But, dammit, he didn’t want money to be the only significant thing between him and Monica. He didn’t want her to think she meant nothing to him unless she could find a way to get the fifty thousand back from her ex…or nothing more than a walking ATM and a warm place to park his dick.

  He cursed again, loud enough and foul enough that the mare on the other side of the fence laid her ears back. “Sorry, Lady,” he apologized, giving her forelock a gentle pat before continuing his trek around the corral.

  Although he couldn’t remember his folks ever being in quite as deep a hole as he was at the moment, his parents’ ranch hadn’t always been as successful as it was now. He remembered how strapped they’d been a few times when he was a kid…a couple of disappointing Christmases and years when he and Josie both had to wear clothes until they were little more than threads and shoes with holes in the soles.

  Yet they’d survived. More than survived—they’d triumphed. Together.

  And if they could, then he could. Somehow. He’d make do with a dilapidated barn, small herd of cattle, and only the already-pregnant mares in his stable. He’d sell off a couple pieces of equipment or saddles. He’d start giving riding lessons to kids and trail rides on the weekends. Hell, he could even sell one of the foals.

  Not Chynna’s colt, though. At least not until Monica wasn’t looking. She’d have his hide if he sold the little man out from under her.

  Half a smile tugged at his lips. She sure loved that foal. In fact, she didn’t seem to mind ranch life nearly as much as she had when she’d first arrived. Her jeans and boots and the shirts from his closet that she adapted to her size fit like a second skin now. She didn’t even bother wearing those strappy little sandals outside anymore, or the cropped tank tops that had every man in a five-mile radius thinking he was suffering heat stroke. And he caught her in the barn about eight hours a day, playing with the horses and snapping pictures on that damn camera that was always around her neck. He even thought he’d heard her call it Nikki once, but refused to ask if she’d actually named her camera for fear she’d admit she had.

  So why was she in such a damn hurry to get back to Chicago?

  She has a life, you dolt. The thought came out of nowhere and hit him in the gut like a two-ton dump truck. Of course she had a life. She was a big-time fashion photographer; her whole life was back in Chicago. And New York. And L.A. And probably any number of big cities and foreign countries. What could she possibly find appealing about his piddly little financially challenged ranch?

  He tried not to be hurt, but the fact that she didn’t find him reason enough to stay stung like whiskey over an open wound. He had nothing to offer her, yet he wanted her to stay. More than he wanted that cursed money. More than he wanted a thriving stud business or to fix the floundering ranch.

  Monica was in the house right now, working at getting that money for him, and he didn’t even want it anymore. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to use it once he had it, not without getting physically ill. He would rather swallow his pride and ask his parents for help, even though he’d promised himself nothing would ever push him to that point.

  So he wasn’t going take Monica’s money, no matter what. He’d rip up that damn “contract” he’d insisted on scratching on the back of an envelope outside the Chapel o’ Love, and if Monica actually managed to get her money out of Matt’s account, he’d just let her have it. Let her take it and go back to Chicago.

  Dammit. He hadn’t used one penny of that blasted money, and he already felt sick to his stomach.

  …

  Ryder stayed away from the house until dinnertime, and after practicing Matt’s signature until her hand cramped, Monica kept herself occupied by going through every single photo she’d taken of Rumpy with an eagle eye for the “Best of Breed” competition. There were so many, she felt like Sophie’s choice or Solomon deciding to split the baby. He was just too wonderfully adorable—how could she choose only one? Finally, though, she did. Praying it was the right one to enter, she uploaded it to the entry form, along with all the other information they asked for, and charged the thousand-dollar fee to her PayPal account.

  She was giddy over the fact that she’d gotten everything done without Ryder’s knowledge or even rousing his suspicions. And the whole time, she actually managed not to think too much about what had occurred in the kitchen before he’d stormed out of the house. She’d yearned to tell him how she really felt, but considering his obsession with getting enough money to keep his ranch in the black, she didn’t think he’d appreciate her suddenly breaking into song and declaring her undying love.

  Playing house while they waited for the payoff to come through was one thing. Keeping house after the check arrived was a different matter. One she didn’t think Ryder would be too fond of. So she would bite her tongue and do her part to get the money for him. And if at all possible, she would help him even more by getting Rumpy to win the “Best of Breed” competition. After all, the grand prize would be another nice chunk of cash for Ryder to put into his beloved Rolling Rock. As much as it hurt to realize that was more important to him than she could ever be, she still wanted him to have the money and make a success of his dream to breed beautiful horses and run a successful ranch.

  When Ryder came through the door and slapped his dirty leather gloves and hat down on the countertop, Monica darted around in the guise of fixing supper, wanting to look busier than she’d actually been. For most meals, they just dug into the covered dishes people had left after the barbecue. He finished off the meat-based fare while she picked at the few meatless courses. And once in a while she’d make rice or pasta to go along with the leftovers.

  Ryder paused behind her at the entrance of the kitchen. Her lungs hitched, but she didn’t turn. And he didn’t say anything. After a moment, he continued down the hall to the bedroom, and she heard the water turn on in the shower.

  She released a breath and paused with her hand on two plates in the cupboard. Oh, this was fun. A few hours ago, they’d been this close to locking themselves in the stable’s tack room for a little slap and tickle. Now they were treating each other like strangers, using silence and avoidance to keep from talking about what was really going on.

  But Monica didn’t want to be the first person—the only person—to blurt out her feelings, when Ryder might not be thinking the same thing at all. What if he was worried about his sister’s marriage, and getting the money back, and keeping his ranch running? What if she was the only one wishing their marriage was for real?

  The shower shut off and Monica’s lungs went back to giving her only a fraction of the oxygen she needed to function. No wonder her brain felt like oatmeal.

  Setting the plates on the countertop, she began doling out portions of the food she knew Ryder liked. She didn’t think she could swallow a bite, so she didn’t bother putting anything on a plate for herself.

  A minute later, Ryder came back from the bedroom, his clothes changed, his hair wet and curling at the ends. Their eyes met and her heart leaped. This was ridiculous. They were both adults, and adults did not go around walking on eggshells when a single conversation could clear the air.

  What’s the worst that could happen if I tell Ryder I love him?

  Well, that was a no-brainer. He could tell her he didn’t love her in return and was looking forward to the moment when she finally headed back to Chicago.

  Okay, fine. It would hurt like another body piercing in a very sensitive place, but it wouldn’t kill her. Matt dumping her for another woman hadn’t killed her. Finding out that Ryder didn’t have any feelings for her beyond enjoying her body wouldn’t kill her, either.

  Except that it might. Her stomach clenched at the thought. It sure as hell would feel like she was dying. But she opened her mouth anyway and started to speak.

  “We need to talk,” they both said at the same time.

  The air stalled in her chest.

  “You first,” Ryder offered, making a considerate gesture with his shoulder.

  “No, go ahead.”

  “You go first. Really.”

  “I’d really rather—”

  Her phone rang from the rear pocket of her jeans, interrupting their argument about who should go first in a conversation they obviously didn’t want to have. She thought about letting it go to voicemail, but what if it was important? And what if not sharing a moment of pure candor was best for everyone involved?

  Pulling the phone from her pocket, she checked the Caller ID and sucked in a breath. “It’s Simon,” she told him. “I should probably answer.”

  Ryder nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the counter to wait.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  …

  Ryder studied her while she listened, noting every nuance of her face, every tiny change in her expression. She shot him a panicked glance, but even before that, he knew something was wrong. Whatever this Simon guy was telling her, it wasn’t good.

  “Okay. Yes, I understand. I know, thank you. All right. Thank you for trying, Simon. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Monica ended the call, setting her phone screen-down on the counter in a slow, almost dazed motion. She looked on the verge of tears, and all Ryder wanted to do was reach out and pull her into his arms. But since that hadn’t gone well when he’d done it earlier, he resisted the impulse.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. Only when it looked as though she might faint did he place a hand around her upper arm to make sure she stayed upright.

  “It’s gone,” she murmured, moving toward the kitchen table with stiff movements until she could fall into the nearest chair.

  He dragged another chair directly across from hers, sitting down and trapping her knees between his spread legs. Bringing her hands to his thighs, he covered them with his own. Her skin felt cool and dry, not at all like her normal warmth and vitality. He rubbed his palms back and forth gently, trying to speed up the circulation to her fingers.

  “What’s gone?” he asked softly.

  She blinked a couple of times like she hadn’t even realized he was there, then looked him straight in the face. “The money. The money is gone. Simon was keeping an eye on things, but there was nothing he could do. Matt cleaned out the account yesterday…or this morning, I’m not sure which.” Her brow wrinkled, head shaking back and forth. She sounded dumbfounded and looked as heartbroken as though she had just foreseen the demise of the Titanic and then witnessed her prediction coming true. “It’s all gone—every penny. There’s no way we can get the fifty thousand dollars back now.”

  A part of Ryder was disappointed. It was her money, and no one had the right to steal it from her. Another part of him—the bigger part—was just kind of relieved. Yeah, it was a hell of a lot of money to lose, and the idea of Matt jetting off to Singapore or West Africa on Monica’s dime didn’t set well. But that money had started to give him an ulcer. He rubbed his stomach at the thought.

  He opened his mouth to console Monica when she stood and mechanically moved toward the back of the house. For a minute he sat there, then he rose to his feet and followed her down the hall.

  He found her in the bedroom, gathering panties and bras and other assorted female apparel. Arms full, she brushed past him and walked across the hall into the guest room, where she hadn’t spent a single night, despite the fact that her “luggage” from their trip to Hawaii still took up space on the mattress. She began stuffing the garments into that bag he’d hated when she insisted on buying it, but now he thought it kind of suited her, then picked it up and carried it back across the hall to his room. Moving into the bathroom, she began dumping toiletries on top of the clothes she’d just jammed in there.

  Ryder watched all this, feeling as confused as he ever had in a woman’s presence. He knew she was upset, so he didn’t want to agitate her further, but he really wanted to know what in blue blazes she was doing. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was packing to go somewhere.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as she exited the bathroom and moved back across the hall to the spare room.

  She didn’t answer him at first, and when she did speak, it was to say, “I left my camera equipment in the dining room.”

  What that had to do with anything, he didn’t know, but he followed her anyway. She stalked down the hall, into the dining room, and over to the desk he used to take care of ranch business, where she must have left her camera after downloading more pictures of her favorite subject—the new colt she insisted upon calling Rumpy, even though he’d hoped she would come up with another name for him.

  Brushing past him, she hustled back down the hall to the guest room, but when she tried to cross over to his bedroom again, he stepped into the doorway, blocking her exit with his spread legs, crossed arms, and what he hoped was a determined scowl. She was going to stand still for five seconds if he had to get his lasso from the barn and hog-tie her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked again, more slowly and in what he hoped was a firmer, brook-no-arguments timbre.

  Rather than fight him, she returned to her things on the bed, struggling to get her camera paraphernalia to fit in its bag.

  “I’m packing,” she said, and he could have sworn her voice shook.

  So it looked like exactly what it was. What he didn’t understand was why.

  “Why?” he asked dumbly.

  She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him. Tears glittered on her lashes and he was more confused than ever.

  “You heard what I said. The money is gone, Ryder. Matt ran off with it—again—and we’re not likely to track him down this time.”

  He gave a brusque nod. Yeah, he got that. “So? Why are you packing?”

  Her eyes widened and she gave him a look that clearly implied he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

  “The money is gone, Ryder.” She spoke slowly and enunciated each word clearly. He half expected her to hold up her hands and begin signing, in case he was both dumb and deaf.

  “I understand that,” he said with an edge to his voice. “What I don’t understand is why you’re packing. And stop looking at me like I’m the village idiot,” he snapped, his glower deepening.

  “I’m packing,” she stressed, “because there’s no money left to collect.” She turned back to the bed and began punching things to make them fit, forcing zippers closed. “And our agreement was that I would remain here until I got the money back for you.”

  Swinging the strap of her camera case over her shoulder, she held the remaining bag in her other hand and moved forward a step. He didn’t move from his sentry position in the doorway. If anything, he stance became even more rigid.

  “I’m sorry I can’t get the money I promised you,” she said, then added belligerently, “but you can’t keep me here.”

  Ryder clenched his jaw and pretended she hadn’t just driven a redwood-size stake through his heart. He let his arms fall to his sides and took a step back, into the hall, out of her way. “I have no intention of keeping you here,” he said quietly, the words like broken glass in his throat.

  Monica wasted no time darting past him, and all he could do was stand there, watching her go.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  There’s only two things you need to be afraid of: a decent woman and bein’ left afoot.

  Tears streamed down Monica’s face as the screen door slammed behind her and she staggered off the porch toward the dirt drive leading to the main road. She didn’t know where she was going or how she’d get there, she only knew she had to leave. Now. Before she completely lost it.

  Already her vision blurred so badly she couldn’t see the screen of her phone well enough do anything with it, and she needed to call…somebody. A cab or Lyft…or at least look online for the nearest bus station and schedule. She could walk that far, if she needed to. Especially since she was wearing the really comfortable cowboy boots Ryder had bought her and that she’d spent the past week breaking in.

  Memories of her short time at Rolling Rock Ranch and how happy she’d been fewer than twenty-four hours before made her cry even harder, this time with a deep, shuddering sob that wracked her entire body and sent her stumbling on the gravel-strewn path. Taking a deep breath, she quickly regained her balance, determined to pull herself together before she twisted an ankle and got stuck here. Wouldn’t that be lovely, to end up collapsed in the middle of the road, a quivering, blubbering mess.

  She shouldn’t be acting this way, not when she’d known it was coming. Just this morning, she’d stifled the need to tell Ryder she’d fallen in love with him. Why? Because she’d known this was how things were going to turn out! Even if she or Simon had somehow managed to get the fifty thousand back from Matt, this is still how it would have ended.

  But, God, she wasn’t ready!

  She’d started to feel so at home here, to be so comfortable in these new clothes, around the animals and the ranch hands, even around Ryder’s family and friends.

  She wasn’t ready to leave her little Rumpy—she wanted to stick around and watch him grow, find out if he won First Place in the “Best of Breed” contest. She wanted to learn to ride a horse and maybe watch another foal be born.

  But most of all, she wasn’t ready to leave Ryder. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not a decade from now. Love suddenly seemed like such a paltry word for how she felt about him. She wasn’t just in love with him, she realized; she was very much afraid she’d come to need him. Like she needed air, water, sunshine… He was strong and warm and dependable. She loved the little lines around his eyes when he smiled and the way his chest rumbled when he laughed. She loved the way he looked at her, like he truly saw her and wasn’t the least bit disappointed in the view.

  And the way he made her feel in bed… Funny that sex was the last thing to come to mind, considering it had come first and—she’d thought at the time—was the strongest tie she had to him and the only thing they had in common. They were positively combustible together, and she didn’t think that would change if they made love every minute of every hour for the rest of their lives. A shiver of longing rolled through her and almost caused her to stumble again.