The Boss, the Bride & the Baby (Brighton Valley Cowboys Book 1)

by Judy Duarte

  A stab of guilt shot through him. Had she thought that her family hadn’t come through for her like they should have?

  More importantly, had she thought Jason hadn’t?

  Sure, he’d called regularly and sent money. He also had made a point to come to visit on Christmas and her birthday. Not always on the actual day, but close enough to count.

  At least, he’d always thought so. But now, standing in her kitchen, surrounded by her furnishings, by her memory, he wasn’t so sure.

  Juliana moved on to the far corner of the kitchen, where Jason and Carly had set the boxes and the painting that belonged to Braden.

  “What’s this?” she asked. “Did you get sidetracked and leave this stuff here?”

  “Actually, that can stay where it is. It belongs to my brother. He’s supposed to come for it when he gets back from Mexico.”

  She reached for the painting, a Southwestern style of an old church at night, with a crescent moon and bright stars overhead.

  “This is very good,” she said.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I’ve never been a huge fan of that particular style. I do like the bright colors, though. It would look good in a ranch-style home.”

  That’s probably why Braden had bought it. Jason returned his focus to the bacon, removing the last strip from the pan and turning off the flame.

  “Wow,” Juliana said. “That’s weird.”

  Jason turned and leaned his hip against the kitchen counter, the tongs still in his hand. “What is?”

  “It was painted by Camilla Cruz.”

  At that, he set the utensil down, turned away from the stove and made his way across the kitchen to the oak table, where Juliana had placed the painting to get a better look.

  “The same artist who did Granny’s portrait?” Jason asked.

  “Yes. The signature is the same. See?”

  He leaned in closer to take a better look at the script. “That’s really strange.”

  “I wonder who she is.”

  So did Jason. Obviously, Granny and Braden both knew her. Or at least one of them did. “Maybe you were wrong about her not being a local artist.”

  “I suppose she could be,” Juliana said.

  She seemed to think that she was an art expert, but Jason wasn’t convinced. After all, she’d only worked at a gallery in a relatively small town—and for just a couple of years at most. She was lovely, though.

  As she leaned closer, her head angled next to his, her exotic scent snaking around him, he was willing to concede any credentials she wanted to claim.

  She glanced closer at the delicate script of the signature. “It’s a Hispanic surname. Do you think it has anything to do with why Braden went to Mexico?”

  “No, I doubt it. This is Texas. A lot of people have Hispanic surnames. I’m sure Braden is in Mexico because he’s following my dad’s trail.”

  Juliana straightened, taking her scent with her.

  “Are you sure my brother never mentioned anything to you about where he was going or why?” Jason asked.

  “Sorry. I haven’t talked to him lately.”

  Jason glanced at the box of pottery, as well as the other box that had been sealed shut with packing tape. If his brother had been missing in Mexico, with foul play suspected, he would have had every right to tear into the cardboard lid and try to solve the mystery of Braden’s whereabouts. But as far as he knew, his brother was alive and on some international escapade, the details of which he’d either neglected or flat-out refused to share with Jason.

  And the fact that he was so completely out of the loop didn’t sit well with Jason at all. And it only seemed to make the chasm between the two brothers deeper than ever.

  * * *

  “Are you going to make me eat dinner alone?”

  Jason glanced up from the work he’d spread all over the desk in the den and to the doorway, where Juliana stood, her red curls swept into a sexy topknot.

  Yet as his gaze traveled from her pretty hair and face to her kissable lips, his eyes and his hormones were thwarted by one of Granny’s full-size aprons, a red-checkered background printed with green apples.

  If there was something to be said about Juliana Bailey, she was certainly an unpredictable novelty. Yet the contradictions she presented still drove his libido crazy.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.

  She was talking about food, and while she had him thinking about a different kind of hunger, he realized his stomach had been empty for hours. “Yes, I guess I am.”

  “Good. I set a table out on the back porch. I decided you need to get outside for some fresh air. You’ve been cooped up in the house all day.”

  So she’d taken it upon herself to look after him, huh? “What time is it?”

  “Nearly seven o’clock. And definitely time for a break. Something tells me that if I didn’t keep an eye on the clock, you’d continue to work until your stomach put up a fuss.”

  A grin stretched across his lips. “Isn’t that how most people know when it’s time to eat?”

  “I suspect those who get ulcers do, but I have a little more self-awareness than that. Have you always been like this?”

  “As far as I can remember.”

  “Even as a kid? Were you the last one to come in at night for meals?”

  His smile deepened as he recalled the days when he’d lived on the Leaning R. “Granny used to have to ring an old cowbell.”

  “What about after you left the ranch? Who reminded you to eat then? Who took care of you?”

  His smile faded. “The cafeteria workers at prep school—and the other staff. Mostly I was lucky enough to fend for myself.”

  She tossed him a skeptical smile, then rose and headed to the kitchen, the apron bow hanging along her swaying hips and taunting him until she disappeared out the door.

  Maybe he hadn’t always done the best job of hiding his needs or his loneliness as a kid, but he’d grown up and he’d survived. All in all, it had been for the best, because that’s how he’d learned to become strong and self-sufficient.

  He shut down the laptop, tidied up his files, then headed down the hall. Moments later, he caught the whiff of a familiar aroma. At least, he thought it was. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that Granny was whipping up a batch of her Swedish meatballs.

  Before Juliana could remind him to go outside to the table she’d set, he followed the smell to the kitchen, where he found her standing in front of the stove and preparing to spoon the meal from a pot into a serving bowl.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She turned and smiled, her golden-brown eyes glimmering. “I found some of your great-grandmother’s old recipes this morning, and while thumbing through them, I saw that she’d made notes on them.” She lifted the worn and stained card that had been resting on the countertop. “This one says, ‘Jason’s favorite. Serve with noodles and green beans.’ So I checked in the pantry and made a list of everything else I would need to surprise you.”

  She certainly had.

  “This is amazing,” he said. “You’re amazing. I don’t know what to say.”

  She smiled and turned completely around, her back to the stove and countertop. “You don’t have to say anything.”

  But he did. And a simple thank-you wasn’t enough. Employees often bought him a bottle of scotch or bourbon for Christmas. A lover might buy him an expensive dress shirt and silk tie. Or maybe tickets to a show she’d been wanting to see. But no one ever had gone out of his or her way to surprise him in such a heartwarming way. No one except Granny, anyway.

  The fact that Juliana had no reason to do it stroked something deep inside him, and without any conscious thought, he closed the gap between them.

  As his gaze locked on hers, his expression must have been pretty intense because she asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all.” He’d just realized that her beauty went far deeper than her flaming hair and golden-brown ey
es.

  When they were just inches apart, he reached up and ran his knuckles along her cheek. Her breath caught, yet she didn’t flinch.

  “This is one of the nicest things anyone has done for me in a long time,” he said.

  She offered him a crooked grin, as if trying to downplay her thoughtful gesture. “You haven’t tasted it yet. I might have missed a step or skipped an ingredient. It probably won’t taste at all like you remember.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  She didn’t step back, but then again, he supposed she couldn’t, because he had her backed up against the counter. She brushed a loose curl from her brow, broke eye contact and gave a little shrug. “I just did it on a whim. It was no big deal.”

  “Maybe not to you, but it feels like a big deal to me.”

  At that, he snagged her gaze again, and whatever it was that drew him to her seemed to be affecting her the same way, because her lips parted.

  And for some crazy reason he might regret later, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Four

  The minute their lips met, Juliana knew she should turn her head and push Jason away. Yet she couldn’t help herself and leaned forward and accepted his kiss as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  How could she form a single thought, or voice a protest, when her head was spinning from the scent of his woodsy cologne and the sweet taste of his breath as his mouth opened and his tongue sought hers?

  When his arms tightened around her and his hands slipped up and down her back, he nipped at her bottom lip, and she all but melted into a puddle on the floor.

  Within a heartbeat, the kiss exploded with a passion she hadn’t expected, and her common sense—what was left of it—scrambled to take control of her addled brain.

  Jason Rayburn was her employer, for goodness’ sake. And even if the two of them were willing to overlook that simple little fact, there was another little something she’d better not overlook—a little someone.

  She splayed her hands on his chest, felt his heart pounding under her fingertips as she pushed against him. Then she finally turned her face and tore her lips from his.

  Her ragged breath betrayed her conscience when she tried to offer an explanation for why she’d let him kiss her in the first place, not to mention allowing it to go. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. That was completely inappropriate.”

  “You’re probably right, but you have to admit, it was pretty nice.”

  “Maybe so, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” She nearly tacked on about me. But she left it off, figuring he could make whatever leap he wanted. That he was wrong about her, about what the kiss might mean, about where any of this might be headed.

  A boyish grin slid across his face. “I agree that we probably shouldn’t get involved, but there’s definitely some strong chemistry going on between us.”

  She took a step to the side, putting more space between them than the counter at her back allowed. “We have a lot of work to get done in a short period of time. So we need to stay on track.”

  “You’re right.” He studied her for a beat, then turned toward the stove. “Dinner smells delicious. Would you like me to set the table?”

  She ought to be relieved that he seemed to have put the kiss behind him so easily, but it left her a bit uneasy—and maybe even envious, since she wasn’t sure she could do the same thing.

  And she’d been right. All during the meal, she’d fought the urge to study the man seated across from her.

  As he dug into the Swedish meatballs and noodles, he complimented her several times, completely glossing over the amazing kiss they’d shared just minutes before. Yet here she sat, her cheeks still warm and no doubt flushed.

  But just because she’d been swept away momentarily by the unexpected kiss didn’t mean she would let it happen again—or that she’d complicate her life with a man right now.

  Jason had no more than dished up a second helping of meatballs over noodles when he said, “You have no idea how much I appreciate you fixing this meal. It was always my favorite—and one I never expected to taste again. To thank you, I’d like to take you out to dinner on Saturday night. There’s a little Italian restaurant that just opened up downtown. I’m not sure how it’s going to compete with Caroline’s Diner, but it’s only open for dinner. And it’s probably a little too fancy for most of the Brighton Valley locals.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.” Juliana lifted her napkin and blotted her mouth as if she could block her thoughts from coming out. Surely, he wasn’t asking her out on a date. But that had to be what he was doing. Hadn’t he listened to a word she’d said? She didn’t want to get involved with him—or with anyone.

  Of course, neither did she want to jeopardize her temporary job—and a lucrative one at that—by putting up too many flashing red lights and roadblocks, especially when she’d kissed him back in a way that could only have been taken as a full-on green light. No wonder he sensed a contradiction.

  “I’m afraid all my clothes have been packed in storage,” she said. “I only brought jeans and casual tops. I don’t have anything the least bit fancy, so going out to dinner isn’t an option. Besides, if you feel like providing a meal in return, why don’t you just pick up a pizza and bring it home one night?”

  “I suppose I could do that.”

  She forced one of her best bright-eyed smiles, then focused on her plate, doing her best to ignore the romantic ambience she hadn’t meant to set into motion.

  Romantic ambience? Here on Granny’s back porch?

  Not that there was anything wrong with the cozy quarters, but there weren’t any candles or flowers or music. The only thing remotely romantic was the thudding beat of Juliana’s heart.

  And the lingering memory of a heated kiss she wasn’t likely to ever forget.

  * * *

  After they’d washed and put away the dinner dishes, something Jason again helped Juliana do, he asked if she’d like to return to the porch for coffee, a glass of wine, juice or...whatever.

  “I’d like to,” she said, “but I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I want to turn in early. And since I have a doctor’s appointment in town tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to set my alarm clock so I can make up those hours first thing in the morning. I hope to get started on packing the hutch in the dining room—unless you’d rather I started somewhere else.”

  “No, that’s fine.” He wondered if she was only making an excuse to put some distance between them and their obvious attraction, but he decided it was best to let it drop. He needed her help with the inventory. He also knew better than to get romantically involved with an employee. His father had made that mistake once, only to be slapped with a charge of sexual harassment. The lawsuit had resulted in a lengthy litigation and a large settlement, a mistake Jason had no intention of repeating. But then again, his old man had probably been guilty as charged, and this situation seemed completely different.

  Trouble was, now that Jason had kissed Juliana, he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d have to do something, though. A man didn’t just ignore a smoking-hot kiss with a beautiful redhead and write it off as if it hadn’t happened.

  Besides, ignoring the whole thing had damn near killed him during dinner, especially when her rosy cheeks let him know she’d been thinking about it, too.

  Still, as Juliana left the kitchen and headed to her room, it was way too early for Jason to turn in. He didn’t feel like watching television or holing up in the den, just steps away from where she’d be lying in bed. So he walked through the living room and headed out to the front porch, where the stars sparkled overhead and a somber country-and-western tune filled the night air.

  He made his way to the wooden railing and peered at the small guesthouse, where the sole ranch hand, Ian McAllister, sat outside in one of two chairs, his guitar in his lap, his fingers strumming the strings.

  Years ago, Reuben Montoya had been the foreman
on the Leaning R and had done a fine job of running things. Then about five years ago, there’d been a family emergency, and Reuben had had to return to his hometown, a small village located somewhere near the coast in Baja California. Granny had hired several different men to take his place, but she’d had to let each one go because they’d fallen short of the benchmark Reuben had set. Finally, she’d taken on Ian. From what she’d said several times, Ian had pleased her. “He’s got an inborn skill at ranching,” she’d said, “and a way with sick or injured critters that’s pert near better than any vet I’ve ever seen.”

  But when Granny passed, the Leaning R ownership had transferred to Jason’s father, who hadn’t made any secret that the ranch wasn’t a priority to him. He could have given Ian free rein to make a go of things, but for some reason, he’d refused to even consider it. In fact, he hadn’t even allowed Ian to hire on any new hands whenever one of the men quit and went on to work for other spreads. And without any qualified cowboys to help him, Ian had been limited to what he could do alone.

  Jason was surprised the man had stuck around this long. But then again, he was a cowboy. And those guys had an interesting code of honor, even the younger ones in their midthirties, like Ian.

  If Jason were inclined to turn things completely around, he’d let Ian see what he could do with the place. But Granny had wanted at least one family member to live on the ranch and oversee things. And that wasn’t likely to happen. Braden had his own place ten miles down the road, Carly was dead set on building a singing career to surpass that of her mother’s and Jason wasn’t about to set down roots in Brighton Valley. His corporations were based in Houston—and so was his life.

  As Ian’s haunting melody filled the summer night, Jason swore under his breath. It was too early and too nice of an evening for him and Ian to be outside by themselves, bogged down by melancholy thoughts or sad music. So he strode into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of longneck beers from the fridge and crossed the yard.

  When he reached the patch of lawn in front of Ian’s place, the music echoed to a slow stop, and the cowboy glanced up. “What’s up, boss?”