Now that he’s back, that seems to be changing some. Regardless, I’m still stuck somewhere in the middle. But that’s all right. Not everyone has the same relationship.”
“You don’t sound like it’s okay.”
She raised an eyebrow in surprise, then took another sip of the hot chocolate as she leaned on the granite countertop. She spread her fingers out wide as if soaking in the cool texture. “About those three someones… I’m dying to know more.”
“Dates.”
Her eyes went wide, and she inched back. “All three? At the same time?”
“Whoa. It’s not what you’re thinking.” He held up his hands defensively, chuckling. “I signed up for a dating service, a matchmaker. She’s lined up a trio of candidates. They were each supposed to come out here individually to meet with me, to see my ranching lifestyle and decide if it’s off-putting. It’s not for everyone.”
Her gaze flickering away at the mention of ranching not being for all, she wriggled her toes in his overlarge socks. “A matchmaker. Seriously?”
“Plenty of people sign up for online services. I opted for the matchmaker because of lack of time.” Absolutely the truth. And he found a certain sort of…practicality about having an expert match him with someone with similar interests. It saved time rather than meeting scores of women socially and trusting fate to somehow work out his future.
Her forehead furrowing in confusion, Esme leaned slightly forward. “Why do you want to have a girlfriend if you don’t even have time to look for one?”
Well, that was easy enough to answer. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I want a wife.”
“A wife?” Esme repeated, certain she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Hot cocoa cradled in her hand, she studied him through narrowed eyes, but couldn’t read if he was serious or not. Which could have something to do with how she kept looking at his impossibly broad shoulders. “You’re punking me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.” He set his coffee cup aside. “I’m looking for a wife.”
A flash of disappointment rippled through her. Silly really, since the last thing she wanted was a rancher. “A wife. Not simply a date. That’s just… Well, I’m surprised you’re already thinking that far down the road about someone you haven’t even met.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your shock is a little insulting.”
“But you’re a man.” Her eyes were drawn to his arms before she could stop herself. His muscular arms. Arms that had carried her so effortlessly.
“And that comment is decidedly sexist.” His green eyes flashed with heat.
She grabbed her mug quickly. She should probably hush before she alienated him altogether. “I apologize. I only meant it’s a leap from first date to the altar.”
“Apology accepted.” He reached for the refrigerator door, his flannel shirt pulling taut along his muscular chest. “Whipped cream?”
“What?” she asked, startled, her gaze shooting back up to his face.
“For your hot chocolate.” He held out a can, pointing in her direction.
Her mind traveled sexy pathways, imagining things they could do with that sweet treat.
“Uh, sure.” She reached for the can, spraying a swirl inside her mug, when she really wanted to fill her mouth with the stuff and quench at least one hunger. “Of course, there’s no reason in the world why you shouldn’t find love.”
“I didn’t say anything about love,” he said in the most logical of voices. “Just marriage.”
Again, he’d surprised her. This man wasn’t at all what she’d expected from reading about him online before her trip to Royal. “Marriage but no love?”
The thought of that chilled her with memories of her parents’ loveless marriage. Too many nights, her mother had cried herself to sleep over her husband’s staying late at the office yet again. Esme wanted more for herself than that and felt sorry for anyone willing to settle for less.
“Why not? I have my life in order—this house, the ranch.” He ticked off points one finger at a time. “The timing is right for the next step. A wife. Then kids.”
He’d laid out the events as matter-of-factly as he’d laid out the ingredients to make her hot chocolate. He’d described the process of creating a family as if he was listing the week’s upcoming groceries.
She raised an eyebrow. “Do these three mystery women know they’re expected to pop out children right away?”
Esme imagined what his dream woman was like. What she wanted. What would make her forsake the idea of love.
Not that Esme had had a lot of luck in that department. Still, she wasn’t giving up on finding love—when the time was right, with the man who was right.
She gulped down more hot cocoa and struggled not to wince as it burned her tongue.
“We all filled out extensive questionnaires. Our wishes for the future are in line.”
Well, now, that wasn’t subtle at all. “And I’m in the way.”
Esme blinked a sting of jealousy. She’d only just met Jesse. And while he was sure one sexy cowboy with his slightly tousled blond hair, she knew better than to assume they were anything more than two very opposite people stuck together riding out a rainstorm.
With precise, athletic footfalls, he made his way over to the window and looked outside into the tempest.
“In this storm, I seriously doubt any of them will be showing up.” He turned to her and his gaze held on her upper lip, and she realized she had a hint of whipped cream clinging there.
Jesse returned to her, offering her a napkin. She took it, dabbing her mouth slowly. His eyes flamed hotter and she wondered what it would have been like to let him kiss her upper lip, to taste him in return.
She swallowed hard to will away the sensation. “How do they feel about being a part of this edition of Catch a Bachelor: Rancher Style?”
He shot her an amused glance, easing back a step. “This isn’t a reality show.”
“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, struggling for levity. “No cameras.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And they’re coming at different times so they don’t cross paths.”
“How very…civil.” And cold. “How do your brides-to-be feel about this emotionless transaction?”
“To be fair, they know about the process. No one’s being deceived.”
He leaned against the island, an arm’s length away. Esme’s eyes drifted to his shiny engraved belt buckle. Snapping her attention back to their conversation, she considered the less robotic aspects of such an arrangement. All likes and dislikes already sorted. Everyone knowing the rules of the game. Everyone understanding expectations, too. No mystery. Nothing as quirky as fate intervening.
That was something, at least. “Glad to hear it.”
A slow, disarming grin spread across his face. “Are you interested in joining the process?”
“Whoa, nuh-uh.” She held up her hands in protest. “I’m in no hurry to fill a nursery, and I’ve had enough of ranch living.”
He tipped his head to the side, studying her, amusement in his eyes replaced by curiosity. “Yet you grew up on a ranch.”
Her childhood home on the outskirts of Houston was a sprawling mansion, almost castle-like, surrounded