Ryder (7 Brides for 7 Soldiers Book 1) Read online

  He hadn't felt that gut-clenching, heart-stopping, burst of attraction in a long time. And it wasn't just that Bailey was a beautiful blonde with blue eyes that reminded him of the sky he spent so much time in; it was also her personality, her fire, her stubborn independence. The fact that she didn’t like him at all had only made her more interesting. He liked a challenge, and he was determined to make sure that if she was going to dislike him, she was going to have to find a good reason other than his last name.

  Car lights flashed as she pulled into his driveway. He drew in a rough breath of anticipation, feeling oddly nervous, and that wasn't like him. He'd flown across enemy lines, crashed behind one of those lines, had more than one near-death experience, so he really shouldn't have sweaty palms because of one hot blonde.

  Focus, he ordered himself, as he headed toward the door. This wasn't a date, and he had a lot riding on this dinner; he couldn't let himself forget that.

  He met her at her car, as she pulled two grocery bags out of the backseat. He was happy to see that she was planning on cooking and that she hadn't brought him a ready-made meal. That would give them more time to get better acquainted.

  "Let me help," he said, taking both bags as she reached back into the car for her purse. "Looks like you're cooking."

  "It looks that way," she muttered, not sounding too happy about it.

  Well, she was here; that was all that mattered.

  "This is nice," she murmured, as they walked through the front door and into the living room. "Very masculine."

  "Well, I'm the only one here. It needs more stuff, but I haven't had time."

  "Did you buy this place or are you renting?"

  "I bought the house and moved in two weeks ago."

  She nodded. "Of course you did—you're a Westbrook. I doubt anyone in your family has ever been a renter."

  "That might be true. The Westbrooks have made most of their money in real-estate and construction. But aside from that, I've been living on military bases for most of the last decade, so it felt like the right time to have a more permanent address. There was a part of me that needed to make a commitment to starting something new, so I made the deal." He abruptly stopped talking, wondering why he'd told her that.

  She gave him a thoughtful look but didn't comment. "The kitchen?"

  "Right this way." He led her across the hall, relieved she hadn't asked him any more personal questions about his decision to come home. "I should have probably warned you that the kitchen is not completely decked out," he added. "I have basic pots and pans, plates and silverware, but not a lot of fancy gadgets. I've been living off cans of soup, barbecued chicken and take-out."

  "I don't need fancy. I've always been able to make do; I didn't grow up rich."

  He set the bags down on the table and gave her a smile. "You didn't exactly grow up poor, either."

  "How would you know?"

  "The diner does a good business."

  She shrugged. "There's money and then there's Westbrook money."

  "Probably true," he conceded. "I cannot apologize for my family's ability to make a lot of money. They're very good at it. And, by the way, you can insult me all you want, but you owe me dinner, and you're making good on it."

  "Obviously, that's why I'm here. I'm not trying to get out of dinner. Tuckers always keep their end of a deal."

  "Ah, another thinly veiled insult. You got anything else, or should we start unpacking?"

  She sighed, apology in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ryder. You're right. I'm being rude."

  He was startled by her words, not completely sure he could trust them. "Okay."

  "It's been a long week, and I am way off my game. I'm not even sure I can cook you a good meal. I haven't been in a kitchen since…" Her voice faded away, as her gaze moved around the room.

  "Since you allegedly cooked a dish that sent twenty people to the hospital with food poisoning and destroyed the reputation of a top chef and a new restaurant?" he queried.

  Her lips tightened. "Well, I'm glad you said allegedly; I don't think the article you read actually said that."

  "Is it true?"

  "Are you worried I'm going to poison you?"

  "Judging by how unhappy you are to be here, I probably should be, but I'm not. Want to tell me your side of the story, Bailey?"

  "Not really." Her blue eyes filled with shadows. "But if you still want me to cook, I will do my best not to send you to the hospital."

  "I would appreciate that. I've already spent too much time in a hospital."

  Her gaze sharpened, and he suddenly realized he'd said too much.

  "You were hurt?" she asked. "Is that why you left the Navy?"

  "It's not why I left, but I did suffer some injuries after a hard landing. I broke my arm and cracked a couple of ribs, but I survived," he said, glossing over the incident.

  "When was that?"

  "Six months ago."

  "What happened?"

  "The helo I was flying took enemy fire. I had to set her down."

  "That sounds terrifying. Where were you?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "You can't say?"

  "I can't."

  "Well, can you tell me if everyone survived?"

  "Thankfully, yes."

  Relief flashed in her eyes, and he was surprised that she'd been even a little worried about people she didn't know.

  "I'm so glad," she said. "Growing up in Eagle's Ridge, where so many young men and women go off to serve and don't always come back, I always worry every time I see news about someone killed in action."

  He could understand that. Eagle's Ridge was a military town, steeped in the tradition of service, and almost all of his friends had gone into some branch of the military after high school.

  "I lived in fear of something happening to Zane or Adam when they were serving," Bailey added. "I was so relieved when they both decided to get out. I'm sure your family is happy you're back."

  "Probably."

  Her gaze narrowed. "You don't know?"

  "We don't share personal feelings in my family."

  "Well, I'm quite certain they're relieved to have you out of harm's way."

  "I suppose so. They never wanted me to join the Navy. Besides my grandfather, Westbrooks tend to buck the tradition of service, although my mother claims that she serves in her own way by running half the fundraisers in town," he said dryly.

  "Well, she does raise a lot of money for various charities, so she's right." Bailey paused. "You said you didn't leave the Navy because of the crash or your injuries, so why did you leave? Eagle's Ridge must seem awfully quiet."

  "Quiet and good. And my reasons are…complicated."

  "Are they? Or do you just not like to share personal feelings, either?"

  "I have to admit that's probably the one area where I do take after my family," he acknowledged. "Shall we get started on dinner? Is there anything I can help you with?" He was eager to get the conversation away from his personal life.

  "I don’t think you can help me, considering you just told me you've been living off canned soup and barbecue."

  "That's true, but I can wash vegetables and chop. It looks like you got a lot of produce."

  "There were so many great choices at the store, I couldn't decide what I wanted."

  "What are you making?"

  "No idea yet," she said with a small smile. "I'm going to let the ingredients speak to me. And I will let you be my prep chef, but on one condition."

  "What's that?"

  "No talking about feuds and grandfathers until after dinner."

  That was fine by him. At the moment, he was more interested in getting to know her. "Deal."

  "Why don't you wash and slice the mushrooms?" She pulled a band off her wrist and swept her hair up into a ponytail. "Then you can move on to the peppers."

  "Got it."

  While he started on the mushrooms, Bailey opened up his cabinets and pulled out pots and pans, placing them on the stove.
Then she looked at the array of ingredients on the table. Despite her claim that the vegetables would tell her what to do, she didn't seem to be in a hurry to get started. After a few moments, she folded her arms across her waist and let out a sigh.

  "Problem?" he asked. "Vegetables aren't talking to you? No one is eager to get cooked up in some delicious meal?"

  She gave him a distracted look. "What?"

  "Okay, that was a little funny," he told her.

  "Sorry, I didn't hear what you said."

  "What's going on?" he asked, seeing what looked like panic flash through her eyes.

  "I haven't been able to cook since…"

  "Oh," he said, beginning to realize that whatever had happened in New York had definitely traumatized her.

  "It's ridiculous," she said, waving a wild hand in the air. "I'm a chef. It's what I do; what I love to do; what I was born to do. It's been my life, my whole life, every waking second for as long as I can remember. Now, I feel suddenly terrified."

  She blinked a few times, and he was worried she was about to burst into tears, and he had no idea what he was going to do then.

  "You don't have to cook," he said quickly. "We'll go out, or we'll order in. It's not a big deal."

  "I can't be a quitter. Tuckers aren't quitters."

  "You're not quitting. You're just taking a minute."

  "I've already taken almost a week. I hate that he's taken this away from me, too."

  Ryder didn't know who he was, but he instinctively disliked him. "Then don't let him," he said. "We'll cook together. I've got eggs. You brought lots of vegetables. We'll make an omelet."

  She drew in a breath, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. "No, you're not going to eat an omelet for dinner. I can do this. I can make you a really good meal."

  "I know you can," he said quietly.

  She met his gaze. "I didn't poison those people in New York. I didn't cook the meal that they ate no matter what the owner said."

  "I believe you."

  "Thank you. Not many people do."

  "Why not?"

  "Because the chef, the owner of the restaurant, is Franco Dubois. He is a renowned three-star Michelin chef from Paris. He owns a dozen restaurants around the world. He's brilliant and acclaimed and he told everyone that I was responsible for the food poisoning and then he fired me."

  Anger ran through him at the pain in her eyes. "You can still set the record straight, Bailey. You just have to make people listen."

  "Even if I got the press to print retractions, it wouldn't matter. The restaurant world is very incestuous. Everyone knows everybody and what Franco said will always make people doubt me."

  "Then you'll find a way to get rid of the doubt."

  "You say that like it's easy."

  "Not easy, but I think you can do it. When you're ready."

  "I'm not ready to take on the press or the food writers or Franco, but I am ready to make you some dinner."

  "It's a good place to start."

  "Okay then, I just have to make some decisions. Let's see." She took another moment and then said, "I think I will do a spinach salad with mushrooms and bacon, roasted red peppers with goat cheese, and I have a beautiful wild salmon that I can top with a wonderful sauce. How does that sound?"

  "Like the best meal I've had in a long time."

  "I don't think you've set the bar very high, but I'll take it."

  "Then let's get on with it, because now you've made me even more hungry."

  Five

  Once she started cooking, Bailey's instincts kicked in, and she stopped thinking about how badly everything had gone the past week and focused instead on the meal she was making. It was simple and not at all difficult to make, but her competitive spirit was getting back into gear, and she wanted it to be the best meal that Ryder had had in a very long time.

  He was a surprisingly good prep cook, following her instructions with little comment, and for the most part they worked in an unusually comfortable silence considering the fact that they really didn't know each other at all.

  Aside from their conversation last night and this morning, she'd probably spoken ten words to him in her entire life. She'd always known of him, of course, because he had been in her brothers' grade, and he was well-known around town, not only because of his last name, but because of all of his athletic and academic accomplishments.

  She doubted Ryder knew much about her younger self, since she had had no athletic or academic accomplishments of note. High school had not been the best time of her life.

  She'd thought her twenties were much better, until last week…

  But that was last week. She needed to stay in the present and start looking forward.

  While she finished plating, Ryder set the small kitchen table and opened the bottle of wine she'd brought to pair with her fish.

  "I'm pouring you a glass," he told her.

  "Please," she said. "I am more than ready for some wine."

  He smiled. "I'm more than ready for that food."

  She brought the salmon and the spinach salad to the table while Ryder retrieved a plate of stuffed red peppers and a bowl of jasmine rice that she'd made to go with the fish. As they sat down together, she was rather proud of what she'd whipped up.

  "I can't believe you did all this in an hour, and I was even watching you do it," Ryder said. "You're a magician, Bailey."

  "It was a bit easier having your help," she admitted, taking a sip of her wine. "You aren't bad with a knife."

  "Not a skill I thought I had, but okay," he said with a laugh.

  "You're really good at everything, aren't you?"

  "I wouldn't say everything."

  "Oh, yeah, then tell me something you're not good at, Mr. Student Body President, High School Quarterback, Star Baseball Player, Most Likely to Succeed…"

  "Did you look me up in the high school yearbook before you came over?"

  "I didn't have to. I grew up here and in a house with two brothers who both admired and hated you at various times in their lives."

  "I hope they didn't actually hate me."

  "They probably didn't, since you led a lot of their teams to victory. But maybe a little jealous. Adam and Zane like to win—a lot."

  "So do I." He paused, as he scooped some rice onto his plate. "So do you."

  "Not in sports, but in the kitchen, yes. Anyway, eat before it gets cold."

  "You don't have to tell me twice," he said, as he took a bite of the stuffed pepper. "Amazing. I've never been a fan of bell peppers, but stuffed with goat cheese and whatever else you put in here has changed my mind."

  "Anything can be great if you know how to cook it. But you should have told me you don't like peppers."

  "Are you kidding? I figured I was on thin ice just getting you over here."

  "You were on thin ice. I didn't like being blackmailed."

  "I wouldn't have told Zane about Gambler's great escape if you'd said no."

  She raised a brow. "Now you tell me that?"

  "Come on, you weren't really worried, were you?"

  "Obviously, I was, or I wouldn't be here right now." Actually, that wasn't completely true, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She could hardly say she'd let him blackmail her because she'd wanted to get to know him. That would be crazy.

  "Maybe you just wanted to see me again, Bailey." He gave her a charming, sexy smile that sent tingles down her spine. Now she had a better understanding of why Ryder had been so popular with the girls in high school. When he smiled, there was no way a woman couldn't smile back. She dragged her gaze away from his and concentrated on her dinner.

  She hadn't felt hungry in almost a week, but since she'd returned to Eagle's Ridge, she was definitely making up for her lack of calories in the days preceding.

  As she finished her meal, she sat back and picked up her glass of wine, feeling more relaxed than she had in a long time. But as Ryder wiped his sexy mouth with a napkin, a gleam entered his eyes, and she had
a feeling her chill mood was going to be on its way out very soon.

  "That was excellent, Bailey."

  "Thank you."

  "I'm glad you found your way back into the kitchen."

  "It only took a little blackmail to get me there."

  "Consider it my good deed."

  "I wouldn't go that far. But I think returning to Eagle's Ridge was probably the best idea I've had in months."

  "Sometimes it's good to get back to your roots," he agreed.

  "Yes, it is. Earlier today, when I went to the market, I ran into Miss Woods. I don't know if you remember her from high school. She was my history teacher."

  "Of course, I remember Miss Woody."

  She frowned. "You mean, Miss Woods."

  "Uh, yeah, Miss Woody is what the guys called her," he said with a somewhat sheepish expression. "It was a stupid joke."

  It took a minute for the nickname to register. "Oh. I get it."

  "She was hot and about twenty-six, I think. We were eighteen and pretty stupid. She ran detention, which gave us a lot of time to look at her."

  "I never went to detention, but I know my brothers spent a lot of time there. Now, I'm starting to think that's because they wanted to see Miss Woods."

  "It wasn't the worst punishment; I'll say that. Not that Miss Woods was ever that friendly to any of us. She treated us like irritating boys."

  "Which you all were—at least, my brothers were. I am a little surprised you were there, Ryder. You weren't the kind of kid to be in detention. You were always running things, breaking school records, getting awards of achievement. You weren't just blessed with talent; you had brains, too."

  "My cousin Ford Garrison and I got caught up in one of Zane's bets."

  "I didn't even know you were friends with Zane."

  "We didn't know each other too well before that, but once we were in detention together, we got closer. In fact, there was a group of us that hung together. I think Zane called us the Gang of Seven."

  "Who was in the gang?" she asked curiously.

  "Your two brothers, me and Ford, Noah Coleman, Jack Carter, and Wyatt Chandler."

  She thought about all the guys he'd just mentioned, every single one of whom had gone on to the military. "You were all in there together? I'm a little surprised, because you all went on to join the military. Funny that you went from delinquents to heroes."