Page 62 of Wilde Ride

He gave me a look that said my question wasn’t even worth answering. “She’s annoying as hell. Just keep her on your side of the ranch.”

Before I could say anything else, he turned and walked out of my office just as my mother appeared.

“Morning, Mom,” Caden said, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Well, good morning, Caden darling.” Her eyes bounced from Caden to me. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s peachy,” he replied, glancing back at me before he walked away.

My mother shook her head and walked into my office. She reached down and took one of my Swedish Fish. “How do you eat these things and stay so thin?”

I shrugged. “Good genes?”

She chuckled, motioned for me to sit back down, and she took a seat as well.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

Studying her face, I replied, “Because you seem like something is wrong.”

“Fine. There are two things we need to talk about. One—The Daily Dirt.”

Leaning forward, I scowled. “What did they say this time?”

“They mentioned the annual pie contest.”

“This early?”

She nodded. “You know why, don’t you?”

Now I had to fight to keep the smile off my face. My mother and Grace Miller always went toe-to-toe in the annual pie contest. My mother’s cherry pie had won more than Grace’s caramel apple pie, which, honestly, was heavenly. But Mom’s cherry pie was to die for.

“Can’t say I do,” I answered.

Mom’s mouth fell open slightly, as if I’d offended her by not knowing the reason. “It’s obvious. She’s trying to hype up her stupid caramel apple pie by writing about it!”

Pressing my lips together, I nodded gravely. “Did she write about her pie?”

Sighing in frustration, my mother nodded. “Yes, Emeline, she did! She mentioned how many times she’s won, and then, at the end of the article, she said this year’s cherry crop isn’t looking so good! What in the hell? She doesn’t even grow cherries.”

My hand flew up to cover my smile.

“This isn’t funny, Emeline Wilde. The woman is raising doubts about the cherries. People are going to have it in their heads my cherries are no good.”

“Mom,” I started in a calming voice, “no one is going to think your cherries…aren’t good.” I had to press my lips together to keep from giggling. After a stern look from my mother, I got myself in check. “Everyone loves your cherry pie, and no matter what Grace or Janet writes, people will know your cherries are as delicious as ever the second they taste them.”

She leaned back in her chair. “I need to fight fire with fire. I’ve gone too many years letting that woman take digs at me in her little subtle ways. No more!”

I jumped when she shouted the last two words. “What do you mean, fight fire with fire?”

Mom stood, placed her hands on her hips, and smiled. “I’m going to have an article written in my own newspaper!”

“What?” I asked, nearly knocking over my chair as I stood. “You don’t own a newspaper.”

She chewed on her lip and nodded. “Can’t talk right now, Emeline. I need to do some research.”

Blinking, I rushed to follow her to her office across the hall. “Mom, you can’t just start a newspaper.”