by Duncan Leigh
“Now pull up on the reins,” Colt said long after the last glimmers of light had faded from the sky.
She did as she was told, and Star plodded to a halt.
“You done good.” Colt’s arms wrapped her closer to him. “Next time, you can ride him all by yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Emma hedged.
Colt tsked. “Sweetheart, everybody on the Circle P rides. It’s part of what we do.”
“Yeah, but…” She took a breath. “I like this.” She snugged his arms tighter around her waist. “I kind of wish things would stay the same.”
Even as she said the words, she knew they could never come true. Colt wasn’t here to stay. His life was on the road, his future tied to the PBR, his stint as manager of the Circle P a short one. Trouble was, the more she pictured the permanent home she and her daughter would make on the ranch, the more certain she was she’d wind up with an unhealthy helping of broken heart to go along with it.
Because, despite her best efforts to the contrary, she’d fallen for Colt Judd. And she’d fallen hard.
Chapter Ten
“They’re putting Arlene in the hospital till the baby comes.” Once firm and strong, Doris’s voice trembled.
“But that’s months away. Isn’t Arelene’s due date sometime in October?” Air whistled between Colt’s teeth. He bent beneath the weighty news. Garrett had to be going out of his mind, he thought. His mother, too. He pressed the receiver closer to his ear. “You need me to come? I can be there tomorrow.”
“No, son. You stay and take care of the ranch. Knowing it’s in your hands, that’s a huge load off my mind. Especially with Luke and Sarah gone. Have you heard from them?”
“Not a word.” But then again, he hadn’t expected to. The owners had made it pretty clear nothing less than a hurricane or wildfire were reason enough to interrupt their much-delayed honeymoon. So far, Colt hadn’t placed a single call to the fire department. With any luck, Luke and Sarah would return before the storm season began.
“And our new cook? Is she working out the way your dad thought she would?”
“Emma?” Colt asked as if he needed a reminder. “She’s fine.”
Better than fine, actually. Ever since that first sleepless night, he’d made a habit of wandering into the kitchen once Bree was tucked in for the evening. While Emma concocted something reasonably close to one of the Circle P’s famed dishes, he relished his role as her official taste tester.
So far, he wouldn’t call their experiments a rousing success, but that was okay. They weren’t in any hurry. Besides, he didn’t mind helping out. Not as long as he could steal the occasional kiss. Or find an excuse to brush against Emma’s slim hips. Maybe trace a lazy circle across her shoulders. Afterward, they invariably ended up on the couch, where the woman’s kisses left him hungry and aching for more.
Despite a growing urge to take things to the next level, he’d resisted. And why was that, he wondered. He’d certainly knocked boots with one or two gals back when he was rodeoing, though he’d left those days behind when he hung up his bull rope and gold buckles.
Being around Emma stirred a sense that he could have it all, as long as white picket fences and wide front porches were part of the package. Something that, lately, he’d considered more and more.
Suddenly aware that long seconds had passed while his mom waited for him to continue, he cleared his throat. There were some topics even a grown man didn’t discuss with his mother. His relationship with Emma was one of them. He let the subject of the new cook drop.
“Give Arlene and Garrett my best. Tell ’em I’m prayin’ for ’em.”
Before he had a chance to follow through, the phone rang again. Colt straightened out of a weary slouch as the representative from Beaks and Wings apologized for calling so late. He squinted at a clock that told him several hours stretched before suppertime.
He was still trying to figure out what the guy meant when, without further warning, he found himself knee-deep in a discussion about arrival dates and shooting schedules. A glance at the calendar nearly made his knees weak—would have, if he’d been standing—but he kept his doubts to himself. Instead, he asked a few questions and jotted even fewer answers while he offered assurances that, of course, the Circle P could host a weekend trail ride in—he gulped—four days. Hanging up five minutes later, he drummed his fingers on the desktop.
Did the unexpected visit from a major birding magazine qualify as flames or storms?
He told himself it did not and set to work. He’d just finished jotting down a long list of tasks when the dinner bell sounded. He sniffed the air, noticing for the first time the tantalizing aroma of his favorite dish. Grabbing his notepad, he strode toward the kitchen. Over the past three weeks he’d softened his approach with the men, but this—he shook the pad of paper—this changed things.
His gaze landed on the pork chops Emma had prepared. Thick and browned, they were probably fine for anyone else’s table, but they definitely weren’t Southern-fried the Circle P way. He took in the rest of the buffet and kicked himself. He’d been so wrapped up in his growing fondness for the new cook he hadn’t paid enough attention to the important stuff.
The impending arrival of special guests meant everything on the Circle P had to be perfect, including the food. Which, from what he was seeing, looked too much like it came from a froufrou New York restaurant and not at all like the ranch’s traditional hearty fare.
Biding his time, he pushed food around on his plate while the ranch hands ate their fill. “Listen up,” he said, coming to his feet before everyone scattered in different directions. “I’ve got good news, and I’ve got bad news.” He didn’t wait to ask which they wanted first, but plunged ahead.
“You all know how hard it is to keep a spread the size of the Circle P afloat. Opening up our spring and winter roundups to tourists, that’s given our bottom line a considerable boost. Luke—Mr. Parker—wants to add to that by taking folks on bird-watching tours. He’s already started advertising them. Which is why I’m talking to you now. I just got off the phone with Beaks and Wings.”
At the mention of the magazine most folks considered birding’s version of the National Geographic, Josh’s head rose. Colt scanned the long table. No one else seemed to care.
“Seems they’ve run into a problem with their summer issue. They need to reshoot it, and…they’ve decided to give us a try. So we’re going to hafta pull together a trail ride for them.” He paused for a beat. “The reporter and photographer will be here Friday and Saturday.”
“What’s the good news?” one of the men shot back.
At his place near the end of the table, Josh’s brow furrowed. “I thought that was the good news.”
The boy’s comment drew hoots of laughter from the older hands.
“The good news,” Colt corrected, “is that ya’ll draw time and a half for the weekend. The bad news is, startin’ at first light tomorrow, we’re gonna be busier than a pickup rider at the rodeo.”
He let the grumbling die down before he started handing out assignments. “Josh, you get down to Little Lake. The trails have grown over since the spring cattle drive. Trim the bushes back far enough that we can ride two abreast.”
To his surprise, Josh shook his head. “Mr. Colt, this ain’t the right time of year to trim those bushes. The birds eat the berries.”
The kid had the audacity to argue with him?
Colt squelched a comeback and moved to the next item on his list. “Tim and Chris, we’re gonna want a big campfire Friday evening. Make it happen. The housekeeping staff’ll scrub the bunkhouse by the lake from top to bottom.” He went on, finally reaching the last—and most difficult—item. He toughened his stance.
“Emma, there’s a menu for the trail rides posted on a clipboard in the pantry. Make sure you stick with it.” He gestured toward the tiny peaks the cook had piped around a nearly empty bowl of mashed potatoes. “None of this fancy stuff. Just
good, plain food and plenty of it. That’s what the Circle P’s known for.”
From the way Emma flinched, he’d have thought someone slapped her. Maybe he’d been a touch too harsh, he admitted, but a good review from Beaks and Wings, or better yet, landing on the magazine’s list of premier birding destinations, meant money in the Circle P’s coffers. He wouldn’t let anyone, not even the woman who’d stolen his heart, stand in the way.
Her mouth dry, Emma stared at Colt. To say these past few weeks had been the best of her life, well, that was an understatement. Having Bree at her side during the day and listening to her daughter’s sweet now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep at night were simple pleasures she’d longed for during their hectic years in New York. As for her work, seeing the Circle P’s hungry ranch hands scarf down every morsel she put in front of them ignited a warm spot in her chest.
Best of all, though, were the nights Colt joined her at the stove. They’d spend hours cooking, tasting, adjusting—and, yes, kissing—while they struggled to recreate a favorite dish. Afterward, they’d tiptoe into the great room. There, they poured a glass of wine, a beer, some sweet iced tea. They talked—about their lives, their dreams, their hopes for the future. And they kissed. Oh, how they kissed. The man could take her breath away with a single hooded glance.
But, from the instant she’d spotted the pages of the cookbook in their watery bath, she’d known this day would come. She’d done everything possible to delay the inevitable. She’d slaved over the ruined recipes, carefully peeled the pages apart, smoothed and, even, ironed a few. She’d used a magnifying glass, consulted restoration experts, searched the Circle P from top to bottom in hopes of finding a scribbled copy, a note, anything that would help her make sense of faded and smeared ink. Through it all, she’d prayed that when it finally came down to a choice, Colt would choose her over the traditions of the Circle P.
But this list. At least one of the recipes on it was lost forever.
She fanned her face with the slip of paper. Okay, so she’d made mistakes. She’d faced a learning curve when she first came to the ranch. Men who performed hard, physical labor ate more than the diners in upscale restaurants. She got that. She adjusted.
Still, she knew food. Just as important, she knew how to impress a food critic. Hadn’t tour guides and reviewers visited Chez Larue practically every night of the week? She knew without a doubt that the people from Beaks and Wings wouldn’t be satisfied with Colt’s plain-food-and-plenty-of-it mantra. Any more than they’d be happy trekking through miles of palmetto and pine trees without spotting the spoonbills Josh had mentioned.
Pondering this last, she plunged her hands into her pockets and waited until the shuffle of boots across the floor faded. When the screened door slapped shut behind the last ranch hand and they were alone, she turned to Colt.
“Can we talk?” She barely got the words out before his hand chopped the air.
“The menu’s set, Emma.” The face she loved hardened into stubborn lines that weren’t quite as lovable.
“Not that. Can we talk about Josh?” Waiting, she folded her hands below her waist. If Colt would change his mind about this, maybe, just maybe, he’d consider the compromise she really wanted him to make.
His eyebrows slanted together. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
She deliberately kept her voice soft and low. No matter how much she just wanted to help, she was venturing into an area that technically wasn’t any of her business. “Did you ever think Josh might be right about not trimming the bushes?”
Colt only shook his head. “I’ve told you before, the kid’s lazy.”
“It could be that,” she conceded. “Or…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’ve been concerned that he doesn’t fit in here at the Circle P. But he knows more about birds than anyone else on the ranch. More than Luke, even. I think he could help a lot while the people from Beaks and Wings are here.”
“You sure about that?” Colt’s eyes homed in on her.
She noted the way he spun his hat in his hand, a movement he made whenever he was uncertain. At last, he scuffed his foot against the tile floor.
“The kid’s always got his nose in a book. Come to think of it, they’re all about birds.” He glanced up, his blue eyes considering. “I’ll talk to him. What else?”
“I know you want this menu.” She tapped one finger on the list. “It’s tradition, and I understand that. I wouldn’t dream of changing it. But this recipe for Brunswick stew? I don’t have it. It’s not in the cookbook. It must have been one of the ones we lost.”
Thunderclouds darkened Colt’s blue eyes. He sank heavily onto a chair. “What are we going to do?”
“Your mom probably knows it by heart. Is there any chance we can ask her?” She had no idea how they’d get the recipe out of Doris without revealing how badly the cookbook had been damaged, but it was a risk she was willing to take. For Colt’s sake, and for her own.
Her heart slid into her throat when a world of worry seemed to settle across his shoulders. Without meeting her eyes, he shook his head. “I don’t see that happening. Arlene’s in the hospital till the baby comes.”
“Oh, Colt.” That changed things. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, thankful she’d breezed through her own pregnancy. “Well, there’s nothing for it, then. I’ll just have to do the best I can. I’ll work on it and have something for you to taste test tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have some other things I want you to try, too.”
The instant his posture stiffened she signaled him to stop by holding up her hands. “For now, don’t decide anything. If you like the new dishes tomorrow, we’ll serve them on the trail ride in addition to the traditional fare. If not, well…”
The alternative was too painful to think about, the words too horrible to say out loud. She didn’t want to destroy the Circle P’s customs; she wanted to expand them. To do that, she needed Colt’s blessing. But his tight hold on tradition left no room for negotiation. What kind of future could she have with a man who never compromised?
Colt eased open the screened door and slipped into the kitchen. The wooden frame firmly in his grasp, he guided the door closed. He held his breath as the lock snicked into place before he spared a glance at the woman on the other side of the room. Emma’s shoulders remained loose. Her hips swaying slightly, she stirred something that smelled just this side of divine on the stove.
Certain he’d escaped her notice, Colt allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy a view that was better than the sun coming up over the pasture. Emma had captured her hair in a ponytail. The ends brushed lightly against her shoulders in time to music only she heard. The heavy white coat she’d worn the day they met hung from a hook near the pantry. She’d traded it for a figure-hugging T-shirt over shorts that exposed enough smooth white skin to make his mouth go dry.
He imagined untying her apron, discarding it in a crumpled pile on the floor while she slipped into his arms. They’d kiss, feast on each other until they both were completely sated.
Across the kitchen, a spoon clattered to the stove top. The noise jolted his thoughts back to the present as Emma turned to face him.
“Ready for a taste test, cowboy? Or are you just going to stand there all afternoon?”
A saucy smile told him she’d caught him staring. Colt gave an unashamed grin in return. Eager to bring Emma into sharper focus, he crossed the room to where she stood. He checked to see if they were being watched.
“Bree around?” he asked when he didn’t spot the little girl.
“Playing with dolls in her room.”
Emma’s careless shrug didn’t fool either of them. The teasing light in her eyes practically shouted that she was as eager for what came next as he was. The tiniest fleck of tomato dotted her cheek. Telling himself he’d be remiss in his duties if he didn’t remove it, he stepped forward, his thumb already brushing her chin. As long as he was this close, he thought stealing a kiss would be in order.
One kiss turned into a half dozen. They were both panting lightly and in danger of getting in over their heads right there in the kitchen by the time he summoned a hard-to-find resolve. He crushed Emma to his chest and rested his chin atop her head.
“Oh, woman, what you do to me,” he murmured into her hair.
“Me?” She snuggled closer. “And here I thought you were the one with the magic touch.”
For a few minutes, he relished the feel of her slender form in his arms, the softness of her curves, the rapid beat of her pulse. Eventually, though, his heart rate slowed enough that he started thinking clearly again.
“I guess we’d better get to it,” he suggested, hoping she’d insist on staying right where she was. Disappointment lanced through him when she broke their embrace.
Emma straightened her apron, a bemused look on her face, her hair slightly mussed. “Ready to try the stew?” She tucked an errant curl behind one ear.
He nodded, when all he really wanted was to sweep her off her feet and carry her up the stairs. But they weren’t randy teenagers, not caring about the when and the where, and only concerned about the what.
There’d be no slipping away to his borrowed room down the hall. Any more than he’d sneak into hers and run the risk of Bree wandering in on them in the middle of the night. No, when they made love the first time, he’d surround Emma with satin and white lace, plush pillows on a soft mattress, champagne and caviar.
He glanced at the calendar over her shoulder and groaned. The days until Luke and Sarah’s return stretched like an eternity. He wasn’t sure he could last, but he was determined to try. Emma was worth waiting for. The first chance he got, though, he’d whisk her away to someplace special for their first, but certainly not their last, official date.
