Page 220 of Ride a Cowboy

“Inside, where it’s warm,” she joked.

Matt shook the basket lightly under her nose, the scent of fried chicken causing her hungry stomach to growl. “Seems a shame to waste this big lunch.”

“Where are you taking her?” Rodney asked.

Mark never missed a beat. “It’s a secluded place on the James Ranch, Rodney. No one will see her there. Promise.”

Rodney seemed appeased by his answer. “Sounds like fun, Bridge. You should go.”

“What about the ranch? The horse training. Surely you haven’t finished all your chores.”

Matt picked up her jeans from the floor and tossed them to her. “There’s a local guy who helps out sometimes whenever one of us is sick or we need a day off. All work and no play…”

Mark headed back toward the door. “Get dressed. We’ll wait for you downstairs.”

“Okay.” Her head chastised her heart, which was racing at the thought of spending an entire afternoon alone with the handsome twins again. She’d been so determined last night to avoid them, to keep them safe.

The door closed and she looked up, surprised to find Rodney still there.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m weak-willed and stupid.”

He walked over and sat down beside her once more. “No, you’re not. You’re a beautiful woman who’s falling in love.”

“I don’t deserve to fall in love. Not after what happened with Lyle. If I hadn’t insisted that he bring me that information instead of going to the cops?—”

“Stop,” Rodney said firmly, his voice laced with anger. “Don’t you ever say that again. You were not responsible for Lyle’s death. He called you. He offered you the information.”

“I should have told him no. Told him to go straight to the police. Instead, all I could think about was myself. I wanted that damn promotion so badly. God, I screwed it all up. I should have insisted we meet in public instead of that abandoned warehouse. I should have put my recorder somewhere where it would have actually picked up voices. I should have insisted we take backup.”

“You can’t live your life based on should have, Bridget. Lyle was a grown man. He knew what he had. His death was not your fault. Lucian Thompson killed him. Not you. You’re a good friend. You’ve put your life on hold for months so that you can see that murderer brought to justice. You’re risking your life to find the information that can bring down God knows how many more criminals as well.”

Rodney’s words were comforting, though she couldn’t quite let them penetrate the part of her that would always feel responsible for Lyle’s death. Still, she appreciated his effort. “Thanks.”

“Go on your picnic. Have fun. Hell, one of us may as well try to get laid.”

She laughed. “What will you do today?”

“Same old, same old. The Ellie Parker lead was a bust. Struck up a conversation with her while she was making my shake. Her given name is actually Ellison. She gets offended when someone calls her Ellen. Really? I’m pretty sure there’s an Ellen somewhere in this damn town. I’m going to find her. Tell you what. I’ll meet up with you at the James Ranch later this afternoon. For right now, it looks like we’re still on the day-by-day plan. Lucky for us, there are three cowboys willing to help us wile away the hours.”

Matt leaned back on the large, plush quilt and grinned at Bridget as she dug into the chocolate mousse they’d packed with enthusiasm. For a slim woman, she sure did enjoy her food. The picnic had been Mark’s idea. Matt had to admit it was inspired.

The gazebo rested in the middle of a meadow on the east end of the James Ranch. Their father had built it for their mother as a wedding gift during the first year of their marriage. It was positioned with the perfect view of the mountains on one side and the ranch—far off in the distance—on the other. The winter she’d been diagnosed with cancer, their dad had added the glass windows and the small gas heater, so Mom could rest in comfort while enjoying the view of “her” mountains, as she called them.

Neither he nor Mark came here often. They’d always considered it their mom’s place, but bringing Bridget had felt right.

“I have a confession,” Bridget said.

“Another one?” Mark teased.

She swatted him with her cloth napkin. “Very funny. I’ve never had homemade fried chicken before.”

Matt sat up. “Get out of here. Really?”

She nodded. “Really. My mom didn’t like to cook. My experience with fried chicken doesn’t stretch much beyond a red and white tub with a picture of the Colonel on front.”

Mark reached over and lightly tugged on a strand of her hair. “Damn. It’s downright scary how much of life you’ve missed out on. You may need to make plans to stick around her a few more weeks, so we have time to catch you up.”

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