by Judy Duarte
“Don’t worry about me falling in love and giving up my singing career, Heather. I’ll make it happen.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And I love your can-do attitude.” Her friend blew out a sigh. “But please give me a call after you talk to the doctor. I’ve been worried about you.”
Now that Granny was gone, there weren’t too many people who actually worried about Carly. She suspected Braden did, and Jason. The two of them had become a lot closer lately, especially since love and romance had softened her oldest brother.
“Thanks, Heather. If it turns out that I have to make an appointment, I’ll let you know.”
When she disconnected the call, Carly glanced down at the recipe cards in her hand. She flipped through them until she spotted one of her favorites.
Sugar cookies. What fun Carly used to have rolling out the dough and cutting them into shapes, especially at Christmas. Then she and Granny would frost them. She turned over the card. In blue ink, Granny had written:
Carly’s favorite. The holidays aren’t the same without these cookies. That precious child’s eyes light up in pure joy. Warms my heart so.
Then, in pencil, she’d added: “It was a sad day when she grew too old to bake with me anymore.”
Carly remembered Granny’s last Christmas. She’d called and invited her to come over and bake cookies. “Just for old times’ sake,” Granny had added.
But Carly had been too busy. It hadn’t been the first time she’d declined to visit Granny or to spend time in this old kitchen, but it had certainly been the last.
Was that the day Granny had penciled the note?
Guilt welled up in Carly’s chest until it clogged her throat and brought tears to her eyes.
“Granny,” she said aloud, “I’m going to bake a batch of sugar cookies for old times’ sake. And before your kitchen is packed away.”
Carly set the card aside and pulled out another. Brownies. No one made them like Granny. And this particular recipe had a fudge frosting that was to die for. On the back, Granny had written, “Men and boys can’t say no to these! They make good peace offerings. And good bribes, too!”
The teapot on the stove whistled. After setting aside a stack of recipes she intended to bake, including Granny’s Texas chocolate cake, Carly poured a cup of hot water into a cup, then tore open a packet of chamomile tea and let it steep.
With nothing on her agenda for this trip home—and most of the packing already done—she reached into the kitchen desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. Then she began a long grocery list.
She had no idea what she was going to do with everything she intended to bake, but it was going to do her heart good. And right now, her heart needed all the good it could get.
* * *
As the summer sun climbed high in the Texas sky, Ian came out of the barn with Cheyenne tagging behind him. Carly had taken off a couple of hours ago, but he’d been in the south pasture at the time and had only watched her pickup driving down the county road.
He had no right to know where she was going, he supposed, but that didn’t make him any less curious.
Still, as he headed for the corral, where Jesse Ramirez, one of the teenage boys Jason had hired, was painting the rails, Carly drove up. At least she hadn’t taken one look at the packed-up house last night and blasted out of town at first light. Apparently, she planned to stick around for a while.
When she waved at him, his pulse spiked. But then why wouldn’t it? Carly Rayburn was every cowboy’s dream—a five-foot-two-inch blonde, blue-eyed beauty with a soft Southern twang and a body built for snug denim and white lace.
She was dressed to kill today in boots, black jeans and a blue frilly blouse. With her blond curls tumbling down her shoulders, she looked as though she was ready for one of the rides they used to take together, and he was half tempted to call it a day and suggest they do just that. But Carly had hitched her wagon to a different star and sought the fame and glory Ian had been happy to leave behind.
Of course, she had no idea who Ian had once been or why he’d given it all up. It was a secret he meant to keep now that he was living in small-town obscurity and going by his given name.
As she climbed from the truck and closed the driver’s door, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to help me carry some of this stuff into the house.”
“Sure. What have you got there?”
“Groceries.”
He glanced at the bags and boxes that filled the entire bed of her truck, then blew out a whistle. “What is all this? Flour, sugar, cocoa...? You planning to open a bakery?”
She laughed with that soft lilt that stirred his blood and lent a unique sound to her singing voice. “Maybe I should. I found Granny’s recipe box last night. She made notes on the back of the cards. And since I couldn’t sleep, I spent a long time reading over them and reminiscing. So I started making a grocery list, and... Well, it looks like I’m going to do some baking. I’ll just have to find someone to give it to, or I’ll end up looking like a Butterball turkey.”
“Hey, don’t forget where I live. I haven’t had homemade goodies in ages. I favor chocolate, but I’m not fussy. If it’s sweet, I’ll give it a try.”
She blessed him with a pretty smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As they carried the groceries into the kitchen, she said, “Guess who I ran into at the market? Earl Tellis, the owner of the Stagecoach Inn.”
“He was shopping?” Ian laughed. “I didn’t figure him for being all that domestic.”
“Neither did I, especially during daylight hours. But his wife had her appendix removed a couple of days ago, so he’s helping out around the house.”
Ian didn’t respond. He sometimes drove out to the honky-tonk on weekend evenings, but for the most part, he didn’t like crowds, especially as the night wore on and some folks tended to drink to excess and get rowdy. He’d certainly seen his share of it in the past. And he’d done his share of whooping it up, too. But he was pretty much a teetotaler now. He wanted to prove that he could say no and knew when to quit—unlike his old man.
“Earl asked if I’d come out and perform on Saturday night,” Carly added.
“Good for you.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not the big time by any means, but it’s a place to perform while I’m here.” She bit down on her bottom lip.
Uh-oh. Ian had an idea where her thoughts were going.
“Earl asked if I had a band,” she added. “I told him no, but that I might be able to find a guitarist.”
“Who’d you have in mind?” He knew the answer, though, and his gut clenched.
“You, of course.”
Ian shook his head. “I told you I’m not a performer.”
“You don’t know that yet—not if you don’t try it first. Come on. Help me out this once. Without you, Earl’s not going to want me.” She bit down on her lip again, then blinked at him with those little ol’ cocker spaniel eyes.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes grew wide. “Like what?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m not your daddy who used to give in to that little sad face.”
She slapped her hands on her denim clad hips and went from cocker spaniel to junkyard dog in nothing flat. “I’m not doing any such thing! And I never tried to work my dad like that.”
Ian arched a brow in objection. “Come on, Carly. I saw you do it.”
“When?”
“That first day you met me. When your dad stopped by and found out that the old foreman had retired and Granny chose me to replace him.”
“My dad hadn’t been happy to learn that Reuben Montoya had gone back to Mexico. And I was afraid he would do something...stupid.”
“Like what?
”
“Chase after him, I guess. Or fire you before we had a chance to see if you could handle Reuben’s job.” She gave a little shrug. “I was only trying to change the subject and give him something else to think about. But I didn’t ‘work’ him the way you’re implying.”
“That wasn’t the only time. And you were good at it, too. But it won’t work on me.”
“That’s not fair, Ian. You make it sound like I’m a big flirt or a spoiled brat. And I’m neither.”
Not by nature, he supposed. But when you grew up with an ultrarich father who thought throwing money at his kids was the same as saying I love you, it was probably hard not to try to get your way on occasion.
“I’m not trying to offend you or stir you up. And I don’t want to thwart your chance at performing locally, but I’m not interested in playing guitar down at the Stagecoach Inn.”
“Do you get nervous playing for a crowd?”
“Nope.” Stage fright had never been an issue. “I just don’t want to.” That was the same reason he’d given Felicia Jamison, of country music fame, when he’d told her he was quitting the band. And she hadn’t taken it any easier then than Carly was now. But he didn’t figure he owed either of them any further explanation, although he probably should have given Felicia an earful.
Ten years ago, Felicia had been an up-and-coming singer when she’d hired Ian to be her lead guitarist. And the fit had been magical. Felicia could really rock the house with her voice, but it was Ian’s songwriting that had helped her soar in popularity.
Most of her fans might not have heard of Mac McAllister, but he’d still earned a name for himself within the country music industry.
So far, no one in Brighton Valley knew who he was. Felicia had the face people would recognize. Ian had only been a member of her band, but if he put himself out in the limelight again, the greater chance he had of someone recognizing him and word of where he was getting out. And he’d been dead serious when he’d told Felicia that he was retiring.
“Then I guess you can’t blame me if I try to change your mind,” Carly said.
Ian wasn’t sure how she intended to go about that, but the truth of the matter was, he still found Carly as sexy as hell. And while she’d made it clear that she didn’t want their fling to start up all over again, he wasn’t so sure he felt the same way.
* * *
Carly had never been one to take no for an answer—especially since she hadn’t been entirely honest with Ian. Not only had Earl Tellis asked her to perform on Saturday night, but she’d already made the commitment—for both her and a guitarist.
And since Ian could be rather stubborn, she had her work cut out for her. She also had a batch of chewy, chocolaty brownies with fudge frosting that were sure to impress the handsome cowboy. After all, hadn’t Granny said they made good bribes?
And that was exactly what Carly hoped to use them for this evening—a bribe to soften up Ian. So after dinner she put on a pretty yellow dress and slipped on her denim jacket and a pair of boots. Then she spent a little extra time on her makeup and hair before carrying a platter of brownies to his cabin.
Just like the night before, when she returned from the wedding, she found him sitting on his front porch, strumming his guitar. Only this time, he was playing a different tune, one that had a haunting melody, and singing the heart-stirring lyrics.
Not surprising, she thought it was just as memorable, just as good, as the one he’d written for his grandparents.
He stopped playing when she approached and cast her a heart-strumming smile instead.
“Was that another new song?” she asked, assuming it was and adjusting the platter in her arms.
“Yep.”
Ian didn’t realize how talented he was. Not only could he play and sing, but he had a way with lyrics, too. Most musicians would give up their birthrights to be able to write songs the way he could.
He set his guitar aside, next to where Cheyenne lay snoozing. “What do you have there? Did you bring dessert?”
Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach must have been spot-on. She just hoped Granny’s brownies were as persuasive as the note on the recipe suggested they were.
Carly stepped up on the porch and lifted the foil covering from the platter. “This is my first attempt to make Granny’s blue-ribbon brownies. Tell me what you think.”
Ian reached for one of the frosted squares and took a bite. As he chewed, his eyes closed and his expression morphed into one of such pleasure that she didn’t need a verbal response. But when she got one, it was just what she’d expected.
“These are awesome, Carly. I had no idea you could bake like this.”
She hoped he didn’t get any ideas about her changing careers, because there was no way that would ever happen. “Thanks, but it was just a matter of following the directions on the recipe card. Granny was the baker in the family.”
“That’s for sure. A couple of days after I started working here, your great-grandmother asked me to have dinner with her.” He burst into a broad grin, his eyes glimmering. “Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fresh green beans. I’ll never forget that meal—or any of the others that followed. I would have done anything Granny asked me to do just to get another invitation to sit at her table.”
That’s the magic Carly hoped the brownies would work for her. She offered Ian a warm smile. “Granny loved cooking and baking for people.”
“She sure did. I really lucked out when I landed a job on the Leaning R. And not because I needed the work. I’d been homesick, so we kind of filled a need for each other.”
Guilt swirled up inside again, twisting Carly’s tummy into a knot. “I guess she was lonely after my brothers and I grew up and didn’t need her to look after us anymore.”
“She understood that kids should have a life of their own. But it was your father who seemed to abandon her. He got so caught up in his life and his business that she often felt neglected and forgotten.”
“I know. Granny said as much to me. His parents died in a small plane crash when he was a kid, and Granny raised him until his maternal grandfather insisted he attend college in California. That side of the family was very rich, and he was smitten by the glitz and glamour.”
“Granny didn’t hold that against him,” Ian said. “But she still thought he should have called to check on her or stopped in to visit more often than he did.”
Carly knew how the older woman felt. Heck, they all did. Charles Rayburn had been very generous with his money, but not with his time. And both of her brothers would agree.
“I hope I didn’t let Granny down,” she said.
“She never mentioned anything to me about you kids disappointing her.”
Carly studied the handsome cowboy who seemed to have become her great-grandma’s confidant at the end. “The two of you must have become pretty tight.”
He gave a shrug. “I grew up with my grandparents, too. When I got tired of roaming and doing my own thing, I wanted to move back home. But by that time, Granddad had already retired, sold the ranch and moved to Florida to live near my uncle and his family. So I had to find another place to fall back on. That’s when I met Granny. Three years ago. I was passing through Brighton Valley and stopped to have breakfast at Caroline’s Diner. Granny needed an extra hand, and I wanted a job. Things ended up working out well for both of us.”
“I guess it did. But there’s something I’ve always wondered and never asked. Why did you stay on, especially now that things are so up in the air? It would seem to me that you’d look for work on a ranch that’s more stable—and more successful.”
Ian studied the pretty blonde, her curls tumbling along her shoulders, her blue eyes bright, the lashes thick and lush without the need for mascara.
She brushed the stra
nd of hair from her eyes. “Was the question so difficult that you have to think about your answer? Most foremen would have moved on, especially when no one seemed to care about the Leaning R like my great-grandma did.”
There was a lot Carly didn’t know about Ian, a lot he hadn’t shared. And he wasn’t sure how much he wanted her to know.
He hadn’t just been looking for work when he’d landed the job on the Leaning R, he’d been looking for a place to call home. And the elderly widow hadn’t just found a ranch hand and future foreman, she’d found the grandson she’d always hoped Charles would be.
The two had looked after each other until her death. And even when Rosabelle Rayburn was gone and the late Charles Rayburn had taken charge of her estate, Ian had continued to look after her best interests. It soon became clear that Charles hadn’t given a rip about the ranch, and if Ian hadn’t been there, who knew what would have happened to the Leaning R?
Like Granddad used to say, You can’t buy loyalty, son. But when it’s earned and real, it lasts beyond death. And those words had proven to be true when it came to Rosabelle and the ranch she’d loved.
Ian shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, I like Brighton Valley. And I plan to settle here and buy a piece of land.”
After Charles died and his oldest son, Jason, became the trustee, Jason had announced that he intended to sell the ranch. When Ian heard that, he decided to purchase it himself. He’d developed more than a fondness for the Leaning R, and not just because he’d worked the land. He’d enjoyed all the stories Granny used to tell him about the history of the place, about the rugged Rayburn men who’d once run cattle here.
“I take it you’ve been putting some money aside,” Carly said.
“You could say that.”
“If you need any help, let me know. I’d be happy to loan you some.” Carly had a trust fund, so she didn’t have any financial worries. Apparently, she assumed Ian was little more than a drifter and needed her charity.
“Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”
It might come as a big surprise to Carly and her brothers—because it certainly had to Ralph Nettles, the Realtor who would be listing the property—but Ian had money stashed away from his days on the road with Felicia. He also had plenty of royalties coming in from the songs he’d written for her.
