Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in Texas\The Cowboy's Destiny\A Baby for the Doctor\The Bull Rider's Family (64 page)

“This evening is more for Mom than anyone. It’d be really nice if you sat with us for a while.”

Emma canted her head. “If I finish in here in time,” she conceded.

He didn’t quite understand why it was so important that Emma see him in a better light. He just knew that it was. But one look at her face told him not to waste his breath trying for anything more. He shrugged. The next few months would give him plenty of opportunity to prove he wasn’t like the other men in her life. As he turned and walked away, determined to make the best of the last night with his family, the smile that flirted at the corners of his mouth had little to do with music and everything to do with what lay ahead.

* * *

A
S
MUCH
AS
Emma told herself watching the big rancher disappear into the living room was a bad idea, she couldn’t help it. She had to look. Had to see those wide shoulders and lean, muscular legs head in the opposite direction when what she really wanted was to have Colt take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Get a grip,
she told herself.

The promise of a good job, a stable home and a great work environment had drawn her to the Circle P. Her recipe for future happiness didn’t include anything more. Certainly not a flirtation with someone as arrogant and bossy as Colt.

And yet...

There was another side to him. A side that didn’t mesh with her first impression of the man who’d ordered her off the front porch and around to the servants’ entrance. Yes, he’d been angry when she doused the family cookbook but, under the circumstances, who could blame him? He sure hadn’t reacted like her father or her late husband. Both of
them
would have blurted out the truth without giving Doris’s feelings a second thought. Besides, it was hard to find fault with the man who’d literally saved her daughter’s life.

Stacking the dirty dishes beside the sink, she shook her head. No. She might be a great cook, but Colt’s plan to re-create four generations of recipes through trial and error simply wouldn’t work. No matter how many nights they spent in the kitchen, some of those recipes were lost forever.

She stifled a groan while, in the other room, Randy ran the scale on his harmonica. Garrett and Hank brushed the strings on instruments that, even to her untrained ears, sounded seriously out of tune. If that was the best they could do, it was going to be a long night. The cacophony of a dozen cats outside her bedroom window would sound better. To drown out the noise, she grabbed the first empty pot, plunged it beneath the soap suds and began scrubbing.

Minutes later, Bree burst into the kitchen. “Mommy! We’re makin’ music! Not music from the radio or the iPod.
Real
music. Come see!”

“Really?” Emma swiped at the gleaming counter. Seeing the delight in her daughter’s eyes, she realized the group in the living room
had
gotten their act together. For the past few minutes, she’d been tapping her toe in time to the beat. She took a moment to steady her voice. Before Jack died, they’d barely squeaked by on his military pay. Afterward, between rent and babysitters and culinary school, she hadn’t had two nickels to spare on such niceties as music lessons for a four-year-old. Wasn’t this one of the reasons she’d come to the Circle P? To give Bree new experiences, ones she couldn’t have elsewhere?

She pulled out a pan of apple cobbler she’d kept hidden in the warming oven. “Well, let’s go see. Will you carry the ice cream?”

In the dining room, Bree paused only long enough to dump the container on the table before she scrambled straight into Colt’s lap. The sight of her tiny little girl wrapped in the rancher’s tanned, muscular arms ignited a warm spot in Emma’s heart. One that expanded when he guided the child’s little hands in counting out the beat for the next number.

“That’s right. Just like you did before.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Ready? Now...” In a clear tenor, he sang a funny song about crawdads.

Colt really was full of surprises, she decided, listening to him lead the group in another verse. When Bree’s voice joined the others in singing the chorus, she felt her heart melt.

“Did you like it, Mommy?” Bree asked when the last notes faded. “Mr. Colt teached me.”

Emma met the rancher’s gaze and instantly got lost in his blue eyes. “He taught me,” she corrected.

“Did he teach you, too, Mommy?” Bree tilted her head. “Will you sing your song?”

While the snippet of conversation drew laughter from the rest of Colt’s family, it sent a flush of heat straight up the back of Emma’s neck. In an effort to hide her rapidly warming face, she bent over the dessert plates while Garrett segued into the next number. Another song followed before they broke for apple cobbler and ice cream. By then, it seemed as if everyone was having such a good time no one wanted to call it quits. But, even excited four-year-olds had their limits, and shortly after dessert, Bree hit hers. She leaned her little head back against Colt’s wide chest. Before the group finished their next song, she’d gone out like the proverbial light.

Emma stood. Colt rose at the same time.

“I’ll carry her up for you.”

“No.” Simple, straightforward. The refusal flew from her mouth before she gave it a second thought. Colt’s dark eyebrows buckled together as she practically wrenched her daughter from his grasp. But she couldn’t let him come to her room. As much as she appreciated his offer to carry her child up the stairs, seeing him in this new light was seriously undermining her impression of the rancher. A new rush of emotions unsettled her, made her feel vulnerable.

“I’ve got her,” she insisted.

Aware that Colt’s brothers were staring at her, Emma wished she hadn’t been so abrupt. But some things weren’t meant to happen, and falling for a big, hunky cowboy wasn’t any more likely than making a permanent home on the Circle P. As much as she wanted one and resisted the other, she’d have to keep her guard up or losing both would break her heart.

Chapter Six

Skirting shapes that loomed out of the darkness, Emma quietly padded through the house. She made her way to the kitchen, where she flipped the switch on the coffeepot she’d readied the night before. A yawn rippled through her, and she made a mental note to ask Colt about putting the brewer on a timer. Surely his demand for preserving tradition would bend that much, wouldn’t it? Wondering what he’d say if he discovered that his mom had already abandoned at least one of the customs he deemed so important, she pulled several cans from the refrigerator’s bottom drawer and quickly arranged biscuits on baking trays. They were ready for the oven by the time water boiled on the mammoth stove for her own cup of tea.

As a familiar warm scent gurgled from the battered percolator, Emma checked her watch and wiped sleep from her eyes. Her mug in her hand, she backtracked through the silent house, stepping onto the front porch without making a sound. A cathedral-like hush filled air that had cooled overnight. Mist drifted across land that was flatter than the thinnest pancake. Pinks and grays streaked the horizon as she settled into one of the rocking chairs to watch the sun rise.

She’d hardly taken her seat before a car engine broke the stillness. She followed the sound toward the long driveway, where twin beams of lights flickered through a copse of trees. Ranch hands, she decided, sipping her tea. She wondered whether they were getting an early start on the day, or bringing a late night to an end.

But more cars followed the first until a train of headlights snaked from the main road toward the house. One by one, vehicles pulled into the parking area. Hinges protested. Dome lights winked on and off. Emma caught the murmur of hushed greetings and one hearty “Hey, man.” From nearby trees, birds twittered their displeasure at being disturbed. Someone lit a match. The acrid scent of cigarette smoke tickled her nose. Unable to make out details, she counted silhouettes until she reached a dozen.

She abandoned her tea. Intent on telling someone—anyone—they had company, she slipped into the house. She paused at the door only long enough to wish she’d turned on a light to dispel some of the darkness. Heading in the general direction of the stairs, she took two steps before she collided with a solid body.

“Ooph,”
she gasped, inhaling a soapy fragrance accompanied by a uniquely masculine scent. Strong fingers grasped her upper arms.

“Steady there.”

Colt’s strong fingers, she corrected. His low timbre reverberated through her. A sharp awareness plunged into her midsection. Her hands rose. Traitors, they sought purchase on his muscular chest. For one long, delicious second, she clung to him before she reeled back.

“Sorry, sorry.” Branded by his touch, she wrenched out of his grasp. “I, uh, I...”

“You all right? I didn’t step on your toes or anything, did I?”

“I’m fine.” Emma forced a sternness she didn’t feel into her voice. Tugging, straightening, she ran a hand down her front. “Why were you lurking in the dark like that?”

“Heard a door slam. Thought I’d better check it out. What are
you
doing up so early?”

She registered the accusation in his tone and bristled. “We need a timer for the coffeepot. I had to set my alarm so it’d be ready.” She struggled to remember why she was standing so close to Colt. In the dark. Alone. “There’s quite a crowd outside.”

“Probably the neighbors,” he answered, as if the gathering was perfectly normal. “They’ve come to see Mom off. She and the rest of ’em are stirring. They’ll be ready to leave soon. You say there’s coffee? How ’bout rustling up a cup while I pay my respects. Two sugars. No cream.”

The idea that half the town had turned out to usher Doris into the next stage of her life was so foreign, Emma ignored the fact that she’d just been ordered to fetch the man a drink. Though everyone said the military was a close-knit community, she couldn’t recall a single time when friends of her parents had shown up to wish them well on their next post. It certainly hadn’t happened during her short-lived marriage. As for building relationships in New York, forget about it. Between raising a baby on her own and an impossible workload, she doubted her neighbors there even knew her name, much less where she was headed when she moved out.

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other while she considered what it’d be like to have the kind of roots Colt and his family had on the Circle P. In a community where people cared so much about one another they rolled out of bed before daybreak to see them off. It was the life she’d dreamed of when she accepted the job on the ranch. The one she wanted for her daughter and, to be honest, for herself. Could she still have it? Staring at the spot Colt had vacated, she vowed to try.

In the kitchen, she poured coffee and loaded a tray with sweeteners and milk. By the time she made it to the front of the house again, Garrett had finished loading suitcases into an economical sedan. His brothers were tossing boxes and duffel bags into the back of one of the Circle P’s trucks.

A sudden awareness of how much she didn’t fit in with the group assailed her. Not wanting to intrude, she made up her mind to grab her tea and duck back inside. But she hadn’t planned on Doris. Stepping onto the porch, the older woman wrapped her in a warm embrace.

“Emma,” Doris whispered in her ear. “Thanks for last night. We enjoyed it so much.” She pulled away to glance at the empty spot at Emma’s side. “How’s our little girl this morning?”

“Still fast asleep.” A tired child was a cranky child, and Bree had stayed up far past her usual bedtime. “She’ll be sorry she missed all this.” Emma waved a hand at the crowd that lined the walkway from the porch to Garrett’s car.

Doris’s lined face crinkled. “It’s quite the send-off, isn’t it? But I can leave easy, knowing the kitchen’s in good hands.”

“I wish I felt as sure about that as you do.” The urge to confess beat frantically against her ribs. Emma swallowed. No matter how many reasons she gave herself for keeping her secret, she couldn’t overlook one fact—Doris deserved to hear the truth. Today. Before she left.

“Listen,” Emma started, “I, um, there’s something you should know.”

Doris’s smile froze. The first shimmer of doubt wavered in her eyes just as a heavy hand clamped down on Emma’s shoulder.

“You ready to go, Mom? Garrett’s already spoken with Arlene this morning. She says she can’t wait for you to get there.”

In the pale morning light, Emma read the warning in Colt’s blue eyes. She wrenched her gaze from his, only to spot Garrett leaning against his car, one foot tapping impatiently. A plume of smoke rose from the truck’s tailpipe. Josh sat behind the wheel, waiting while Hank and the twins checked the tie-downs in the back. And in between stood half the population of Glades County.

Emma sighed. Her confession wouldn’t fix a thing. It would only derail everyone’s plans. She summoned a smile.

“I can’t promise that I’ll do everything the same way you did, Doris, but I’ll keep everyone fed.”

“That’s all anyone can ask.” Doris leaned in for a final squeeze.

“C’mon, Mom. Everybody’s waitin’.” Colt’s hand slipped from Emma’s shoulder to his mother’s elbow.

Showing far more tenderness than she’d ever suspected of such a big man, Colt guided his mom down the stairs. As Doris stepped into the first set of waiting arms, he threw a glance over his shoulder.

Was that gratitude shining in his eyes? Or interest? Emma swallowed. One meant she had some hope of succeeding on the Circle P. The other only spelled trouble.

Averting her eyes, she watched Garrett slip behind the wheel. Everyone waved their final goodbyes, and two vehicles headed for the highway. Soon after, more doors slammed and engines started. The caravan of pickup trucks and cars headed down the long driveway, their headlights cutting through the wisps of early morning fog.

Colt stood at the edge of the lawn, watching, until the procession curved around the trees and moved out of sight. As he turned to the ranch hands who’d joined the neighbors, all traces of the tenderness he’d shown minutes earlier disappeared.

“All right, let’s get this day in gear. We’re a man short without Josh, so there’s no time to waste. I want the stalls mucked out before breakfast, the horses saddled and ready to ride. I saw some worn leather in the tack room. Somebody needs to get on that pronto. And don’t forget to look for loose wire wherever you go. If I have to call the vet again, it’s comin’ out of your paychecks.”

Clearly, Colt had buried the easygoing personality of the man who’d entertained his family the night before under a gruff exterior. Surprised by the sudden change and certain his next step would involve her own string of orders, Emma slipped through the front door, headed for the kitchen, where Tim and Chris sat at the table nursing cups of coffee.

“Mornin’, ma’am.” Tim swilled the last of his coffee and gulped it down. He jumped to his feet. “Mr. Colt told us to help you today. What’s first?”

Before heading upstairs last night, she’d assembled the makings for a breakfast casserole. “I’ll work on that,” she told Tim while she buttoned her chef’s jacket. “You chop green peppers and onions for the home fries.” Ignoring his look of consternation, she put Chris to work carving strawberry flowers for a fruit bowl. When he balked, she took the knife from his hand.

“It’s not enough that food tastes good,” she explained, demonstrating. “It has to look appetizing. It’s all part of the experience.” She sprinkled kiwi stars across the melon and cantaloupe. “See?”

She took Chris’s noncommittal shrug as a sign of progress. “Once you finish here, make sure everything else we need is on the serving counter. Salt, pepper, butter, jelly. Whatever the men want.”

“Ketchup.” Chris grinned. “And hot sauce.”

Emma wrinkled her nose at the thought of either atop the tasty blend of eggs, cheese and sausage. Reading the truth in Chris’s dark eyes, she shrugged. “Whatever they need.”

The next hour passed in a blur of activity. A shiver of nervous energy passed through Emma while she put the finishing touches on breakfast. She told herself she had nothing to worry about. She’d certainly proven her abilities with far more complicated meals. She gave the array a final glance, straightened the edge of a dish and rang the bell. Not thirty seconds passed before the screened door opened and the first of the ranch hands wandered in. He hung his hat on one of the pegs at the entrance, grabbed a plate and served himself without ceremony. When he reached the potatoes, though, he hesitated.

“Can I get you anything else?” Recognizing the look of a dissatisfied customer, Emma braced herself.

The young cowboy glanced toward the door. “No, ma’am. Reckon not.” With a shrug, he spooned potatoes onto his plate, leaving Emma to wonder what she’d done wrong. And what Colt would have to say about it.

* * *

C
OLT
STEPPED
INTO
the kitchen as the last of the men took their places at the trestle table.
His men.
He squared his shoulders and told himself he’d best get used to carrying the added weight of responsibility. Until he turned the ranch over to the twins, the success or failure of the Circle P was in his hands. Every decision he made—from the bills he paid to whether or not he ordered the cattle moved to a new pasture—would affect the bottom line and thus the future of the land so many people depended on for their livelihood.

One look at the faces around the table told him he was about to encounter his first crisis of the day. Oh, the men were eating. He’d give them that. But the banter and easy jibes that usually accompanied meals in the kitchen were missing. He surveyed the counter where a bit of egg stuck to the sides of a nearly empty pan. Barely enough potatoes to make a mouthful dotted a serving platter. Two lonely biscuits sat on the edge of a plate.

“I see you waited for me,” he said to no one in particular.

He’d meant it as a joke, but no one laughed. In fact, if the stricken look on some of the younger hands’ faces was anything to go by, he’d only succeeded in pointing out the obvious. There wasn’t enough food to go around. In silence, he scraped the dregs of the casserole onto his dish. He held the serving spoon over the fried potatoes. He had to do right by his men. Despite a growing sweet spot for the new cook, he pinned her with a pointed look.

“Where’s the grits?”

“The what?” She folded her hands at the hem of her white jacket.

Abandoning his plate, Colt strode toward the pantry. He emerged seconds later with a five-pound bag cupped in one hand. “Grits.” He plunked the bag on the counter. “They go good with eggs.”

A frown crossed Emma’s pretty little forehead. “Your mom never mentioned them.”

“No need,” Colt shot back. Every Southerner learned to cook ground corn shortly after they learned how to boil water. “Even I can make a passable bowl.”

Emma unwound the twist tie and peered inside. “Rougher than cream of wheat,” she murmured. She ran a finger through the granules. “Looks like polenta.”

“Call it whatever you want. Just fix ’em for breakfast whenever there’s eggs.”

He moved to the rest of the meal. “There’s onions and peppers in the potatoes,” he announced as if no one else had made the discovery. He turned to face the cook. “What’s that all about?” He took her noncommittal shrug for an evasive answer. “On the Circle P, we don’t fancy up the hash browns with vegetables best saved for dinner.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she conceded. “No onions or peppers.”

He lifted one of the remaining biscuits. “At least these are the same as Mom’s.” He broke it open and smeared it with jelly.

He wasn’t sure why that last remark put a Cheshire cat smile on Emma’s face. He decided he didn’t care. Having said his piece, he scarfed down his breakfast while the others grabbed lunch bags and headed out the door. He waited till the last of them was out of earshot before he addressed the biggest problem.

“Emma, breakfast was a bit light. These are working men. Not guys in business suits who sit around the office. Stomachs are gonna rumble by lunchtime.”