Love Inspired September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Her Montana Twins\Small-Town Billionaire\Stranded with the Rancher (24 page)

He grabbed his crutches and put one beneath each arm. “Like I said, I wouldn't know anything about it, and I'm not going to attempt to participate in something I know nothing about. But I do know a thing or two about business, and I'd like to talk to you sometime about yours. Consigning Women, the business—the concept—has a lot of potential, and you've only scratched the surface. I could help you make that name for yourself.”

And just like that, Maribeth saw through the nice-guy image to the real man beneath the friendly facade. He'd seen her business and wanted it for himself. Maybe not the whole thing, but he had hopes of using her idea for his own benefit. She could see it in his eyes: another rich boy used to getting any and everything he ever wanted. He was being nice because he wanted something.

“I don't think so,” she said, and didn't hide the irritation in her tone. Then she turned away, told Dana to have a good day and headed into the barn.

* * *

Ryan's coffee sloshed in the travel mug when Dana stomped on the brakes before they reached the main road.

“Hey, easy there,” he said, taking a sip to keep more from spilling over the top.

“I don't get it,” she said, apparently forgetting that they were already running late to his rehab appointment. “Maribeth told you last night that she isn't interested in her business growing bigger, but you just won't let up, will you?” She placed her mug in the cup holder and put the car in Park, obviously not going anywhere until Ryan responded.

“Why wouldn't anyone want to go bigger?” he asked.

“Everyone isn't you, Ryan,” she said, then visibly swallowed. “Everyone doesn't want to be Dad.” When he didn't say anything, she continued, “That's it, isn't it? You think you've got to spend your life trying to make everything a little bit better, and a whole lot bigger, the same way he did. Well, I'll tell you something. That didn't make him happy, because things couldn't satisfy him. He realized that in the end.”

Ryan had heard this speech way too many times in the two years since Lawrence Brooks had died, and he didn't want to hear it again, particularly since it wasn't true. “I'm not trying to be Dad. That's the whole point of me wanting to help grow Maribeth's business. She said she came here to make a name for herself, and I understand that, because that's what I want to do. I'm drowning in Dad's shadow. Everything I've done at that company has been done exactly—
exactly
—the way Dad did it. Nothing original. Nothing new. I've followed his strategies, utilized his resources and basically continued living in his world. My investments, each and every resort property, were the ones he already had in his sights when he died. Do you realize that the board hasn't approved anything that he hadn't already set into play?”

“Nothing you've recommended to the board has been approved?”

“That's just it. I haven't had a chance to recommend anything, because Dad had the next decade lined up.”

“How?”

“Not exact properties and investments, but he set the plan in motion, the types of scenarios that were must-have purchases for the company, and that's what the board is looking for. They aren't interested in messing with a system that works.”

“But that leaves you out of the equation,” she said.

“The one time they've deviated from Dad's plan was when they approved the funding for new entrepreneurs, and that was due to you going to bat for John's dude ranch.”

“But you want to make
your
mark in the company as well, and you saw Maribeth's idea as a way to make that happen,” she said, realization dawning on her face.

“Pretty much. Maribeth's idea is ingenious. She's tapped into something original, inventive and clever, and I think—no, I know—that I can help her make it huge. I'd be investing in something that
I
found, something that
I
believe in. Something Brooks International has never done before.”

“But it's Maribeth's concept,” she said. “And she likes it the way it is—a small store in the Claremont town square. She doesn't want to make it bigger.”

“She said she wanted to make a name for herself,” Ryan repeated.

“And she has, here, in Claremont.” Dana ran her hand through her hair then turned to face him. “Listen, I know you think convincing her to hand over Consigning Women so that you can turn it into some worldwide conglomeration is a good idea and that deep down, you actually believe you'd be helping her.”

“I would be.”

“Not if it isn't what she wants.” She shook her head, then said, “I thought, or rather, I hoped that part of your decision to stick around for the remaining weeks of your therapy was because you had an interest in Maribeth. And I don't mean her business, but her, the person. In my opinion, she's exactly the type of person you need in your life. She's beautiful and smart, and she loves God. And she's feisty enough to handle you, which I can't say about most women.” She opened her fingertips above the steering wheel and then curled them in to clasp it, but Ryan suspected she'd rather be pressing them against his throat. She'd never been good at hiding irritation. “I thought you were acting interested in her, but I should have known you were only interested in her idea and what you could do with it.”

Ryan didn't know what to say. He couldn't deny that he was physically attracted to Maribeth, but he also didn't plan on acting on that attraction. Dana was right; the lady was beautiful, smart and feisty. And she seemed like the real deal when it came to her love of God, which was something Dana wanted in Ryan's life, even if it wasn't something he was looking for. Truthfully, he didn't know enough about God to know whether he wanted Him in his life or not. But the main reason he couldn't have any type of relationship with the woman was because that strong, bizarre attraction he felt every time she was around seemed way too similar to the fascination he'd had toward Nannette. It felt real. And his past experience told him that if it seemed that real that quick...it wasn't.

He wouldn't get his heart broken again.

“Wait a minute,” Dana said, studying him as though she knew his very thoughts. And, based on past experience, he suspected she did. All of those years with the two of them depending on each other as best friends when their father left them to one nanny or another had them so tuned in to each other's feelings that Dana didn't miss where his mind had headed now.

“You
are
feeling something toward Maribeth, aren't you?” she questioned. “But you're still suffering from shell shock after what happened with Nannette.” She nodded once, as though she didn't need affirmation from Ryan to know she'd hit the mark. Then she picked up her coffee mug, took a sip and then put the car in drive. “I've changed my mind,” she said, pulling out onto the road.

Ryan drank his coffee, which had turned cold and bitter, and debated whether to ask, but curiosity got the best of him. “Okay, I'll bite. Changed your mind about what?”

“About you talking to Maribeth about her business. I think you should try to convince her to let you help her out, make her business bigger and all of that.” Her smile looked way too smug. “Yeah, I think that's a great idea, in fact.”

He could figure out nearly every board member's wishes by studying their faces at the table, but he had no idea what was going on in Dana's mind right now. “You think it's a great idea?”

“Yes. Because I know Maribeth, and she isn't going to do anything she doesn't want to do. If she has her mind made up, there isn't a thing you can do to change that.” Still grinning, she accelerated and added, “But I also know that she could make a difference in your life. Because she's exactly what you need, whether you realize it or not, and I'm not talking about her business.”

“It's her business I'm interested in,” he said. “That's it.” But even as he said the words, he, like Dana, debated whether they were true.

Chapter Three

R
yan was more sore than usual after this morning's rehab, but based on what Dr. Aldredge had said, that was a good thing. And the doctor had finally unlocked the cast, so he could get around better and start wearing normal clothes. Though this apparel could hardly be considered normal for Ryan. Dana had bought him a few Western shirts during their trip to the square and insisted that he wear them to “blend” on the farm during his stay. She'd been so excited about buying them that Ryan didn't argue, but it still took him by surprise when he looked in the mirror and saw something like a “real” cowboy staring back at him.

The shirt was red-and-brown plaid. Plaid. Ryan had never worn anything plaid in his life, but Dana had liked it and said it was a “must-have,” so he'd conceded. He couldn't recall owning a shirt that snapped instead of buttoned, either, but this one did. The saleslady at the Country Outfitter store had first wanted to take his picture so she could prove Ryan Brooks actually shopped there, and then she'd wanted another of him wearing some of the clothes. Ryan had obliged. He was used to people taking his picture, after all, even if it hadn't happened since he'd arrived in Claremont. But he also had to admit that it was nice not having a big lens pointed at him every time he went out.

However, the woman's exclamation that he should keep wearing the clothes because they made him “look just like Blake Shelton” got a laugh out of Ryan. He didn't have the foggiest idea who Blake Shelton was, though Dana quickly clued him in about the famous country singer. The thing was, Ryan had never bought—and would never buy—something to try to look like someone else. He was his own person. Or at least that's what he wanted to be, even if he often found himself lost in the memory of Lawrence Brooks. Like today, when the head of acquisitions for Brooks International questioned whether Ryan thought his father would have selected the resort Ryan had purchased last year in Miami. No, the return on investment wasn't where it needed to be yet, but that had more to do with the economy than the possibility that the purchase was a poor decision on Ryan's part.

He was proud of everything his father had accomplished, but tired of having every decision compared to the master. If he had a way to make his name known, put his personal stamp on the Brooks empire, then maybe his board would stop questioning his every move.

A crack of lightning brought his attention to the storm brewing outside. He'd spent the afternoon responding to corporate memos and evaluating the weekly reports, and he'd planned to get outside for a breath of fresh air when he finished. But the bad weather they'd anticipated had arrived, and from the look of things, it'd hit the campers on their way back. The line of horses moved slowly through the drizzle toward the barn, and even in the gray haze, he could see Maribeth's smile.

There was something so compelling about the woman, not merely because of her beauty but also due to her determination. She'd left her home and her family behind to pursue her dream in a brand-new town, and her store seemed to be doing as well as it could in the tiny place. More than that, she seemed satisfied with the slight measure of success. But Ryan had no doubt she could do much better, make a real name for herself, if she'd only let him help.

Why was she being so stubborn?

And something told him that it wasn't merely obstinacy holding the woman back. She'd left a decent-size town on the beach, which would have a surplus of tourists and therefore much more exposure for her store, to start her business in a town that didn't even warrant a spot on most maps. And she'd left her family behind, when they could potentially have helped her with her start-up.

Maybe her family had been too controlling, and Maribeth hadn't wanted to start Consigning Women in a location where they would have the ability to take over. And maybe she thought that Ryan would also take her control away if she allowed Brooks International to help her expand.

The group disappeared into the barn, and he wondered how long they'd be inside. Every day they had returned from the trails with just enough time for the kids to be picked up, and then Maribeth and her volunteers would leave. But today they'd come back earlier due to the rain. And the fact that they were basically trapped in the barn for the time being would give Ryan the opportunity to make his way out there and talk to Maribeth before she had a chance to climb in her car and drive away.

He wanted to tell her he could help her grow her business without taking away her control. She could make all decisions regarding how each entity should run, but Ryan would oversee the company's direction. And he'd show his board that he could do something his father would never have dreamed of—bolstering a unique consignment-store concept, of all things—and be equally successful in the endeavor. A win-win. Maribeth would make a name for herself, and so would Ryan.

But first he had to get her to agree.

He grabbed his crutches and started toward the door in spite of the rain picking up speed. He wasn't about to let a little rain—or a headstrong woman—keep him from his goal.

* * *

Maribeth had never known a red sky to be wrong, and the one Ryan had pointed out this morning proved to be no exception. As the vivid hue had foretold, clouds overtook the afternoon, and rain burst free before the campers made it to the barn. The kids were great, though, laughing and enjoying the break from the summer heat, even if they were drenched. Since this week's group came from the Claremont Community Church, which Maribeth attended, she'd known all of the kids before the camp started. But being with them this week, particularly when they discussed the Bible, had endeared them even more to Maribeth.

Maribeth gathered them in the barn for their end-of-day Bible study and varied her intended devotion to incorporate the weather. Sitting on a bale of hay with the kids surrounding her on saddle blankets, she read from Matthew, chapter seven. “‘
Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.
The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.
But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand.
The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.'” She looked around at the children's faces and was thankful that they seemed to be paying more attention to her than to the rain beating against the tin barn or the horses in stalls lining one side. “So, what was different about the wise man and the foolish man?” she asked.

Kaden Brantley, an adorable seven-year-old with blond hair and bright blue eyes, stuck his hand in the air and answered, “One was smart, and one wasn't?”

Nadia, standing behind the group, put a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud, and Maribeth also refrained from laughing, because Kaden was completely serious.

“Yes, that's true,” Maribeth said. “And what else was different, about where they chose to build their houses?”

Nathan Martin, an energetic nine-year-old with a contagious smile, answered, “The wise man built his on the rock so it would hold up in the rain, but the foolish guy didn't think about the rain, I guess, and so his fell.”

“Good answer, Nathan,” Maribeth said. “And here's the part people sometimes don't think about. While the wise man and the foolish man had differences in where they chose to build their houses, there was something about the two of them that was the same. And I think that's a big part of why Jesus told this particular story.” A few of the kids frowned or slid their mouths to the side as they apparently tried to figure out the answer. “Can any of y'all tell me how they were the same?”

Autumn Graham, a beautiful nine-year-old with auburn hair and dark brown eyes, timidly raised her hand. “I think I know.”

Maribeth smiled at the sweet girl. She hadn't spoken a lot during the week, but when she did contribute to the conversation, her answers were well thought out and intelligent, way beyond her age. “Okay, Autumn. What would you say was the same about the two men?”

She leaned forward and asked, “Is it that both of their houses were in the storm?”

Nadia smiled from behind the group, and Maribeth nodded. “Yes, Autumn, they
both
were in the storm. And what Jesus is showing us with the story is that if we have Him in our life then we're building our house on the rock, and when a storm comes, we'll be okay. If we don't have Him, then our house is on the sand, like that foolish man's, and when the storms come, it will fall. But He isn't talking about houses and rainstorms, like the one we have today.”

Nathan's hand darted into the air again, but he didn't wait for Maribeth to call on him before he answered. “He's talking about when we have a hard time, like if kids are being mean to us, or things like that, right?”

“Exactly,” Maribeth answered, enjoying this precious group of children. They'd been so involved in the trail rides and adventure hikes, but they were equally involved with the Bible lesson that accompanied each day. “Jesus is letting us know that everyone will have storms in their life, or hard times, but if we have our faith in Him, then we can make it through the storms, like the man who built his house on the rock.” She glanced around at the kids and was thrilled to see they were all still listening, which was good; their parents weren't due to pick them up for another ten minutes, and she wasn't sure how long their attention spans would hold out. So she decided to ask another question to spark interaction. “I know I've had storms in life—” she thought of one in particular “—that Jesus helped me get through. Can any of y'all think of storms that you have had in your life?”

For a moment, they were silent, and she thought she might have ventured too far in the kids-willing-to-share department, but then Matthew Hayes, a ten-year-old with an abundance of personality, shot his hand in the air and said, “I think I have a big storm every time I have to take a math test in school.”

His twin, Daniel, nodded. “Yep, math is our storm. We're horrible at it.”

“Math is a storm for me, too,” Nadia said from the back. “Or rather, calculus. I've always liked English and science better.”

“We don't like English, either,” Matthew said.

Daniel laughed. “Definitely not English. Our favorite subject is PE.”

“Well,” Maribeth said, attempting to gather their attention again, since all of the kids were now discussing their least favorite school subjects, “now you can remember that when you face the storms, like math or English, you can ask Jesus to help you get through it.” She glanced up when she heard a car outside, and that's when she realized Nadia wasn't the only one in the back of the group.

At some point, Ryan had entered the barn. He leaned against the wall, near the entrance, and he looked like something straight out of a movie...with a drop-dead-gorgeous cowboy playing the lead. In all of the photos she'd seen of him in magazines or online, he'd worn an expensive suit or tuxedo. Typically, the tabloids snagged pictures at red carpet premieres and elaborate corporate functions, and he had been dressed accordingly. But ever since he'd arrived in Claremont, he'd altered that look completely with basic T-shirts and jeans ripped to accommodate his cast, which wasn't a bad look, either. But this...the Western plaid shirt complete with snaps and a vintage-style yoke dampened from the rain, coupled with dark jeans and—catch her breath—boots...
this
took the already off-the-charts good looks that he was known for to something, well,
completely
off the charts.

Nadia drew Maribeth's attention away from the handsome rich-boy-turned-cowboy with an overly loud cough and, judging by the teen's smile, caught Maribeth's dropped-jaw expression. Maribeth's cheeks flamed, and she prayed Ryan didn't notice, but she couldn't make herself look his way again to verify. Instead, she focused on the kids, who were still chatting about their least favorite school subjects. Maribeth had a couple of minutes left before the camp day ended, so she attempted one last question. “Okay, I agree about those subjects being tough. Do y'all know other kinds of storms you or other kids your age have to face?”

When most of the kids shook their heads, Autumn lifted her hand again.

“Okay, Autumn. Go ahead,” Maribeth encouraged.

Autumn timidly glanced around at the other campers, swallowed and then said softly, “I think when your mom dies, like mine did, then that's like a storm in your life. Even though I was only four and it's been five years since she went to heaven, I still remember her. My dad, grandmother and I were all sad—” she glanced at the hay-covered floor and then whispered “—for a long time.”

Maribeth blinked and her throat tightened, overcome with emotion. “That was a storm,” she said.

Autumn nodded, and then one corner of her mouth lifted in a half smile. “But then my dad met Hannah, my mom now, and we started going to church again and praying—” the other corner of her mouth joined the first “—and then there wasn't a storm anymore. I think some storms are like that. And I know Jesus helped us.”

Maribeth's heart clenched in her chest. She had heard about Autumn's biological mother losing her life to breast cancer, and she also now remembered that the little girl had gone two years without speaking after her mother died. But to see Autumn now, with her tender smile and sweet spirit, doing so well, Maribeth had to agree. “I do think that was a storm in your life, and I am so glad that the storm has passed.”