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Having The Cowboy's Baby
Judy Duarte
I'm…pregnant?How can that be? Well, Carly Rayburn knows how–but she'd been told she could never have children. Even more shocking is returning to her family ranch to tell the daddy-to-be–-sexy cowboy Ian McAllister. Carly has dreams to reach country music stardom; he has his boots planted firmly in the Texas soil. But they share two things: undeniable heat…and, soon, a baby.Ian never forgot Carly, nor his plans to buy her ranch. There he envisions raising a family…with the right woman and at the right time. Till Carly drops her bombshell. When his head clears, he may be thrilled to be a daddy, but can he lasso the starry-eyed singer and become a husband?


“For old times’ sake.”
He whispered the words as his arms slipped around her on the dance floor.
As she stepped into his familiar embrace, his woodsy aftershave snaked around her, and he held her captive in his warmth and the seductive sway of his body.
Ian was an amazing lover, a good man, and she cared about him far more than was good for her.
Could they find a way to raise their baby?
She’d never thought that loving Ian and living in Brighton Valley for the rest of her life would be enough. But now she wondered how she could give him up.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.” Desire crackled between them all the way to the ranch, and even though Carly tried to ignore it, to tell Ian goodnight, something stronger overrode her common sense.
She invited him in for coffee.
But once they entered the house, she didn’t go to the kitchen. Instead, she turned to face the man who’d fathered her baby and touched her heart.
Every part of her brain told her she was about to make a mistake. A big mistake. But it was a mistake she couldn’t live without.
* * *
Brighton Valley Cowboys: This Texas family is looking for love in all the right places!
Having the Cowboy’s Baby
Judy Duarte

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Since 2002, USA TODAY bestselling author JUDY DUARTE has written over forty books for Mills & Boon Special Edition, earned two RITA® Award finals, won two Maggies and received a National Readers’ Choice Award. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she enjoys traveling with her husband and spending quality time with her grandchildren. You can learn more about Judy and her books at her website, www.judyduarte.com (http://www.judyduarte.com), or at facebook.com/judyduartenovelist (http://facebook.com/judyduartenovelist).
To my daughter, Christy Jeffries, who is everything I could ever wish for in a daughter and more.
Congratulations on your sales to Special Edition, the first of which—AMarine for His Mom—shares a January release date with my book! I’m looking forward to sharing more of the crazy and fabulous life of being a Mills & Boon author with you.
Contents
Cover (#u6fcd515b-29a7-5ad4-8d5f-8c65b7009d61)
Introduction (#uf1fa2099-6bb0-5e35-994f-5516b75fc60e)
Title Page (#u7d4640d7-6f36-59d4-a6b4-d0a176718a4b)
About the Author (#uafc5371f-9ad4-506d-80dc-a05204ff8637)
Dedication (#uef136c67-e387-5aba-8a79-ed062fa126b8)
Chapter One (#u43fdc226-a005-5387-8ce0-88240f3947b1)
Chapter Two (#u88f14c7f-b25e-528e-96a1-a0ea379cb1b4)
Chapter Three (#u011e1a75-280e-53b1-8e1b-7d9f1312918d)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_e8d70575-a1cc-557e-a48f-887c5725228e)
Carly Rayburn was back in town. Not that there’d been any big announcements, but news traveled fast in Brighton Valley. And even if it didn’t, not much got past Ian McAllister.
She’d had a singing gig in San Antonio, but apparently that hadn’t panned out for her, which was too bad. She had a dream to make it big in country music someday, a dream Ian no longer had. But he couldn’t fault her for that.
Jason, her oldest brother, said she’d be staying on the Leaning R for a while, which wasn’t a surprise. It seemed to Ian that she came home to the ranch whenever her life hit a snag. So that’s what she would do, right after attending Jason’s wedding in town.
As the foreman of the Leaning R, Ian had been invited to the ceremony and reception, but he’d graciously declined and sent a gift instead. The only people attending were family and a few close friends, so Ian would have felt out of place—for more reasons than one. So he’d remained on the ranch.
Now, as darkness settled over Brighton Valley, he did what he often did in the evenings after dinner. He sat on the front porch of his small cabin and enjoyed the peaceful evening sounds, the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the vast expanse of stars in the Texas sky.
The Leaning R had been in Carly’s family for years. It was run-down now, but it had great potential. It was also the perfect place for Ian to hide out, where people only knew him as a quiet cowboy who felt more comfortable around livestock than the bright lights of the big cities. And thanks to his granddaddy, who’d once owned a respectable spread near Dallas, that was true.
He glanced at the Australian shepherd puppy nestled in his lap. The sleepy pooch yawned, then stretched and squirmed.
“What’s the matter, Cheyenne?” He stroked her black-and-white furry head. “Is your snooze over?”
When the pup gave a little yip, Ian set her down and watched as she padded around the wooden flooring, taking time to sniff at the potted geranium on the porch, her stub of a tail wagging. Then she waddled down the steps.
“Don’t wander off too far,” he told her. “It’s dark out there, and you’re still getting the lay of the land.”
The pup glanced at him, as if she understood what he was saying, then trotted off.
Ian loved dogs. He’d grown up with several of them on his granddad’s ranch, but after he’d moved out on his own, he hadn’t been able to have one until now. Fortunately, his life was finally lining up the way he’d always hoped it would. Once the Leaning R went on the market, as Carly’s brother said it would, Ian was prepared to buy it. As the trustee and executor of the Rayburn family estate, Jason was in charge now. The only thing holding him back from listing the property was getting Carly and their brother Braden to agree to the sale.
But Braden had his own spread about ten miles down the road, and Carly had no intention of being a rancher. When she’d left Brighton Valley the last time, she’d been hell-bent on making a name for herself. With her talent, there was no reason she wouldn’t. There was always a price for fame, though, and Ian just hoped she was willing to pay it.
He reached for his guitar, which rested beside him near the cabin window, and settled it into his lap. As he strummed the new song he’d written, the chords filled the peaceful night. He might love ranching, but that didn’t mean he’d given up music altogether. He just played for pleasure these days, in the evenings after a long workday. He’d learned the hard way that it beat the hell out of opening a bottle of whiskey to relax.
Now, as he sat outside singing the words to the tune he’d written about love gone wrong, he waited for Carly to return from the wedding she’d come home to attend, waited to see if anything had changed. To see if, by some strange twist of fate, she’d decided that she wanted something different out of life.
He’d only played a few bars when his cell phone rang. He set the guitar aside and answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Mac,” the graveled smoker’s voice said. “How’s it going?”
It was Uncle Roy, one of the few people who called him Mac and who knew how to contact him. “Not bad. How’s everything in Sarasota? How are Grandma and Granddad?”
“They’re doing just fine. Mama’s cholesterol is a bit high, but the doctor put her on some medication to lower it. Other than that, they’re settling into retired life out here in Florida and making friends.”
Ian was glad to hear it, although he’d been sorry when his grandparents had sold the family ranch. But his granddad had put in a long, successful life, first as a rodeo cowboy, then as a rancher. And Grandma had always wanted to live near the water. So Ian couldn’t blame him for selling the place and moving closer to his sole remaining son—even if Ian felt more like his uncle’s sibling than a nephew.
“Say,” Roy said, “I called to let you know that it’ll be their fiftieth wedding anniversary next month—on the fifteenth. So me and your aunt Helen are planning a party for them. We’re going to try to keep it a surprise, although I’m not sure if we can pull it off. But it’d be great if you could come.”
“I’ll be there.” Ian wasn’t sure what he’d do about finding someone to look after the Leaning R for him, but there was no way he’d miss celebrating with the couple who’d raised him.
“Dad said you’re thinking about buying that place where you’ve been working,” Roy added.
“That’s my plan.”
“You made an offer yet?”
“Not yet.” But Ian was ready to jump the minute the place was officially on the market.
“What’s the holdup?”
“The ranch is held by a trust, and the trustees are three half siblings. They’re not quite in agreement about selling. At least, they didn’t used to be. I think it’s finally coming together now.”
“What was the holdup?”
“A couple of them wanted it to stay in the family, but no one was willing to move in and take over.”
Uncle Roy seemed to chew on that for a while, then asked, “You sure it’s a good deal?”
“Damned straight. The widow of the man who originally owned it took good care of it, but her grandson, the previous trustee, was some sort of big-shot, corporate-exec type who let it go to the dogs. It’s a shame, too. You should have seen what it once was—and what it could become again with a little love and cash. I’m looking forward to having the right to invest in it the way Mrs. Rayburn would have if she were still alive.”
“Well, Helen and I’ll be praying for you. I hope it all works out. I know having your own place and running a spread has been a dream of yours for a long time.”
And that dream had grown stronger these past three years. “Thanks, Uncle Roy.”
“Never did understand why you wanted to give up the good life, though. Dad says you were always a rancher at heart and not a performer. And he knows you best. But damn, boy. You sure could play and sing.”
Ian still could. It was the fame he’d never liked. He’d always been an introvert, and even though he hadn’t been the lead singer in the group, the gigs had gotten harder and harder to handle without a couple of shots of tequila to get him through the night.
So when the lights had grown too bright, the crowds too big and his fear of following in his alcoholic father’s stumbling boot steps too real, he’d left the groupies and Nashville behind for the quiet life of a cowboy.
“Listen, I gotta go,” Roy said.
“Give everyone my love. I know it’s an hour later there and Granddad turns in early, so I’ll call them in the morning.”
“Don’t forget—that party’s a secret,” Roy added.
“I won’t.”
When the line disconnected, Ian scanned the yard for Cheyenne, only to find her sniffing around near the faucet in the middle of the yard. Then he began strumming his guitar again.
Not everyone understood why he’d given up the life he’d once led, but Ian was happy here on the Leaning R. Only trouble was, Carly had swept into his life and turned it upside down for a while.
And now she was back.
* * *
Carly Rayburn gripped the wheel of her red Toyota Tacoma, the radio filling the cab with the latest country-western hit. She was still dressed in the pale green dress she’d worn as the maid of honor at her half brother’s wedding, although she’d slipped on a denim jacket to ward off the evening chill and traded her high heels for her favorite pair of cowboy boots.
Under normal circumstances, she usually came up with an excuse for why she couldn’t attend weddings. For one reason, she found it difficult to feign happiness for the bride and groom because she was skeptical of the whole “until death do us part” philosophy.
But then, why wouldn’t she be? Her father had a daughter and two sons by three different women. Then, after her parents’ divorce, her mom had gone on to date a series of men, all celebrities who’d moved in and out of Carly’s life as if it were a revolving door. So was it any wonder she thought “true love” was a myth and only something to sing about?
Today, however, when she stood at the altar and watched her oldest brother, Jason, vow to love, honor and cherish Juliana Bailey for the rest of their lives, she had to admit to not only being surprised by the rush of sentiment, but also feeling hopeful for the newlyweds, too. And that was a first.
Now, as she steered her pickup toward the Leaning R Ranch, she found herself happy for Jason and Juliana yet pondering her own future, which was now up in the air. Five weeks ago, she’d thought she’d finally gotten her start with a singing gig at a nightclub in San Antonio, but a stomach bug had ended that, leaving her between jobs again.
For the most part, she felt a lot better now. But every time she thought the virus was a thing of the past, it flared up again. Like today, at her brother’s reception. She was going to have a glass of champagne, but before she could even take a sip, a whiff of the popping bubbles set off her nausea. Yet now she was fine again.
When she’d first caught the flu or whatever it was, she’d gotten sick right before showtime in San Antonio. Her friend, Heather, had suggested that it might be stage fright, but there was no way that was the case. Carly had been performing ever since she could stand in front of her bedroom mirror and grip the mic on her child’s karaoke machine.
She figured she was just tired and run-down. So, with a little R & R on her family’s ranch, she’d kick this thing in no time at all and line up another gig before you could sing “Back in the Saddle Again.”
When she got within a few miles of the ranch, her thoughts drifted to Ian, the handsome cowboy who was content living on the Leaning R and who had no intention of picking up stakes. The two of them had become intimately involved the last time she came home, and as nice as it had been, as heated, as magical, Carly didn’t dare let it start up again.
So for that reason, she’d dragged her feet at the wedding reception, which was held at Maestro’s, the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. It was a nice venue for a small but elegant celebration—probably too nice and upscale for Brighton Valley, though. Still, while everyone had raved about the food, she thought the chef had been way too heavy-handed with the garlic and basil. Just one sniff had caused her to push her plate aside. But then, she’d had a late lunch and hadn’t been all that hungry anyway.
Once the newlyweds had taken off in a limousine bound for Houston, Carly had climbed into her pickup and left town. According to her plan, she would arrive at the Leaning R after dark, when it would be less likely for anyone—namely Ian—to see her. She just hoped she could slip unnoticed into the house and remain there until she figured out a plan B.
Yet, as luck would have it, when she pulled into the graveled drive at the Leaning R, Ian’s lights blazed bright. And to make matters worse, he was sitting on the front porch of his cabin.
That meant she would have to face the one man in Brighton Valley who unwittingly had the power to thwart most any plan she might come up with—if she let him. But there was no chance of that. Maybe if she’d been like the other girls who grew up around here, content to settle for the country life on a homestead with some cowboy and their two-point-four kids, she’d be champing at the bit to let the sexy foreman make an honest woman of her. But Carly had never been like the other girls—her family life had been too dysfunctional—and she was even less like them now. She had big dreams to go on world tours, while Ian was content to stay in Brighton Valley.
Well, there was no avoiding him now. She got out of the truck and made her way toward his small cabin.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“All right.” He set his guitar aside. “How was the wedding?”
“Small, but nice. That is, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“And you’re not.” It was a statement, not a question. Ian was well aware of how Carly felt about love and forever-after, so she let it go with a half shrug. His easygoing and nonjudgmental attitude was the main reason she’d even allowed herself to have a brief fling with him four or five months back. Well, that and the way he looked in those faded jeans.
He’d taken off his hat, revealing thick, brown hair in need of a comb. Or a woman’s touch.
She’d always found his green eyes intriguing—the way they lit up in mirth, the intensity in them during the heat of lovemaking.
His gaze raked over her as if he was hoping to pick up where they’d left off, and her heart rate stumbled before catching on to the proper beat again. But then, the guitar wasn’t the only thing Ian was skilled at strumming.
If truth be told, there’d been a fleeting moment at the wedding when her own resolve had waffled. She’d seen her stuffy brother’s eyes light up when his pretty bride walked down the aisle, and it had had touched her heart. She truly hoped that Jason and Juliana defied the odds and lived happily ever after. But she just couldn’t quite see herself dressed in white lace and making lifelong promises to someone. After all, she’d never known anyone who’d actually met “the one” and managed to make a commitment that had lasted longer than a year or two.
She glanced at Ian, saw his legs stretched out while seated in that patio chair, all long and lean, muscle and sinew. She did love a handsome cowboy, though. And Ian certainly fit the image to a tee. He also knew how to treat a lady—in all the ways that mattered.
Again, she shook it off. They’d ended things on a good note, both of them agreeing that their sexual fling—no matter how good it had been—would only end awkwardly if they let it go on any further. It had been a mutual agreement that she had every intention of sticking to.
“That’s an interesting bridesmaid getup,” he said as his gaze swept down to her boots and back up again.
“A bridesmaid getup?” That was a cowboy for you. “The wedding was so sudden that I didn’t have time to shop. So I wore a dress I’ve had for a while.” She glanced at her skirt, then twirled slightly to the right. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Not a thing.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin. “I was talking about the denim jacket and the boots. Juliana and Jason seem to be more traditional.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s true. I kicked off my heels the first chance I got. And since it’s a bit chilly out tonight and this dress is sleeveless, I grabbed the only jacket I had handy.”
“Either way, you make a good-looking bridesmaid, Carly.”
Before she could change the subject to one that was much safer than brides or commitments of any kind, she noticed a bush at the side of the cabin shake and tremble.
Had that pesky raccoon come back again? If so, it was certainly getting brave. But instead of Rocky, the nickname she and Ian had for the little rascal that knocked over the trash cans, a darling little black-and-white puppy trotted out from the bush.
“Oh my gosh,” Carly said. “How cute is he?”
“It’s a she. And her name is Cheyenne.”
As Carly bent to pick up the pup, she must have moved too quickly, because a wave of dizziness struck. For a moment, everything around her seemed to spin. She wasn’t going to faint, was she?
She paused a moment and blinked. Her head cleared, thank goodness. Then she pulled the hem of her dress out of the way, slowly got on her knees and reached out her hands. The pup came right over to her, but she held still for a while longer, making sure the world wouldn’t start spinning again.
“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” she said to the puppy. Then she glanced at Ian, who had a boyish grin splashed across his face. “Where’d you get her?”
“Paco, the owner of the feed store, had a litter of Australian shepherds for sale, so I bought her. It’s something I’ve been planning to do for a while. A spread like this needs a good cattle dog.”
Carly pulled the pup into her arms and stood. “But what if the new owners don’t want you to stay on?”
He shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
Ian didn’t get too concerned about much. In fact, he always seemed to go with the flow, which was a plus in the casual relationship department, but another reason they’d never make a good match in the long run. He didn’t have the same ambition she did.
For as long as Carly could remember, all she’d wanted was to stand out on her own and be recognized as more than a pretty little girl whose divorced parents, a wealthy businessman and a glamorous country-western singer, were both too busy to spend quality time with her. And she’d found the best place to do that was on the stage.
“That puppy is going to get your pretty dress all dirty,” Ian said.
“I don’t mind.” She tossed him a smile as Cheyenne licked her nose. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but I never stay in one place long enough to have one.”
“I’ll share Cheyenne with you when you come home.”
As nice as the offer was, it wouldn’t work. “Jason plans to sell the ranch, remember?”
“Yep. I sure do.”
“So I won’t have a place to run home to anymore. At least, it won’t be here. And like I said, you don’t know for sure that the new owner will want you to stay on. I mean, I hope they do.”
“Like I said...” His eyes sparkled, and a grin tickled his lips. “I’m not worried.”
“Yes, but you have to be responsible for a puppy now.”
“Having something to look after will do me good.”
She thought about some of the homeless people she’d seen on the city streets, pushing a grocery cart laden with their belongings, a tethered dog trotting along beside them. Not that she had any reason to think Ian would ever find himself homeless. He’d built a good reputation with the other ranchers in town. He was also a hard worker and would undoubtedly find a job somewhere. But he seemed to be as carefree as a tumbleweed, especially when it came to making plans, which was yet another reason they’d never make a go of it. Their basic personalities were just too different.
“You’re going to find that the ranch house is nearly all packed,” Ian said. “Juliana had most everything boxed up by the time she left. So it might not be too comfortable sleeping in there. But you’re welcome to stay with me, if you want.”
Memories of the nights she’d spent in his bed swept over her, warming her blood and setting a flutter in her tummy. But that wouldn’t do either of them any good. Well, maybe it would for as long as it lasted, but she couldn’t afford to get too invested in him—or anyone—at this stage in her career.
“As tempting as that might be,” she said, “I’d better pass. Besides, Juliana told me the kitchen is still in order. And the guest bed has fresh sheets. So I’ll be okay.”
“Suit yourself.”
Their gazes locked for a moment, as a lover’s moon shone brightly overhead. And while Ian didn’t say another word, she felt compelled to continue arguing her case.
“We already discussed this,” she said.
His smile dimpled his cheeks in a way that could tempt a good girl to rebel. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping with me, although I won’t turn you down if you insist.”
She clicked her tongue and returned his smile. “You’re incorrigible, Ian McAllister. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“No, I’m not. You said it yourself, a relationship between us would crash and burn. And I agreed.”
He had, and it was true. But that didn’t lessen her attraction to him, which seemed to be just as strong as it ever had been. She’d just have to ratchet up her willpower and avoid him whenever possible.
So she walked up to the porch and placed Cheyenne next to his chair. As she did so, she caught a whiff of soap and leather, musk and cowboy. Dang, downplaying their chemistry wasn’t going to be easy.
He reached for her hand, and as he did, his thumb grazed her wrist. Her heart quickened.
“It’s good to have you back, Carly. I missed your company.”
She’d missed him, too. The horseback rides, the sing-alongs on his porch, the lovemaking in his cabin, the mornings waking up in his arms... But she tugged her hand from his grip. She didn’t have to pull very hard. She was free from his touch before she knew it.
“Well, I’d better turn in,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“Good night.”
No argument? Not that she wanted one. But she was used to men coming on to her.
So why wasn’t she relieved that he’d taken no for an answer so easily?
Because life got complicated when hormones got in the way of good judgment, that’s why.
“Sleep tight,” she said as she turned and started for the house.
The chords of his guitar rang out in the night as he played a lively melody with a two-step beat, a tune she didn’t recognize, a song she’d never heard. She turned, crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. When she did, he stopped playing.
“That’s nice,” she said. “Is it something you wrote?”
“Yep. You like it?”
“I really do. You have a lot of talent, Ian. You ought to do something with it.”
“I just did. And you heard it.”
“That’s not what I meant. You should let me—or somebody—record this song. Maybe it could be a hit.”
“You have a beautiful voice, Carly. But I’m not interested in recording this song. It’s something I wrote for my grandparents. It’s going to be my gift to them.”
“That’s great, and I’ll bet they’ll love it. But what if you could do even more with it? Wouldn’t that be an awesome tribute to them?”
“I’d like them to be the first to hear it performed at their wedding anniversary.”
“But maybe afterward—”
“Sorry. My mind’s made up.”
So it was. And that should serve as a good reminder that Ian wasn’t a go-getter like she was. Sure, he could put in the effort when it came to working the ranch, but he had no other goals besides living as simply as possible. Plus, she’d learned that, as carefree as Ian McAllister could be, he was as stubborn as Granny Rayburn’s old milk cow when he did make a decision.
She nodded, then turned to go. As she made her way to the house, the melody followed her, and so did Ian’s soulful voice as it sang of two lonely hearts finding each other one moonlit night, of them falling crazy in love and of the lifetime vow they’d made, one that would last forever and a day.
She would have liked to have met the couple that had inspired him to write such a beautiful song. If she had known them, maybe she would look forward to settling down herself one day. But not for a long time—and certainly not with Ian.
Chapter Two (#ulink_aaf03e61-17b1-556f-9207-974c40433710)
When Carly entered the front door of the ranch house, unexpected grief struck her like a wallop to the chest.
The inside walls were lined with boxes stacked two and three high, each one carefully labeled with what was inside. Carly had known that her new sister-in-law had first inventoried and then packed up Granny’s belongings, but that still hadn’t prepared her for the heartbreaking sight.
Seeing a lifetime of memories all boxed up, especially the plaques, pictures and knickknacks that made the ranch a home, reminded her that Granny was gone and the Leaning R would soon belong to someone else. And for the first time in Carly’s life, coming home wasn’t the least bit comforting.
As she wandered through the empty house like a lost child, the ache in her chest grew as hard and cold as dry ice.
Needing comfort—or a sense of place—she hurried to the kitchen, where she and Granny had spent a lot of time together. She nearly cried with joy at the familiar surroundings. It was the only room that still bore Granny’s touch, the only place that still offered a safe haven from the disappointment of the outside world.
She studied the faded blue wallpaper, with its straw baskets holding wildflowers. The colors, now yellowed with age, had once brightened the kitchen where Carly had often joined Granny before mealtimes and begged to help her cook and bake.
The elderly woman had been more of a mother to Carly than the one who’d given birth to her and then left her in the care of nannies for most of her childhood. Of course, Raelynn Fallon would say that wasn’t true. And no one argued with Raelynn, least of all her daughter, who’d been asked to refer to her by her first name because Mama made her sound so old and matronly.
Was it any wonder their mother-daughter relationship hadn’t been all that warm and loving?
Thank God for Granny, who’d been the only parental role model Carly had ever had. For that reason, she’d grieved more for her great-grandma’s passing last year than she had when word came of her father’s fatal car accident in Mexico four months ago.
Carly glanced at the cat-shaped clock on wall, its drooping black tail swinging back and forth with each tick-tock.
Life went on, she supposed. But now she was at a loss. There’d been plenty to do on her last trip home, but that was no longer the case. Jason had hired Juliana to inventory and pack Granny’s belongings before he’d fallen in love with the woman and married her. And while Carly was tempted to unpack the boxes and return everything to where it belonged, she couldn’t very well do that.
So what was she going to do with her time, especially since she was trying to avoid Ian?
Her gaze landed on the countertop, where she spotted Granny’s old recipe box. She reached for the familiar, white metal container, with the scene of a mountain meadow hand painted on the outside. She lifted the lid and studied the yellowed tabs, bent from use.
Appetizers, beverages, breads, cakes...
She thumbed through the cookie recipes, which had always been her favorites. Granny had made little handwritten notes on the back of most of them. What a treat to be able to read her great-grandmother’s thoughts tonight, especially when she knew sleep wouldn’t come easy.
After rummaging through the pantry for a box of herbal tea, Carly filled the teapot with water, then put it on the stove to heat. Next, she took a seat at the antique oak table to begin reading through Granny’s recipes as well as the notes on the backs of them.
She’d no more than pulled out the stack of cards listed under cookies when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display. It was Heather, who was still performing in the show in San Antonio, the one Carly had once starred in and then had to quit.
“Hey,” Carly said. “What’s up?”
“I called to check on you. How are you feeling?”
“A lot better, although I’ve been pretty tired lately. I think that’s from burning the candle at both ends—and that bug I had really wore me down.”
“You probably ought to talk to a doctor.”
“I plan to get some sleep while I’m on the ranch. I never rest as well as I do out here. If that doesn’t work, I’ll make an appointment to see mine.”
“But how are you feeling otherwise? I mean, starring in that show was really important to you. And the director wasn’t happy when you had to quit. Wasn’t he the one who told you he’d put in a good word for you with his buddy in Nashville?”
“Yes, he was. So I doubt that he’ll do that now. But I’ve been disappointed before.” By people, by life events. Fortunately, Carly had learned to shake it off and to pivot in a new direction, if she needed to. “Don’t worry. I’ll find another gig soon.”
“Good. You really need to get your career jump-started before you get to feeling maternal and lay that dream aside for a husband who doesn’t appreciate you and a slew of whining kids.”
Heather, who’d grown up as the oldest in a family of seven, had spent more time babysitting her younger siblings than being a child herself. So it wasn’t any wonder she felt that way.
If truth be told, Carly had once dreamed of having a family of her own someday, with two kids, a dog and a house in the suburbs. She’d also told herself she’d find a husband who would be willing to coparent and who’d promise not to work or be absent on holidays. But two years ago, her gynecologist had nipped that wishful thinking in the bud when she’d told Carly that due to a hormonal imbalance and a sketchy menstrual cycle she probably wouldn’t ever be able to conceive.
But true to form, Carly had shaken off that girlish dream, instead focusing on her career. Besides, she’d told herself, with the lack of parenting she’d experienced, what kind of mother would she make anyway?
“Don’t worry about me falling in love and giving up my singing career, Heather. I’ll make it happen.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And I love your can-do attitude.” Her friend blew out a sigh. “But please give me a call after you talk to the doctor. I’ve been worried about you.”
Now that Granny was gone, there weren’t too many people who actually worried about Carly. She suspected Braden did, and Jason. The two of them had become a lot closer lately, especially since love and romance had softened her oldest brother.
“Thanks, Heather. If it turns out that I have to make an appointment, I’ll let you know.”
When she disconnected the call, Carly glanced down at the recipe cards in her hand. She flipped through them until she spotted one of her favorites.
Sugar cookies. What fun Carly used to have rolling out the dough and cutting them into shapes, especially at Christmas. Then she and Granny would frost them. She turned over the card. In blue ink, Granny had written:
Carly’s favorite. The holidays aren’t the same without these cookies. That precious child’s eyes light up in pure joy. Warms my heart so.
Then, in pencil, she’d added: “It was a sad day when she grew too old to bake with me anymore.”
Carly remembered Granny’s last Christmas. She’d called and invited her to come over and bake cookies. “Just for old times’ sake,” Granny had added.
But Carly had been too busy. It hadn’t been the first time she’d declined to visit Granny or to spend time in this old kitchen, but it had certainly been the last.
Was that the day Granny had penciled the note?
Guilt welled up in Carly’s chest until it clogged her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
“Granny,” she said aloud, “I’m going to bake a batch of sugar cookies for old times’ sake. And before your kitchen is packed away.”
Carly set the card aside and pulled out another. Brownies. No one made them like Granny. And this particular recipe had a fudge frosting that was to die for. On the back, Granny had written, “Men and boys can’t say no to these! They make good peace offerings. And good bribes, too!”
The teapot on the stove whistled. After setting aside a stack of recipes she intended to bake, including Granny’s Texas chocolate cake, Carly poured a cup of hot water into a cup, then tore open a packet of chamomile tea and let it steep.
With nothing on her agenda for this trip home—and most of the packing already done—she reached into the kitchen desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. Then she began a long grocery list.
She had no idea what she was going to do with everything she intended to bake, but it was going to do her heart good. And right now, her heart needed all the good it could get.
* * *
As the summer sun climbed high in the Texas sky, Ian came out of the barn with Cheyenne tagging behind him. Carly had taken off a couple of hours ago, but he’d been in the south pasture at the time and had only watched her pickup driving down the county road.
He had no right to know where she was going, he supposed, but that didn’t make him any less curious.
Still, as he headed for the corral, where Jesse Ramirez, one of the teenage boys Jason had hired, was painting the rails, Carly drove up. At least she hadn’t taken one look at the packed-up house last night and blasted out of town at first light. Apparently, she planned to stick around for a while.
When she waved at him, his pulse spiked. But then why wouldn’t it? Carly Rayburn was every cowboy’s dream—a five-foot-two-inch blonde, blue-eyed beauty with a soft Southern twang and a body built for snug denim and white lace.
She was dressed to kill today in boots, black jeans and a blue frilly blouse. With her blond curls tumbling down her shoulders, she looked as though she was ready for one of the rides they used to take together, and he was half tempted to call it a day and suggest they do just that. But Carly had hitched her wagon to a different star and sought the fame and glory Ian had been happy to leave behind.
Of course, she had no idea who Ian had once been or why he’d given it all up. It was a secret he meant to keep now that he was living in small-town obscurity and going by his given name.
As she climbed from the truck and closed the driver’s door, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to help me carry some of this stuff into the house.”
“Sure. What have you got there?”
“Groceries.”
He glanced at the bags and boxes that filled the entire bed of her truck, then blew out a whistle. “What is all this? Flour, sugar, cocoa...? You planning to open a bakery?”
She laughed with that soft lilt that stirred his blood and lent a unique sound to her singing voice. “Maybe I should. I found Granny’s recipe box last night. She made notes on the back of the cards. And since I couldn’t sleep, I spent a long time reading over them and reminiscing. So I started making a grocery list, and... Well, it looks like I’m going to do some baking. I’ll just have to find someone to give it to, or I’ll end up looking like a Butterball turkey.”
“Hey, don’t forget where I live. I haven’t had homemade goodies in ages. I favor chocolate, but I’m not fussy. If it’s sweet, I’ll give it a try.”
She blessed him with a pretty smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As they carried the groceries into the kitchen, she said, “Guess who I ran into at the market? Earl Tellis, the owner of the Stagecoach Inn.”
“He was shopping?” Ian laughed. “I didn’t figure him for being all that domestic.”
“Neither did I, especially during daylight hours. But his wife had her appendix removed a couple of days ago, so he’s helping out around the house.”
Ian didn’t respond. He sometimes drove out to the honky-tonk on weekend evenings, but for the most part, he didn’t like crowds, especially as the night wore on and some folks tended to drink to excess and get rowdy. He’d certainly seen his share of it in the past. And he’d done his share of whooping it up, too. But he was pretty much a teetotaler now. He wanted to prove that he could say no and knew when to quit—unlike his old man.
“Earl asked if I’d come out and perform on Saturday night,” Carly added.
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the big time by any means, but it’s a place to perform while I’m here.” She bit down on her bottom lip.
Uh-oh. Ian had an idea where her thoughts were going.
“Earl asked if I had a band,” she added. “I told him no, but that I might be able to find a guitarist.”
“Who’d you have in mind?” He knew the answer, though, and his gut clenched.
“You, of course.”
Ian shook his head. “I told you I’m not a performer.”
“You don’t know that yet—not if you don’t try it first. Come on. Help me out this once. Without you, Earl’s not going to want me.” She bit down on her lip again, then blinked at him with those little ol’ cocker spaniel eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes grew wide. “Like what?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not your daddy who used to give in to that little sad face.”
She slapped her hands on her denim clad hips and went from cocker spaniel to junkyard dog in nothing flat. “I’m not doing any such thing! And I never tried to work my dad like that.”
Ian arched a brow in objection. “Come on, Carly. I saw you do it.”
“When?”
“That first day you met me. When your dad stopped by and found out that the old foreman had retired and Granny chose me to replace him.”
“My dad hadn’t been happy to learn that Reuben Montoya had gone back to Mexico. And I was afraid he would do something...stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Chase after him, I guess. Or fire you before we had a chance to see if you could handle Reuben’s job.” She gave a little shrug. “I was only trying to change the subject and give him something else to think about. But I didn’t ‘work’ him the way you’re implying.”
“That wasn’t the only time. And you were good at it, too. But it won’t work on me.”
“That’s not fair, Ian. You make it sound like I’m a big flirt or a spoiled brat. And I’m neither.”
Not by nature, he supposed. But when you grew up with an ultrarich father who thought throwing money at his kids was the same as saying I love you, it was probably hard not to try to get your way on occasion.
“I’m not trying to offend you or stir you up. And I don’t want to thwart your chance at performing locally, but I’m not interested in playing guitar down at the Stagecoach Inn.”
“Do you get nervous playing for a crowd?”
“Nope.” Stage fright had never been an issue. “I just don’t want to.” That was the same reason he’d given Felicia Jamison, of country music fame, when he’d told her he was quitting the band. And she hadn’t taken it any easier then than Carly was now. But he didn’t figure he owed either of them any further explanation, although he probably should have given Felicia an earful.
Ten years ago, Felicia had been an up-and-coming singer when she’d hired Ian to be her lead guitarist. And the fit had been magical. Felicia could really rock the house with her voice, but it was Ian’s songwriting that had helped her soar in popularity.
Most of her fans might not have heard of Mac McAllister, but he’d still earned a name for himself within the country music industry.
So far, no one in Brighton Valley knew who he was. Felicia had the face people would recognize. Ian had only been a member of her band, but if he put himself out in the limelight again, the greater chance he had of someone recognizing him and word of where he was getting out. And he’d been dead serious when he’d told Felicia that he was retiring.
“Then I guess you can’t blame me if I try to change your mind,” Carly said.
Ian wasn’t sure how she intended to go about that, but the truth of the matter was, he still found Carly as sexy as hell. And while she’d made it clear that she didn’t want their fling to start up all over again, he wasn’t so sure he felt the same way.
* * *
Carly had never been one to take no for an answer—especially since she hadn’t been entirely honest with Ian. Not only had Earl Tellis asked her to perform on Saturday night, but she’d already made the commitment—for both her and a guitarist.
And since Ian could be rather stubborn, she had her work cut out for her. She also had a batch of chewy, chocolaty brownies with fudge frosting that were sure to impress the handsome cowboy. After all, hadn’t Granny said they made good bribes?
And that was exactly what Carly hoped to use them for this evening—a bribe to soften up Ian. So after dinner she put on a pretty yellow dress and slipped on her denim jacket and a pair of boots. Then she spent a little extra time on her makeup and hair before carrying a platter of brownies to his cabin.
Just like the night before, when she returned from the wedding, she found him sitting on his front porch, strumming his guitar. Only this time, he was playing a different tune, one that had a haunting melody, and singing the heart-stirring lyrics.
Not surprising, she thought it was just as memorable, just as good, as the one he’d written for his grandparents.
He stopped playing when she approached and cast her a heart-strumming smile instead.
“Was that another new song?” she asked, assuming it was and adjusting the platter in her arms.
“Yep.”
Ian didn’t realize how talented he was. Not only could he play and sing, but he had a way with lyrics, too. Most musicians would give up their birthrights to be able to write songs the way he could.
He set his guitar aside, next to where Cheyenne lay snoozing. “What do you have there? Did you bring dessert?”
Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach must have been spot-on. She just hoped Granny’s brownies were as persuasive as the note on the recipe suggested they were.
Carly stepped up on the porch and lifted the foil covering from the platter. “This is my first attempt to make Granny’s blue-ribbon brownies. Tell me what you think.”
Ian reached for one of the frosted squares and took a bite. As he chewed, his eyes closed and his expression morphed into one of such pleasure that she didn’t need a verbal response. But when she got one, it was just what she’d expected.
“These are awesome, Carly. I had no idea you could bake like this.”
She hoped he didn’t get any ideas about her changing careers, because there was no way that would ever happen. “Thanks, but it was just a matter of following the directions on the recipe card. Granny was the baker in the family.”
“That’s for sure. A couple of days after I started working here, your great-grandmother asked me to have dinner with her.” He burst into a broad grin, his eyes glimmering. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh green beans. I’ll never forget that meal—or any of the others that followed. I would have done anything Granny asked me to do just to get another invitation to sit at her table.”
That’s the magic Carly hoped the brownies would work for her. She offered Ian a warm smile. “Granny loved cooking and baking for people.”
“She sure did. I really lucked out when I landed a job on the Leaning R. And not because I needed the work. I’d been homesick, so we kind of filled a need for each other.”
Guilt swirled up inside again, twisting Carly’s tummy into a knot. “I guess she was lonely after my brothers and I grew up and didn’t need her to look after us anymore.”
“She understood that kids should have a life of their own. But it was your father who seemed to abandon her. He got so caught up in his life and his business that she often felt neglected and forgotten.”
“I know. Granny said as much to me. His parents died in a small plane crash when he was a kid, and Granny raised him until his maternal grandfather insisted he attend college in California. That side of the family was very rich, and he was smitten by the glitz and glamour.”
“Granny didn’t hold that against him,” Ian said. “But she still thought he should have called to check on her or stopped in to visit more often than he did.”
Carly knew how the older woman felt. Heck, they all did. Charles Rayburn had been very generous with his money, but not with his time. And both of her brothers would agree.
“I hope I didn’t let Granny down,” she said.
“She never mentioned anything to me about you kids disappointing her.”
Carly studied the handsome cowboy who seemed to have become her great-grandma’s confidant at the end. “The two of you must have become pretty tight.”
He gave a shrug. “I grew up with my grandparents, too. When I got tired of roaming and doing my own thing, I wanted to move back home. But by that time, Granddad had already retired, sold the ranch and moved to Florida to live near my uncle and his family. So I had to find another place to fall back on. That’s when I met Granny. Three years ago. I was passing through Brighton Valley and stopped to have breakfast at Caroline’s Diner. Granny needed an extra hand, and I wanted a job. Things ended up working out well for both of us.”
“I guess it did. But there’s something I’ve always wondered and never asked. Why did you stay on, especially now that things are so up in the air? It would seem to me that you’d look for work on a ranch that’s more stable—and more successful.”
Ian studied the pretty blonde, her curls tumbling along her shoulders, her blue eyes bright, the lashes thick and lush without the need for mascara.
She brushed the strand of hair from her eyes. “Was the question so difficult that you have to think about your answer? Most foremen would have moved on, especially when no one seemed to care about the Leaning R like my great-grandma did.”
There was a lot Carly didn’t know about Ian, a lot he hadn’t shared. And he wasn’t sure how much he wanted her to know.
He hadn’t just been looking for work when he’d landed the job on the Leaning R, he’d been looking for a place to call home. And the elderly widow hadn’t just found a ranch hand and future foreman, she’d found the grandson she’d always hoped Charles would be.
The two had looked after each other until her death. And even when Rosabelle Rayburn was gone and the late Charles Rayburn had taken charge of her estate, Ian had continued to look after her best interests. It soon became clear that Charles hadn’t given a rip about the ranch, and if Ian hadn’t been there, who knew what would have happened to the Leaning R?
Like Granddad used to say, You can’t buy loyalty, son. But when it’s earned and real, it lasts beyond death. And those words had proven to be true when it came to Rosabelle and the ranch she’d loved.
Ian shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, I like Brighton Valley. And I plan to settle here and buy a piece of land.”
After Charles died and his oldest son, Jason, became the trustee, Jason had announced that he intended to sell the ranch. When Ian heard that, he decided to purchase it himself. He’d developed more than a fondness for the Leaning R, and not just because he’d worked the land. He’d enjoyed all the stories Granny used to tell him about the history of the place, about the rugged Rayburn men who’d once run cattle here.
“I take it you’ve been putting some money aside,” Carly said.
“You could say that.”
“If you need any help, let me know. I’d be happy to loan you some.” Carly had a trust fund, so she didn’t have any financial worries. Apparently, she assumed Ian was little more than a drifter and needed her charity.
“Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”
It might come as a big surprise to Carly and her brothers—because it certainly had to Ralph Nettles, the Realtor who would be listing the property—but Ian had money stashed away from his days on the road with Felicia. He also had plenty of royalties coming in from the songs he’d written for her.
So, since he could no longer inherit or purchase the Rocking M from his granddad, buying the Leaning R was the next best thing.
“You know that song you were just playing?” Carly asked.
“What about it?”
“Would you sing it for me? From the beginning?”
Ian had written it right after she’d left the ranch the last time, after they’d both come to the decision that it would be best to end things between them. And while Carly had seemed to think their breakup had been permanent, he hadn’t been convinced. She usually came running back to the Leaning R whenever life dealt her a blow, so he’d known she’d return—eventually.
Not that he’d expected her to fail. Hell, she had more talent than her mother and—from what Ian had seen and heard—more heart than either of her parents. And he suspected that, deep down, what she really yearned for was someone to love and appreciate her for who she really was.
Ian wasn’t sure that he was that man, though.
Then again, he wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t, either.
He reached for his guitar, then nodded toward the empty chair on the porch, the one she used to sit on during those romantic nights she’d spent with him in his cabin.
Once she was seated beside him, he sang the song he’d written about the two of them, wondering if she’d connect the dots, if she’d guess that she’d inspired the words and music.
When the last guitar chords disappeared into the night, she clapped softly. “That was beautiful, Ian. I love it. But I have to ask you something. Did you write that song about...us?”
“No, not really,” he lied. “When you left, I got to thinking about lovers ending a good thing for all the right reasons. And the words and music just seemed to flow out of me. I guess you could say the song almost wrote itself.”
He wasn’t about to admit that the words had actually come from his heart. He’d become so adept at hiding his feelings, especially from a woman who’d become—or who was about to become—an ex-lover, that it was easier to let the emotion flow through his guitar.
“You really should do something with that song,” Carly said. “In the right hands—or with the right voice—it could be a hit.”
No one knew that better than Ian. With one phone call to Felicia, the song would strike platinum in no time. But then, before he knew it, every agent and musician in Nashville would be knocking on his door, insisting he come out of retirement and write for them. And there’d go his quiet life and his privacy.
“Would you please let me sing that with you as a duet at the Stagecoach Inn on Saturday night?” Carly lifted the platter of brownies in a tempting fashion. “If you do, I’ll leave the rest of these with you.”
A smile slid across his face. He’d always found Carly to be tempting, especially when she was determined to have her way. Sometimes he even gave in to her, but this time he couldn’t be swayed. “I may have one heck of a sweet tooth, but you can’t bribe me with goodies. It won’t work.”
She blew out a sigh and pulled the platter back. “Don’t make me ask Don Calhoun to play for me.”
That little weasel? Surely she wasn’t serious. “The guy who hit on you that night we stopped at the Filling Station to have a drink on our way home from the movies in Wexler?”
“Don went to school with me, and we sometimes performed together at the county fair.”
Ian clucked his tongue. “Calhoun’s a jerk. I saw him watching you from across the room. And as soon as I excused myself to go to the restroom, he took my seat and asked you out.”
“Like I said, Don and I are old friends. But if it makes you feel better, I told him no and let him know that you and I were dating.”
But they weren’t dating anymore. And, old friends or not, the guy was still a tool.
“What’s the deal at the Stagecoach Inn on Saturday night?” Ian asked.
“They’re having a local talent night. Our gig would just be a few songs—thirty minutes at the most. Will you please sing with me?”
“Now it’s playing and singing?”
She held out the brownies, offering him the entire plate, and smiled.
But it wasn’t the brownies that caused his resolve to waver, it was the beautiful blonde whose bright blue eyes and dimples turned him every which way but loose. He’d had all kinds of women throw themselves at him, and he’d never lost his head, never forgotten that there were some who weren’t interested in the real man inside. But there was something about Carly Rayburn that reached deep into the heart of him, something sweet, something vulnerable.
“Damn it, Carly. I’ll do it. But just this once.”
“Thanks, Ian. You won’t regret this.”
She was wrong. They were going to have to practice together every evening from now until Saturday. And he was already regretting it.
Chapter Three (#ulink_0a2ab654-1874-541f-be9f-136106610787)
Carly couldn’t believe how talented Ian was on a guitar—and how good they sounded together. Of course, that hadn’t made practicing with him any easier. In fact, over the past few nights, each session seemed to have gotten progressively harder to endure than the last, with this being the most difficult yet.
The air almost crackled with the soaring pheromones, the heady scent of Ian’s woodsy cologne and the soft Southern twang of his voice as they performed on the front porch of his cabin. Still, she sang her heart out.
As the music flowed between them, the words of the love songs they’d chosen taunted the raw emotion she’d once felt whenever she’d been in his arms. And it seemed to be truer now than ever, since this was their last chance to practice before singing at the local honky-tonk.
“Let’s try ‘Breathe’ one last time,” Ian said. “Then we can call it a night.”
“All right,” she said, but she feared that if she sang the sexy lyrics of that particular song once more time, she’d refuse to call it a night until she’d kissed the breath right out of her old lover. And then look at the fix she’d be in.
She stole a glance at the handsome cowboy and caught a sparkle in his eyes. The crooked grin tugging at his lips suggested that he knew exactly what he’d done. And that he’d planned all along to suggest the Faith Hill hit as their wrap-up tonight.
Darn him. He probably thought that after singing about the heated desire they shared she’d be more likely to suggest one last night of lovemaking—for old times’ sake. But she couldn’t do that, even though the idea was sorely tempting.
She had half a notion to scratch that particular song from their list. And she would have done it, too, if they hadn’t sounded so good together.
When the song ended, she reached for the glass of water she’d left on the porch railing and took a sip.
“We should be ready for tomorrow night,” Ian said, as he placed his guitar back into its case.
Had she been wrong about his intentions?
It appeared so, and while she should be relieved, she tamped down the momentary disappointment.
“Thanks for agreeing to sing with me,” she said again.
He didn’t respond, which suggested that he still wasn’t happy about being forced— No, not forced. She’d only encouraged him. But he’d given his word, which meant he’d follow through on the commitment.
Carly glanced near the front door, at the spot on the wooden flooring where Cheyenne lay curled up asleep. She would have stooped to give the puppy an affectionate pat before leaving, but she hated to wake her.
Instead, she tucked her fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. “I think we’re going to knock ’em dead at the Stagecoach Inn.”
“You might be right,” Ian said, “but keep in mind that it’s only a one-shot deal.”
That’s what they’d agreed to, but she hoped it was actually their first of many performances. She kept that to herself. At this point, there was no need to provoke him any more than she had.
Once he performed with her, she knew the audience would convince him that they were a perfect duo. And then maybe Ian would finally come to the same indisputable conclusion she had—that their amazing chemistry went beyond the bedroom and was destined to light up the stage.
* * *
Ian had been in more than his share of honky-tonks during the early days of his career, and the Stagecoach Inn was no different than the others.
Once he crossed the graveled parking lot, climbed the wooden steps and opened the door, the smell of booze and smoke, as well as the sounds of a blaring jukebox and hoots of laughter, slammed into him, taking him back in time to a place he no longer wanted to be.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the people mill about and chatter among themselves.
When he’d been known as Mac McAllister, one of Felicia’s Wiley Five, he’d worn his hair long. A bristled face had given him a rugged look he’d favored back then.
Hopefully, no one would recognize him now that he’d shaved and cut his hair in a shorter style. He was also dressed differently, opting for a white button-down shirt and faded jeans, rather than the mostly black attire he’d worn on stage before.
It wasn’t until a couple came up behind him that he finally stepped inside the honky-tonk. With his guitar in hand, he made his way across the scarred wood floor to the bar, which stretched across the far wall. In the old days, when he’d played with the Wiley Five, he’d relied on a couple of shots of tequila to get him through the performance. But that wasn’t his problem as he headed toward the bar tonight—his throat was just dry.
He was also annoyed at Carly for forcing his hand—or maybe he was just plain angry at himself for rolling over and agreeing to perform with her. He didn’t normally do anything he didn’t feel like doing.
So why had he agreed to do it for her?
Why here? Why now?
And why had she asked him to meet her here instead of riding over together? Something didn’t quite seem right. She might say she hadn’t played her daddy, but that wasn’t true. And while she might think she could wrap Ian around her little pinky, too, that definitely wasn’t the case. After tonight, it wouldn’t happen again.
The thirtysomething bartender, a busty brunette in a low-cut tank top, leaned forward across the polished oak bar and offered him an eyeful. “Can I get you a drink, cowboy? It’s happy hour. Draft beers are two for one.”
“No, thanks. I’m not looking for a deal.”
“Ooh. Big spender. I like that in my men.”
Ian liked his bartenders to keep quiet and do their job. Instead of serving the patrons, this flirty brunette ought to be seated on the other side of the bar, tempting the male customers to buy her a drink.
“I’ll have a root beer,” he said.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “Seriously?”
“You got a problem with my order?”
“Nope.” She straightened and her smile faded. “Coming right up.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the door, wondering where Carly was. He doubted she’d be late. The performance was too important to her.
The busty barkeep set a can and a frosted mug in front of him. “Do you want to run a tab?”
“Nope.” He placed a ten dollar bill on the bar, then took a swig of his soda pop.
“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to serving you all night.”
As the brunette turned to get Ian’s change, Carly, who’d apparently just arrived, eased in beside him. She was wearing a brand-new outfit—at least, as far as he could tell. And with her makeup done to a tee, she was just as beautiful as ever, although he preferred to see her without all the hairspray and glitz.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.
“I haven’t been here long.”
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’m just glad you showed up.”
Ian reached for her hand and held it tight, his thumb pressing against her wrist, where her pulse rate kicked up a notch. “I said I’d be here, Carly. And while I’ll admit I’m not happy about doing it, when I give my word about something, I keep it. So if you had any real doubts, you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Her glimmering eyes widened, and her lips parted. He wasn’t sure if it was his words or his touch setting her emotions reeling. Either way, he didn’t mind. There were a few things she needed to get straight about him. He was loyal and honest to a fault. But he wasn’t anyone’s lapdog.
He released her hand, his own heart rate pulsing through his veins, his own emotions swirling around in a slurpy mess. What was it about Carly Rayburn that set him off like this?
“I’m sorry for pushing you,” she said, “but this is going to be fun. You won’t be sorry once you see how people react to the two of us singing. Besides, we practiced—and we sound good together.”
They had practiced. And they did do well. Carly had a beautiful voice, maybe even better than Felicia’s. It had a sultrier edge to it, a sexy, intoxicating sound that the fans were going to eat up. Hell, Ian could listen to her talk or laugh or sing all night long.
“What time are we supposed to go on?” he asked.
“Around nine o’clock—give or take a few minutes. Do you want to find a table? Or would you rather sit here at the bar?”
He glanced at the bartender, who was laying down his change, her eyes and her sullen expression focused on Carly.
“I’d be more comfortable at one of the booths in the corner,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.”
This time, he didn’t give her a chance to argue.
* * *
Carly followed Ian as he made his way through the crowd to an out-of-the-way spot in the back. She hadn’t meant to push him or to anger him. No matter what he might think, she wasn’t that type of woman. But in this case, she felt she was doing him a favor.
She supposed she was doing herself one, too.
The only way the two of them could strike up any kind of romantic relationship again, one that might even prove lasting, was if they could perform together. Once they did, he’d see that he was meant to pursue a career in music, same as she. But even then, a commitment might be questionable. Carly was used to strong men. And Ian seemed so...quiet and unassuming. Perhaps he just needed a little push now and then to help build his self-confidence.
She’d struggled with that herself until Braden’s mom encouraged her to sing in the Sunday choir one summer. And it had done wonders for her.
Yes, all Ian needed was to see that there was a future for him as a singer and musician—one that was more exciting and profitable than working someone else’s cattle for the rest of his life.
Of course, when Ian had grabbed her hand this evening, when he’d admonished her for not trusting him to be a man of his word, he’d certainly given her reason to doubt her initial assessment of him.
Sure, she knew he was a good man, an honest one. And there was no question he was an amazing and considerate lover. She wouldn’t have gotten involved with him in the first place if that hadn’t been the case. It’s just that they’d hit this fork in their road, and he wanted to go a different direction than she did.
She wouldn’t claim it hadn’t hurt her to end things between them, but it had been for the best. Really.
Now, as they sat in silence in a darkened corner booth, Ian’s expression somber, she knew she had to think of something to say, something to change his mood. But before she could give it any thought, a blonde cocktail waitress stopped at their table.
“Can I get y’all a drink?” she asked.
Carly would have ordered a glass of wine, but her tummy had been bothering her again. Not as badly as it had in San Antonio, but she didn’t dare risk a bout of nausea before performing. “I’ll have a lemon-lime soda.”
“You got it.” The cocktail waitress looked at Ian and smiled. “How about you?”
“I’ll have a shot of tequila—Patrón or the best you have.”
Now that was a surprise. Ian never drank—at least, Carly hadn’t seen him drink. But apparently, she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought.
“I didn’t realize you liked tequila,” she said.
He didn’t respond.
Maybe he was just taking the edge off his nerves. She probably should have been a little more understanding, but there was only one way to kick a little stage fright, and that was to perform right through it.
He remained quiet, his expression intense, until the waitress brought his drink. Carly expected him to grimace at the taste, but instead, he threw it back as if it were the sweet tea he sometimes favored.
Okay, so maybe he hadn’t always been the teetotaler she’d thought he might be. But if a stiff shot eased his nerves, that was fine with her.
Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long. Just before nine o’clock, Earl Tellis, the owner of the Stagecoach Inn, took the stage, following two cowboys who played the fiddle.
“Folks, we have a real treat for y’all tonight. Most of you know Rosabelle Rayburn, who owned the Leaning R Ranch and who was one of the finest women in these parts. Well, her great-granddaughter, Carly, and her foreman, Ian, will be singing for you now. Come on up here, you two.”
“You ready?” Carly asked as she slid out from the booth.
Ian, who’d corralled his empty shot glass with both hands, grumbled like a bear coming out of his cave in the spring. But like he’d said, he’d given her his word that he’d sing with her tonight.
A rush of guilt and regret swept through her, sending her tummy on a roller-coaster ride. Okay, maybe she shouldn’t have pushed him to do something that made him uncomfortable. But it was too late to backpedal now. So she headed to the stage as Ian joined her, his guitar in hand.
Just as they’d done during their practice sessions on his porch at the ranch, they sang and played their hearts out. And when they were done, the honky-tonk crowd whooped and hollered and cheered.
This wasn’t the kind of stage Carly had set her sights on, but it certainly was the audience appreciation she’d hoped for. She glanced at Ian, who simply nodded at the crowd, then returned to his seat at the table.
So much for wishing he’d be inspired by the crowd’s reaction.
Carly had no more than reached the booth where they’d been sitting earlier when Earl Tellis joined her and Ian.
“That was amazing. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed hearing you two play and sing. What talent—and you seem to bring out the best in each other.”
Carly brightened. She’d felt that same chemistry in Ian’s arms as well as on his front porch when they’d sung together. So it was nice to know she wasn’t the only one who’d sensed it. “Why, thank you, Earl.”

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