Having The Cowboy's Baby

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?

“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.”