Having The Cowboy's Baby

Had she been wrong about his intentions?

It appeared so, and while she should be relieved, she tamped down the momentary disappointment.

“Thanks for agreeing to sing with me,” she said again.

He didn’t respond, which suggested that he still wasn’t happy about being forced— No, not forced. She’d only encouraged him. But he’d given his word, which meant he’d follow through on the commitment.

Carly glanced near the front door, at the spot on the wooden flooring where Cheyenne lay curled up asleep. She would have stooped to give the puppy an affectionate pat before leaving, but she hated to wake her.

Instead, she tucked her fingers into the front pocket of her jeans. “I think we’re going to knock ’em dead at the Stagecoach Inn.”

“You might be right,” Ian said, “but keep in mind that it’s only a one-shot deal.”

That’s what they’d agreed to, but she hoped it was actually their first of many performances. She kept that to herself. At this point, there was no need to provoke him any more than she had.

Once he performed with her, she knew the audience would convince him that they were a perfect duo. And then maybe Ian would finally come to the same indisputable conclusion she had—that their amazing chemistry went beyond the bedroom and was destined to light up the stage.

* * *

Ian had been in more than his share of honky-tonks during the early days of his career, and the Stagecoach Inn was no different than the others.

Once he crossed the graveled parking lot, climbed the wooden steps and opened the door, the smell of booze and smoke, as well as the sounds of a blaring jukebox and hoots of laughter, slammed into him, taking him back in time to a place he no longer wanted to be.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the people mill about and chatter among themselves.

When he’d been known as Mac McAllister, one of Felicia’s Wiley Five, he’d worn his hair long. A bristled face had given him a rugged look he’d favored back then.

Hopefully, no one would recognize him now that he’d shaved and cut his hair in a shorter style. He was also dressed differently, opting for a white button-down shirt and faded jeans, rather than the mostly black attire he’d worn on stage before.

It wasn’t until a couple came up behind him that he finally stepped inside the honky-tonk. With his guitar in hand, he made his way across the scarred wood floor to the bar, which stretched across the far wall. In the old days, when he’d played with the Wiley Five, he’d relied on a couple of shots of tequila to get him through the performance. But that wasn’t his problem as he headed toward the bar tonight—his throat was just dry.

He was also annoyed at Carly for forcing his hand—or maybe he was just plain angry at himself for rolling over and agreeing to perform with her. He didn’t normally do anything he didn’t feel like doing.

So why had he agreed to do it for her?

Why here? Why now?

And why had she asked him to meet her here instead of riding over together? Something didn’t quite seem right. She might say she hadn’t played her daddy, but that wasn’t true. And while she might think she could wrap Ian around her little pinky, too, that definitely wasn’t the case. After tonight, it wouldn’t happen again.

The thirtysomething bartender, a busty brunette in a low-cut tank top, leaned forward across the polished oak bar and offered him an eyeful. “Can I get you a drink, cowboy? It’s happy hour. Draft beers are two for one.”

“No, thanks. I’m not looking for a deal.”

“Ooh. Big spender. I like that in my men.”

Ian liked his bartenders to keep quiet and do their job. Instead of serving the patrons, this flirty brunette ought to be seated on the other side of the bar, tempting the male customers to buy her a drink.

“I’ll have a root beer,” he said.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. “Seriously?”

“You got a problem with my order?”

“Nope.” She straightened and her smile faded. “Coming right up.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the door, wondering where Carly was. He doubted she’d be late. The performance was too important to her.

The busty barkeep set a can and a frosted mug in front of him. “Do you want to run a tab?”

“Nope.” He placed a ten dollar bill on the bar, then took a swig of his soda pop.

“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to serving you all night.”

As the brunette turned to get Ian’s change, Carly, who’d apparently just arrived, eased in beside him. She was wearing a brand-new outfit—at least, as far as he could tell. And with her makeup done to a tee, she was just as beautiful as ever, although he preferred to see her without all the hairspray and glitz.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

“I haven’t been here long.”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling. “I’m just glad you showed up.”

Ian reached for her hand and held it tight, his thumb pressing against her wrist, where her pulse rate kicked up a notch. “I said I’d be here, Carly. And while I’ll admit I’m not happy about doing it, when I give my word about something, I keep it. So if you had any real doubts, you don’t know me as well as you think.”

Her glimmering eyes widened, and her lips parted. He wasn’t sure if it was his words or his touch setting her emotions reeling. Either way, he didn’t mind. There were a few things she needed to get straight about him. He was loyal and honest to a fault. But he wasn’t anyone’s lapdog.

He released her hand, his own heart rate pulsing through his veins, his own emotions swirling around in a slurpy mess. What was it about Carly Rayburn that set him off like this?

“I’m sorry for pushing you,” she said, “but this is going to be fun. You won’t be sorry once you see how people react to the two of us singing. Besides, we practiced—and we sound good together.”

They had practiced. And they did do well. Carly had a beautiful voice, maybe even better than Felicia’s. It had a sultrier edge to it, a sexy, intoxicating sound that the fans were going to eat up. Hell, Ian could listen to her talk or laugh or sing all night long.

“What time are we supposed to go on?” he asked.

“Around nine o’clock—give or take a few minutes. Do you want to find a table? Or would you rather sit here at the bar?”

He glanced at the bartender, who was laying down his change, her eyes and her sullen expression focused on Carly.

“I’d be more comfortable at one of the booths in the corner,” he said. “Come on, let’s go.”

This time, he didn’t give her a chance to argue.

* * *

Carly followed Ian as he made his way through the crowd to an out-of-the-way spot in the back. She hadn’t meant to push him or to anger him. No matter what he might think, she wasn’t that type of woman. But in this case, she felt she was doing him a favor.

She supposed she was doing herself one, too.

The only way the two of them could strike up any kind of romantic relationship again, one that might even prove lasting, was if they could perform together. Once they did, he’d see that he was meant to pursue a career in music, same as she. But even then, a commitment might be questionable. Carly was used to strong men. And Ian seemed so...quiet and unassuming. Perhaps he just needed a little push now and then to help build his self-confidence.