Gone Country (Rough Riders #14)(2)

“He’s lucky? I’ll remind you that I’m lucky and I wouldn’t even be living here if it wasn’t for Gavin saving me from financial ruin.”

“Financial ruin,” Rory scoffed. “He only bought the land and buildings to one-up the McKays—which is ironic since he is a McKay.”

“Gavin’s last name is Daniels.”

Rory waved off her comment. “Semantics. If it looks like a McKay, acts like a McKay…then it is a McKay.”

Pointless to argue with her headstrong daughter when it came to her opinions on the McKay family—opinions that she herself often shared.

“When do they get here?” Rory asked.

“They left Scottsdale today, but Gavin said they’re taking a couple extra days to play tourist. Sierra starts school in a week, so I’m assuming they’ll be somewhat settled in by then.”

“Have you ever met the precocious and precious only child Sierra?”

Rielle used a decorative pillow to whap Rory’s arm. “Watch it, Aurora Rose Wetzler. Lots of folks around here said the same thing about you when you were sixteen.”

“Huh-uh, mamacita, that argument ain’t gonna fly. You rode herd on me from the time I was a little tyke. I never had the chance to get into trouble.”

“And look where me cracking the whip got you—a graduate assistantship at UWYO as you’re working on your Master’s.” Rielle stood in front of Rory and tucked a strand of her wild blonde hair behind her ear, like she’d done a hundred times. She still experienced that same overwhelming burst of love as she had the first time she’d cradled the squalling baby in her arms twenty-four years ago. “I’m so damn proud of you, Rory.”

“I know you are, Mom.” Rory hugged her. “But stop this mushy stuff or we’ll both start crying. There’ll be plenty of tears when I leave.”

“Don’t remind me.” She clutched her a little tighter. At six foot one, Rory towered over her by eight inches—making her daughter a supersized version of her instead of a mini-me. Rory’s green eyes—identical to her own—contained a devilish twinkle. “What?”

“Let’s get this shit done because I have a surprise for you later. And no groaning ’cause it’s gonna be awesomely fun.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask.”

They cleared out both the bigger bedrooms upstairs. Rielle opted to leave the existing furniture in the great room downstairs. If Gavin wanted to replace it with his furniture, fine, but somehow she doubted his home furnishings from Arizona would mesh with the western décor.

She propped her shoulder against the doorjamb, letting her gaze wander. She’d spent months decorating this main room, scouring auctions, secondhand stores and yard sales for funky western pieces. Using a little imagination and a lot of elbow grease, she’d repurposed everything—from rusty tractor parts and old wooden household implements to rodeo memorabilia.

The room reflected her personality and life philosophy: quirky, bohemian, old items interspersed with new. Some pieces were high-end, some were low-rent. Vibrant colors and random fabric patterns and textures. Organic mixed with luxurious. Her heart told her to clear this space because everything in it was personal, but her practical side warned that Gavin might see an empty room as a hostile move.

But dammit, she did feel like her house was being invaded.

Rory poked her head out the swinging door separating the kitchen from the great room. “Your martini is ready.”

Entering the kitchen reinforced Rielle’s melancholy mood; the house teemed with life with Rory in residence. Music drifted from her iPod speakers and she danced around the island, singing to country tunes.

Plates of appetizers were arranged across the eat-in service bar. Rory shook the cocktail shaker vigorously and filled martini glasses with pale yellow liquid.

Rielle squinted at the three glasses. “You expecting someone else?”

“Yep. And there she is, right on time.”

“Who?”

The door swung open and Ainsley Hamilton meandered in. She ditched her high heels first thing. “I hope you made those drinks strong, Rory, because I’ve had a bitch of a day.” Ainsley grinned at Rielle. “Heya, neighbor. You ready for this?”

“Ready for what?”

Rory mimed zipping her lips. Then she said brightly, “Belly up to the bar, ladies, and sample my latest concoction. A lemon-drop martini with an Asian twist.”

“Sounds heavenly,” Ainsley said. “What’s the twist?”

“Candied ginger and lemongrass.”

Rielle slid onto the barstool. Even if the cocktail tasted like crap, she’d get an A for presentation. Sugar-rimmed glasses, a slice of lemon, pieces of lemongrass twined around a cocktail pick weighted at the bottom with a chunk of amber-colored candied ginger.



Ainsley raised her glass. “To the support of good friends.”


They clinked glasses and knocked back a swallow.


“Wow, Rory, this has got to be your best drink ever,” Rielle said, sucking down another taste.


“Thank you, but I can’t take full credit. I tweaked the recipe from a guy who bartends at the hipster joint in Laramie.”


“It’s fantastic. Damn potent, so I’ll only have one.” Ainsley tipped back another swallow. “Unless you’re driving us into town?”