, not yours. He’s the outsider, and he hurt one of our own. The town’s on your side, Callie.”

  She flushed. “Maybe—that’s real sweet—but still. It’s embarrassing. Everyone feels sorry for me, and I’ll never be able to shake that. I’m always going to be the Jones girl who got left at the altar.”

  She was right, and Ross couldn’t deny it. Even Kyle had described her so—Callie? Who made a run for your sheriff’s car on her wedding day?

  The wedding guests had witnessed Ross drive Callie to the church and Ross drive her home. The only reason that gossip hadn’t stirred into a wildfire was because they’d seen Manny with them, and Ross returning not long later to drive Manny to the trailer park on the west side of town. Plus he’d turned up at Circle C after that to cook dinner.

  Now Callie was meeting Ross for coffee, and everyone in the diner watched, waiting to go home and talk about it.

  Mrs. Ward’s daughter breezed back with two giant slices of pie, one piled so high with whipped cream that no pie could be seen beneath it. She sloshed more coffee into the cups they’d barely touched. “Enjoy,” she said brightly, and rushed away again.

  “Maybe I should ask for a box,” Callie said, eyeing her slice. “I’ll eat it at home.”

  Ross looked around the diner. Yep, everyone was interested. Most pretended not to be, but some blatantly stared. There was Jack Hillman, one of Carter’s friends, more biker than cowboy. Jack had curiosity on his bearded face, his tattooed hands lifting a giant burger as he eyed them. Mr. Carew, the sleekly dressed head of the bank, ate quietly by himself but kept his attention on Ross and Callie in the corner.

  At least none of Ross’s brothers were here at the moment. He could be thankful for that.

  “Fuck ’em,” Ross said.

  Callie jumped. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Fuck ’em.” He lifted his fork. “Eat your pie. Live your life. To hell with them.”

  “Oh.” Callie slid her fork from the paper napkin rolled around it. “I see what you mean.”

  She dug into the mountain of cream and shoved a huge forkful into her mouth.

  There was so much cream it slathered across her lips and dropped to her chin. Callie burst into laughter, grabbed her napkin, and pressed it to her face.

  Ross watched her eyes light up, making her even more beautiful. She moved her napkin to reveal the cream smeared all over her lips. Ross wanted to lean over and lick it off, and the need shot through his veins.

  “I think it went up my nose.” Callie’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

  “Well, that’s a hell of a lot of whipped cream. Let me help you with that.” Ross scooped up a gob from her plate, making sure his hand didn’t shake, and ate it himself. “Mmm. Damn good. I like how Mrs. Ward puts cinnamon in it.”

  Callie nodded, her napkin again on her mouth. “It’s great.”

  “Better eat it up then. Before I do.”

  She wiped her face and lowered her napkin, her lips flecked with cream. Ross stopped his finger from floating forward and brushing the dots from her mouth. He’d revel in the soft warmth of her lips, but then the town’s cellular system might crash with all the texting he’d cause.

  Callie stabbed at the pie, pushing aside the whipped cream, and ate a bite. “This really is good.”

  “Mrs. Ward makes one hell of a pie.”

  “I know. I don’t have the chance to try it very often.”

  “Poor little rich girl.” Ross gave her sad eyes. “You had to have your personal cook make you pie.”

  As he’d hoped, he made Callie’s worry flee. She gave him a mock severe look and pointed her fork at him. “See, that’s the kind of attitude that drives me nuts. My mom cooked all our meals, and taught us how too—she only has help for her parties, like your mom. My folks didn’t hand my sisters and me everything because we asked for it, and they still don’t. We went to college on academic scholarships, and we work at real jobs …” She trailed off. “At least I was.”

  “Yeah? What were you doing?”

  Ross had teased her to animate her. The Jones sisters had always been proud they could stand on their own feet, and the moroseness in Callie’s voice tugged him.

  “I was going to work at a rehab ranch in Dallas,” she said. “Rescuing horses from bad situations, or ones coming off the tracks or rodeo circuits. Find them new homes or let the truly bad cases go peacefully. It’s something I really wanted to do.”

  “What’s stopping you from moving to Dallas and doing it anyway?”

  She gave him a startled look. “Hmm? Oh, I didn’t give it up because of Devon. My friend, Nicole, who runs the ranch, will have to close it. Her funding source dried up. We tried an online fundraiser, and my dad and I donated as much as we could, but it wasn’t enough. I’m trying to figure out how to help her, because she’s doing good things.”

  Ross knew from experience exactly how horses could be abused, sometimes from ignorance, but he didn’t consider that an excuse. He also knew that horses finished with their racing life were sometimes abandoned, or taken out, shot, and left for the buzzards. There were plenty of shitheads out there who had no business being anywhere near horses.

  “Can she relocate?” he asked.

  “I hope so. I’d like to bring her to Riverbend, or at least nearby—there’s more room out here.
Part of Nicole’s problem is encroachment. New developments surround her, and they’re trying to knock her off the property, which she doesn’t own—she leases it. Pretty soon the owner is going to realize how much money he can make selling to developers, and that will be the end of that.”

  Callie’s eyes were starry, and she balled her fists, her pie forgotten. Ross was glad to see her adamance. Too many people believed Callie was hiding in her daddy’s house, moping, and Ross admitted he’d believed that too. He hadn’t seen her around after he’d left her, wet and in her wedding gown, inside her front door. Not until today.

  “Why don’t you talk it over with my mom?” Ross asked. “Get yourself to the barbecue and corner her over the hot dogs. It’s the kind of thing she’d be interested in. My family runs a nonprofit to help start-ups in Riverbend.”

  “Really?” The hope in Callie’s eyes drove away her shyness. “Sure she wouldn’t mind? That would be great.”

  The beautiful Callie Jones returned, her face flushed, her smile flashing, hands waving as she talked.

  The untouchable debutante was now right across the table from him, pouring out her heart. The warmth in Ross grew, igniting the spark that had never died.

  He let Callie talk—about the rehab ranch, about horses—as she absently ate the pie, smearing more cream on her lips. Ross listened, interested but also distracted by the need gripping his body.

  Her ex had to have been crazy. What idiot would desert this woman because she’d been behind schedule? Ross would have waited days for her, sleeping under the altar in case she showed up in the night.

  “I’m sorry,” Callie said. Ross snapped his attention back to her as she laid her fork on her empty plate. “I’ve been running on. I can’t believe I ate all that cream. Extra miles for me.”

  Ross raised his brows. “Jogging?”

  “Riding. My sisters jog. I get bored after five minutes and my knees hurt. On a horse, though, I can go for hours. The ranch is huge. I can get lost out there. Be alone.”

  “You love it,” Ross said. “Your dad’s ranch.”

  “Of course I love it. Don’t you love your family’s place? I wish I was a man so I could run it with him.”

  Ross did have great fondness for Circle C Ranch and his memories there. He’d taken a town job for his own reasons.

  “Why do you have to be a man?” he asked in true puzzlement. “My mom has run Circle C for more than twenty years, on her own at first, until my brothers and I were old enough to help out.”

  Callie shrugged. “My family is very traditional. Men run the business. Women join the right sorority and get married.” She let out a laugh. “Not that my sisters went for that. Montana has a degree in astronomy and she’s teaching courses at UT. She’s not a professor yet—she’s doing post-doc work. You’ve heard that Evelyn’s singing in Austin—recording songs and trying to sell them. I’m the only one who took the traditional route. I wanted to go to vet school at A&M, but you kind of have to be brilliant, like Anna, to get in. I learned to accept a while back that I’m not brilliant. But I’m good with horses, so the rehab ranch was a godsend … And I’m talking too much again. Ross, you have to learn to tell me to stop.”

  Ross couldn’t keep the satisfaction from his heart. Telling him to learn to stop her meant that she intended to be in this kind of situation again.

  “I should go.” Callie sounded full of regret, another good sign.

  “I’ll walk you out.” Ross signaled for the bill, which Mrs. Ward’s daughter brought, setting it squarely in front of Ross.

  Callie reached for her purse.

  “Don’t you dare,” Ross said. “Me taking out Callie Jones will make me a hero. Don’t ruin it by having us go dutch.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth to argue. “You can take me out next time.”

  Callie stared at him, lips parted, then she gave him a nod and set the purse on her lap. “All right,” she said softly.

  Ross’s hands shook as he rummaged in his wallet for cash, including enough for a very generous tip.

  There was going to be a next time.

  * * *

  Callie tried not to be nervous as she parked her Mercedes, superbly fixed by K.D., Ross’s recommended mechanic, in the gravel lot roped off for the Circle C Annual Summer Barbecue.

  She hadn’t promised Ross she’d come, but she’d made up her mind to talk about the rehab ranch with his mother. Olivia Campbell was a well-respected and formidable woman, famous for her charitable works. Her advice about the rehab ranch would be invaluable. Callie also insisted on paying for a ticket. Mrs. Campbell didn’t need to give her a free ride.

  Callie didn’t let herself admit the other reason she’d come. She pretended not to scan the crowd for Ross, not to look for his tall body, dark hair, and flashing smile.

  When they’d left the diner, he’d politely walked her to her car, where they’d stood for almost another half hour, talking about everything and nothing.

  After too many curious Riverbenders had walked past them, heads swiveling to catch every detail, Ross had opened the car door for her, made certain she’d settled in, and shut the door again, waiting to watch her drive off.

  Not because he was a possessive asshole, Callie had realized as she’d glided away, returning Ross’s wave. Because he cared.

  Devon had never once listened to her like Ross had in Mrs. Ward’s diner. Ross had fixed his complete attention on her, asking about her interests and taking in her answers. Devon’s eyes had always glazed whenever Callie brought up the rehab ranch, and after a while, he hadn’t even bothered with a, “That’s nice, honey.”

  Callie gazed across the many cars to the long lines of barbecue pits, smoke wafting over the open grassland. What must be the entire population of Riverbend and surrounding towns drifted around the grills and the Campbell house, or headed into the field where tables and benches had been set up. A band tested sound equipment on a shaded stage at the far end.

  Callie’s heart thumped when she thought she spotted Ross, then it fell back to dull thuds when she saw that the man was not her Campbell. Tyler, next up in age, was plenty good-looking—all the girls had yearned after him in school—but he wasn’t Ross.

  Before Callie could analyze the thoughts in her head, her cell phone rang.

  She dragged the phone out of her purse, and her eyes widened when she saw the name on the screen.

  “Trina?” she said into it. “What the hell? I haven’t heard from you in months!”

  Her best friend hadn’t called her since the day Callie had fled the church. The one person she’d thought she’d be able to talk to hadn’t answered the phone or returned any of Callie’s calls.

  Callie had given up on Trina after the first couple of weeks, resigned to losing every part of the life she thought she’d built in Dallas.

  “Hey, Callie.” Trina sounded angry, but her voice was even, controlled. “Devon wants to talk to you.”

  Chapter Six

  Devon?” Callie said in bewilderment, then outrage slammed through her. “Why? I mean why now? He hasn’t said one word to me since he ditched me. Neither have you.”

  “Can you blame him? Why didn’t you go after him? Why didn’t you call and explain? I can’t believe you just let him hang like that. We were going to have so much fun, and now that’s all gone.”

  Callie stared into the distance as Trina’s words jabbed her like electric shocks.

  She’d taken Ross’s advice and not called Devon. Ross had been right that Callie’s crime of tardiness was far less severe than Devon’s act of dumping Callie, in her wedding dress, in front of her family, her friends, and the entire community.

  Weeks had passed, but Devon remained silent. After a few days of crying alternating with fury, Callie’s sisters and parents helplessly trying to make her feel better, then a couple weeks of out-and-out depression, Callie had decided it was over. She’d at first imagined Devon would call, and they’d fight it out, but obviously he hadn’t thoug
ht it worth his time. She and her sisters and mom had sent back all the wedding gifts, then Evelyn and Montana had gone home, back to their lives, as should be.

  Callie had let Devon go. Moved on. One reason she’d made herself meet Ross at the diner the other night was to take a positive step in her new life.

  “He wants to talk, does he?” Callie asked, amazed at both her rage and how calm her voice remained.

  “Yes. Let him, Callie,” Trina said. “Let’s fix this.”

  “It’s kinda late for that, don’t you think? He’s had what, nearly three months to explain why the hell he had a temper tantrum and stomped off? It wasn’t my fault I was late, which I would have explained, but no one gave a shit. Including you.” Callie abruptly realized she hurt worse about Trina shunning her than about Devon—Trina had been her friend, her rock, through college and her years in Dallas. “You’re my best friend. I thought you’d call or come see me right away, that you’d help me cope.”

  “You forget, my husband is Devon’s best friend.” Trina’s voice held tears. “I couldn’t betray them.”

  Callie rubbed her aching forehead. Brett and Devon were closer than brothers, and she’d looked forward to that closeness between all four of them. The Four Musketeers, Brett called them. Cliché, but it felt good to be included.

  “Trina, I’m really sorry you’re upset.” Callie forced her voice to steady. “Of course I wouldn’t want to cause trouble between you and Brett. I’ve had a lot of time to think it over, and I’ve decided Devon is out of my life. Whoever’s fault it is doesn’t matter anymore. We had a lot of fun, but it’s done now. Doesn’t mean you and I can’t still be friends.”

  “Will you just talk to him?”

  Callie let out a sigh. “I’ll think about it. I’ll call him in a couple days. I have a lot going on at the moment.”

  Trina made a startled noise. “No, I mean talk to him right now. He’s here with us.”

  Callie jerked the phone from her ear, as though Devon himself had appeared next to her. No, no, no. Not ready. She felt sick. Not for another ten years at least.