Circle of Family. Mia Ross

      As the three of them walked toward the house, their voices trailed back to him, punctuated by the kids’ laughter. Despite her gracious behavior, anyone could see that Marianne was exhausted. All day, she’d been a real trouper, managing one thing after another with a lovely smile he suspected had taken her years to perfect.

      Did women practice that kind of look? Ridge wondered as he strolled toward Betsy’s makeshift runway. Came in handy when they decided it was time to cut you loose but didn’t want to mortally wound you. He had no trouble imagining the very proper Marianne Weston dismissing a guy that way.

      A rose with thorns, he mused as he pulled his tool kit from Betsy’s storage compartment. Grabbing what he needed, he began degreasing the rebuilt engine he’d installed last month. Full of original parts and expertly machined reproductions, it had cost him a small fortune. But, with care, it would last for years. Like anyone else, Betsy was at her best when she got the attention she needed.

      Speaking of which, Tucker trotted over and sat in front of Ridge, shamelessly begging for some love. Ridge hunkered down and fluffed his damp ears. “You’re quite the character. Dogs don’t usually take to me so quickly.”

      The Lab cocked his head with a curious look, and Ridge laughed. “You don’t know you’re a dog, do you?”

      In response, Tucker yipped and spun a quick circle before taking off for the woods. As Ridge watched him go, he took a minute to admire the Sawyer homestead. Over two thousand acres, Matt had informed him proudly when he’d asked about it. The land had been in the family since the mid-1800s, and every square inch was obviously worked with care, even the fallow field he’d used as a landing strip.

      A well-worn dirt path wound past John’s cottage and up to the main house. There it joined up with a wide driveway that split two rows of fence and trees on its way out to the road. Ridge could tell from the structure of the walls that the original farmhouse had been expanded over the decades as the Sawyers needed more space. Each outer door led to a generous porch, but the front one was the showstopper.

      Draped in ivy, trellises ran top to bottom to support every color of climbing rose he could imagine. Thanks to his grandmother, he knew enough about gardens to recognize that those flowers weren’t trucked in as wedding decorations. They grew there year-round, tended as meticulously as the inside of the immaculate house.

      That was Marianne’s doing, he knew without being told. She struck him as organized and disciplined, caring for everyone and everything around her. Instinctively, he knew she was someone who took charge and made sure things got done. Like him in some ways—vastly different in others.

      Based on the few words they’d exchanged since he arrived, she didn’t seem the least bit interested in him. That was actually a relief, Ridge thought with a sigh. Life had taught him that he was the kind of person who withered when he stayed in one place too long. He’d tried it more than once and failed every time, managing to hurt himself and the people he cared about most.

      As soon as he finished the dusting contracts Matt had thrown his way, he and Betsy would be back in the air where they belonged.

      Chapter Two

      Sunday morning, Marianne woke up bright and early. The house was silent, and outside her window she could hear the birds enjoying the misty sunshine. The kids were still sleeping after the busy wedding day, and she opted to leave them be until breakfast was ready.

      Today would be much calmer than yesterday, and she decided to take advantage of the quiet. The chair she’d rocked Emily in as a baby still sat next to the window, and a breeze came through to flutter the sheer curtains around it. It was an inviting sight, so she sat down and picked up her devotional book from the side table. The next lesson started with a line from Corinthians.

      Let all that you do be done in love.

      Quotes followed from various people—some pastors, other regular folks with inspiring stories to tell. Marianne read through them but nothing resonated with her. While she appreciated the general idea of doing even small things with a loving heart, for some reason she couldn’t focus on the words long enough for them to make a solid impression.

      Despite her best efforts, her mind kept wandering back to Ridge’s unusual arrival. In her memory she saw him climbing down from his plane, turning to face her for the first time. Despite her best efforts to be merely polite, she had to be honest with herself.

      The man fascinated her.

      Cocky and self-assured, he seemed to assume that people would like him just as he was. She’d had that kind of confidence once. Back before her marriage had disintegrated and stripped away everything she’d thought was so solid.

      Seeing Ridge’s eyes sparkle while he told them about his ancestors’ exciting adventures explained why he enjoyed flying so recklessly. Maybe it was in his blood, maybe he was imitating men he admired, but their courageous example had helped make him who he was. More than that, she knew he was proud of those men. Despite his gypsy-like lifestyle, Ridge’s family history meant something to him.

      Now that she owned the home Daniel Sawyer had built so many generations ago, Marianne’s connection to her own family’s past was stronger than ever. She could certainly appreciate that in someone else.

      The clock on her night table told her it was time to get moving. On her way to the bathroom, she glanced into each of the kids’ rooms to find them sound asleep. After her shower, she put on her new blue dress and quickly pulled her hair into a twist. She added Grandma Sawyer’s beautiful pearl choker and earrings but left her feet bare. They were still sore from yesterday, and she decided there was plenty of time to wedge them into a pair of heels later on.

      When she was ready, Marianne tiptoed downstairs to sneak in a little more peace and quiet before things went haywire. The programmed coffeemaker was already brewing, so she went to the fridge to pull out the egg-and-sausage casserole she’d made for this morning. Setting the oven, she slid the pan in and walked out to get the newspaper.

      The headlines never seemed to change all that much, she mused as she poured coffee into a mug proclaiming her Best Mom Ever. She was in the middle of reading a book review when Ridge stumbled through the back door. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

      “Coffee,” he croaked. “Please.”

      Trying to be polite, she did her best not to smile, but he looked so pathetic she couldn’t help herself. To make up for it, she got up to fill a mug for him. “Rough night?”

      Dropping into a chair, he answered with a huge yawn. “John snores like a freight train. Around three, I gave up and went to get my headphones out of Betsy so I could get some sleep.” He swallowed two sips in rapid succession. “Excellent coffee.”

      “Thank you.”

      Men liked it strong, so she always added an extra scoop. What she didn’t tell him was she blended French vanilla in with the regular. If he found out, she knew he’d never drink another cup.

      When Ridge seemed a little more coherent, she asked, “So, what do you think of Caty?”

      “She’s great.”

      The gold in his hazel eyes twinkled mischievously, telling her that was all she was getting. He wasn’t going to come right out and admit that Matt had told him nothing about the woman who was now his wife.

      “You never met her before yesterday?” Marianne tried again.

      “Nope, but Matt loves her. That’s good enough for me.”

      In her experience, men didn’t normally take emotions at face value that way. They needed proof, numbers—things like that. “You have a lot of faith in him.”

      “Yeah, I do.” Curiosity lit his eyes, and he leaned toward her. “Can I ask you something?”

      “Sure.” His direct gaze made her want to squirm, and she fiddled with the handle on her mug to avoid it.

      “Matt