Having the Cowboy's Baby

by Judy Duarte

  The old hinges creaked as he lifted the trunk’s lid. “Looks like quilts.” He pulled out the one on top, a colorful patchwork design.

  Carly eased closer to get a better look at the handmade blanket. “It’s beautiful. Look at all that intricate stitching. I wonder who made it.”

  “Granny, maybe.” He continued to pull out several more, some of them stitched, but whose edges weren’t finished. “I’m beginning to think these weren’t hers. She never liked leaving things undone.”

  “She was also a better cook than a seamstress,” Carly added. “Not that she couldn’t hem a dress or darn socks. But she never used to sit around and sew for a hobby.”

  “There’s something else in here.” Ian handed a small cedar box to Carly.

  As she accepted it, their hands brushed, and the warmth of his touch, as brief as it was, set off a spark that nearly singed her skin and sent her pulse rate into overdrive. She almost lost her grip on the box and dropped it, but she scrambled to gather her wits and her senses.

  Still, her heart continued to pound as she peered inside the velvet-lined interior and spotted a man’s ring, a filigreed cross on a silver chain and a gold pocket watch.

  “Who do you think they belonged to?” Ian asked. It was a simple question, but his soft Southern twang did wacky things to her ability to think.

  Her response came out in a near whisper as she set the box aside. “I have no idea.”

  The musty basement smelled of dust, but it was the scent of soap, leather and cowboy that stirred her hormones and her memories.

  As her resolve weakened, she realized she would have to escape before she did something stupid—like fall into his arms.

  Ian was sweet. And as sexy as sin. He was also charming when he put his mind to wooing her.

  Of course, her father had been a charmer, too.

  Not that Ian was anything like her dad. But still. She had to keep her wits about her until she could decide whether he was just being a thoughtful expectant father or trying to make her see things his way.

  As she turned her back to him, a small puff of brown fur scurried across the top of her sandaled foot, and she let out a scream as though a cougar had just entered the basement. Without a conscious thought, she spun back to Ian and nearly climbed up his body. “Get it out of here!”

  He laughed, but he scooped her into his arms, rescuing her from the tiny critter. “He’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

  “I don’t care. Mice and rats give me the willies.”

  And clinging to Ian was giving her pause. But she couldn’t fall back into a sexual relationship with him. So, with her cheeks glazing hot and her heart soaring, she unwrapped herself from his arms. “Will you please shoo that mouse outside? I’m going to call it a day.”

  “He’s long gone by now—probably suffering from a cardiac arrest.”

  “Good,” she said, as she hurried up the stairs to the main part of the house.

  “We can always get a cat,” he called out behind her. “That ought to keep the mice and rats at bay.”

  Maybe so. But who was going to keep Ian and temptation at bay?

  * * *

  As the days passed, the slight bulge in Carly’s tummy seemed to practically double in size, and she soon found that a lot of her pants felt tight. So she took a break after inventorying the basement and before tarting on the attic and drove into town to find some looser clothing to wear.

  She wasn’t big enough to warrant a purchase at the maternity shop in Wexler, but she suspected she could find something to tide her over a month or two at the Mercantile in downtown Brighton Valley. And she’d been right.

  After buying a couple pairs of pants and several tops that would work, she returned to her pickup. Well, almost.

  A walk past Caroline’s Diner triggered a craving for lemon meringue pie.

  How about that? Once Carly had learned that she was pregnant, all the signs and symptoms had flared up, making the diagnosis real. Of course, she’d always craved something sweet to eat whenever she strolled past the diner.

  For some reason, the local eatery, with its yellow walls, white café-style curtains and cozy booths, offered her comfort and a feeling of coming home—almost as much as the Leaning R did. Or rather, like it had when Granny had been there.

  She’d no more than walked inside when she spotted the blackboard that advertised the daily special for $8.99. In yellow chalk, someone had written “What the Sheriff Ate,” followed by “Fried Chicken, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Buttered Carrots and Cherry Pie à la mode.”

  As Carly turned to the refrigerated case that displayed yummy desserts, she spotted Stu Jeffries, the new mayor, sitting at the counter. When he recognized Carly, he pushed his plate aside, picked up his bill and got up from his seat.

  Mayor Jeffries, a short, stout businessman in his mid to late fifties, snatched his Stetson from the chair next to where he’d been sitting and plopped it on his head, reminding Carly of a giant thumb tack.

  “Why, Carly Rayburn! You’re just the person I want to talk to.”

  She greeted him with a smile. “Hi, Stu. What’s up?”

  “First of all, I’d like to compliment you. Marcia and I were at the Stagecoach Inn last Friday night when you and the Leaning R foreman played. I’d meant to talk to you afterward, but you slipped out before I got a chance.”

  Carly had noticed that the mayor and his wife had occupied one of the corner booths. But she wasn’t about to tell him why she’d hightailed it out of the honky-tonk so quickly. “What can I do for you?”

  “First of all, I wanted you to know how much we enjoyed that duet. You and Ian—that’s his name, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Anyway, the two of you are very talented. A real hit. Marcia told me to ask you to perform at the Founder’s Day Festival in a couple of weeks—and again at the dance that evening at the Grange Hall. How about it?”

  Carly’s heart leaped at the praise as well as the invitation. But when she imagined what Ian’s reaction would be, her pulse hit a snag.

  “We’re charging admission at the dance,” the smiling mayor added. “And the proceeds are going toward the new program for disabled children at the Brighton Valley Kids Club.”

  She hadn’t known about the new program, but she certainly could support something like that. And while Ian had made it clear he’d never go on stage with her again, she wondered if he’d change his mind because it was for such a good cause.

  It was hard to say, but if he still wouldn’t budge, she couldn’t let that screw up her own opportunity. So she went out on a limb and said, “I’d be delighted to perform that day. And I’m sure Ian will, too.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Our PR committee has been working hard on this, so we’ll get you on the schedule as soon as we can. And it just so happens that Jolene, one of the clerks down at City Hall, plans to drop it off at the print shop this afternoon—right before her softball game with the Hot Mamas League. So if I hurry back to the office, I should be able to add you to that brochure, too.”

  Carly wasn’t sure what Ian would say when he realized she’d already made a commitment for them. But at least the proceeds of the evening dance were going to help disabled children. So how could he object?

  Besides, she had two weeks to talk him into it. And a whole recipe box of tempting goodies to soften the blow.

  * * *

  Ian was at the ranch house painting the front porch railing when Carly drove up. Cheyenne, who’d kept getting in his way all morning—bless her ever-lovin’ puppy heart—trotted toward the small pickup, the stump of her little tail wagging. She was no doubt hoping to find a more enthusiastic playmate than he’d been for the past hour.

  Carly opened the driver’s door, slid out of the truck, then stooped to p
at the rascally pup. “Hey! What are you doing, girl?”

  Cheyenne was so excited to get an ear rub that her little tail wagged her entire hind end from side to side.

  “Uh-oh,” Carly said. “You have white paint on your fur.”

  Ian laughed. “I’m not surprised. She wasn’t content to nap or just watch.”

  Carly reached into the cab and withdrew a couple of shopping bags that bore the Mercantile branding.

  “Did you find any bargains?” he asked.

  “Not really. But I picked up some pants and blouses that I can wear for a while.”

  He glanced at her waistline, which seemed to have expanded since her arrival. Apparently, their baby was growing, which pleased him. But he figured he’d better bite back a proud-papa smile.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as she approached the house.

  “The railing was loose, so I fixed it. And now I’m giving it a coat of paint.”

  She nodded, then bit down on her bottom lip—a habit she had when she was pensive or stressed.

  Ian didn’t like seeing her troubled, so he set the paintbrush across the lid of the can and got to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She brightened momentarily, then went back to biting her lip. “I...uh...ran into Mayor Jeffries in town.”

  Ian lifted his arm, wiped the perspiration from his brow with his shirtsleeve and grinned. “You mean to tell me the new mayor shops at the only ladies’ dress shop in town?”

  She chuckled at his attempt to lighten her mood. “No, that’s not where I saw him. He was at the diner.”

  Since Carly didn’t usually find it newsworthy to tell him about the various people she ran into while in town, he waited for her to continue.

  “You might not have noticed, but Stu and his wife were at the Stagecoach Inn last Friday night and saw our performance.”

  Again, Ian remained silent. He suspected that she had something she was worried about telling him. And that she didn’t expect him to be happy about it. If that was the case, he wasn’t going to make it any easier for her to announce whatever it was. So he crossed his arms and stood tall.

  “He’d like for us to perform at the Founder’s Day Festival, which will be held in Town Square in two weeks. Then, that evening, we’d play at the community dance at the Grange Hall.” Carly glanced down at her boots, then back to Ian and smiled, her blue eyes damn near sparkling. “I hope you don’t mind, but it’s for a really good cause—the new program at the Brighton Valley Kids Club for disabled children. So I told him we’d do it.”

  Ian stiffened. “You agreed for both of us?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she swiped at them. “What’s one more little singing gig? It’s not like I’m trying to drag you to the Grand Ole Opry. It’s just a small-town thing. Besides, all the money they make at the dance will go to a good cause. Surely you can’t say no to that.”

  “You know good and well how I feel about performing.”

  Her eyes flooded with more emotion, and she sniffled, then wiped the moisture away again. “Damn these hormones.”

  Ian hated to see her cry, but he wasn’t about to admit it. And he couldn’t give in to her like her father had always done. The last thing he needed was for her to think she had him wrapped around her pinkie, too. “I’m not going to do it, Carly.”

  “Not even for those poor little kids?”

  Sure, he’d do just about anything to benefit children in need. But Carly was working him, and he had to hold his ground. “If I thought you were only concerned about charity, that’d be one thing. But I know what you’re really trying to do. You want me to eventually agree to go on the road with you, and I’m not going to do it.”

  She blew out an exasperated sigh. “You frustrate the heck out of me, Ian. And yes, I’ll admit that I want to perform in the future—with you, if possible. But you don’t seem to care about what’s important to me. I need to make a name for myself, even if Brighton Valley is only a stepping stone.”

  “You’re a Rayburn, Carly. You already have a name for yourself.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She crossed her arms, the tears a thing of the past now as she dug in her boots for battle. “At first, I wanted you to perform with me because you’re so talented. And also because we have good chemistry—and not just in bed. But now it’s a matter of principle. We need to be able to work together and do what’s right.”

  Ian clucked his tongue and shook his head. She was taking this way out of context. “Granted, it’s a good cause. And I’d be happy to write a generous check to the charity itself. So don’t lecture me about doing what’s right.”

  “You don’t get it, Ian. If we can’t learn to compromise and respect each other’s ideals and honor our dreams, how will we ever be able to coparent?”

  Her last blow hit below the belt. There was nothing he’d like more in the world than parenting their child with her—even before the birth. He wanted to argue, to object, to flat-out refuse. But she’d argued him into a corner and there was no other way out than to agree.

  “Okay, Carly. I’m not happy about this, but I’ll do it—just this one last time.”

  Her anger melted into a breezy smile. “Thank you, Ian. You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

  He wasn’t sorry about performing, but he was already regretting the fact that she’d managed to talk him into doing something he’d been dead set against. Again.

  But on the upside, if he could convince her to be happy performing in two-bit venues here in Brighton Valley, then maybe that would be enough for her and she’d agree to stick close to home, where they could actually create a family of their own.

  Then maybe they could learn to parent their baby together. And Ian could be the husband and father he’d always wanted to be.

  Chapter Seven

  Ian steered clear of Carly for the next couple of days—at least, that’s what he seemed to be doing. At first, she’d made up her mind to leave him alone until his mood improved. But it soon became apparent that he was avoiding her and she would have to make the first move.

  While she hadn’t meant to make him angry, she should have realized that a man like Ian didn’t like being pressed to do something he didn’t want to do.

  And Carly had pushed him too hard. She not only owed him an apology, but she ought to do something to mend fences.

  The only plan she could come up with was to tell him how sorry she was over a home-cooked meal made entirely from Granny’s recipes.

  So the next morning, after Ian and the ranch hands had ridden out together, she came up with the perfect menu and made a list of all the ingredients she needed to purchase at the market. Next, she slipped a note under Ian’s cabin door, telling him she needed to talk to him and inviting him to dinner this evening.

  When she returned home from her shopping trip, she took a shower, then shampooed and styled her hair. After slipping on a new pair of black stretch pants and an oversize mint-colored blouse, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror and primped a bit longer than she’d intended. After all, she and Ian weren’t lovers anymore.

  But they would be parents. So, for that reason, it was best for everyone involved if she put her best foot forward, apologized and did whatever she could to put them back on even ground.

  Satisfied with her appearance and her game plan, she headed for the kitchen and made a meal sure to soften his heart.

  While the meat loaf was in the oven, she set the table with Granny’s best dishes, which she’d found packed in one of the stacked boxes in the dining room. She’d wanted everything to be perfect tonight, so while she was at the market, she’d also picked up some candles as well as a bouquet of flowers, which would add a nice touch.

  A knock sounded at the front door, taking her by surprise. Ever since they�
�d first made love, Ian had let himself into the house through the mudroom. Obviously, things were different between them now, although she was determined to shake the awkwardness—as well as the mounting sexual tension that threatened to unravel her whenever he was near.

  Still, she was ready for his arrival.

  Or so she thought.

  As she swung open the door and spotted the handsome cowboy on the porch, her heart took a tumble. He wore a Western shirt—a soft blue plaid she’d never seen before—and black jeans. He removed his hat, revealing damp hair—fresh from the shower.

  “Am I too early?” he asked.

  “No, you’re right on time. Come on in.” She stepped aside and waited for him to enter.

  Instead, he glanced over his shoulder and called out, “Cheyenne, come on or I’ll leave you outside.”

  Moments later, the black-and-white pup bounded up the steps wearing a red bandanna around her neck. Apparently, Carly and Ian weren’t the only ones who’d spiffed up for their dinner.

  “Aren’t you cute,” Carly said as she stooped to pat the puppy.

  Ian continued to stand on the porch, his hat in hand. “So what’s on your mind?”

  “First of all,” she said, stepping aside so Ian and Cheyenne could enter, “I want to apologize. I never should have agreed to perform as a duo when you’d made it clear how you felt about going on stage. It’s just that I was so excited about being asked, that I said yes without a thought. But I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she wondered if he was going to accept her apology. But then, he’d come to dinner, hadn’t he?

  “To make matters worse,” she added, “I pushed you until you agreed to sing with me, which wasn’t fair. Will you forgive me?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “You promised not to agree to any more singing engagements on my behalf. But what about pushing me?”

  She returned his grin. “I can try, but I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He placed his hat on the rack near the door. “You didn’t need to invite me to dinner, though. Besides, I already agreed to perform with you.”