Having The Cowboy's Baby. Judy Duarte

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СКАЧАТЬ studied the handsome cowboy who seemed to have become her great-grandma’s confidant at the end. “The two of you must have become pretty tight.”

      He gave a shrug. “I grew up with my grandparents, too. When I got tired of roaming and doing my own thing, I wanted to move back home. But by that time, Granddad had already retired, sold the ranch and moved to Florida to live near my uncle and his family. So I had to find another place to fall back on. That’s when I met Granny. Three years ago. I was passing through Brighton Valley and stopped to have breakfast at Caroline’s Diner. Granny needed an extra hand, and I wanted a job. Things ended up working out well for both of us.”

      “I guess it did. But there’s something I’ve always wondered and never asked. Why did you stay on, especially now that things are so up in the air? It would seem to me that you’d look for work on a ranch that’s more stable—and more successful.”

      Ian studied the pretty blonde, her curls tumbling along her shoulders, her blue eyes bright, the lashes thick and lush without the need for mascara.

      She brushed the strand of hair from her eyes. “Was the question so difficult that you have to think about your answer? Most foremen would have moved on, especially when no one seemed to care about the Leaning R like my great-grandma did.”

      There was a lot Carly didn’t know about Ian, a lot he hadn’t shared. And he wasn’t sure how much he wanted her to know.

      He hadn’t just been looking for work when he’d landed the job on the Leaning R, he’d been looking for a place to call home. And the elderly widow hadn’t just found a ranch hand and future foreman, she’d found the grandson she’d always hoped Charles would be.

      The two had looked after each other until her death. And even when Rosabelle Rayburn was gone and the late Charles Rayburn had taken charge of her estate, Ian had continued to look after her best interests. It soon became clear that Charles hadn’t given a rip about the ranch, and if Ian hadn’t been there, who knew what would have happened to the Leaning R?

      Like Granddad used to say, You can’t buy loyalty, son. But when it’s earned and real, it lasts beyond death. And those words had proven to be true when it came to Rosabelle and the ranch she’d loved.

      Ian shrugged. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, I like Brighton Valley. And I plan to settle here and buy a piece of land.”

      After Charles died and his oldest son, Jason, became the trustee, Jason had announced that he intended to sell the ranch. When Ian heard that, he decided to purchase it himself. He’d developed more than a fondness for the Leaning R, and not just because he’d worked the land. He’d enjoyed all the stories Granny used to tell him about the history of the place, about the rugged Rayburn men who’d once run cattle here.

      “I take it you’ve been putting some money aside,” Carly said.

      “You could say that.”

      “If you need any help, let me know. I’d be happy to loan you some.” Carly had a trust fund, so she didn’t have any financial worries. Apparently, she assumed Ian was little more than a drifter and needed her charity.

      “Thanks, but I’ll be all right.”

      It might come as a big surprise to Carly and her brothers—because it certainly had to Ralph Nettles, the Realtor who would be listing the property—but Ian had money stashed away from his days on the road with Felicia. He also had plenty of royalties coming in from the songs he’d written for her.

      So, since he could no longer inherit or purchase the Rocking M from his granddad, buying the Leaning R was the next best thing.

      “You know that song you were just playing?” Carly asked.

      “What about it?”

      “Would you sing it for me? From the beginning?”

      Ian had written it right after she’d left the ranch the last time, after they’d both come to the decision that it would be best to end things between them. And while Carly had seemed to think their breakup had been permanent, he hadn’t been convinced. She usually came running back to the Leaning R whenever life dealt her a blow, so he’d known she’d return—eventually.

      Not that he’d expected her to fail. Hell, she had more talent than her mother and—from what Ian had seen and heard—more heart than either of her parents. And he suspected that, deep down, what she really yearned for was someone to love and appreciate her for who she really was.

      Ian wasn’t sure that he was that man, though.

      Then again, he wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t, either.

      He reached for his guitar, then nodded toward the empty chair on the porch, the one she used to sit on during those romantic nights she’d spent with him in his cabin.

      Once she was seated beside him, he sang the song he’d written about the two of them, wondering if she’d connect the dots, if she’d guess that she’d inspired the words and music.

      When the last guitar chords disappeared into the night, she clapped softly. “That was beautiful, Ian. I love it. But I have to ask you something. Did you write that song about...us?”

      “No, not really,” he lied. “When you left, I got to thinking about lovers ending a good thing for all the right reasons. And the words and music just seemed to flow out of me. I guess you could say the song almost wrote itself.”

      He wasn’t about to admit that the words had actually come from his heart. He’d become so adept at hiding his feelings, especially from a woman who’d become—or who was about to become—an ex-lover, that it was easier to let the emotion flow through his guitar.

      “You really should do something with that song,” Carly said. “In the right hands—or with the right voice—it could be a hit.”

      No one knew that better than Ian. With one phone call to Felicia, the song would strike platinum in no time. But then, before he knew it, every agent and musician in Nashville would be knocking on his door, insisting he come out of retirement and write for them. And there’d go his quiet life and his privacy.

      “Would you please let me sing that with you as a duet at the Stagecoach Inn on Saturday night?” Carly lifted the platter of brownies in a tempting fashion. “If you do, I’ll leave the rest of these with you.”

      A smile slid across his face. He’d always found Carly to be tempting, especially when she was determined to have her way. Sometimes he even gave in to her, but this time he couldn’t be swayed. “I may have one heck of a sweet tooth, but you can’t bribe me with goodies. It won’t work.”

      She blew out a sigh and pulled the platter back. “Don’t make me ask Don Calhoun to play for me.”

      That little weasel? Surely she wasn’t serious. “The guy who hit on you that night we stopped at the Filling Station to have a drink on our way home from the movies in Wexler?”

      “Don went to school with me, and we sometimes performed together at the county fair.”

      Ian clucked his tongue. “Calhoun’s a jerk. I saw him watching you from across the room. And as soon as I excused myself to go to the restroom, he took my seat and asked you out.”

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