Having the Cowboy's Baby

by Judy Duarte

  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, Ju
liana 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

  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 ch
eck 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?