with a singing gig at a nightclub in San Antonio, but a stomach bug had ended that, leaving her between jobs again.
For the most part, she felt a lot better now. But every time she thought the virus was a thing of the past, it flared up again. Like today, at her brother’s reception. She was going to have a glass of champagne, but before she could even take a sip, a whiff of the popping bubbles set off her nausea. Yet now she was fine again.
When she’d first caught the flu or whatever it was, she’d gotten sick right before showtime in San Antonio. Her friend, Heather, had suggested that it might be stage fright, but there was no way that was the case. Carly had been performing ever since she could stand in front of her bedroom mirror and grip the mic on her child’s karaoke machine.
She figured she was just tired and run-down. So, with a little R & R on her family’s ranch, she’d kick this thing in no time at all and line up another gig before you could sing “Back in the Saddle Again.”
When she got within a few miles of the ranch, her thoughts drifted to Ian, the handsome cowboy who was content living on the Leaning R and who had no intention of picking up stakes. The two of them had become intimately involved the last time she came home, and as nice as it had been, as heated, as magical, Carly didn’t dare let it start up again.
So for that reason, she’d dragged her feet at the wedding reception, which was held at Maestro’s, the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. It was a nice venue for a small but elegant celebration—probably too nice and upscale for Brighton Valley, though. Still, while everyone had raved about the food, she thought the chef had been way too heavy-handed with the garlic and basil. Just one sniff had caused her to push her plate aside. But then, she’d had a late lunch and hadn’t been all that hungry anyway.
Once the newlyweds had taken off in a limousine bound for Houston, Carly had climbed into her pickup and left town. According to her plan, she would arrive at the Leaning R after dark, when it would be less likely for anyone—namely Ian—to see her. She just hoped she could slip unnoticed into the house and remain there until she figured out a plan B.
Yet, as luck would have it, when she pulled into the graveled drive at the Leaning R, Ian’s lights blazed bright. And to make matters worse, he was sitting on the front porch of his cabin.
That meant she would have to face the one man in Brighton Valley who unwittingly had the power to thwart most any plan she might come up with—if she let him. But there was no chance of that. Maybe if she’d been like the other girls who grew up around here, content to settle for the country life on a homestead with some cowboy and their two-point-four kids, she’d be champing at the bit to let the sexy foreman make an honest woman of her. But Carly had never been like the other girls—her family life had been too dysfunctional—and she was even less like them now. She had big dreams to go on world tours, while Ian was content to stay in Brighton Valley.
Well, there was no avoiding him now. She got out of the truck and made her way toward his small cabin.
“Hey,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“All right.” He set his guitar aside. “How was the wedding?”
“Small, but nice. That is, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“And you’re not.” It was a statement, not a question. Ian was well aware of how Carly felt about love and forever-after, so she let it go with a half shrug. His easygoing and nonjudgmental attitude was the main reason she’d even allowed herself to have a brief fling with him four or five months back. Well, that and the way he looked in those faded jeans.
He’d taken off his hat, revealing thick, brown hair in need of a comb. Or a woman’s touch.
She’d always found his green eyes intriguing—the way they lit up in mirth, the intensity in them during the heat of lovemaking.
His gaze raked over her as if he was hoping to pick up where they’d left off, and her heart rate stumbled before catching on to the proper beat again. But then, the guitar wasn’t the only thing Ian was skilled at strumming.
If truth be told, there’d been a fleeting moment at the wedding when her own resolve had waffled. She’d seen her stuffy brother’s eyes light up when his pretty bride walked down the aisle, and it had had touched her heart. She truly hoped that Jason and Juliana defied the odds and lived happily ever after. But she just couldn’t quite see herself dressed in white lace and making lifelong promises to someone. After all, she’d never known anyone who’d actually met “the one” and managed to make a commitment that had lasted longer than a year or two.
She glanced at Ian, saw his legs stretched out while seated in that patio chair, all long and lean, muscle and sinew. She did love a handsome cowboy, though. And Ian certainly fit the image to a tee. He also knew how to treat a lady—in all the ways that mattered.
Again, she shook it off. They’d ended things on a good note, both of them agreeing that their sexual fling—no matter how good it had been—would only end awkwardly if they let it go on any further. It had been a mutual agreement that she had every intention of sticking to.
“That’s an interesting bridesmaid getup,” he said as his gaze swept down to her boots and back up again.
“A bridesmaid getup?” That was a cowboy for you. “The wedding was so sudden that I didn’t have time to shop. So I wore a dress I’ve had for a while.” She glanced at her skirt, then twirled slightly to the right. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Not a thing.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin. “I was talking about the denim jacket and the boots. Juliana and Jason seem to be more traditional.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s true. I kicked off my heels the first chance I got. And since it’s a bit chilly out tonight and this dress is sleeveless, I grabbed the only jacket I had handy.”
“Either way, you make a good-looking bridesmaid, Carly.”
Before she could change the subject to one that was much safer than brides or commitments of any kind, she noticed a bush at the side of the cabin shake and tremble.
Had that pesky raccoon come back again? If so, it was certainly getting brave. But instead of Rocky, the nickname she and Ian had for the little rascal that knocked over the trash cans, a darling little black-and-white puppy trotted out from the bush.
“Oh my gosh,” Carly said. “How cute is he?”
“It’s a she. And her name is Cheyenne.”
As Carly bent to pick up the pup, she must have moved too quickly, because a wave of dizziness struck. For a moment, everything around her seemed to spin. She wasn’t going to faint, was she?
She paused a moment and blinked. Her head cleared, thank goodness. Then she pulled the hem of her dress out of the way, slowly got on her knees and reached out her hands. The pup came right over to her, but she held still for a while longer, making sure the world wouldn’t start spinning again.
“Aren’t you a sweetheart?” she said to the puppy. Then she glanced at Ian, who had a boyish grin splashed across his face. “Where’d you get her?”
“Paco, the owner of the feed store, had a litter of Australian shepherds for sale, so I bought her. It’s something I’ve been planning to do for a while. A spread like this needs a good cattle dog.”
Carly pulled the pup into her arms and stood. “But what if the new owners don’t want you to stay on?”
He shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
Ian didn’t get too concerned about much. In fact, he always seemed to go with the flow, which was a plus in the casual relationship department, but another reason they’d never make a good match in the long run. He didn’t have the same ambition she did.
For as long as Carly could remember, all she’d wanted was to stand out on her own and be recognized as more than a pretty little girl whose divorced parents, a wealthy businessman and a glamorous