Short-Order Cook...And A Baby On Board

As if meeting his birth mother and discovering he has a twin brother aren’t enough to test a man, Jake Morrow’s short one ranch cook. So when pregnant Emma Hurley comes looking for a job and whips up the best steak dinner he’s ever had, Jake hires her on the spot. And when Emma’s father demands she marry or lose her family farm, Jake stuns Emma—and himself—by proposing.

After being left in the lurch, Emma can handle five hungry, romance-challenged cowboys. Well, except for one—the handsome rancher and Blue Gulch’s most eligible bachelor—who gallantly comes to her rescue. Only now Emma’s gone and fallen for her pretend fiancé. But Jake isn’t looking for a forever kind of love...is he?

Jake walked over and reached up a hand to Emma’s face. He could see this was tearing her in two, breaking her heart.

He took a deep breath. Expelled it. Turned and paced the length of the bedroom. Looked at Emma. Looked out the window. Closed his eyes. Opened them and found her looking at him as though he might need medical attention. Which he might.

He paced some more, then stopped. “Marry me, Emma. We’re both not looking for a real relationship or a real marriage. You’ll save the farm.”

What the hell? Had he just said that? Had he just proposed to Emma?

Good God, he had. Without thinking. Gun to head, what are you going to do, Morrow? Well, this was the answer.

A marriage proposal.

She stared at him. “Jake. You can’t be serious. What could you possibly get out of this?”

“The best cook in Texas?” he said, managing a weak smile.

Had he just said that? What the hell was wrong with him? If anyone needed Emma’s charm school for cowboys, he did. Good Lord.

* * *

Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen: There’s nothing more delicious than falling in love...

Charm School for Cowboys

Meg Maxwell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MEG MAXWELL lives on the coast of Maine with her teenage son, their beagle and their black-and-white cat. When she’s not writing, Meg is either reading, at the movies or thinking up new story ideas on her favorite little beach (even in winter) just minutes from her house. Interesting fact: Meg Maxwell is a pseudonym for author Melissa Senate, whose women’s fiction titles have been published in over twenty-five countries.

In dear memory of Greg Pope.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man in Texas, Hank Timber!”

Jake Morrow glanced up in time to see Fern, a neighboring rancher who’d dropped off the four billy goats he’d purchased for the Full Circle Ranch, scowling at his foreman. Fern stomped to her truck and sped off, dust and gravel flying in her wake.

Hank didn’t even bother waving away the dirt and grit that now covered him. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his expression forlorn as Jake approached.

“Didn’t go so well, huh?” Jake asked his foreman. Hank, twice divorced, had mentioned at breakfast this morning that he thought Fern was “darn pretty and had a way about her” and planned to ask her out to dinner at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen, everyone’s favorite restaurant in Blue Gulch.

Hank sighed. “I thought that rancher to rancher, I could ask her out by joking that we already had something in common—how we’d both stink of cow dung while chowing down on supper. Then I sniffed around her and nodded and laughed. Instead of saying yes to a date tonight, she got all mad.” He shrugged, watching Fern’s truck disappear down the Full Circle’s long dirt drive.

Jake refrained from slamming his palm against his forehead. At this rate, Hank would be single forever. Of the four cowboys working for Jake at the Full Circle Ranch, his foreman wasn’t even the most clueless when it came to women. No, Jake would say it was a four-way tie. Forty-two-year-old Hank had been in love with Fern since he laid eyes on her a month ago while listening to her presentation on calving season at the local rancher’s association meeting. Twenty-five-year-old Golden, who’d earned the nickname from the motto about silence, was so shy and quiet he turned away any time the young woman he had a mad crush on, a Hurley’s waitress, was around. Fifty-two-year-old Grizzle, who hadn’t shaved or had a haircut in years, maybe a decade, spoke wistfully of his late wife and how he wished he could find someone as special, but had scared a little girl at the feed store in town with just the sight of him. Then there was Jake’s own brother CJ, ten years his junior at twenty-two, who took full advantage of his good looks and ranch-honed muscles to play the field. CJ had left a trail of broken hearts and parents, older sisters, and bffs to storm up to Jake in town and let him know just what a “no-good lying player” his brother was. Charles John Morrow was a good guy, Jake knew that more than he knew just about anything, but when it came to love and romance, CJ was an absolute hot mess, a train wreck, as his neighbor’s teenage daughter would put it. CJ would just say, Well, what was I supposed to do? Propose? She just wasn’t the one. The Morrow brothers had been in Blue Gulch all of one month, and at least ten young women hadn’t been “the one.”

Jake couldn’t relate to all this hankering for “the one.” He’d been able to once, though. Five years ago he’d even gotten down on one knee and proposed with a skywriter spelling out the words in puffy white across the dusky sky. But his girlfriend Samantha wouldn’t say yes without certain conditions being met, difficult conditions that Jake had realized she was probably right about and so had tried to meet. Jake was adopted and had no knowledge of his medical history. Samantha didn’t feel comfortable starting a future, which would include children and a lifetime together, without knowing what was in that history. And so Jake, not quite comfortable with digging into a past he wasn’t all that interested in, had gone through his late parents’ documents, looking for information on the adoption agency that had handled his case so he could contact them.

What he’d found among those papers had shocked him.

Jake had a biological twin brother who’d been adopted by another family. The scrawled notation on a document didn’t say anything else.

A twin brother—out there in this world.

Jake had lain awake night after night, thinking about the twin, wondering if they were identical or fraternal. If they were similar despite being raised apart. His curiosity burned with a fundamental need to know more. And so five years ago, he’d written a brief letter to his birth mother, sent it to the adoption agency to be placed in his file, and put the search in motion.

CJ had freaked out. He’d only been seventeen then and they’d recently lost their parents; suddenly his older brother wanted to find his birth mother and twin. It had been too much for CJ. Samantha had thought that CJ was being a spoiled brat who would simply have to deal with it. Problem was, Jake had understood both sides. They’d both been right—CJ to feel...threatened, and Samantha to want to know how her future, how her children, might be affected by Jake. But after CJ had broken down one night, sobbing, unable to even speak, his grief, his fear speaking for itself, Jake had told Samantha now wasn’t the time for him to find his birth mother, that maybe in six months, he could broach it again with CJ.

Samantha had flipped. You’re putting CJ first, she’d shouted, pointing a long nail at his chest. The man I marry will put me first. She’d stormed out, and that was the last Jake had seen of her.

But his birth mother hadn’t responded to the letter anyway—until just two months ago. Out of the clear blue sky on a rainy March afternoon, he’d received a call from a private investigator in Blue Gulch about how his birth mother had read his letter five years ago, was sorry for the long delay and hoped to make contact. At first Jake had said he wasn’t interested and practically hung up on the investigator. But then his birth mother, Sarah Mack, had written him a short letter, assuring him that when he was ready she’d be there, and he’d been unable to stop thinking about her. Who she was, what the circumstances of his birth were, what she might know about his twin. And so he’d called Sarah Mack, who lived clear across Texas. Three meetings in Blue Gulch later, Jake had developed a real kinship with Sarah and with the quaint ranching town. And since Jake had been dealing with a bitter uncle who felt the Morrow family ranch should have passed on to him and was constantly filing lawsuits, Jake brought up the idea to CJ of just walking away and starting over in Blue Gulch; he’d seen a ranch for sale that had felt like home the minute he stepped on the land. CJ, who as usual had been dealing with an angry ex who liked to pass by with a rifle out her car window, had quietly agreed but had made it crystal clear that Jake’s birth family wasn’t a subject he wanted to talk about.

Sarah Mack had told him the only thing she knew about his twin was that they were fraternal. Thirty-two years ago, at a home for pregnant teenagers, she hadn’t been able to hold either baby, let alone see them, but she’d overheard a nurse comment on it. She didn’t know anything about who might have adopted him. There was nothing in the twins’ file to indicate he wanted to make contact, but Sarah had left her own information for him. Lately, the idea of finding his twin was consuming Jake to the point he couldn’t sleep at night.

Now he glanced over at CJ in the barn, his brother grinning while telling a dirty joke that had even shy Golden doubling over with laughter. Jake wasn’t sure if he should start the search on the down low or talk to CJ about it first. Since his brother had agreed to move to where his birth mother lived, where her family lived, CJ had to have come around somewhat. But something told him his brother wouldn’t be comfortable about Jake trying to make contact with his twin, even if CJ wasn’t that grieving seventeen-year-old kid anymore.

“Speaking of dinner tonight, who’s on duty to cook?” Jake asked Hank, gesturing at the other cowboys; CJ and Golden were checking on Frodo, the very old gelding Jake had rescued, while Golden cleaned up the barn for the night.

Hank pulled out the little notebook he carried everywhere. A folded up schedule of the month of May. “Tonight is CJ. Guess we’re having burned burgers and charred beans.”

Again. Except last night, on Golden’s turn, the burgers were mostly raw and the beans hard as a rock. “I need to find us a cook,” Jake said for the hundredth time. He’d put an ad in the local free weekly and stuck a notice up on the town green’s bulletin board, but none of the applicants were right for the job, and Jake wasn’t all that picky. Most had issues with the early morning breakfast hour, which was five sharp at the Full Circle, meaning arriving for work at four thirty before the birds were even awake. He’d added “live-in” to the ads, noting the job would come with room and board, but of the bunch who’d applied, two had turned up drunk for the interview and five had no cooking experience and couldn’t even tell Jake how to make scrambled eggs. The last applicant, a woman with real experience as a sauté cook in the steak house in town, broke into tears during the interview and confessed she didn’t really want the job—she only wanted to be close to CJ, who’d dumped her after two dates.

“Oh hell, I’ll cook tonight,” Jake said, craving a steak grilled just right, a baked potato with sour cream and chives, and cold, fresh salad with croutons and his favorite dressing, blue cheese. All that times five meant dinner would be a while, and he still had phone calls to return, invoices to pay and auction sites to look over for livestock.

He sent Hank to tell Golden, still a rookie, that he’d put Starlight’s saddle backward on its stand, then turned toward the house and the kitchen. He had a mind to sneak into Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen tomorrow and offer to pay any one of their cooks double their salary to come work for him. But then he wouldn’t be able to show his face there again, and he craved their po’boys too often for that. Plus, no one messed with Essie Hurley, who owned the place.

His phone buzzed with a text—from Fern, who’d sold him the goats earlier. That flock of sheep we talked about? I’m selling it to the LoneStar Ranch instead. Their foreman doesn’t tell me I smell like cow crap.

Oh hell, he thought for the millionth time, shaking his head.

* * *

Emma Hurley had been through a trying time or two in her twenty-six years, but nothing compared to locating one very handsome, slippery cowboy who clearly did not want to be found. Well, I finally did find you, Joshua Smith, and I’m coming whether you like it or not!

She’d been trying to track down the guy for six weeks now, ever since she’d discovered she was pregnant. Once the shock had worn off she was filled with a deep-down happiness about the baby, but she still wondered how on earth she could have been so careless to sleep with a stranger—a ridiculously good-looking, smooth-talking stranger who’d said all the right things, including that of course he would use a condom. The condom had torn, apparently. If Joshua had noticed, he hadn’t said anything. But maybe he had noticed. And maybe that was why he was gone without a word in the middle of the night, no note, no cell phone number, no nothing.

Once she knew she was pregnant, she tried to find him by asking around the rodeo circuit, where they’d met, but no one seemed to have heard of a rookie bull rider named Joshua Smith. Finally, another cowboy said he was pretty sure Joshua worked on a ranch in Blue Gulch, which had been a relief—Emma had family in that town, a great-aunt, Essie Hurley, who owned a popular restaurant, and three cousins. But after weeks in Blue Gulch, staying at Essie’s and working part-time at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen when it was clear Essie didn’t need the help, Emma still hadn’t tracked Joshua down.

Until this morning—when she’d been waiting on her iced mocha at the coffee shop and overheard two men talking about the rodeo as they were walking out. She’d asked them if they knew of a cowboy named Joshua Smith and she’d expected the usual, “No, sorry.” But a funny look came over one of the men’s faces and he said, “Joshua Smith? Do you mean Tex? Bull rider, right?”

Emma had almost dropped the iced mocha the barista had handed her. Apparently, Joshua had recently gotten a job at the Full Circle ranch ten miles out of town and only went by Tex. He probably switched to his given name for women he wanted to seduce. Joshua Smith sounded like a man who’d be there in the morning; Tex, more like a good-time guy. Nevertheless. She’d found him!

Now, as she followed the directions her great-aunt had given her to the ranch, she thought about how easy it had been for Joshua—Tex—to fool her. The day she’d met him, back in late January, she’d had a whopper of an argument with her father, a CEO whose photo should appear beside the dictionary definition of the word controlling. Reginald Hurley was upset that she wouldn’t quit her job as a short-order cook in an all-night diner, a place she loved working, with coworkers she adored and a manager who liked coming up with funny names for the specials. You’ll never meet an appropriate man in a greasy spoon like that, Emma, her father always said. Let me get you a job at Le Vieux—it’s a four-star restaurant.

Emma had tried that already; after culinary school she’d worked in three fancy restaurants. In one, the chef screamed in her ear to the point she’d drop expensive cuts of meat. In another, the sous-chef would slap her on the butt everytime he passed her, then lied about her work performance when she reported him to the owner. In the final one, a customer had sent back his salmon three times; it wasn’t “just right” and he couldn’t explain why, and she’d been fired on the spot. The next day she’d seen the help-wanted sign in the diner, noticed that the cooks visible through the open area behind the counter were whistling and chatting away, and she’d gone right in. The manager liked to give awards to the staff to keep them happy. She’d won Best Burger, Best Flapjacks and Best Attitude on Busy Sunday Mornings.

She’d tried to explain to her father that she wasn’t necessarily looking for a man or a husband; she had a dream of becoming a personal chef but wanted more experience first and loved the diner, where she made comfort food and smiley face meals for kids. His response? Frankly, Emma, it’s embarrassing that you work in that dump. It’s bad enough you live in an apartment above a pizzeria. Come on.

After that argument, she’d taken herself to the rodeo to lose herself in an afternoon of watching hunky cowboys in action, only to be sweet-talked by the hunkiest about being true to herself and living her own life and no one else’s. She’d said yes to an impromptu invitation of dinner and slow dancing with the blue-eyed cowboy. They’d talked and talked and talked through dinner, looked deeply into each other’s eyes as they’d danced, and then they were holding hands and kissing their way to her hotel room, where she forgot everything that had been troubling her. When the dawn woke her up, her cowboy was gone and Emma had lain there wondering if she’d daydreamed the whole thing. Six weeks later, when a pink plus sign appeared in the home pregnancy test window, she knew she hadn’t.

Emma drove on, thinking about what she was going to say to Joshua. I just wanted you to know. I don’t expect anything from you. And she’d see what he said.

A few feet up on the left, near a big weeping willow, just like Aunt Essie—who Emma had confided in—said to look for, was a sign for the Full Circle Ranch. She turned and headed down the drive, tall oaks lining her path, the green canopy of leaves barely letting through the bright May sunshine, going strong close to six o’clock in the evening.

Up ahead she could see a stately house, almost a Colonial style with white pillars and a red door, the same red that matched the big barn behind it and another farther down. There were pastures as far as the eye could see, some containing bulls, some smaller areas with goats and sheep. Two cats were chasing after something flying low, a butterfly, maybe, until a black goat suddenly booked out of the barn, headed west. Suddenly, the cats flew behind the barn and the front door of the house opened.

A tall, dark-haired man in his early thirties, wearing a white apron and carrying a pair of silver tongs, rushed out, a cell phone to his ear, a piece of paper in his other hand. His gaze was on the runaway goat.

“Oh hell,” she heard him mutter as she pulled up. “No, not you, Anderson,” he said into the phone. “Yes, I want the three heifers. Friday’s fine.” He pocketed the phone. “CJ!” he called out.

Emma glanced around. A younger man, with a shock of glossy dark hair, came out of the house behind him.

“I’m texting Stella,” the younger guy said. “Can it wait?”

“Do you think Goatby can wait?” he asked, pointing at the goat halfway across the open field.

“Oh hell,” CJ said, and Emma had to smile. He’d said it just like the man in the apron had.

Emma stepped from the car, the scent of burned meat in the air. “Is something burning?” she asked the man. He was tall, at least six foot two, with dark brown hair and green eyes, and muscular and handsome in the way of the old Westerns her grandmother used to watch on TV when Emma was young. That combined with the apron and tongs made her smile.

“Oh hell!” he grumbled. He pivoted, but then turned toward the guy chasing the goat, then turned back toward the house. “I’ve got five steaks on the grill out back.” He threw up his hands, clearly torn between chasing after the goat and saving dinner.

She’d waited six weeks to tell Joshua that she was pregnant with his baby; she could wait another ten minutes to ask for him. “I’ll take care of the steaks. I’m a cook at Hurley’s. Go get Goatby.”

He stared at her, his eyes crinkling in confusion, and then he shook his head as if to clear it and raced after the younger guy and the goat. She could hear it bleating.

Emma followed the scent of the burning steaks into a large kitchen with gorgeous gray cabinets and stainless steel appliances, and then out through the open sliding glass doors to a patio that led to a big backyard. An orange cat was curled up under a shady tree, its eyes slitting open for a brief look at the visitor.

The steaks still smelled good, which meant they might be salvageable. If it’s one thing her great-aunt Essie had taught her: a good barbecue sauce could save just about anything.

She found another pair of tongs and turned the steaks. Was this a family dinner? She had no idea. Back inside the kitchen she peeked inside the oven and saw five potatoes baking in foil; a timer was ticking with two minutes to go. She gave one of the potatoes a gentle squeeze, then took off the foil and chucked it, brushed olive oil on the skins and set the timer for ten more minutes. There were the makings for salad on the counter. A head of romaine lettuce, a cucumber, two tomatoes. She opened the refrigerator and found a store-bought blue cheese dressing. She gave it a little taste. Not bad, but nothing compared to her aunt Essie’s homemade dressings.

By the time the oven timer dinged, she had the dining room table set for five, the salad tossed in a big silver bowl, and butter and sour cream and chives on a serving tray awaiting the potatoes. She headed out to the patio with a platter for the steaks. Perfect. The slight char on one side would just make them that much better. She found some sauces in the refrigerator and set them out too.

She heard voices and looked out the dining room window. The man in the apron and the younger guy were heading back with the goat. She smiled at Goatby, who looked quite pleased with himself and his little escapade. Three other men, of various ages and all in cowboy hats and jeans, were coming from one of the other barns.

She stepped outside. “Dinner’s on the table.”

The five men stopped and stared at her. The one in the apron said, “Dinner’s on the table?”

“Sure is,” she said. “Come see for yourselves. I wasn’t sure what y’all wanted to drink so I set out the beer and the pitcher of iced tea.”

He stared at her, then switched the tongs from his right hand to his left. “Jake Morrow,” he said, stretching out his right hand.

She shook it. “Emma Hurley.”

The men followed her into the dining room. She heard someone whisper, “She’s a Hurley, and all Hurleys can cook.”

“Hank,” Jake said, stopping in front of the table. “Do you see what I see or is this some kind of mirage?”

“Oh, I see it,” said the fortyish one with the thick red hair. “I don’t believe it, but I see it.”

The eldest one, with the wild gray-brown hair and beard, added, “Me too, Boss.”

Emma smiled at them. “Sit and eat before it all gets cold.”

They sat down, stared at the food for a moment, then grabbed at sauces and filled their glasses with beer or iced tea.

“Are you some kind of fairy godcook?” Jake asked, taking a bite of the steak. “I thought these were goners.”

She laughed. “Does wonders for my ego to hear.”

“Please, sit down,” Jake said to her. He went to the sidebar and got a plate, then cut his steak in half, split his potato and handed her the plate. “Least I can do.”

That sure was nice. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

“Hey, Jake, I thought you said no one had answered the ad for a cook since the last fake who was really one of CJ’s broken hearts,” said the eldest of the five men, the tall, large one with the unruly hair and beard.

CJ shot the older man a glare with his very blue eyes.

Jake took a bite of salad. “No one has.”

“Then where did this gorgeous creature come from?” CJ said, sliding a killer smile over to her.

She ignored the faux flattery and swiped her bite of potato in sour cream. “I’m staying with my great-aunt Essie—she owns Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen in town. Know of it?”

Jake smiled. “Know of it? We’re there half the week.”

“I work in the kitchen part-time,” she said, then took a sip of her iced tea. “But the reason I’m here is that I heard a cowboy named Joshua—Tex—works at the Full Circle. I’ve come to see him on personal business.”

Every one of the men stopped eating. Stopped talking. They looked at one another, then at her.

“Miss—ma’am,” Jake said. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but Tex had an accident about three weeks ago. He didn’t survive.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.

She felt Jake’s hand on her shoulder. “Miss?”

She closed her eyes and put down her fork. “Oh.” That was all she could manage.

“Was Tex a friend of yours?” another of the men asked. “I’m Grizzle. We’re the crew here at the ranch,” he added, gesturing at the guys at the table. “We all became great buddies with Tex, even though we’d only been working here together for about a week when he died.”

“I’m Hank Timber,” said the redhead with a nod at her. “The foreman at the Full Circle.” He tilted his head and stared at her. “His death left us dumbstruck too back when it happened.”

“I’m pregnant with his baby,” she blurted out. Five set of eyes stared at her, a few open jaws. She hadn’t meant to say it, but it just came out. “I’ve been looking for him ever since I found out. We met at the rodeo in Stockton in January, but then...lost touch. When I found out I was pregnant, I tried to track him down but I only knew his given name.”

“Joshua Smith,” Jake said. He had a look of reverence in his expression that told her he’d gotten close to Joshua too. Based on how close she’d felt to the guy in one night, she could imagine how these men had felt after even just a week of working long days together on a ranch.

The cowboys ate quickly, then all nodded at her, said they were “real sorry for her loss,” and practically ran from the dining room, leaving her and Jake Morrow.

The foreman, Hank, came back. “Sorry for the baby’s loss too. That’s real sad.” Then he turned back and hurried from the room.

Jake turned to her, his green eyes full of sympathy. “I own the Full Circle. That was the entire crew, including my brother CJ. He’s the one who helped me bring back the goat. Tex—Joshua—was one of the hands and we all liked him a lot. He was an old soul and wise for his age, all of twenty-seven. Even though his nickname was Tex, Grizzle referred to him as Owl.”

She found herself unable to speak again. She hadn’t even been sure what to expect when she would finally lock eyes with Joshua again and tell him she was expecting his baby. She’d been pretty sure he’d run for the hills, disappear the way he had after their one great night together. But part of her thought he wouldn’t, that he’d at least say, “Okay, this baby is my responsibility, and I don’t duck out on that.” Of course, now she’d never know.

Jake stared at her for a moment. “He talked about you.” He seemed to be remembering something, then nodded. “One morning he was preoccupied, and that wasn’t Tex’s way. He finally told us he’d sneaked out on a woman in the middle of the night without leaving his name or a number and that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d said if he’d been a settling down guy, he would have chosen that ‘smart, interesting woman with the honey-colored hair and the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen.’ That was exactly how he put it.”

Emma did have honey-colored hair, or so Joshua had referred to it many times the night he’d run his fingers through it. And she did have big blue eyes, like her mother’s. So he must have been talking about her. She appreciated the “smart” and “interesting.” Plus the timing was right.

And now the rancher knew every detail of her failed romance with Joshua Smith.

“I’m very sorry,” Jake said again. He seemed about to say something, but then took a gulp of beer.

Now it was her turn to say “oh hell,” except the two words just kept echoing in her head. Along with Now what?

She didn’t want to leave. She still had her apartment a town over in Oak Creek, but her lease was ending this month anyway, and when she thought of Oak Creek she thought of her father and how he’d reacted when she told him she was pregnant, that she was keeping the baby and, yes, she knew who the father was but not where, exactly.

Oh for God’s sake, Emma, Reginald Hurley had said. Now you’ve really done it. A baby out of wedlock. What the hell will people think? He’d shaken his head, a few times for good measure, then had added, I’ll start a list of colleagues who might come to your rescue. Of course, most will be a bit lacking in some area or another to take on a pregnant woman. But they’ll all be solvent and ambitious. I’ll set up some dates for you and I’m sure you’ll hit it off with one of them.

She’d packed her bags and left town an hour later, feeling more alone than ever, then had settled in Blue Gulch, grateful for kind relatives nearby, sure she’d find Tex soon. Her father had called a few times, bellowing into the phone that she’d lose her window for the blind dates—once she lost her figure, forget it. She’d told her father in no uncertain terms that she would not be going on any of his husband dates and was staying in Blue Gulch, at least until she found Joshua. Appalling, he’d said. Chasing after some two-bit rodeo loser who ran off on you. That was three weeks ago. A week ago, in a kinder but still demanding, controlling tone: Emma, come home already. You’ll move in and we’ll fix up the guest room for a nursery. At least I can assure my grandchild will want for nothing. She’d forced herself to thank her dad for the offer, but had told him she was staying put.

She wasn’t going back to Oak Creek. And she couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something in how her baby’s father had lived and worked here, spent his final moment on this land, among friends, that made her want to stay. And somehow, she felt at home at the Full Circle, maybe because she’d fixed dinner and had eaten with the crew, who all seemed like nice people. And she liked this Jake Morrow, who’d told her with real sympathy in his voice that Joshua had passed away.

“Jake, I could use a job and a place to live. I could learn how to be a cowgirl, take over Joshua’s job.” Even when she was six or nine months pregnant she could certainly lead cattle out to pasture and groom the horses.

He stared at her. “You’re looking for a job?” A smile lit his face. God, he was handsome when he smiled. “What I really need is a cook for me and the guys. When you said you worked at Hurley’s, I thought I must be dreaming since I’ve been saying I need a cook for weeks and suddenly, you turn up and not only save dinner but serve the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, thank you for that. I’ve been a cook for years. Most Saturday mornings at the diner in Oak Creek I was averaging seventy-five pancakes and cracking a hundred eggs an hour. I can definitely handle five hungry cowboys.”

Relief was evident on Jake’s face. “The job comes with room and board, plus a salary.” Her eyes widened at the pay he mentioned. Three times better than her hourly wages at the diner. “This house is plenty big. I live here with CJ—our rooms are on the second floor—and there’s a third floor that will be all yours. It has a sitting area, good-sized bedroom and a bathroom with a spa tub.”

Perfect. Her aunt would be relieved that she’d found a just-right-for-her job and home. The Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen was large, and only Essie and her two black lab puppies lived there but, unfortunately, Emma was allergic to dogs. Considering that Emma hadn’t sneezed once since arriving at the Full Circle, there likely wasn’t a dog around. That would be unusual for a ranch, so maybe dog allergies were something she and Jake Morrow had in common.

Jake took another sip of his beer. “The job involves serving breakfast—and these guys like their morning chow—at five sharp so we can starting chores at five thirty, fixings for a cold lunch that we can serve ourselves whenever we’re ready to take a break, and then a hot dinner at 5:30 p.m. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. I work for my aunt two days a week, just the lunch shift. This way I can keep that.” She didn’t want to give up the lunch shift at Hurley’s. The past few weeks she’d loved getting to know her great-aunt and cousins and their families. She loved the idea of raising her baby in a town where he or she would have a lot of family close by.

“Then we have ourselves a deal,” Jake said, the waning sun glinting through the window on his tanned forearms. “Start tomorrow morning?”

They shook on it, the feel of his warm, strong hand such a surprising comfort she didn’t want to let go. That was unexpected. She forced her gaze away from his kind, curious green eyes.

She wasn’t about to let herself fall for another man, no matter how seemingly kind and chivalrous when kind and chivalrous was a comfort. She was determined to make her own way, to not need anyone, to be self-sufficient and a good mother. She already knew she was a good cook. Right now, she’d spend her spare time reading her book on baby development and saving up money for onesies and bottles and diapers, not to mention a bassinet and all the other baby things her little one would need.

She could and would stand on her own two feet.

Chapter Two

Jake was wide-awake at 4:35 a.m, ten minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Usually he’d have to peel his eyes open and force himself out of his very comfortable king-size bed with the amazing down-filled pillows CJ had bought him last Christmas. This morning, though, well before the crack of dawn, Jake wanted to check on his new cook and make sure she was all right.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her last night. One flight up, alone in a strange house, maybe tossing and turning with the news that her baby’s father had passed away, that she was pregnant and on her own. He’d thought about going upstairs and gently knocking on her door, asking if she needed anything, if the quilt was too heavy or if she wanted a pitcher of water, but he had a feeling that he should leave her be with her thoughts. She’d come to the ranch to find her baby’s father, and Jake had dropped a bombshell on her. Twice he’d almost gotten out of bed to check on her, and twice he’d made himself stay put. He hated the idea of her by herself in her room, but Jake was practically a stranger. And her boss.

After dinner last night, she’d driven to her aunt’s house to get her bags and he’d sat outside on the porch with Redford, the only of his three cats who liked coming in the house. When her car had pulled back in an hour later, a strange relief had come over him. He still wasn’t sure what that was about. He felt responsible for her, maybe. He’d rushed over to her car to take her bags, just one suitcase and a tote, and as she walked next to him, he’d been so aware of her. Emma Hurley was tall, at least five foot nine, but there was an ethereal quality to her, despite the determination he could see clearly in her eyes. He could tell she was a strong woman.

He’d shown her around the third floor, which seemed to be to her liking. While she’d been gone, he’d stocked her shower with soap and shampoo and conditioner and hung fresh towels on the racks. Then he’d given her the tour of the rest of the house, the enormous living room with its massive stone fireplace, his office adjacent, the dining room and kitchen, both of which she was familiar with. From the living room he pointed out the two doors visible on the second-floor landing, one at each end of the long hall. His bedroom was on the left and CJ’s on the right.

Then he’d shown her around the huge kitchen, where the pots and pans were, the cooking utensils, the silverware. She’d turned down his offer of a cup of herbal tea, which his weekly house cleaner had brought over, and said she’d just like to turn in since she’d be up early in the morning.

He’d wanted to say something about Tex, that he was sorry, again, but there was something in her expression, something private, that had him just saying, Well, good night, see you at five, and heading back to his office.

Now he got out of bed, took a quick, hot shower and dressed in his work clothes, jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and his brown boots and headed downstairs by four forty-five. Were those voices he heard coming from the kitchen or was Emma listening to the radio? The closer he got, he could swear he heard Hank’s voice. And his brother’s. And was that Golden who said he liked plain pancakes while Grizzle said pancakes without blueberries were just boring old flapjacks. The guys were never early for breakfast.

He entered the kitchen to find Golden stirring pancake batter, Grizzle washing the containers of blueberries and strawberries, and his brother cracking eggs and scrambling them in a big silver mixing bowl. Hank was frying bacon on the big griddle. And Emma, the new cook, was sitting down at the round café table by the window, sipping something from a red mug, his cat Redford at her feet.

What the heck was going on?

“Hey, Boss,” Hank said, using tongs to flip over each piece of bacon.

Emma stood up, her cheeks a bit pink, her long golden-brown ponytail swaying a bit. “I came in at four thirty to find them already cooking breakfast. They wouldn’t let me do a thing.”

“Least we can do,” Grizzle said, offering Emma a smile.

“Least,” Golden added, nodding at her, his blond bangs flopping on his forehead.

“Emma, pass me that platter, please,” CJ said without a hint of his usual flirtation in his voice.

Huh. Not only were his crew acting like actual gentlemen, including his brother, they weren’t saying stupid stuff or trying to impress her and instead insulting her with either flat-out stupidity or sexual innuendos. And after last night’s delicious dinner—even the baked potatoes tasted a thousand times better than usual—they knew they’d be in for a great breakfast this morning, but had given that up to cook themselves. Now they’d have the usual overcooked pancakes and rubbery eggs and hard-as-rocks home fries with too much pepper.

He smiled. He might not have worked very long with his crew, well, except for CJ, but he’d known the minute he’d met the say-the-wrong-thing Hank, the rough-around-the-edges Grizzle, and the can-barely-look-you-in-the eye Golden that they could be trusted, that they’d work hard, that under all the quirks were damned good men. He’d been right.

And he had a feeling he knew why the ragtag bunch was so comfortable around Emma and falling over themselves to be kind to her. Emma was not only pregnant and therefore off-limits—because none of the cowboys thought themselves remotely father material—but she’d been “done wrong” by Tex, by one of them.

“It’s good of you all to help,” Jake said to the guys. “I’ll put myself on toast duty.” He headed to the counter, where the bread boxes were full of bread and English muffins and bagels, and toasted up a couple of each, then grabbed butter and cream cheese from the refrigerator and brought it all out to the dining room. The table was already set. The silverware was in the wrong places and half the forks were upside down, which meant Golden or Grizzle had set the table. He smiled. He knew he had a great crew.

Once they were all seated, eating and drinking coffee and orange juice, Hank asked Emma if she had a name picked out for the baby.

She paused, a forkful of very well-done scrambled eggs in her hand. “Well, if she’s a girl, I’m thinking Violet after my mother. I’m not sure about a boy’s name yet.” She frowned, glancing down at her plate. “I always figured I’d name my firstborn son after my father, but—” She stopped and quickly ate her bite of eggs, then pushed the rest around on her plate with her fork.

“But your father’s in prison now?” Hank asked, slathering cream cheese on a bagel half.

Emma looked confused. “What? No. He’s not in prison. He’s...he’s just...”

“A real jerk?” Grizzle offered.

Emma bit her lip. “Well, he’s just...”

Jake glanced at her. He’s just not living up to being a namesake was what he suspected the issue was.

A phone pinged, saving Emma from answering. CJ pulled his cell out of his pocket and looked at it, then rolled his eyes and put it away.

“Who’s mad at you now?” Hank asked him with a grin. “Yesterday you were hot on Stella. Today, you’re done with her, is that right?”

“Don’t gossip about Stella,” CJ said, his blue eyes flashing. “It’s not right.”

“Whoa, what’s this?” Grizzle said, his face lighting up with a potential taunt. “CJ Morrow defending a young lady’s honor?”

“He must like this one,” Hank said.

“Stella who works at the bookstore?” Golden asked, eyeing CJ, who nodded. “She’s really nice.” He cleared his throat and looked around the table as if to see if anyone was paying attention to him. Jake had a feeling that Golden had grown up being ignored. “The other day I went to the bookstore to buy my dad a birthday present, but I couldn’t figure out what to get him. Stella asked me a bunch of questions about what he liked and suggested a biography of the first FBI director. My dad loved it.”

For Golden to pipe up, particularly to that extent, this Stella had to be nice.

Jake stared at his brother. CJ’s head was down as he pretended great interest in forking up his home fries. Interesting. Maybe his brother did like Stella—for more than the usual three days.

Talk turned to what needed doing that morning—from the usual daily chores to a fence that had to be mended up near the ridge, to moving the bulls out to a new pasture, to taking a trip into town for some supplies at the feed store. The crew had eaten their fill, but instead of getting up and heading out, leaving whoever was on cooking duty to clean up, as was the usual routine, they all started picking up their plates.

Emma stood up. “No, no! You all have done so much for me this morning and I appreciate it. I’m the cook here now and I didn’t even lift a finger this morning. So I will clean up, as I will every meal. I may be pregnant, but I’m capable of not only cooking, but lifting plates.” She smiled at them. “Go ahead. And thank you, guys. All of you. You sure know how to make a lady feel welcome.”

At that last sentence, Jake almost gasped. Grizzle actually took off his hat and held it to his chest. Hank’s chest puffed up. Golden had pink circles on his cheeks. And CJ threw an aw-shucks smile at Emma but a second later was glued to his phone as if waiting for a text that wasn’t coming.

Once the crew headed out, Jake had to force himself not to help clear the table. Emma was capable and he didn’t want to seem overly protective.

He finished his coffee. “I don’t know how you managed it, but you actually have the guys almost acting like gentlemen. They’re pretty rough around the edges—even CJ, who thinks he’s Mr. Smooth. They’re all looking for love, but they kind of repel women. Especially the ones they’re most interested in. There’s a dance tonight they’re all going to—maybe over dinner you could give them some tips on what they’re doing wrong.”

She stacked breakfast dishes along her arm. “I’ll try, but honestly, I’m O for three in the romance department myself. I mean, here I am, pregnant and single. Who am I to give advice to anyone about love?” She smiled, her pretty face lighting up for a moment, but then she paused and her expression changed as though she was thinking about something. She grabbed the butter dish with her free hand and headed toward the kitchen.

He followed with his mug, needing a refill on the strong coffee. “You got Grizzle to take off his hat indoors without even asking him to. That’s how good you are without even working at it.”

“He did, didn’t he?” She smiled again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He wanted to stay and talk to her. Ask her about her father. Ask her more about where she was from in Oak Creek, if she grew up on a ranch. But as he watched her set the dishes on the counter, the sunrise glowing past her through the sliding glass door to the kitchen, he was socked with such a pang of attraction that he backed away. What the hell was this?

Yes, Emma was pretty. And kind. And...vulnerable. Last night, Jake had found himself tossing and turning with the notion that he was responsible for Emma’s baby. Tex had been riding one of the new mares and a backfiring truck spooked the horse and threw him.

He turned away, his chest tightening with his line of thought. Maybe he wasn’t attracted so much as that he felt responsible for her. Tex had been a nice guy, his employee, and Jake felt like he owed Emma something.

Which was fine. He’d take responsibility. He’d given her a job and a home, and he’d furnish a nursery for her baby and make sure the child had everything he or she needed, including a fund started for college.

Now that he’d settled that in his head, a million other thoughts bombarded him—from livestock he wanted to buy for the ranch to Frodo the old black horse on the mend in the barn, to...his twin brother, who was walking around out there, maybe looking for him. Jake needed to talk to CJ, let him know he was thinking about getting the search started in earnest. Jake would assure his brother that nothing would ever come between them, that he’d never feel any differently, that he’d always have time for his kid brother. No matter what. Which was all true.

So why was he putting it off? CJ wasn’t that same kid who’d sobbed in his arms five years ago about losing everything. He was a man. So why was Jake so reluctant to bring up the subject again?

It wasn’t like him to be unsure of how to proceed, to not know the best way to go with something. Dammit, this thing had him out of sorts. Aware that Emma seemed to be watching him while she loaded the dishwasher, he nodded at her, thanked her again for breakfast and headed out, stopping to watch the sun rise over the ridge. He focused on it, trying to clear his mind. But just when his mind settled he started thinking about the beautiful woman in his house. He was attracted to her in a way he hadn’t been to any woman in five years.

Well, he’d have to add himself to his lineup of clueless cowboys because no matter what he told the guys about the heart wanting what it wants, he wasn’t about to heed his own.

* * *

The dishwasher full and going, the dining room table clean and the kitchen spotless, Emma glanced in the refrigerator to see what the guys would have for lunch, which was “make your own.” There were at least five pounds of sliced meats, from roast beef to ham to turkey, plus condiments and lettuce and tomatoes. Someone sure liked potato salad—there were two one-pound take-out containers from Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. And was that a jar of pickled herring? On the counter, one of a few bread boxes was full of Kaiser rolls. Whoever did the grocery shopping knew what he was doing. The fruit bowls were picked almost clean through, so those would need replenishing. Emma would have to ask Jake if she should take on the shopping.

She headed up to her room on the third floor, her suite like a palace compared to her small apartment in Oak Creek, if not the big house she’d grown up in. She loved the old hardwood floors in her bedroom here at the Full Circle, the soft Persian carpet covering a good portion of it. Her bed was plush, just the way she liked it, and the views outside all the windows were of endless green and trees and livestock. She glanced in the corner between the two big windows. That’s where she’d put the crib when it was time.

She touched her hand to her belly, amazed for the millionth time that in just five months she’d have a baby. Emma had lost her mother her senior year of high school and wished Violet Hurley were here. What a grandmother she would be. Her dad’s disappointed face came to mind and she thought about calling him to let him know about her baby’s father and where she was living now. But he’d just insist she come home and not listen to a word about how she felt, what she wanted, so she kept her phone in her pocket.

After a quick shower, Emma dressed in jeans and a pale blue T-shirt for her shift at Hurley’s. She helped out on Tuesdays—always a busy day since the restaurant was closed Monday and folks missed their po’boys and ribs and chicken fried steak—and Saturdays, today, the busiest lunch day. She headed back downstairs, gave Redford a scratch on the head and went out the front door. She could see Hank and Golden carrying hay bales from the barn, and in one of the pastures, Grizzle and CJ were leading the bulls farther out. She wondered where Jake was, what he was doing.

A few weeks ago, her baby’s father had been out there on this land. She touched her hand to her stomach again and let the warm May breeze wrap around her. She suddenly wanted to see the ranch and take a look in the outbuildings.

The big red barn was huge, home to many stalls with horses and a bunch of goats and sheep. She saw Jake checking on a small herd of goats in their pen and watched him open the gate and let them into the fenced-in pasture. The morning sun lit up his dark hair and shone on his strong, handsome profile. She realized she was staring and forced her gaze to the large bulletin board on the wall by the double doors.

“Bucks’ Choice Dance?” Emma said, reading the flyer announcing a dance for the rancher association fund-raiser being held that night.

“The crew has really been looking forward to this one,” Jake said, adjusting his brown Stetson. “Every song, the men get to choose their partner and it’s considered ill manners to say no. Last month it was ladies’ choice.”

“CJ was brand-new in town and didn’t get to sit down once,” Hank said, scanning the clipboard in his hand. “Boy, was he tired the next morning.”

Emma smiled. She wondered if Jake had gone and danced the night way. “And it says here since it’s bucks’ choice, men pay the ten-dollar admission but ladies go in free.”

Grizzle led in a pretty brown-and-white mare to the grooming area and unbridled her. “But men drink free, whereas ladies have to pay.”

“Which they gladly will since they have to dance with whoever asks, unless the guy’s a creep or an ex,” Hank said, checking something off on his clipboard.

“Wait,” Emma said. “You’re saying women not only have to dance with whoever asks, but they have to pay for their drinks too?”

Hank nodded. “Ain’t that grand? It switches every month, so it works out.” He chuckled, then turned to Jake. “You’re going, right, Boss?”

“Me?” Jake asked, closing the goats’ pen. “No. I hung up my dancing shoes.”

“You’re single, aincha?” Grizzle said as he removed the mare’s saddle and pad.

“Yeah, but—” Jake began.

“Plus, you’re a member of the rancher’s association. You have to go,” Hank pointed out. “Or you can forget about becoming a board member. Trust me, I know.”

Grizzle frowned. “I hate tab keepers.”

“Way of the world,” Hank said. “Oh, and, Grizz. Do your dance partners a favor—shave before the event. The barber shop’s open till six tonight.”

“I ain’t cutting my hair and shaving this beard,” Grizzle muttered.

The foreman stared at him. “Are you forgetting how that little girl jumped when she saw you at the feed store? When you start to scare small children, it’s time for a shave and a haircut.”

Grizzle waved his hand dismissively and stared Hank down. “I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do. And considering you told a lady she smelled like cow dung, I don’t think I should be taking pointers from you.”

Hank’s cheeks flamed. “Well, she did smell kind of like cow dung. So did I. We’re ranchers, for Pete’s sake.”

Emma had a feeling these two could go at it for hours, but would be right there if one needed the other. And she wondered what Jake’s “yeah, but” was about. Yeah, but I’m dating someone and we’re serious and she can’t go tonight so I can’t, either. She sure hoped that wasn’t it.

“I heard the association fund-raisers are dress up,” Jake said. “That true?”

Hank nodded. “There’ll be a line at Joe’s all day. He’s the barber in town. Has a place right on Main Street next to the drugstore. Can’t miss it with the spinning red-and-white pole outside.”

“I’ll bet you’d look very handsome with a haircut and beard trim,” Emma said to Grizzle.

“Then I guess I won’t be going,” Grizzle griped. He dropped the sponge he’d been using to wash the mare’s neck into the bucket, then dried her off and led her to her stall.

Emma’s face fell. “What’s that about?” she whispered.

Jake shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Maybe he’s used to looking like a mountain man,” Hank said. “You get used to your ways and then you can’t imagine changing. Like Michelle, the librarian. She hasn’t changed her look since high school and that was 1994. She has bigger shoulders than I do.”

Emma glanced down toward the mare’s stall. She couldn’t see Grizzle from where she was standing by the bulletin board. She looked at Jake, then headed over to the stall, where Grizzle was checking the mare’s hooves. “I’m sorry about poking my nose into your business, Grizzle. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Grizzle glanced up. “Oh, no worries. Way I see it, if women don’t like how I look, they’re not the ones for me.”

She smiled. “That’s actually a very good philosophy.”

He checked the hind hooves. “Of course, the few women who’ve turned my head since my wife died don’t like the way I look. Michelle, the librarian Hank was talking about? I asked her to lunch a couple weeks back and she said yes, but when I picked her up she marched up to my truck and said she expected I’d at least clean up some and she couldn’t very well go to lunch with me looking like I just came off a mountain after fifteen years. She went right back in her house.”

Huh. That must have made Grizzle feel awful. But the man really did need a haircut. The wild gray-brown hair was long, wiry and stuck up in every direction, and the beard did the same.

He stared off into the middle distance for a moment, then sighed and dropped down on the stool at the back of the stall. “You want to know the last time I cut my hair and shaved and wore a suit and tie?”

“Yes,” Emma said.

“My wife’s funeral. Hell, I don’t ever want to look like that again. I don’t ever want to be reminded of that day.” His face tightened and he stared down at the hay on the floor.

Oh, Grizzle. “I understand. The day my mother died, my hair was in a braid and I was wearing sparkly blue nail polish. I’ve not been able to braid my hair or wear blue polish since.” Violet Hurley’s lovely face came to mind and she missed her mother so fiercely, again wishing more than anything she were there. “I definitely understand the sentiment. Being reminded of who you were on a particular day.”

Grizzle glanced up at her, nodded, then let out a breath. “It’s not like anyone could hold a candle to Liza, anyway. I don’t know why I bother.”

“Well, no one will ever be Liza, but someone will light up your heart regardless. You asked out the librarian for a reason. You must find her attractive.”

He shrugged. “Only reason I asked her out is that she’s tall, like me. Tallest woman in Blue Gulch. You’re tall, and she’s got three or four inches on you. I’m six-four.”

Emma laughed. “Well, maybe you’ll meet another tall woman at the dance. Someone who has other attributes you find appealing too.”

He shrugged. “Not if I don’t clean up, though. No one will even give me a chance.”

“Well, maybe there’s a compromise. A comb instead of scissors. A little hair gel. You could just trim your beard a bit too.”

Grizzle let out quite a snort. “Me with hair gunk? CJ would laugh his head off.”

“Have you seen the amount of hair product in CJ’s hair?” Emma whispered with a grin.

Grizzle chuckled. “Well, maybe. Will you come by the bunkhouse ’bout an hour before the dance and help me?”

“I sure will,” she promised.

“Oh, and, Emma?” Grizzle called as she was leaving. “I don’t actually have a comb. I don’t think Hank or Golden will let me borrow theirs.”

Emma smiled. “I’ll pick one up for you at the drugstore today. I’m going into town for my shift at Hurley’s anyway.”

He nodded at her, and she headed outside. Jake was standing near the open barn doors at the other end, just on the other side of the stall where she’d been talking to Grizzle. He was signing off on papers a man she didn’t recognize was handing him. The guy got into his truck and drove off, and that’s when she noticed the stack of hay bales on the other side of Jake. Hay delivery. She wondered if Jake had heard their conversation. She wasn’t sure if Grizzle would like that.

“Jake?” she said. “I need to head to Hurley’s for my lunch shift, and I thought I’d do the grocery shopping after. You’re very low on fruit. And based on last night and this morning, the fridge and cupboards won’t last more than another couple of days. Could you give me the basics on what everyone likes and if there are any allergies?”

“No picky eaters or allergies among us,” Jake said. “We all pretty much like good basic home cooking. Meat and potatoes, chicken, pasta, fish. Big sandwiches for lunch. The usual for breakfast. The guys love their chips and pretzels.”

“Got it,” Emma said with a smile.

“We also all agree on pie, any kind,” Hank added, coming from the barn. “And chocolate chip cookies, the crunchy kind.”

She smiled again. “On my list. Well, see you at dinner.” She glanced at Jake and found she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Dammit. Why was she so drawn to him? The man was good-looking, yes. But it was more than that; there was something about him that made her feel...she didn’t even know. Made her feel what?

Stop staring at the man and get in your car, she ordered herself. She could feel Hank eyeballing her, and given how Hank did seem to catch most things, except his own gaffes when it came to dealing with Fern, apparently, she didn’t want the foreman to think she had a crush on the boss. She hurried to her car and got in. She lowered the windows to let in the gorgeous fresh country air.

Jake jogged over and leaned down, bracing those strong forearms on the window. “Grizzle okay?”

Hmm. Maybe he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to think he’d been eavesdropping. Regardless, she loved how much they all seemed to care about one another, despite the ribbing. “He’s letting me at him with a comb before the dance.”

Jake grinned. “Good work. Again.”

She grinned back. “So I suppose you’ll have to go to the dance, after all, given what Hank said about supporting the rancher’s association.”

He groaned. “Well, since it’s bucks’ choice, I have the choice of not asking anyone to dance.”

“I hear ya,” she said. “No thanks. Dances lead to dates lead to kisses lead to more dates lead to relationships and heartache.”

One dark eyebrow raised. “That’s exactly right.”

So why was she suddenly imagining herself in his arms for one sensuous slow dance, his hands on her waist, his body so close she could smell his shampoo?

And why did she like the idea of Jake not asking anyone to dance?

Chapter Three

Jake watched Emma’s small silver car disappear up the long drive, and then he headed back to the house to answer calls and look at more auction sites, his mind on the idea of his beautiful new cook in his arms for a slow dance. Would not be happening. As he’d told her, he might have to go to the dance, but that didn’t mean he had to ask anyone to dance. And he doubted she’d go, either, based on what she’d said about being off the market for a relationship.

He was definitely off the market for the time being. His entire life had shifted when he’d met his birth mother the first week of May. Until five years ago, he’d never planned on even seeking her out. He’d always believed that his birth mother had given him up to provide him with a better life than she could, for whatever reason, and he’d admired her for that. But his heart and soul were with his parents, the Morrows, who’d adopted him. They’d been great parents, sturdy and steady, and when their surprise baby had come along ten years later, they hadn’t loved CJ, their biological son, any differently than they loved Jake.

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t feel about his twin brother any more or better or differently than he felt about CJ, who was his brother, period. But Jake felt the call to see the man, to meet him, to know something about this twin brother he’d shared a womb with for nine months. That meant something too; it all meant something, every part of Jake’s birth story—from Sarah Mack’s pregnancy at sixteen years of age to how Jake felt right now. He had to find his twin and connect with him, even in the slightest way—a letter, an email, hell, even a text. Connection. That’s all he wanted. If they met and got to know each other and formed a relationship, even better.

Though, of course, CJ might not think so of that last part. He glanced out the window and could just make out CJ’s tall, strong silhouette on Shadow, their black gelding, as he checked on grass levels in a far pasture where they’d be moving the sheep. Yes, CJ was a player and a flirt and hadn’t been careful with people’s feelings, women’s feelings, but Jake wondered if the combination of the death of their parents and Jake’s discovery of his biological twin had done a number on the then seventeen-year-old. For the past five years, CJ had broken up with every young woman he dated, from one date to a few months, even if he’d really seemed to like her. Was he leaving them before they could leave him? Hurt him? Break his heart? Maybe. Jake wasn’t sure. CJ had a fun-loving exterior, and it was hard to tell just how deep he truly ran, even if Jake had seen his brother’s body shaking with sobs over their parents’ deaths, the day it happened and several times after. CJ felt; Jake knew that.

Jake stared at his cell phone, sitting on top of a glossy brochure for LoneStar Ranch, a breeding operation in town. Just call Carson Ford and tell him to get the search for your twin started, he told himself. It could be just a first step, seeing if the man could be found. But even that seemed a breach of trust. If he was going to look for his twin, he should let CJ know, not start a big inquiry on the down low as though he was sneaking behind his brother’s back.

He’d talk to CJ about it tomorrow.

And who knew if Carson Ford would even be able to find his twin? The private investigator had easily found Jake, at his birth mother’s request, because he’d left his contact info for his file at the adoption agency. Because, then again, the case had been personal to Carson then and it would be personal this time too. Jake sat back and smiled at the story Carson had finally told him about how he’d come to be involved in looking for him.

Apparently, Carson’s father, a widowed banker in Blue Gulch, had gone to a fortune-teller who’d told him that his second great love would be a green-eyed hairstylist named Sarah. Carson had thought his father was nuts for believing in that “malarkey.” But his father had believed, and so Carson had gone on the hunt with the fortune-teller’s daughter, Olivia Mack, to prove his father wrong—and because Olivia had been sure the mystery woman was her own estranged aunt. Only thing Carson had done was prove his father and the fortune-teller right: Sarah Mack and Edmund Ford had fallen deeply in love. And so had Carson and Olivia—when neither of them was looking for love. There was going to be a big double wedding in the fall, to which Jake was invited and would attend. And considering that Olivia ran the Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen food truck, where Emma sometimes helped out, he had no doubt his new cook would be invited too.

The thought of Emma Hurley brought her pretty face to mind, her big blue eyes and the long lashes. He sure wished she was going to the dance.

Would he feel ready for a relationship, for love and marriage and all that, if he found his twin and settled that part of his life? Maybe. Then again, he still felt a bitter sting anytime he thought of his ex, how she’d bailed on him when he’d wanted to wait, for CJ’s sake, to dig through his past. He’d realized as the days and months and years had gone by that he’d stopped trusting, stopped expecting anything from anyone.

So, no, this buck would not be asking anyone to dance tonight. And especially not the only woman he wanted to dance with.

* * *

Parking in the center of town at 10:00 a.m. was a breeze; Emma found a spot right in front of the apricot-colored Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. She loved Blue Gulch. Though the town bordered Oak Creek, where she’d grown up, she hadn’t spent much time with her Blue Gulch relatives. Her father had had some long-ago falling-out with his uncle and his wife, Essie Hurley, and according to what her dad had said over the years, he’d tried to tell his uncle and Essie how to run the restaurant, then had gloated when it ran into financially slow patches. The relationship had quickly soured, and Emma had grown up barely knowing Essie or her cousins, who Essie had raised after their parents had died in an accident. But the past weeks that Emma had been in town, living in the Victorian, sneezing up a storm over the puppies despite her allergy medication, had been absolutely wonderful. Emma’s dad drove people away with his bossy, controlling way, and right here she had all this family—kind, welcoming, and with a love of cooking in common.

“How’s the new boss treating you?” Essie asked, giving Emma a hug in the big country kitchen. Seventy-six-year-old Essie had had a health scare last year, and though she’d cut back on too much time on her feet, her granddaughters had had special chairs made just for her that could reach varying heights, from the worktable to the ovens, to the counters, so she could sit and make her famed sauces and soups and amazing entrées.

“I came downstairs at four thirty this morning to start breakfast, and guess what?” Emma said, tying on her Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen apron. “The whole crew—Hank, Grizzle, Golden and CJ, he’s Jake’s brother, were all in the kitchen cooking already—everything from eggs to bacon and pancakes with blueberries. They’d felt terrible when they heard I’d come to the ranch looking for Joshua—Tex—only to hear that he’d died in a riding accident. They’re a really nice group of cowboys.”

“Wait. Grizzle was cooking?” Annabel Hurley Montgomery asked with a grin. She was dredging chicken wings in flour, and Emma went over to take on the prep.

“You know Grizzle?” Emma asked.

“Sure do,” Annabel said. “He used to work at a farm nearby and would come in for lunch every day. When I was thirteen, Georgia and I were picking herbs in the fields out back when we saw that the stray dog that was always hanging around in the river had gotten caught in a current. Georgia and I almost drowned trying to save it and we made so much noise that some people came running. Grizzle jumped right in and saved that dog. But the dog was so scared she bit him. Blood was running down his arms but he held on tight and brought that dog to the riverbank.”

“Aww,” Emma said, her huge platter of wings ready for the fryer. She grabbed another platter and started on another batch, flour and egg wash under her nails. “Was the dog all right? Was Grizzle all right?”

Annabel nodded. “Both were fine. That dog had taken off the minute its feet hit land, but that night it laid down right on the front porch of Grizzle’s house. Grizzle adopted her and named her River. She never bit again. When River was dying and it was time to let her go, Grizzle invited me and my sisters to the little funeral he had in his yard, since we were the ones who brought them together. Remember how we sobbed?” she said to Georgia.

Annabel’s older sister, Georgia Hurley Slater, who baked for the restaurant, smiled. “River turned out to be the sweetest dog ever.”

Clementine Hurley Grainger, the youngest of her cousins and head waitress, came into the kitchen and said hi to Emma and announced they were having two big groups for lunch, the library’s book club, which had close to twenty members, at twelve thirty, and the rancher’s association bigwigs at 1:00 p.m. There were only six of them, but they always ordered enough food for double, and Hurley’s portions were generous to begin with.

Emma glanced at her cousins, their wedding rings gleaming, and a bit of envy poked at her. The three Hurley sisters had found wonderful husbands, and both Annabel and Georgia had babies. Clementine had a daughter who she’d adopted from foster care and her husband’s orphaned twin nephews, and sometimes Emma would see the big family together, wives, husbands, children, and she’d wish she could have that for herself. She had the extended family, sure. But her baby’s father was gone. Her mother was long gone. Her own father was, as usual, demanding she live according to his rules for her, so she didn’t even have the comfort of her dad in her life right now. She thought of him, missing those rare times when he could be so loving and kind. She sure wished he was by her side right now, but that just couldn’t be. She was on her own and would be fine. She had the Hurleys of Blue Gulch, and she’d found a perfect job and place to live. She’d raise her baby among friends, loving friends. I can do this, she reminded herself. I want to do this.

“Oh, and I ran into Olivia Mack this morning,” Clementine added. “She mentioned she’d be coming in for lunch at noon with her husband-and in-laws-to-be.”

“Does Olivia need me to cover the food truck this afternoon, then?” Emma asked, dredging what had to be her hundredth chicken wing in flour, then dipping it in the egg wash and coating it in flour again before laying it on the platter. When Emma had first started working at Hurley’s, she’d trained at their food truck, which was parked on the other end of Main Street and served po’boys of all kinds and the best cannoli Emma had ever had. Olivia, the cook and manager, had met the man she was marrying this fall while working in the food truck.

“Dylan’s working the truck today,” Essie said. Dylan, one of their cooks, was just eighteen years old and a single father of an adorable baby boy named Timmy. “I didn’t want to overtax you on your first day at the ranch.”

Emma smiled at her aunt and got busy. After she had hundreds of chicken wings ready for the fryer for the first wave of the lunch rush, she moved on to assisting Essie, who was working on sauces. Emma loved making barbecue sauce, and Hurley’s had at least ten variations. Then she moved on to preparing the spicy coleslaw, which Emma had been craving lately. Forget pickles. Emma could eat smothered pulled pork po’boys with a side of the spicy slaw every day. With a cannoli studded with chocolate chips for dessert. And ice-cold lemonade.

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