Romancing the Rancher

by Stacy Connelly

  Damn that Axel.

  Lucy pulled out a knife and began slicing a loaf from the day before, pushing the utensil through the soft bread perhaps a little harder than was necessary.

  Surely he could have given more than a day’s notice before he skipped town. But then, Axel had probably made his rash decision with something other than his brain. He’d called and woken Lucy late the evening before to give his resignation. She’d bitten her tongue to prevent her true thoughts from escaping her mouth when Axel had said he would be sorry to cut out on her on such short notice, except for the fact he’d found the love of his life and therefore was the happiest man on the planet and didn’t have a sorry bone in his body.

  Lucy had more than enough sorry bones for the both of them. He’d left her high and dry for a red-eye to Vegas, and she hadn’t had a single second to hire someone to take his place. Her regular tasks as the observatory’s manager would have to wait. Finding a suitable new chef was first on her agenda—that is, after she’d appeased the ravenous throng waiting on the other side of the kitchen wall.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the door swung open and her coworker and best friend, Tessa McAdams, burst in, quickly closing the door behind her as she stared wide-eyed at Lucy.

  “There’s an angry mob out there, Lu,” Tessa said, turning back to the door and standing on tiptoes to stare out the small round window. She ducked back down, fast. “They’re closing in. I think they might come in after us if you don’t get some grub in their bellies soon.”

  “Damn that Axel,” Lucy said, out loud this time. She lowered the bread knife into the loaf once more and continued to saw, but when she looked up again a strange expression crossed Tessa’s face, causing Lucy to pause midslice. Tessa crossed her arms and her lips formed a straight line, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, nose wrinkling up like a rabbit in the same way she’d had since they were kids, whenever Tessa was on the verge of revealing a secret or in the process of calculating a naughty plan.

  “Whatever it is, out with it. Now,” Lucy demanded, sparing only a second to toss a serious look at her friend before getting back to work.

  “Tell me straight, Lu. I know it’s been a while since you had a decent date, but starting fires just to get a hot firefighter out here is no way to go about catching a man.”

  For a second, Lucy had no clue what Tessa was talking about, but then the unmistakable scent of scorched flour and butter hit her nostrils with full force.

  “Oh my gosh, Tess!” Lucy said, tossing aside the bread and knife and making her way to the stacked ovens on the other side of the kitchen, as if her life depended on it. The way things were going, it might indeed. “My pies!”

  For a second she froze, unable to do more than stand still, shocked, afraid to open the oven and face the inevitable pastry carnage. Thankfully, adrenaline took over.

  Her previous impishness wiped away, Tessa rushed over to join her friend. Lucy tossed a set of oven mitts at her. “Here, put these on,” Lucy said, cloaking her own hands in another pair. “You pull out the rack and I’ll grab the pies. We might be able to rescue the ones on the top shelf if we’re quick.”

  Tessa took the mitts and followed Lucy’s instructions, but Lucy saw doubt crease her forehead as she pulled out pie after pie, the crust of each more burned than the one before. “Lu,” Tessa said, shaking her head in defeat, “I know less about cooking than you—and that’s saying something—and I hate to mention it, but...I really don’t think these are salvageable.”

  The last pie retrieved from the oven of doom, Lucy pulled her hands out of the mitts and grabbed the bread knife. She began cutting off the charred pieces of crust and singed chunks of her special oatmeal-pecan topping, ignoring Tessa’s words. She had to save the pies. Otherwise, there would only be plain sandwiches to serve her guests, and there was no way she could let all those kids and their parents and teachers return to their schools in Austin, thinking that the Lonestar Café had such poor service. The place was in enough financial trouble already.

  The Lonestar Observatory had much higher standards in serving guests. In particular, its café was known for delicious, home-cooked Southern comfort food, just the way it had been when Lucy’s dad was in charge of everything. He had ensured that everything in the facility was top-notch, from providing the latest stargazing equipment available, to seeing that the café served only the best cuisine. Her dad had received his PhD in astronomy with high recommendations and, instead of becoming a professor as all of his instructors expected, he, along with her mom, had accepted the local university’s offer to head the small observatory, just a few months before Lucy was born.

  Her dad had died the day after her twenty-fifth birthday. Lucy convinced the university to let her take over managing the observatory, on the condition that she hired a properly credentialed expert in the field to stand in as official director. Despite not finishing formal training in astronomy, Lucy knew the observatory better than any of the scientists interviewed for her father’s job before the university admitted she was best for the position. She’d learned everything she needed to know from her dad, first toddling along as he checked the telescopes each day, all the way through high school and her first semesters of college, when she’d begun her own research projects to advance the field. And the director, sweet Dr. Blake, who looked and behaved more like Santa Claus than a scientist—which described the rest of the observatory’s employees—respected Lucy enough to let her have her way in running the place. It wasn’t the same as being a true scientist, but it would have to do. She’d wanted to be an astronomer since she was a little girl, learning constellations and galaxies at her father’s side, and if she had a spare second, she might admit that she regretted not being able to finish school.

  But Lucy didn’t have time for regrets.

  Everything aside, more than her job and her life and the means by which she was able to take care of her niece, Shiloh, the Lonestar was Lucy’s home. It was where she’d been raised and where she’d learned to look up when things in her own world weren’t going well. It was the only place on the planet where she felt whole and centered; she would do anything to keep it running like a well-oiled machine, even when funding was low or when struggles with Shiloh tested her patience. Or when love-struck chefs quit at the last minute.

  So this was about more than burned pies.

  It was about letting down her dad—the only man she’d ever been able to trust.

  Tessa had come to her side and was attempting to pry the knife out of Lucy’s hands. Finally, warm tears pooling behind her eyes, Lucy let her friend take the utensil as she sank to the floor, settling her face in her hands. “Dad would be so disappointed if he saw what a disaster this is,” Lucy said as she fought against the tears that threatened to escape. “He would never have let this kind of thing happen to this place.” She raised her head and peered at Tessa through her bangs, which stuck out all over and clung to her glasses, frizzy and wild from the chaos of the past half hour.

  “Shhh,” Tessa soothed, setting down the knife and crouching beside her friend. She brushed aside Lucy’s frazzled hair. “You know that’s not true, hon. You’re just having a rough time lately, and you’re stressed. Your daddy loved you more than he loved the stars. And that’s saying something.” Tessa lifted Lucy’s chin with her finger and stared into Lucy’s eyes, a mischievous smirk behind her own. “But one thing I do know—he would not have let you set foot in this kitchen without supervision, not even to make a few pies. That’s for damn sure.” Tessa smiled and Lucy felt her chest relax, ever so slightly. She reached up and wiped at her eyes, then made a fist and softly brushed Tessa’s chin in a mock punch. Tessa laughed and the melodious sound of it was almost enough to coax a smile out of Lucy.

  Almost—but not quite.

  She’d made such a mess of things today. And, even though her best friend had a way of m
aking her feel better, the world still awaited her, and something had to be done about the hungry crowd waiting outside the door. And there were afternoon tours scheduled back-to-back, quarterly tax forms to review and Shiloh to meet at the bus stop. Lucy closed her eyes and sighed, concentrating all her effort on taking one deep breath after the other. This wasn’t the first time she’d had more responsibility than any one person could possibly handle, and it was highly unlikely that it would be the last. She would just have to buck up, make the sandwiches and tackle the rest later, then find some way to deal with the fact that, for today, her beloved place— her home—had poorer pickings than a fast-food joint.

  * * *

  Sam Haynes had bitten off more than he could chew. He’d assumed the drive to Peach Leaf would be a piece of cake after making the trip to Austin from Houston when his plane had landed that morning, but clearly he’d underestimated the distance. The Texas road stretched on forever and looked much the same the whole way, save for a few tiny towns along the route, and not a Starbucks in sight. Hills with clusters of trees here and there, but mostly dust, dust—and more dust. And real tumbleweeds, which Sam had only seen in his grandfather’s beloved old black-and-white Westerns. It was true what they said— everything was bigger here—including, unfortunately, the highways.

  Luckily, he’d seen the sign for Peach Leaf about a mile-and-a-half back, shining like an oasis in the desert, and there couldn’t be that much farther left to go—he hoped. A native New Yorker, Sam wasn’t used to driving this much, and he’d got to the point where he’d do just about anything this side of the law to get a decent meal and a bed for the night. And he’d die for a strong cup of coffee.

  His journey had been long in more ways than one.

  He’d received a phone call about his daughter’s whereabouts from the PI he’d hired a few weeks prior, just when he’d been about ready to jump out of his skin from the wait. The guy seemed sure this time—he’d really found her. Sam had thought such a feat near impossible, given how little he had to go on, but the investigator had come with high recommendations from a friend mindful enough not to ask pressing questions, and sure enough, the guy had accomplished the task. After taking a few days off to process the news and make some plans, Sam had notified the chefs at the three restaurants he owned that he would be available only by email until further notice, and he’d booked a plane out of New York City, with a room waiting for him at The Frederickson Bed-and-Breakfast in Peach Leaf.

  Now here he was, in the middle of nowhere in West Texas, looking for a girl he’d never even met. A girl who, until fairly recently, he hadn’t even known existed.

  A few of his closest friends had pronounced Sam’s plan crazy for picking up and leaving without any real explanation, but he knew enough to know that sometimes, the crazy thing was the right thing.

  His heart swelled at the thought of seeing her for the first time. Would she look like him? Would she have Sam’s brown eyes and hair? Or would she have Jennifer’s green eyes and wavy, reddish hair, with freckles dotting a button nose? Would she have his love of books and music, or would she be more like her mysterious mother, whom Sam had barely known?

  It was only meant to be a one-night stand—no strings attached. Jennifer had been hesitant to even offer up her first name, though Sam insisted. He’d been young, a frat boy in college, and she was just another coed notch on his bedpost before he’d wised-up and straightened out his life. When he’d got the call from Jennifer a month ago, saying she was sorry, but she just had to tell him something she’d been keeping to herself for years, he’d been expecting anything but the news she gave him. Before she’d spoken the words that forever changed his life in an instant, he had thought that maybe she needed help, or maybe she just wanted to get together for a drink after all those years—hell, maybe she needed money. Anything was possible. But instead, the strawberry-haired girl from a reckless one-night stand whose last name he’d never known gave him the most life-altering news a man could hear.

  They had a daughter.

  He had a daughter.

  As Jennifer explained everything to him, Sam had been so confused and angry he could barely breathe. It turned out she had given their baby to her younger sister long ago when she’d been broke, unemployed, “lost”—whatever that meant, Sam didn’t want to know—and couldn’t handle having a kid. A recent hospitalization for mental illness, it seemed, had prompted Jennifer to think long and hard about some of her choices. She had decided that, even if their daughter didn’t have a mom, she should have a chance to know her father. The girl’s name was Shiloh, and Jennifer’s sister had adopted her when she was an infant. Jennifer said she’d been back to visit only once, but never again. Even when pressed, she wouldn’t say why. She would only reveal that it had been a mistake to go back that one time, and she would never do it again. She’d also said that she wasn’t sure if her sister and child even lived in the same place anymore—she had called a few times but the old number was dead, and she hadn’t tried any harder than that, preferring to leave them alone.

  Sam’s heart had fallen straight to the bottom of his shoes at the news. It had taken a weekend of pacing his town house, racking his brain to figure out what needed to be done. Maybe Jennifer had abandoned the girl, but Sam, now that he knew of her, had no intention of doing the same. He’d been irresponsible and foolish as a young man, but he’d done his best to change his ways, and he wouldn’t turn away from this obligation. He couldn’t even if he’d wanted to.

  Moreover, how could Jennifer have kept this from him? How stubborn must she have been to handle the news on her own? Sure, he was young and foolish back then, but he would have been there for Jennifer and their daughter. He would have done everything he could have to help raise their child. He would never have given up on his own kid.

  The road began to narrow and Sam’s thoughts dissipated. This had to be it. The Lonestar Observatory. He had no real idea what his daughter was doing there. Her location was all the PI had been able to find so far, and he’d assured Sam that the records he’d been able to locate regarding Sam’s daughter pointed to the observatory. It looked, he’d said, as if she might even live there, though the reason for that, like so much else, was still unknown. But in his mind, all Sam could think about was: what could a twelve-year-old be doing spending so much time at a science center? The whole thing was a mystery he’d just begun to unfold. Who knew what other secrets would turn up?

  He had to find out all he could about her, regardless of what that might involve.

  He turned his rental truck into the winding road that marked the way to his destination. He could see large white objects almost the size of buildings spotting the green land, though he assumed given where he was that they had to be telescopes. Even in his haste, and despite his fatigue from driving so far, Sam sensed a quiet beauty about the place. Clusters of trees blanketed acre upon acre with the white stargazers dotting the landscape here and there, like some kind of industrial flower. Sam didn’t know anything about astronomy, but if that’s what his daughter was interested in, he would find a way to be interested, too.

  He would do just about anything to get to know her, but he’d also have to be careful. He couldn’t let her, or anyone who knew her, find out his relationship to her before he was ready—before she was ready. He’d give himself just a week to check on her, even if only from a distance; he’d make sure she was doing okay and getting along well, that she was safe and healthy and cared for, and then he would head home and decide how to proceed. He’d researched his legal rights, but he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt his daughter. If his child didn’t want anything to do with him, he supposed he’d somehow have to make his peace with that, but he was hoping against hope that he wouldn’t have to face such a thing.

  The trees thinned as he reached what must have been the main building, and Sam pulled into a space in the parking lot out front next to
a couple of school buses. His heart climbed into his throat and breathing was suddenly difficult.

  Despite the hours spent planning, going over what he would say and how he would explain his abrupt arrival, his mouth went dry as reality closed in. Maybe his friends were right—maybe he was some kind of crazy for jumping into this headfirst. He’d had plenty of miles now to think about how he’d chosen to handle things. Patience had never been his strong suit, and even Sam had to admit that maybe this wasn’t the most intelligent move. But what if... What if he’d had a phone number and called instead—and been refused? Sam swallowed at the painful idea. At least this way he could see her, and give her a chance to choose whether or not she wanted him to be a part of her life.

  Regardless of whether he was allowed to be a dad, Sam was a father now, and he’d followed his instincts—for that he would make no apology. If he had any say in the matter, he would make sure that his daughter didn’t grow up without a dad. At least not any longer.

  He’d made his choice and he wasn’t going back, and he’d start by getting out of the truck. Then he would walk to the front door. One step at a time, he’d make his way into his daughter’s life, and hope that she’d eventually allow him to stick around.

  * * *

  “Well,” said Santa Claus, or, as the nameplate on his cherrywood desk indicated, Dr. Edward Blake, “I’m the official director of the observatory, but if you want more information, you’re gonna want to talk to Ms. Lucy Monroe. She’s the real brains around here.”

  Brains, huh? If Edward Blake, PhD, a man who, by the multitude of plaques and degrees decorating the wall must be a very successful and accomplished astronomer, wasn’t the brains of the place, then Ms. Monroe must be a damn genius.