Home on the Ranch

by Tanya Michaels

  Layla tucked the pen she’d been using behind her ear. “Well, in my case, those pieces would be shirtless men in cowboy hats and boots. Do you know Grayson Cox?”

  Her cousin nodded. “He’s hot. But he only has eyes for the town librarian. Lucky girl. You got him to agree to the calendar?”

  “Jace did. He left me a voice mail about it earlier.” She’d yet to decide whether dodging his calls was cowardice or prudence.

  Gena pulled a bottle of wine out of the fridge and held it up in question. At Layla’s nod, she pulled two glasses out of the cabinet. A moment later, she joined Layla at the table, passing her a glass of chilled chardonnay. “So what’s with all of the notes, General Dempsey?”

  “Storyboarding.” Her mind was racing with details she needed to organize. “I have five guys lined up to model. Both Washington brothers, Jarrett, Grayson and Jace.” Did her cousin notice how Layla’s voice faltered on his name?

  But Gena was busy fanning herself. “Quite a lineup. Are you trying to find seven more?”

  “Nope. I figure I do one black-and-white shot and one color shot of each guy, plus a black-and-white and full-color group photo. That gets me all twelve months. Dad is driving some of my equipment down to me—”

  “Uncle Martin is setting foot in Cupid’s Bow? Isn’t that like...opening an apocalyptic seal or something?”

  Layla bit the inside of her lip. “Maybe my mother won’t find out?”

  “Oh, honey.” Gena leaned her chair back on two legs to retrieve the bottle of chardonnay from the counter, then splashed more wine in both of their glasses.

  “I know, I know. But he offered, and I hate the thought of shipping my equipment.” Her photography gear was the basis of her livelihood. “And even though I doubt Chris will want to see him, I think Dad would feel better just being closer. You didn’t see how wrecked he was when we found out about Chris’s injuries.” Chris may have disowned their father in the wake of his scandalous affairs and bad behavior, but Martin Dempsey still loved his only son.

  “Aunt Claire is going to—” Gena stopped abruptly when Addie skipped into the room.

  “I finished all my counting games.” She shifted from foot to foot, bouncing back and forth between topics just as quickly. “Hi, Cousin Gena. I like spelling games better. Is it dinner yet? I’m hungry. Did you have a good day with people’s money?”

  Gena grinned at the unorthodox description of her job. “I did, thanks.”

  “I want to do weather stuff when I grow up,” Addie said, “but maybe a bank would be okay, too.”

  “It has its moments. Your mom was just telling me we might order pizza for dinner. Does that sound good?”

  With a whoop of glee, Addie spun in a circle. “Pineapple and olives!”

  Gena’s smile was dubious. “I think I’ll just go with boring old pepperoni on my half.”

  Layla nodded. She didn’t personally share her daughter’s taste in pizza toppings. Still, it had been a huge relief when Addie outgrew her phase where she would only eat foods in certain color groups. Parenting was such a guessing game. It was difficult to say which of Addie’s behaviors were temporary and would dissipate over time and which ones might be more serious symptoms of an underlying problem. At the parent-teacher conference a couple of weeks ago, Addie’s kindergarten teacher had broached the subject of maybe taking Addie to occupational therapy this summer.

  Certain things helped—the twinkle jar, Layla rubbing her back, rocking motions. When Mrs. Gainer pointed out how much Addie loved the playground swings and the child-sized rocking chair in the reading corner, Layla had purchased a padded glider for her daughter’s room. Back home, Layla would wake up some mornings to find her daughter sleeping there instead of her bed. Heart squeezing with love and worry, she studied her daughter’s face. There was nothing better than seeing Addie like this—smiling and enthusiastic instead of pensive or agitated.

  Layla reached for her cell phone. “Gena, do you have the number for a place that delivers around here?”

  An hour later, all three of them were stuffed full of pizza, and Layla had returned to her notes while Addie brushed her teeth and put on pajamas. That usually took a while, since Addie’s ritual was to lay out all of her pajamas on the bed and evaluate each choice carefully. On nights when Layla was exhausted and wished she could get her daughter to sleep faster, she wondered if she should just buy Addie seven pairs of the same pj’s.

  “Printing costs and locations are next on my list,” she said, thinking aloud while Gena rinsed their glasses at the sink. “Wardrobe isn’t a problem. All the guys have their own variety of jeans and hats. But I don’t want twelve photos set in the same place. I need to mix it up a little.”

  “Well, Jarrett owns a ranch,” Gena reminded her. “You can probably find half a dozen picturesque spots on the Twisted R. Or... I don’t know if there are rules against using the town park, but you could ask Mayor Johnston just to be sure. Jace’s sister-in-law Kate has a family farm, out around Whippoorwill Creek, I think.”

  Layla jotted down the suggestions in questionable shorthand that she may or may not be able to decipher later. She thought about texting Jace to ask for his sister-in-law’s number—and to thank him for enlisting his business partner. No matter how much Jace triggered her flight response, she had to admit it was useful to have his support.

  She set down her pen. “I can call Jarrett and Kate. But for the printing donations, I should really make my requests in person.” She reasoned that it was more difficult to turn someone down face-to-face.

  “The bank’s only open until noon on Saturday,” Gena said. “So I’m happy to hang out with Addie tomorrow afternoon.”

  “You’re the best.” Layla spared a grateful smile in her cousin’s direction before reverting her attention to the list of tasks in front of her. “You know, the more people who know about this project, the greater the chance that Chris and Suzanne will find out. I hope people in Cupid’s Bow know how to keep a secret.”

  Gena’s laugh was wry. “It’s possible you don’t remember how Cupid’s Bow works. But don’t think of it as risking your secret, think of it as free word-of-mouth advertising for your product.”

  Risking my secret. A chill went through her. Could she and her daughter stay in town a couple more weeks without exposing Layla’s biggest secret? She was probably being paranoid. Maybe no one would ever put it together who Addie’s father was. Yet every time she looked at Jace, her apprehension escalated. Would he hate her if he learned the truth? Her heart thudded against her ribs like a trapped bird seeking escape. “Gena, I...”

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  Layla shook her head. It scared her to even say the words out loud, as if Jace might hear them from the other side of town. “I just really appreciate all you’ve done. Letting us stay here, bonding with Addie, not disowning me when I stupidly got pregnant at seventeen.”

  “There’s no one in our family who hasn’t made mistakes. Ostracizing you for yours is total hypocrisy. You know I love you, no matter what.”

  “Even if, say, I lied about something?”

  “You’re my best friend. If you told a lie, I would assume you had a good reason.” Gena pointed a finger at her, her expression comically stern. “Just promise me you’ll never rob the bank. You could get me fired.”

  Layla laughed. “That, I can promise.”

  “Then, no matter what happens, I’ve got your back.”

  “Remember that when Dad gets to town and my mother goes nuclear.”

  “Good point.” Gena grabbed the pen off the table and leaned over to jot a final item on Layla’s to-do list. Start building bomb shelter. “Things are about to get interesting around here.”

  * * *

  “Layla?”

  She froze in her tracks, nearly tripping on the sidewalk. Shading her eyes against the sun, she glanced ove
r her shoulder. “Jace.”

  “What a coincidence running into you.” The mischief in his tone made it clear this was no coincidence.

  “Are you stalking me?” That was all she needed on top of the last two frustrating hours.

  “Since when is running into an old friend on Main Street stalking?”

  “Who told you where I was? Gena?” She’d seen Chris earlier, but she certainly hadn’t mentioned her plans to her brother. “One of the business owners I visited?”

  His lips quirked in a teasing half grin. “I don’t remember you being this paranoid when we were younger.”

  Only since I found out I was pregnant with your child. She swallowed hard. “Well, great seeing you, but I have a lot—”

  “I’m here to help.”

  She wanted to groan. He was the person she least wanted to see, yet every time she turned around, there he was. Literally. “You’ve already done so much. Agreeing to be in the calendar, recruiting Grayson, asking Kate about the use of her aunt’s farm...”

  His expression turned uncharacteristically serious. “Chris is my best friend. He’s just as important to me as my brothers. Let me help him by helping you.”

  Even if she could manufacture a logical excuse for saying no, it would be impossible to resist the plea in his gaze. “Okay. I’ve been canvassing the area to see what kind of help I can get with printing costs. Maybe if we split up—”

  “Actually, I have some thoughts on that I’d like to discuss. How ’bout I buy you a milk shake and we brainstorm?” He nodded down the street to the diner where he and Chris used to hang out after Friday night football games. The same diner where Jace had bought her dozens of strawberry milk shakes during her parents’ divorce. The same diner where he’d found her crying in a corner booth after her first boyfriend dumped her when she was fifteen. Any guy stupid enough to break up with you ain’t worth the tears, beautiful.

  She shook away the memories. “A milk shake? I’m not a teenager anymore.”

  “No, ma’am.” His eyes trailed over her in slow appraisal that sent heat rippling through her. “You are all woman.”

  With her rising temperature and suddenly dry throat, a milk shake didn’t sound like a bad idea after all. “Jace...”

  He took a step closer. “Yeah?”

  She inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of sunshine and soap and denim. She had to ball her hands into fists at her sides to keep from reaching for him. “I appreciate all you’re doing. But if we’re going to work together on the calendar project, I can’t—we can’t—Dammit, you know what I’m trying to say.”

  “Not really.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “Does it have something to do with the obvious sparks between us? Or how you almost kissed me the other day?”

  “I almost kissed you?” She lowered her voice when a trio of women came out of the florist shop a few feet away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He tapped his index finger lightly against her bottom lip. “You want me bad.”

  She whirled around and stalked toward the diner without bothering to answer—because he clearly didn’t want to listen to reason, not because his words were true. He walked behind her, whistling cheerfully, and she might have pushed him off the curb into oncoming traffic except that there was no traffic.

  Besides, she didn’t entirely trust herself to touch him. She clenched her jaw, annoyed with them both. You are a grown woman. Act like it. The days of her getting all flustered because he flashed a dimpled grin at her were long gone.

  He reached past her to open the door of the diner, and she studiously did not look at the sculpted forearms revealed by the sleeves he’d rolled up. “Ladies first.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  The mingled scents of sizzling bacon and freshly baked apple pie greeted her like an old friend. The diner looked exactly the same as it had throughout her adolescence. The robin’s-egg-blue booths had been patched and the pictures of local kids’ sports teams on the wall were more recent than the ones that had hung there a decade ago, but there hadn’t been any real redecorating. No surprise there—Cupid’s Bow had always been slow to embrace change. She was pretty sure the George Strait song playing on the jukebox was one she’d heard on her last visit here.

  The vivid déjà vu conjured all the teenage nights she’d spent sighing over Jace, wanting him to feel the same way about her. Now he was following so closely that she could feel the heat from his body, and she wanted to stretch and luxuriate in it like a cat in a sunbeam. Figuring she’d be able to concentrate better once she had a table between them, she darted into the nearest available booth. He slid in across from her.

  She glared, silently daring him to make any more outrageously flirtatious remarks.

  Mercifully, his demeanor was businesslike. “Gena gave me the list of people you planned to talk to about printing today.”

  “A-ha! So she did tell you where I was.”

  “Of course she did.” He shrugged. “I asked, she told. Neither of us thought your location was a state secret. Unfortunately, the top people on your list are the least likely to help. Mr. Barton only moved to town in the last few years. He doesn’t have real history with the locals. He barely knows you or Chris. Mona Stapleton frets to everyone that she can barely make ends meet now that more average citizens can do their own design and printing on home computers. And Fred Chadwick... Well, he’s just a jerk.”

  “That seems about right.” Chadwick had all but chased Layla out of his store before she could finish a sentence. Mona, on the other hand, had been apologetic but firm. “Do you think we’d have any chance convincing Mona that the calendar would be good promotion for her? Less an unprofitable donation and more like free advertising?”

  Before he could answer, a dark-haired waitress in a blue uniform came over to take their orders. The young woman blushed when Jace smiled at her, a feeling Layla knew all too well. How often had she looked at him with a similarly adoring gaze when she was sixteen?

  “Two strawberry milk shakes,” he said. Glancing away from his admirer, he asked Layla, “Do you still dip French fries in your milk shake?”

  Only when no one was looking. “No, I outgrew that.” Jace had stared at her in shock the first time he’d seen her do it, but she liked the sweet-and-salty combination.

  “Uh-huh. And a side of fries to split,” he told the waitress. Once the girl turned toward the kitchen, he shook his head at Layla. “So, is this like a lifestyle choice with you now? Denying what you want?”

  “Well that’s melodramatic. I just don’t happen to be in the mood for fries.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  I’m better than you think. She cleared her throat. “So, about Mona...”

  “You may be right—there’s a chance we could persuade her to look at it as a promotional investment.”

  “Especially if you ask her.” The words were out of Layla’s mouth before she could think better of them. But their waitress was hardly alone in her open admiration of Jace.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “Just that you’re...a Trent. Your family is very well respected around here.”

  Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back in the booth, smirking.

  “Okay, fine, you egomaniac. I meant that you’re not unattractive and sometimes women respond to that.” She wished she had a French fry within reach; she needed something to throw at him. “I’ll bet you could persuade Mona.”

  “As I recall, you’re pretty damn persuasive yourself.” His voice was low, intimate. “Convincing enough to drive a man out of his head.”

  Layla’s heart stopped. Did he think about that night often? She’d hardly been an experienced seductress, but the combination of pent-up longing and Jace’s kisses had made her brazen.

  “Here y’al
l are.” The waitress plopped a plate of fries in the middle of the table. Then she set their milk shakes in front of them.

  Layla grabbed hers and held the fluted glass to the side of her face, trying to cool her burning cheeks.

  Jace eyed her for a long moment before redirecting the subject. “There’s another option for getting the calendars printed. We ask Mona to do it at a discount and ask the townspeople to chip in for the difference. Grayson’s girlfriend, Hadley, works at the town library, and it’s not uncommon for her to put out a jar with an explanation about who needs help with what. It’s low-pressure and unobtrusive. She doesn’t try to browbeat anyone into giving, but the information is there for those who might be interested.”

  Layla bit her bottom lip. “If we post signs in the library or anywhere else around town, Chris and Suzanne will definitely find out about this before we even know if the project has been a success. More important, the townspeople are the target consumers. I’m counting on them to buy the finished product. It doesn’t seem fair to ask them to finance the product in the first place, then turn around and charge them again.”

  “Okay, plan B, then. It was just bad luck that the people who make the most sense to do the printing aren’t the business owners most likely to help you. Your brother’s gone to the same barber his entire life, for example, and I’m sure Lavon would love to help—but he’s not a great contact for a high-volume printing job. So how about we mix and match in the form of sponsorships? You mentioned a calendar as a promotional opportunity. What if, on the back, we thank the business owners who made the calendar possible? Mona, obviously, for providing the discount and labor, and a handful of other people carefully chosen by you and me. We can ask discreetly, without posting signs all over town.”

  “That’s actually a really good idea!”

  He chuckled. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “No, I just meant... This is the first time all afternoon I’ve felt like things might come together the way I envisioned and generate enough money to be worth everyone’s trouble.” She grabbed a fry and happily dunked it in her shake. Cold strawberry ice cream dripped down her bottom lip, and she caught it with her tongue. When she looked up, she found Jace’s eyes locked on her, blazing with blue flame.