HIS RANCH, MY HEART
Lydia didn't expect her bakery to become the hottest spot in Poway, or to catch the eye of a grumpy rancher.
But when Will, a guarded rancher with a dark past, becomes a fixture in her world, her steady rhythm of days is upended.
Will, a rugged rancher with emotional walls built sky-high, isn't looking for love, but he can't resist the pull of her gentle presence.
The two are drawn closer by a string of shared moments, an exciting rodeo/joust, and wild intrigue.
It all happens amongst determined matchmakers in a smal town where secrets are hard to keep.
Lydia must decide if she can break through Will's defenses before he's gone, forever.
Chapter 1: The Longest Day
There's a storm a comin', and I can feel it in my bones.
It's not the kind of storm you see rolling in over the horizon, with dark clouds and flashes of lightning, but the kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It's the kind that starts with a shift in the air, a change you can't quite put your finger on but know is inevitable. I've felt it before. More times than I'd like to count.
Maybe it's the way Will's been acting lately. Or maybe it's the way I keep catching myself glancing at the clock, counting the hours until the end of another day. But I know one thing for sure, the feeling that some things is, sorry are, about to change.
I'm standing in the small, cluttered kitchen of my bakery, wiping down the counters with a damp rag, but my mind is elsewhere. The evening sunlight filters through the window above the sink, casting warm golden streaks across the worn wood floors. It's quiet now, after the rush of the afternoon.
Most bakeries close about 2 PM, but I stay open 'till 5. Most of the potential customers have gone home, their orders of cookies, cupcakes, and pies carefully packed into paper bags with my bakery's logo on them. A few people are sitting on the porch outside, sipping coffee, chatting about the pending weather. They'll take some goodies home. The smell of cinnamon lingers, mixing with the faint scent of vanilla that clings to my clothes.
Whiskey, my loyal mutt of questionable heritage, lies at my feet, his golden fur blending with the floorboards. He's mostly a golden retriever. He looks exhausted from the excitement of the day, but he's always got a watchful eye out, his head propped on his paws as he follows my every movement. Whiskey's not just a dog; he's a companion. He knows me better than anyone else. Sometimes, I think he understands me more than I understand myself.
I glance at the clock on the wall and let out a long breath.
Another hour, and then I'll close up shop.
This is a unique, peaceful, but sometimes bustling town, this Poway. It was probably named after the Paqua Indians who once lived here, before migrating to the La Jolla area of what is now San Diego. I now live on Poway Road, one of the busier streets, almost in the shadow of what is called Tooth Rock. My bakery is just down the road in a tiny shopping center.
In the hills nearby live lots of fabulously rich folk, pro athletes of great renown, Hollywood types, wealthy business people.
Gated communities. Mansions the common folk never get to see, except from afar.
But more about Will. He's the kind of guy who's difficult to pin down. He's brooding, quiet, and older than me by about fifteen years, but there's something about him I can't seem to shake. He has a modest ranch east of town, out Ramona way. Ramona's another quaint California town up in the hills.
At first, Will was just another guy who'd wandered into my bakery after a long day of work. He ordered a cinnamon roll, didn't say much, and left. I thought that would be the end of it.
But then he came back.
And then again.
And eventually, I found myself waiting for him to show up. There was no big declaration of love or grand romance, no swooning moments in the middle of the street. Just small things-his eyes lingering a little longer than usual, the quiet smiles exchanged when he thought no one was watching. He always wears that old leather jacket, as if it is his shield from the world. Back then, he didn't talk much about himself, and I asked very little. I was happy enough just being around him. But now ... now it's different.
I can't put my finger on it, but something has changed. Something quite nice.
Whiskey's ears perk up, and I look over to see Will standing in the doorway of the bakery. The sun's already low in the sky, casting long shadows across his face. The faintest traces of dust cling to his denim shirt, and the hard leather of his boot heels scuffs against the wood as he steps inside.
"Evening," I say, my voice a little too high-pitched for my liking. I'm trying to sound casual, but I know he can hear the nerves creeping in.
Will doesn't say anything at first. He just stares at me, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed as if he's trying to figure something out. I'm used to him being quiet, but this feels different. Like he's hiding something.
"Everything okay?" I ask, wiping my hands on the rag, suddenly feeling awkward in my own shop.
***
Will steps closer, his gaze softening, but the tension still lingers. "I don’t think I’m what you need, Lydia."
