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She paid just enough attention to the wheel to stay on the drive, the rest she kept on the horse and rider just ahead. A girl could look, couldn’t she? Appreciate? It was just her bad luck to be what she was: a plain, ordinary woman most men, but especially men like Rylan Rafferty, looked right past.
Especially when there was a woman like Jillian in view.
Chapter Five
Ry handed Flyeroff to one of the hands, who’d agreed beforehand with a grin, knowing how much he was dreading this. Now Ry was wishing he’d seen to the horse himself; he’d be calmer if he had something to do with his hands.
“I thought we’d do this where you do your work,” Jillian said as he led them toward the house.
“Maybe later,” he said.Emphasis on the maybe.
He was protective of his workspace out in the smaller of the two barns, and he didn’t let strangers in easily. That space had been the second biggest reason, after his family, that he’d come home. When Mom had offered him the entire smaller barn now that the bigger one was finished, he’d jumped at it.
He’d known he’d probably have to allow access for this, but that didn’t mean he was in a hurry to do it. Maybe he could limit it to just the photographer. He didn’t think he’d mind her so much. If she was good, as he figured she must be if she was working forTexas Artworks, then she would probably respect the space. But photos of it would still end up in the article.
Great. Talk about lose-lose.Pictures of either his studio, or him, more likely both, in a magazine with a national reach. He reminded himself he owed the man who’d helped launch his work into profitability, and who had pushed for him to do this. “It’ll raise your profile. You’ll be famous, and so busy you can pick and choose your clients,” he’d said. Ry had liked the pick and choose part. The famous part, no.Right where I don’t want to be.
He tried to focus. He needed to at least pay attention here. Manners, he reminded himself. He could do manners. After having them drummed into him by both his parents, he darn well should be able to.
He felt the usual jab of pain at the parent who was missing from his life now, even after two decades. But the lessons his father had taught him before his death were perhaps the ones he’d learned best. And his mother, loving and tough at the same time, had made damned sure he, and his brothers, never forgot those lessons.
Speaking of his brothers, the youngest was clearly playing again.
“Whoa!”
It was that voice, the photographer’s voice. He looked at her, saw her looking upward. She’d heard the sound and triangulated it barely an instant after he had. “My brother Cody,” he explained. “He plays with drones.”
“Cool,” she said, and her smile this time was appreciative, and as genuine as the one he’d seen before.
“That’s the message drone. Cody designed an app to go with it, so you can text in a message that can be downloaded on the other end.”
The little device neatly sat down at the bottom of the porch steps. He went over and picked it up, then straightened to look at her again.
“Handy guy to have around,” she said, and she was still smiling. And for some reason he found himself going on.
“Another brother lives out in the far corner of the ranch, and the cell reception out there is lousy, so we use it to reach him. He was probably letting Chance know you’re here.”
“Chance? Is he the one who works with MWDs?”
He blinked. “Yes,” he said after a moment of surprise.
“The lady at the inn told me,” she explained. “What a great thing he’s doing.”
“Yes, it is. Those dogs deserve his efforts.”
There was a quick movement to his left, and suddenly the other woman was close at his side. Too close. Then the pretty blonde was grasping his arm. “You mean those…attack dogs?” Ms. Jacobs said, and something in her tone had Ry thinking she wasn’t so much afraid of dogs as she was tired of not being the center of attention.
“They’re hero dogs, not attack dogs,” Kaitlyn said, an edge in her voice now.
The reporter ignored the comment and, not even looking at the other woman, said, “Why don’t you go get all your stuff out of the car, dear?” This was accompanied by a flick of her hand, as if shooing off a pesky mosquito. A hand with fingernails that made Ry wonder how she managed to use a keyboard. If indeed she did; maybe she just dictated her articles.
And left it for some poor editor to clean up any goofs.
Oh, this was not starting well. She might be gorgeous, he was willing to admit that, but he could do without the attitude. It—and she—indeed reminded him of Chelsea, and he wasn’t going to be fooled by that again.
But the photographer didn’t protest, simply shrugged and turned as if to go back to the car as ordered.
“Hey,” Ry said, “I don’t know your name.”
