Having The Cowboy's Baby. Judy Duarte

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      “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.

      She’d struggled with that herself until Braden’s mom encouraged her to sing in the Sunday choir one summer. And it had done wonders for her.

      Yes, all Ian needed was to see that there was a future for him as a singer and musician—one that was more exciting and profitable than working someone else’s cattle for the rest of his life.

      Of course, when Ian had grabbed her hand this evening, when he’d admonished her for not trusting him to be a man of his word, he’d certainly given her reason to doubt her initial assessment of him.

      Sure, she knew he was a good man, an honest one. And there was no question he was an amazing and considerate lover. She wouldn’t have gotten involved with him in the first place if that hadn’t been the case. It’s just that they’d hit this fork in their road, and he wanted to go a different direction than she did.

      She wouldn’t claim it hadn’t hurt her to end things between them, but it had been for the best. Really.

      Now, as they sat in silence in a darkened corner booth, Ian’s expression somber, she knew she had to think of something to say, something to change his mood. But before she could give it any thought, a blonde cocktail waitress stopped at their table.

      “Can I get y’all a drink?” she asked.

      Carly would have ordered a glass of wine, but her tummy had been bothering her again. Not as badly as it had in San Antonio, but she didn’t dare risk a bout of nausea before performing. “I’ll have a lemon-lime soda.”

      “You got it.” The cocktail waitress looked at Ian and smiled. “How about you?”

      “I’ll have a shot of tequila—Patrón or the best you have.”

      Now that was a surprise. Ian never drank—at least, Carly hadn’t seen him drink. But apparently, she didn’t know him as well as she’d thought.

      “I didn’t realize you liked tequila,” she said.

      He didn’t respond.

      Maybe he was just taking the edge off his nerves. She probably should have been a little more understanding, but there was only one way to kick a little stage fright, and that was to perform right through it.

      He remained quiet, his expression intense, until the waitress brought his drink. Carly expected him to grimace at the taste, but instead, he threw it back as if it were the sweet tea he sometimes favored.

      Okay, so maybe he hadn’t always been the teetotaler she’d thought he might be. But if a stiff shot eased his nerves, that was fine with her.

      Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long. Just before nine o’clock, Earl Tellis, the owner of the Stagecoach Inn, took the stage, following two cowboys who played the fiddle.

      “Folks, we have a real treat for y’all tonight. Most of you know Rosabelle Rayburn, who owned the Leaning R Ranch and who was one of the finest women in these parts. Well, her great-granddaughter, Carly, and her foreman, Ian, will be singing for you now. Come on up here, you two.”

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