Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in Texas\The Cowboy's Destiny\A Baby for the Doctor\The Bull Rider's Family (63 page)

The big man raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “We have eight or nine months till I leave when Randy and Royce take over. That ought to be time enough.”

Work together?

“I don’t know...” Emma hedged.

“Do we have any choice? It’s either that or tell my mom what really happened, and I think both of us know what’ll happen then.”

Emma didn’t need him to spell it out for her. Instead of taking some much-needed time away from the ranch, Doris would insist on staying put. Garrett and Arlene wouldn’t get the help they needed. As for herself, she’d lose her job and, without references, any hope of giving her daughter a secure future.

She scanned the huge kitchen with its wide counters and enormous center island. Not even a space this large was big enough to let her keep her distance from the man who threatened her equilibrium in ways no one ever had before. But it was up to her to make things right. If that meant spending night after night working with Colt, she had to do it.

“Okay,” she agreed at last.

Relief softened Colt’s hard edges. “Okay,” he repeated. “For now, we need to salvage what we can. I can’t take this mess to my room. Garrett’ll spot it in a heartbeat, and by the next one, the whole ranch will know what happened.” He grabbed a roll of paper towels and handed them to her. “Place several sheets between the wet pages. It’ll wick most of the water out.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

He kneaded his fist against his palm. “You and I will sit down tomorrow night and figure out what’s missing. Till then, we can’t let anyone find out what’s happened. Ty and Sarah are leaving in a little while. Mom and my brothers, in the morning. We only have to keep this a secret until then.”

As plans went, this one had some pretty big gaps. “I don’t know. I’m not sure any of this is a good idea.”

“You have a better suggestion?” he challenged.

Despite what had to be the world’s worst timing, desire shivered below her waist when he pinned her with an intense look. She shook her head, denying her attraction to the tall rancher while she admitted he was right.

“I thought not,” he grumbled, looking away.

Minutes later, her back pressed against her bedroom door’s hard wooden surface, Emma struggled to catch her breath while the implications of this latest disaster crashed around her shoulders. Her gaze swept over cedar-planked walls, photographs taken at various rodeos, the usual assortment of bedroom furniture. Tears gathered in her eyes.

She’d planned to help secure the ranch’s reputation as a travel destination while her daughter thrived in Florida’s fresh air and sunshine. Instead, a rampaging bull had nearly trampled Bree. The cookbook the Circle P had staked its reputation on was in tatters. Even more disturbing, this latest run-in with Colt had shaken her opinion of the rancher. On the surface, he came across like every other Mr. Wrong she’d ever known—bold, arrogant, bossy.

During their talk this morning and later with his mom, she’d sensed a softer side lay beneath Colt’s gruff exterior. One he worked hard to keep hidden. Oh, he was angry with her, no doubt about that. And rightfully so. But rather than explode into a rage, he’d tempered his emotions. For his mother’s sake, he’d given her another chance. Determined to make it a good one, Emma wiped her eyes, ran a hand through her hair and peered down at the cookbook, hoping things weren’t as bad as she feared.

No such luck.

With frequent breaks to blot her cheeks lest her tears make things worse, she removed the loose pages and layered paper towels between the damp ones. At last, she spread more towels atop the desk and fanned what was left of the notebook wide open so it could dry. Having done all she could for the moment, Emma sat back. A soggy ball of pulp was all that was left of at least a dozen recipes. The writing on another third of the book had smeared, turning directions that were barely decipherable to begin with into incomprehensible gibberish. It was ludicrous to think she and Colt could carry out his plan, and she glanced toward the closet where she’d stashed her suitcases.

Rapid footsteps on the stairs put any decisions on hold. Emma crossed to the door, just as her daughter bounded into the room. All thin arms and churning legs, Bree slammed into her.

“Mommy, I brought you a flower.” Breathless, Bree held out her prize. “Miz Sarah, she grows them in a big house all of their own. She calls it a green house, but it isn’t green. It’s white. Why do they call it green when it isn’t, Mommy?” Bree’s head swung to the desk. “What’s that?”

“My book got all wet,” Emma explained. “I’m trying to dry it.”

Bree’s little fingers reached out to the wet paper. Damp edges smeared into nothingness at her touch.

“Careful, baby.” Emma tucked Bree’s hand in hers. “We want to save as much as we can.”

“You should get a new one,” her daughter declared with the surety of youth.

“I wish I could,” Emma confessed. “But it’s the only one like it. I have to fix as much as I can before anyone finds out.”

Bree’s head tilted up, her eyes widening. “Is it a secret, Mommy?” She brought one finger to her lips. “Shh. I won’t tell.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed.
A secret?

She stared out the window. Eventually, the truth would come out. Probably sooner rather than later, she’d have to come clean about the ruined cookbook.

But the delay would give Doris a chance to visit with her pregnant daughter-in-law. It would give Bree the opportunity to learn there was more to life than sidewalks and busy streets. In the meantime, she’d circulate her résumé against the day a certain hunky cowboy changed his mind about keeping her on at the Circle P.

Her decision made, Emma gave Bree a hug. “What say we let this dry for now while we go make the apple cobbler for tonight’s dessert.” The recipe for that dish had been safely tucked in her pocket throughout the whole disastrous afternoon. She took her daughter’s hand.

Long before dinner, the delicious odor of apples and cinnamon filled the house and spilled from the kitchen into the yard. Much to Bree’s delight, ravenous cowboys filed in soon after Emma rang the bell. While Bree watched, they devoured platters of bread and salad, and helped themselves to bowls of piping hot stew.

In the dining room, where she and Bree joined the family, Emma kept her expression blank as Hank frowned down at his bowl.

“What is this?” he asked, his nose wrinkling.

She tried not to squirm as several pairs of eyes turned her way.

“Now, don’t you boys start in on Emma. This isn’t hers.” Doris spooned some of the thin broth. “Stacy Gillmore sent it.”

“Not as good as yours, Mom,” Garrett pronounced.

“Yeah.” Royce swallowed a bite. “Yours is—”

“—better,” Randy finished. “This is more like soup.”

Emma caught Doris’s knowing glance.

“Brunswick stew is a huge favorite on the cattle drives.” Doris sampled another bite. “Mine’s thicker,” she said after a bit. “The recipe’s in the book.”

“Good to know.” Emma stared at her bowl. All that remained of the soups and stews section were a few pulpy scraps. “You know, I keep all my favorites on my laptop. Did you ever consider—”

Across the table, Colt’s head rose expectantly.

“A computer?” Doris fanned herself. “Mercy, no. Sarah’s a whiz with them, but I know just enough to get into trouble. Email’s about all I can manage. That’s how I stay in touch with these two.” She pointed to Royce and Randy.

Colt slumped in his chair, refusing to meet her eyes. Emma stirred a fork through her bowl of watery stew. She and the rancher faced an impossible task. One that wasn’t going to get any easier if Colt couldn’t even bear to look at her.

Chapter Five

A low buzz of conversation drifted in from the kitchen. Colt caught the shuffle of boot heels against the tiled floor. He swirled his fork through a bowl of tasteless stew while someone in the other room rattled silverware in a drawer. Probably one of the ranch hands looking for a serving spoon. The way his luck was running, they’d polish off the pan of apple-whatever that had looked and smelled so tempting he’d nearly helped himself to a dish on his way to the dining room. He licked his lips. For once, he wished he’d skipped dinner and gone straight to dessert.

The ice cubes in his glass shifted, their harsh clinks a reminder that wishes didn’t always come true. If they did, his dad would be seated at the head of the table. His mom wouldn’t be leaving her home of nearly forty years. The Circle P’s cookbook would still be intact. And his life would go back to the way it had always been.

Except for the scrape of silverware against plates, the dining room remained depressingly silent. Garrett had spent hours on the phone with Arlene this afternoon. The worry lines etched into his brother’s forehead told Colt that the most recent doctor’s appointment hadn’t gone any better than the one before it. Hank had kept to himself all day. He claimed a real estate closing had kept him busy, but Colt had seen his brother take off on horseback around two. He’d returned wrapped in a sullen blanket of withdrawal, the same one he’d worn after he and the Tompkins girl called it quits their senior year of high school. As for Randy and Royce, the duo had walked around with glum expressions on their faces ever since their return from the little house.

Colt fought the urge to scratch his head. His family deserved more than this for their last night together, though, so far, he hadn’t come up with a better plan. No more than he could figure out why his mom had insisted the new cook and her daughter join them at the dinner table. Emma had only been on the ranch for two days. Yet she’d already developed an irritating habit of getting under his skin.

He should have fired her when he had the chance.

She’d certainly given him plenty of reason to escort her to the end of the property and wave goodbye. Instead, he’d covered for her, all but guaranteeing he’d have to work with her to restore the Circle P’s collection of recipes before anyone found out it’d been damaged.

He tried not to stare, but that proved even more difficult than looking interested in his food. A few tendrils had escaped Emma’s ponytail. They curled softly on her neck, framing a face that was more interesting than it was beautiful. Sooty lashes brushed her cheeks, but he knew beneath those lowered lids were the kind of eyes a man could get lost in. Something he’d nearly done in the kitchen this afternoon.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why every time he came within ten feet of the woman, he wanted to sling a protective arm around her shoulders. And then there was her daughter. He didn’t have much experience with youngsters. Back when he was on the rodeo circuit, most of the riders weren’t much more than kids themselves. Lately, he’d had even less interaction with the preschool set. Oh, occasionally one interrupted his meal in a restaurant. Or he spotted a harried mother and her brood when he stopped to pick up supplies. But it didn’t happen often enough to rub the edge off his curiosity.

At Emma’s side, Bree speared a carrot, which she lifted, wet and dripping, from her bowl. She plunked it down on her bread plate. Without looking up, she carefully scraped off every drop of brown sauce. Only then did she take a tentative bite. Her elfin face scrunched. Her nose wrinkled. With obvious distaste, she slid the offending vegetable back in the bowl.

Colt swallowed a chuckle. He didn’t care much for the dish himself. He rubbed his midsection, where the few bites he’d managed to force down refused to settle. With her long curly hair and big dark eyes, he thought Bree might look a lot like her mom when she got older. Not that he’d ever know. He didn’t plan to stick around long enough to see the child start first grade, much less graduate from high school. When a lump rose in his throat, he cleared it and snagged a roll from the overflowing basket Emma had placed on the table.

“It’s good that Ty and Sarah went ahead with their trip.” The owners had said their goodbyes earlier. He spread a liberal helping of butter across soft dough. “What about everyone else? When are you taking off?”

“Five?” Garrett suggested while Doris’s gaze drifted beyond the suitcases piled by the front door. “Maybe six? I’d like to be home before dark.”

Emma glanced up from her dish. “Do you want breakfast before you go?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

“Just coffee.” Garrett checked the cell phone he’d kept at his side all afternoon. “We’ll hit a drive-through when we stop for gas.” He paused as if he suddenly remembered his traveling companion. “If that’s okay with you, Mom.”

“What?” With visible effort, Doris steered her attention back to the conversation. “Oh, sure. Fine. Whatever you want.” She traced each twist of her thick braid the way a supplicant fingered rosary beads.

Colt tracked his mom’s wandering interest. When he realized she’d been staring down the hall toward the bedroom she and his dad had shared, the tasty roll lost its flavor. He lowered the uneaten half to a plate. “Hank?” He swallowed. “How ’bout you?”

The younger Judd swiped a finger across the calendar on his smartphone. “The rest of us fly out of West Palm. We’ll leave the same time as Garrett.” He glanced at Emma. “Randy, Royce and me’ll grab a bite at the airport.”

“You’ll need a driver. I’ll send Josh.” The ranch hand had to be good for something besides reading while he held up the side of a barn. “If you need anything from the grocery store—” Colt gave Emma a pointed look “—let him know. He can stop and pick things up on his way home.”

“More paper towels.” Emma took a bite without meeting his eyes.

Beside her, Bree’s head lifted. A breathless anticipation filling the little girl’s voice, she whispered, “Mommy...”

“Shh, baby.” Emma wrapped one arm around her daughter’s waist. “Remember what we talked about upstairs.”

Colt’s gaze shifted from daughter to mother. Even a novice at handling kids could tell the little girl had a secret—
their
secret—and wasn’t doing an especially good job of keeping it. He speared a chunk of meat from his bowl and chomped down on a piece of beef that tasted like old leather and took just as much effort to chew. He made a face just as Bree looked up from the vegetables she’d been chasing around her plate without managing to catch a single one.

The little girl’s giggles broke the heavy silence.

“Bree.” Emma whispered a warning, and Bree clapped a hand over her mouth.

The lines on Doris’s face softened. “I miss that sound—children laughing at the table. Nothing else does a body that much good.”

Sensing he was onto something, Colt stood his half-eaten roll on end and, using his forefinger, pretended to kick it through an invisible goal post. His brothers smiled when Bree laughed out loud. One by one, they got in on the act, each trying to outdo the other in their efforts to put a smile on their mom’s face.

“Knock, knock,” Royce said when it was his turn.

“Who’s there?” Bree squirmed forward on her chair, her eyes bright.

“Amos,” chimed Randy.

“Amos, who?” Bree followed the lines that bounced between the twins.

“A mosquito bit me.” Royce laughed.

“And it was this big.” Randy spread his arms so wide he jostled Hank’s elbow.

Meat and vegetables clung perilously to Hank’s fork before they plunged into his lap.

“Randy, you clumsy oaf!” Hank swore and sprang to his feet. “Now look what you’ve done.” Brushing at gravy smeared on his jeans, he strode from the room.

Emma’s fork clattered into her bowl. Colt’s stomach tightened at the stricken look that crossed her face. Her movements brusque, she pushed away from the table.

“Excuse us. Bree and I will take our plates to the kitchen.” She gave her daughter’s hand a tug. “Come on, honey. It’s time for bed.”

“But, Mommy, I’m not tired.” The laughter that had danced in Bree’s eyes dimmed.

Colt frowned. The guys had only been teasing one another, the same way they usually did. So they got a little carried away. So what? It wouldn’t be the first time. Propping his elbows on the edge of the table, he pinned Emma with a pointed look. “Might get a bit too noisy for sleeping. The bunch of us—” he pointed a finger at his brothers “—we’re gonna jam after supper. You’re welcome to sit in. Bree, too.”

“We are?” Hank emerged from the kitchen, a dish towel pressed against his pants leg.

Having announced it to the group, Colt felt certain he’d hit on just what the family needed. They all missed Dad. His absence filled the room. But it was time to make some new memories, ones that would carry them into the future and draw them back home when the time came.

As if she’d read his mind, Doris chimed in. “Your father wouldn’t want us to sit around moping. He’d tell us to laugh, sing, enjoy life.”

That sounded exactly like something his dad would say, and Colt nodded to his mom. “You’ll join in?” He’d never mastered an instrument, but she’d taught him to sing harmony when he wasn’t much older than Bree.

“It’ll be like old times.” Doris lowered her fork. She pushed her plate away.

Not exactly,
Colt thought, but he turned to Garrett. “You haven’t forgotten how to play, have you?”

“I didn’t bring my guitar.” The eldest of the brothers nodded toward one that hung from pegs in the great room. “Think Ty would mind if I borrowed his?”

“Of course not.” Colt turned to the twins. “Royce, Randy—you in?”

Randy scooched his chair back. “I’ll get my harmonica,” he said, rising.

Royce lifted two spoons from the table. He clapped them against the flat of his hand. “These’ll do,” he said.

Colt caught the furtive looks his brothers sent toward the fireplace and the stand that held their dad’s banjo. An awkward moment passed when Hank crossed to the instrument. He plucked the strings.

“I’m not nearly as good as Dad.” He toed one boot against the floor. “But I guess I can pick a little.”

“You’ve been holding out on us?” Warmth spread from Colt’s lips to his eyes. He was onto Hank’s ways. Only an accomplished player claimed to pick
a little.
“Sounds like we’re all set, then. Emma, how ’bout you and Bree?” He aimed a wide, teasing grin toward the little girl whose fingers were too tiny to stretch across the guitar frets.

Firmly, Emma shook her head. “I’m afraid not.” She stacked Bree’s bowl atop hers. Her shoulders stiff and unyielding, she marched out of the room.

Around the table, the brothers held their collective breaths when Doris’s expression crumpled into dismayed lines. “Well, maybe we shouldn’t...” she began.

“Hold that thought.” Colt swiped his napkin across his mouth. “I’ll talk to her. The rest of you get tuned up. Royce—” he nodded toward the younger twin “—maybe you can show Bree how you tap those spoons.”

In an instant, Bree scooted to the twin’s side. “Let me see!” Her eyes widening, she followed his every move.

Colt grabbed his dinner dishes and headed for the kitchen. A night of music and songs would do them all so much good he couldn’t let Emma squelch the idea. He no sooner stepped across the threshold than the young cook swung away from the trash can. His stomach clenched when she leaned against the counter as if bracing for an angry torrent.

“I know you hate waste but—”

“—but sometimes it can’t be helped,” Colt finished. Crossing the room, he emptied food he’d barely touched into the garbage can. He squinted into Emma’s doubt-filled eyes. “What’s got you all riled up?”

She waved a spoon as if trying to ward him off. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“C’mon now, gal.” Colt pointed out the obvious. “You gotta realize you jump quicker than a cottontail in a rattlesnake den whenever someone raises their voice. You want to tell me what’s going on?” He stepped close enough to catch a whiff of spicy floral scent far more tantalizing than their meal.

“I do not,” Emma protested, though her fingers shook so badly the dishes rattled as she placed them on the counter.

Cupping his hands over hers, he softened his tone to a near whisper. “Yeah, you kinda do. When you work on a ranch with a bunch of men, that’s gonna be a problem. We yell. We holler. We might even cuss from time to time. If you run off every time someone shouts, pretty soon you’re gonna hit the ocean.” Hoping to put her at ease, he threw in his best aw-shucks grin. “This is Florida, you know.”

Instead of smiling in return, Emma slipped her fingers from his grasp. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a long, appraising look. “My dad was a drill sergeant. He ran our house the same way he ran his platoon. To escape, I got married, but my husband turned into a carbon copy of my father. I gave up any hope of ever making a name for myself when I found out most head chefs turn screaming at their assistants into an art form.” She sighed. “I’m done with all that. A calm, quiet atmosphere—that’s what your folks promised when I came here. They made the Circle P sound like something just this side of heaven.”

Colt drummed his fingers on the counter. “It can be. We still have our moments.” He nudged a stack of plates back from the edge. “You and I have had a few already,” he acknowledged. “We met under awful circumstances. Bree’s near miss with Three—that probably cost me a few gray hairs. As for what happened this afternoon—” he gestured toward the sink “—I’m normally not the type to ride roughshod over the hired help. So far, you haven’t exactly seen me at my best, but things’ll get better.”

The firm set of Emma’s mouth relaxed the tiniest bit. “You’re turning into someone I didn’t expect, Colt.”

“Well, now. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” His smile broadened. For a second or two, he thought he’d gotten through to her, convinced her he wasn’t the bad guy she’d made him out to be. At the last moment, her face shuttered.

“I have work to do,” she announced.

Colt followed her gaze around the kitchen. Though the ranch hands had done a passable job of cleaning up after themselves, serving dishes remained on the table. A few pots cluttered the stove. A pan on the counter snagged his attention. Bits of apple and crust clung to the sides. From the looks of things, the men hadn’t saved even a bite of dessert for the family. He rubbed a hand over his empty stomach.