The Boss, the Bride & the Baby

“I’d rather have a glass of juice, if you don’t mind. And under the circumstances, let’s call it a debriefing. We can also create a game plan for tomorrow—or set up a calendar for trading off meal duties. But to tell you the truth, I don’t mind cooking. I’m not fond of cleaning up, though.”

If he was being honest with himself, as well as with her, he’d rather create a game plan for tonight, complete with romantic music, maybe a slow dance under the stars. But Juliana had put a stop to that by setting them both back on track. And he ought to thank his lucky stars that she had. Sexual harassment training was a priority for everyone in upper management at Rayburn Energy, and he’d best keep that in mind.

He offered her a platonic smile—his best attempt at one, anyway. “You’re right. That’s what I meant. Grab two goblets, then make yourself comfortable on one of those chairs on the porch. I’ll get the wine and juice.”

Moments later, he took the uncorked bottle of wine and a quart of orange juice outside. After filling their glasses, he took a seat, joining her under the soft yellow glow of the porch light.

He took a sip of his merlot and glanced at the barn door with the chipped paint and broken hinge that dusk couldn’t hide. He’d have to ask Ian McAllister, the foreman, to fix that next. Then they’d have to paint it, along with the corral nearest the house.

Juliana glanced out onto the ranch, which still needed so much work to be the kind of place Granny had called home, a ranch she’d be proud of if she were still alive.

He tried to look at the family homestead through Juliana’s eyes. He was going to have to hire more hands than Ian to help out around here. It was going to take an army to get it back into shape, even though they had only a handful of cattle left in the south forty.

So why hadn’t he recruited those extra men yet? Why was he dragging his feet?

“What are you going to do with the Leaning R?” Juliana asked.

“Granny wanted me, Braden and Carly to run it as three equal partners, but I can’t see how we can do that.” Jason reached for the bottle of juice and replenished her glass. “Unlike most siblings, Braden, Carly and I never agree on anything—the food we eat, the clothes we wear, the books we read.”

Even their memories of childhood and Daddy Dearest were as different as the three women who’d given birth to them.

Since Jason was the only one who didn’t have a mother, he’d been closer to their father. Not that he and his dad had done any of the usual father-son activities, like playing catch or going camping. His father had been way too busy with his corporate obligations.

Interestingly enough, they both attended charity functions benefiting the Boys Club and other youth programs, to which Charles and Jason both contributed financially. It was, he supposed, the closest they came to having a typical relationship. But Jason wouldn’t complain. He shared more with his dad than either Carly or Braden did. And while he hadn’t cried when he’d gotten word that his father had died in a car accident in Mexico a few months back, he’d still grieved.

Jason and Juliana sat quietly for a while, lost in the night sounds on a ranch that had seemed like a ghost town when Jason had arrived last week.

When he’d driven up that first day, there hadn’t been any cattle grazing in the pastures along the road, no Australian heeler named Mick to greet him. The barn, once painted a bright red, had weathered over the years and was in such disrepair that instead of asking Ian to take care of it, he’d thought he probably ought to hire a carpenter or two.

But it wasn’t until he’d noted the boarded-up windows on the house, unlocked the front door and entered the living room that the old adage struck him and he had to agree.

You really couldn’t go home again.

Whenever he’d visited the Leaning R before, he’d always expected to catch the aroma of fried chicken or roast beef or maybe apple spice cake—whatever Granny had been cooking or baking that day. But this time he’d been accosted by the musty smell of dust and neglect.

The first thing he’d done was to pry the boards off the first-floor windows and let in the morning sun. Then he’d called a cleaning service out of Wexler to put the place back to rights—or at least, as close to it as possible.

Jason had only spent school breaks and summer vacations on the Leaning R, but it had been his one constant. And the one place that held his warmest childhood memories.

Still, his plan was to put it on the market before summer was out—if he could get both Carly and Braden to sign the listing agreement. He hadn’t expected an argument from Carly, but he’d gotten one. And he expected one from Braden—whenever the erstwhile rancher finally showed up. Then again, he’d never been sure about anything when it came to his half brother. The two of them were only three years apart, but they’d kept each other at arm’s length for as long as Jason could remember.

Granny had tried to encourage a friendship whenever Braden came to visit, which was usually on Christmas or holidays. But Braden had a mother and family of his own. Maybe that was why Jason sometimes resented him coming around.

Either way, Granny couldn’t create a closeness between the brothers that wasn’t meant to be.

But why stress about any of that when he had pretty Juliana seated beside him?

He took another sip of merlot, savoring the taste.

“So what’re your plans after this?” he asked. “What’s next for you?”

“I’m going to get a job in the city—Houston, maybe.”

“Not Wexler?”

“No.” The word came out crisp, cool. Decisive.

Hmm. Bad memories?

She’d been laid off, Carly had said, and was only back in Brighton Valley temporarily.

Financial problems? Bad investments? Taken advantage of by a con man? Or maybe a lover?

It was too soon to ask. Still, he couldn’t help wondering.

Either way, Wexler’s loss was his gain. Or so it seemed, especially when he was sitting outside with a beautiful woman and finding even more solace under the stars.

There was also a lovers’ moon out tonight, casting a romantic glow over the Leaning R. His hormones and libido were pumped and taunting him to make more out of their time on the porch than a quiet chat, but common sense wouldn’t let him.

Juliana had made it clear that she didn’t want to cross any professional boundaries. What if she quit and left him alone to deal with the mess by himself?

He stole a glance at her, and when he caught her looking his way, she quickly averted her gaze. But as his attraction and interest continued to build, he realized it wouldn’t take much for him to reach out and touch her.

Or, at the very least, to ask her why she was adamant about not returning to Wexler.

* * *

Juliana hadn’t meant to stare at her employer, but he’d been so deep in thought that she couldn’t help it.

Okay, so she hadn’t just noted the intensity in his furrowed brow. She’d also been checking out his profile and the way his hair appeared to have an expensive cut, yet was stylishly mussed. In that Western wear—the worn jeans and chambray shirt rolled at the forearms—he looked like a Texas rancher. And a handsome one at that.

She tried to imagine him in a designer suit, seated at a board meeting in a high-rise building that looked out at the city skyline. He surely had to be quite impressive. Either way, Jason Rayburn was the kind of man who could turn a woman’s head.

He’d certainly turned hers. But she didn’t dare let her attraction get out of hand.

“Would you like some more OJ?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I’ve had plenty already.” In her condition, she had to use the bathroom a lot more than usual. And after all the orange juice she’d had already, she’d be lucky if she could make it through the night without waking at least once.

“This probably isn’t any of my business,” he said, “but do you mind if I ask you something?”

She’d always been fairly open and up-front, although she’d learned to be a lot more cautious recently. “It depends on what you want to know.”

“I get the idea you’d like to relocate. I can see why you might want to live in a bigger city. But I also sense that you couldn’t leave Wexler fast enough. And that it might be due to bad memories.”

She stiffened and leaned back in her chair. Her hand slipped protectively to her tummy. Instead of removing it, which she did whenever she’d found herself doing so in public, she opted to let it linger in the yellow glow of the porch light, allowing her baby the loving caress it deserved. “You’re right.”

“About the bad memories?”