The Cowboy's Perfect Match. Cathy Mcdavid

Most were the couples comparing notes on their weddings and honeymoon stay at the ranch.

      A folding table with a red-and-white checkered tablecloth had been set up not far from the picnic table. Emily and an older gentleman who hadn’t been on the hayride were arranging paper plates, plasticware and trays of food. Ryan pegged the man as Emily’s new husband from the way he leaned in close to when she talked.

      He came up behind Bridget. She’d returned to the fire pit and was poking the glowing embers with a metal rod.

      “There you are,” she said, as if expecting him. “Can you please check on the coffee? The urn is in the kitchen. If it’s done, the light on the front will be green. Pour the coffee into the thermos and bring it out here.”

      “Can do.”

      When Ryan returned with the thermos, Bridget was delivering platters of steaks and shrimp to the table. He set down the thermos where she indicated.

      “Dinner’s served,” she called and promptly cleared out of the way. The table was instantly mobbed by hungry guests. “Get yourself some dinner,” she told Ryan.

      “I will when the rush dies down.” He nodded at the generous spread. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”

      “I generally wait until later.”

      “You’ve been going hard all day. You deserve a break.”

      “Today’s especially busy with the cookout. I actually have some time off tomorrow.” Her eyes never veered from the guests, her tense posture indicating she was ready to spring into action if necessary.

      What, he wondered, would she be like relaxed and unhurried? He suddenly wanted to know.

      “Big Jim’s busy with his wife this week and can’t lead the trail rides. I asked Owen if he could take me, but he’s working.” He flashed what he hoped was an enticing smile. “Any possibility you can go with me? I’d hate to get lost in those mountains.”

      “I...” She hesitated.

      “Come on. I promise I’m good company.”

      She glanced away. “That’s what worries me.”

      He laughed, liking her honest admission.

      “Ryan.” She turned back to him. “I don’t think—”

      Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek filled the air, cutting off Bridget’s reply. Ryan whirled and saw that one of the girls had fallen against the low block wall surrounding the fire pit, likely pushed there by her sister. A wildly flung arm had hit the grill, knocking it askew.

      Ryan didn’t think. He dove for the fire pit, his hands already outstretched. Bridget was right behind him.

      He grabbed the little girl by the waist and hauled her to safety. Fear and possibly pain contorted her cherub face and tears streamed down her cheeks.

      “Mommy!” Her scream filled Ryan’s ears. “Mommy!”

      “I’m right here, baby.” The distraught woman shouldered between two people. “Oh, my gosh. Are you okay?”

      Ryan passed the little girl to her mother. “Had yourself a scare, did you? But you’re safe now, and you have a good story to tell your friends.”

      “Thank you so much.” The mother immediately began inspecting her daughter for injuries and found nothing worse than a small red mark on the inside of her wrist. With a kiss to the spot and some cooing, the girl’s sobs quieted. “This was my fault. I should have been watching her.”

      Bridget reached out and stroked the little girl’s hair. “How about a pink lemonade? If your mom says yes.”

      The girl nodded.

      Her sister beamed a smile at Bridget. “Me, too, please.”

      “After you apologize to your sister,” the mother admonished. She took hold of both girls’ hands. “No more playing near the fire, you hear me?”

      Emily came over after the mother and girls left. “I see the crisis was averted. Good job, Ryan.”

      “Just glad I was there.”

      Dinner resumed. By then, Ryan was ready to eat. He paused while helping himself to both steak and shrimp, and listened to Emily and Bridget’s conversation a few feet away, their backs to him.

      “Why can’t you show him the trails?” Emily asked.

      “Grandma...”

      “Bridget, he needs a guide. You’re the only one available.”

      They walked away, their voices too low for Ryan to catch more than a random word. Halfway through his meal, Bridget approached. His fork came to a stop midway to his mouth.

      “I changed my mind,” she said. “I’ll go riding with you tomorrow. Meet me at ten sharp.”

      * * *

      BRIDGET WENT ON foot to the stables rather than take the golf cart. She figured she could use the few extra minutes before meeting Ryan to clear her head.

      She wasn’t exactly regretting her decision to go riding with him. Grandma Em was right: he did need to learn the surrounding area before the ranch’s first official trail ride tomorrow, and she was the only person available.

      Okay, not entirely true. Grandma Em could show him, but with her bad hip she didn’t ride much these days. And Molly was occupied with a last-minute midweek wedding tonight, making her unavailable. The couple was requiring very little from Bridget. They’d met at a weight-loss center and were providing their own low-cal cake and refreshments. They were, however, making innumerable requests that Molly and Grandma Em were scrambling to accommodate.

      Fortunately, the wedding was a small one. Twenty-five guests, give or take. Though the ranch could accommodate considerably more, their average number hovered in the thirty to forty range. Surprisingly, or maybe not surprisingly, smaller, more intimate weddings were very popular. Especially when the couple could then stay at a Western-themed bed-and-breakfast.

      Friday was a different story. That wedding would be Bridget’s first attempt at providing light catering. She wasn’t nervous. Or so she told herself. She was well prepared and experienced, having practiced the dishes multiple times.

      Last week, the bride, her groom and her mother had visited the ranch in order to taste-test a variety of menu options. They’d chosen mini sliders, fried mac-and-cheese lollipops and fruit kebabs. The fried mac-and-cheese lollipops were something new for Bridget and a little tricky to prepare. They were also delicious and an entertaining novelty.

      After her ride with Ryan, she was making a trip to the giant membership box store for everything she needed. Other than the fruit, of course, which she’d buy fresh on Friday morning at the farmers’ market.

      All was going as planned. Every list had been checked and double-checked and every detail scrutinized. No cause to worry, she assured herself.

      Ryan’s pickup truck came into view as she crested the small rise. She recognized it from yesterday. Hooked to the rear of the truck was an equally road-weary trailer with two unfamiliar horses tied to the side. His, she presumed.

      The large bald-faced paint was saddled and bridled. A smaller bay mare wore only a halter and carried a canvas pack saddle, which had empty pouches hanging from each side of the wooden frame. The three mounts belonging to the ranch were tethered to the hitching post outside the stables. All were saddled but only one was bridled. The remaining two wore halters.

      Ryan had yet to see Bridget. As she approached, he untied one of the ranch horses and walked it over to the small mare wearing the pack saddle. Bridget watched as he expertly tied the ranch horse’s lead rope to a metal ring on the side of the pack saddle. Both horses stood quietly as if this was old hat to them, tails swishing in matching rhythm to chase away pesky flies.

      Curious what he was up to, Bridget