Page 22 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

At around ten the next morning, my doorbell rings, waking me. I pile up my hair in a loose ponytail and step out into the living room with a wide stretch.

Six hours.

The most sleep I’ve gotten all week. The world needs more Sundays.

If I wasn’t so mortified about last night, I’d have texted Wilder to thank him for letting me stay at the cottage.

It’s been something of a dream staying here the last few nights. Fully equipped kitchen, my own washer and dryer—it feels like a vacation with a penthouse suite.

I haven’t actually been here on a Sunday morning, so I imagine this is a wakeup call of some sorts. I stalk to the door in my pajamas.

My cart is parked outside and I notice something on the seat.

I glance around before striding over and lifting the brown paper bag, immediately smelling what’s inside. Coffee and a cappuccino muffin.

There’s a note scribbled on the bag.

Love you. Wes.

“An apology would be nice,” I grumble.

I bring it inside and close the door, resisting the urge to text him that I’m still not speaking to him.

After breakfast, I flip through the pamphlets that Ginger gave me and circle some ideas for today, since there’s no way I’m staying in.

I want to see the town, go shopping. Meet people who won’t throw me against a wall—even if it is to get me out of the line of fire.

Though, Callahan or not, I’m not convinced Dusty is as evil as Wesley and the Thorne brothers paint her.

When I drive my cart outside the gate, it takes me back to Wednesday, when Wilder took me out for breakfast when he thought I was going to pass out from malnutrition.

I’m not angry at him for leaving last night. I’m just mortified. He’s got a ranch to run. A family business to keep from crumbling. A brother who’s still grieving. And I’m here acting like a girl with a crush.

Stupid.

My first stop is the bookstore. I pick up three books. Two thrillers by authors I recognize, and one romance by an author who is new to me.

At the checkout, I set the romance book aside when I notice it’s about a small-town cowboy. Nope, not going there. “Just these two actually.”

The checkout girl smirks. “Cowboys not your thing?”

I smile back. “I prefer serial killers. At least you know their next move.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t say anything.

Thirty minutes later, I’m at the street fair, looking at a pair of beige cowgirl boots that would go with nearly every outfit I brought with me.

My phone pings with a text. I take a quick peek before strongly considering shutting the damn thing off for the day.

My brother.

Wesley: Where are you?

Rose: Just stopped by a warehouse to trade an organ for a pair of boots. Why?

Wesley: Which organ?

I debate on sending back, My brain, since you don’t think I have one.

Wesley: I’ll double whatever they’re offering.

I laugh and slide my phone away just as I hear a familiar sweet voice.

“Who’s got you laughing?”

I look up, my eyes brightening at the friendly face. “Ginger.” I hug her and she pats my back gently. “Took your advice and hitting up everything there is to see in one day.”

“That’s a mighty long day. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

A deep voice comes from behind her. “Well then, you can come have lunch with us.”

I look up at the man whose features are strangely familiar. “Hello,” I greet him tentatively, my gaze flicking to Ginger.

He extends a hand. “Connor Thorne.”

“Thorne? You’re Wilder’s dad.”

He nods, pulling up his belt buckle. “That’s one of ’em.”

I smile. “I’m Rose.”

He nods like he knows everything that goes on at his ranch. “Wesley’s sister. You’re helping out for the summer. My boy giving you any trouble?”

“I think I’m giving him trouble. He just hasn’t fired me yet.”

He laughs. “Oh, this should be good. Come to lunch with us, want to hear all about it.” The man glances at the item I’m holding in my hands and moves in front of me to pay for the boots.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I try to argue.

“I insist.” He thanks the vendor, who bags them up for me and the three of us start walking. “It’s been a minute since I bought a pretty lady a pair of cowgirl boots.”

I notice that Ginger’s arm is tucked under his, and I wonder what the story is there. Are they .?.?. on a date? Do his sons know? Or maybe it’s a secret and these are the few moments they get together.

Suddenly conscious—and slightly uncomfortable—that I might be witness to something no one else knows about, I decline the offer.

“Thank you.” I hold up the boots. “These might last me a lot longer on your ranch than the ones I brought.”

He nods approvingly. “They were a good choice. Break ’em in right.” He winks.

I glance at Ginger. “Well, I appreciate the invite to lunch, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure you both—”

“You’ll come to lunch,” he cuts me off with a soft grin and slides his arm beneath mine so he’s between Ginger and me. “There’s a place just around the corner I think you’ll like.”

“Cozy and traditional,” Ginger adds.

Their warmth spreads through me like a summer breeze, making it hard to argue. And truthfully, I’m not sure I want to.

We stroll into a small restaurant along the street. It’s a simple nod of Mr. Thorne’s head before we’re quickly seated at a table by the window.

It’s no wonder. The man exudes power. His presence, his build. But something tells me he’s well known. As well as being the original owner of Blue River Ranch, he’s also got that confidence about him that tells me he’s respected in this town.

“So, there’s no Mrs. Thorne?” I ask as we’re seated. And immediately feel like I need to justify the question. “Or is she not a fan of cowgirl boots?”

“Oh, she was a fan, all right.” He spreads his napkin along his lap. “She’s been gone a while now,” he says, voice rough. “An accident.” And it’s all he says. I catch him rub a calloused thumb over the silver band around his finger.

“I’m sorry. What was she like?”

Ginger chimes in energetically. “Oh, she was somethin’ fierce. Always smilin’, kept fussin’ over him and the boys.”

Mr. Thorne rubs his chest. “Yeah. I fussed over her fussin’.”

I laugh gently. “Sounds like you two were a fun match. Or maybe she just knew how to pull the fun out of you .?.?.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Even when you were a bit grumpy?”

He scoffs, peering over at me like I’m smarter than I look. “About sums it up.”

We order and I try not to ask too many more questions. Instead, I watch the two as I once again try to figure out their relationship. If it’s an innocent friendship or .?.?. courtship.

That’s definitely not something I can ask. Maybe I’ll wait until Ginger and I are back at work.

“So Rose, how do you like working with Wilder?”

“Oh everyone’s been really welcoming,” I glance at Ginger in particular. “Truthfully, I don’t know a lot about ranching but it’s easy to tell you’ve built quite the legacy.”

His brows rise. “What makes you say that?”

I shrug, trying to find the right words for what I feel when I walk the grounds. “There’s a quiet .?.?. strength to the land. Can tell it’s cared for, appreciated. You poured a lifetime into it, Mr. Thorne, and it shows.”

He watches me for a moment with a subtle nod. “Well, I’m touched and I’m glad you’re feeling welcome. But also wondering if you’re dodging my question on how you like working with my son?”

I smile. “Notice that did ya?”

He grins back. “Just one more of my quiet strengths .”

Ginger and I laugh. She nudges me playfully but addresses Connor. “Your boy’s needed a reminder or two on his manners.”

“Which are really unnecessary, Ginger,” I argue with a subtle glare.

He waves me off. “A healthy reminder would do him good.” He points to Ginger. “So if she’s offering, take it. Woman always knew how to set those boys straight better than I did.”

“He’s coming around honestly,” I think of our heated kiss last night at the cottage. The tension and vulnerability I caught when we ran into Bonnie. “Probably just under a lot of stress with the busy season.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Connor offers. “He’s been carrying more than his share lately.” The way he says this almost makes it sound like a lesson or fact of life rather than something that is unfair or unfortunate.

I narrow my eyes, and I’m surprised to hear myself ask, “Why do you sound like you’re OK with this?”

He smirks, then considers his words. “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly. Let’s just say it’s good to see Wilder holdin’ the land together—and damn well. There was a time I wasn’t sure he cared enough to.”

I absorb this information somewhat in awe. Unsure if I should be offended he’d lost his faith in Wilder—even if it was for a short time. Or if I’m honored he’s sharing this with me.

Before I could think of an appropriate response, Ginger nudges Connor with her elbow. “Oh enough of that, tell her some good stories about the boys.”

He laughs lightly and the two of them shift tunes to a handful of tales about life on the ranch, the boys growing up, and another tidbit or two about Carrie Thorne, his late wife.

But nothing else as to how she died.

“Can I ask about the Callahans?” I finally say after the bill is paid and we’re wrapping up lunch. Not that I think her accident and the Callahans are linked, but I can at least rule it out if they aren’t. “What’s the story there?”

Connor sighs like it’s a question he gets often. “It’s the river.”

“The river?”

“Blue River stretches through both properties, mainly through Blue River Ranch, which got its name because of the generous stretch of it running through our land. While Callahan Ranch has only a short, rocky end of it—barely enough for cattle in dry months.”

He holds up a finger as if to make something clear. “Now that’s no fault of mine where I built my ranch. A river always flows where it flows. But over the years, Boon Callahan started accusing me of diverting the water, building dams and whatnot as a way of hurting their ranch and livestock.”