“Uncle Ryan, are you gonna watch me help the kids at the church camp today? I get to do all the activities and stuff with them, but I’m an instructor, too. See?” Abi, Landon and Georgiana Cutter’s eight-year-old daughter, pointed to the sheriff’s badge on her pink T-shirt. Sure enough, Instructor was printed across the middle.
Ryan Brooks still couldn’t get used to the whole uncle thing. Technically, he wasn’t her uncle. Landon was John Cutter’s brother, and Ryan’s sister Dana was married to John. That definitely made Dana Abi’s aunt, but how Ryan got roped into this uncle business was beyond him. However, things worked differently in the South than in his Chicago world, and since the church camp occurred on his sister’s ranch, where he was stuck for the time being, he might as well get used to “Uncle Ryan.”
“I do see,” he said. “What exactly are you instructing them to do?”
Her pigtails bobbed as she shook her head and gave him a little eye roll, strawberry lashes hitting her brows with the maneuver. “Riding, silly. How to put the saddle on, and why to wear a helmet and how to be safe.” She glanced at Ryan’s cast-bound leg. “And how not to fall off.”
“Thaaanks,” he said. The cast, or rather, the blown knee in it, was the entire reason he remained in Alabama instead of returning to Chicago and Brooks International. He’d let Dana talk him into running his business remotely while he went through rehab here for what the doctors called the unhappy triad: a torn ACL, PCL and medial meniscus. Or, in layman’s terms, a blown left knee.
If Ryan didn’t know any better, though, he’d say his sister was glad her new black stallion had tossed Ryan two weeks ago and equally glad that his therapy would take another month.
Abi, missing the sarcasm, sent a spray of freckles dancing with her smile. “You’re welcome!” She’d spent the past fifteen minutes gathering red and pink azalea blooms from the bushes that lined John and Dana’s porch, and she now clutched the bright blossoms in her hand like a wedding bouquet.
“I’m sure your mama will like those flowers,” Ryan said.
“Oh, I took Mama and Aunt Dana some already. These are for Miss Maribeth. She’s at the barn with Aunt Dana.”
Maribeth. The unique name sparked the memory of the equally unique woman. He’d only met her once, with a brief introduction at John and Dana’s wedding, but he remembered her vividly. Dark brown, nearly black hair reaching her waist. Olive skin and exotic eyes. A full mouth. Stunning. The word invaded his thoughts and remained there.
“You going back inside to work?” Abi asked, pulling his thoughts from the memory and reminding Ryan that the majority of his time since his injury had been spent either at rehab or in John and Dana’s cabin. He was so ready to get back to living again, back to Chicago. But first he wanted to see if his memory had embellished the beauty of the woman with the unique name.
“No, I think I’ll go out to the barn,” he said.
“You want to go with me?” she asked, and Ryan noticed her frown slightly at the crutches propped against the porch railing.
“No, it’ll take me a little while. You go on ahead.”
“Okay,” she said, unable to hide her excitement as she darted away.
Maneuvering on crutches from the house to the barn wasn’t easy; the soft earth gave with every step, and Ryan had to concentrate more on his pace than on his goal. Halfway there, he met Abi, running from the barn toward her house, the other large log cabin on the Cutter ranch.
“Miss Maribeth loved the flowers!” she yelled, and continued her sprint without waiting for a response from Ryan.
He continued his trek toward the barn and wondered if it was actually as hot outside as it seemed. True, the first week of June would be naturally warm, but he attributed the heat he experienced to the workout from using the crutches in the soft farm dirt. Sweat beads pushed free from his temples the way they normally did when he worked out in the gym. And he was barely moving.
For a moment, he considered turning around, heading back to John and Dana’s cabin and forgoing this bizarre curiosity toward his sister’s friend. But then he got close enough to see around the barn’s edge, and the vision nearly stopped him in his tracks.
Maribeth Walton stood beside Dana holding Abi’s bouquet of flowers. Her inky hair caught the sun and shone brilliantly as it billowed against her back. Ryan would be lying if he said his interest hadn’t gotten the best of him when Dana mentioned that Maribeth would be one of the counselors for the church youth retreats at the ranch this month. Their chance encounter at John and Dana’s wedding had haunted him ever since. She’d appeared immune to the typical effect Ryan had on women, a fact that both irritated and intrigued him.
Unfortunately, he’d had the feeling once before, the first time he saw Nannette Kelly. Ryan set his jaw and reminded himself how that had turned out. But in spite of the memory of how his last infatuation—okay, love—had ended, he couldn’t stop his progress toward the barn. Dana had already looked his way, and her visitor followed suit. Couldn’t very well turn around and hobble back to the house now.
Hobble. How embarrassing. If he were a normal guy, Maribeth Walton wouldn’t look at him twice, with his cast-covered leg and unshaven face. He couldn’t recall whether he’d combed his hair.
But he wasn’t a normal guy. In his world, how he looked or acted didn’t matter. Nannette had shown him that females weren’t interested in him; they only wanted what he could give them. Money. Power. The Brooks name.
Ryan shouldn’t be concerned about whether or not he impressed Maribeth Walton. But even so, he couldn’t take his eyes away from her as he neared the two women.
Today her hair fell freely, wildly, and she pushed the dark locks from her face as she tossed her head back and laughed at something Dana said. At the wedding, that thick mane had been braided and contained, a yellow satin ribbon woven within the dark locks. Ryan wasn’t certain why he remembered the fact about the ribbon, particularly the color. He never paid attention to details. Those items didn’t matter in the entire scheme of things.
“Note what’s important—flush everything else. Don’t waste precious brain cells on the negligible.” One of his father’s more notable spoutings of wisdom and typically a rule Ryan lived by.
So why did he remember her hair, or the ribbon? Or the fact that she’d smelled like cinnamon and apples? Or that she’d been dressed as if she was ready for a Parisian runway? She’d worn a flowing bright blue dress with silver accents and stylish, crazy high heels. Sure, everyone in town had dressed up for the occasion, but there was something different about Maribeth that set her apart from the rest. And at the reception, in spite of his past history with Nannette, Ryan had sought the lady out for conversation.
She’d coolly said hello and then left him to talk to someone else.
Today, in a bright yellow blouse, hot pink skirt and snazzy boots, she again stood out from the rural surroundings. Maribeth, this country girl in north Alabama, happened to be the only woman since Nannette who had caught his interest for more than a passing glance...and the only one who didn’t care whether he looked her way or not.
“Hey, Ryan, how was your rehab this morning?” Dana asked as soon as he was within earshot.
“It went okay,” he said. John had taken Ryan to his therapy sessions since Dana’s morning sickness got the best of her again. In her third month of pregnancy, she still had a tough go several mornings a week and hadn’t ventured out of her bedroom before John and Ryan had left. Ryan hated being dependent on them to drive him around, but there was no way he could drive in this cast.
Then