Travis

by Leigh Duncan

  He shook his head to clear it. He was getting ahead of himself.

  A stop in downtown Cocoa put him on track. Though his cleats left a trail of red clay across the polished tiles, the jeweler’s knowing smile only deepened as he helped Travis choose a heart-shaped diamond from the display. Weighted down by the small box in his pocket, he dropped by the florist’s before he headed home.

  Three hours later, shaved, showered, dressed in his best khakis and polo, he stood on the landing of the apartment over Coffee on Brevard. One hint to Melinda Markham had resulted in an invitation that Josh spend the night at Tommy’s.

  Travis brushed damp palms against his pants. He and Courtney had dinner reservations at Café Margaux, where the understanding maître d’ had promised a table in a quiet alcove. The champagne was on ice, his delivery down pat.

  Would she say yes?

  Cellophane crinkled as his grip on the bouquet of flowers tightened. She’d once kept Tiffany’s on speed dial. The city’s finest chefs had catered her dinner parties. Would she consider his efforts paltry by comparison?

  Steady, boy. The past was behind them. The future lay ahead. He knocked on the door.

  He blinked, momentarily taken aback, when Courtney answered wearing the same Sluggers T-shirt she’d worn at the ball field.

  “I’m sorry, Travis.” She bounced a squalling child at her hip. “Addie has a fever. I think she’s coming down with something.”

  A ninety-mile-an-hour fastball takes one half second to cross home plate. In less time, Travis’s plans changed.

  “No problem,” he said, dumping the flowers on the entryway table. “We’ll stay in. I’ll take Addie. You take a break.”

  “I could use a shower. You sure you don’t mind? You look all spiffed up.”

  Seeing the glint of appreciation in her eyes, he rubbed his hand over his freshly shaved chin. “There’ll be other nights.” The future held no guarantees. It made no promises, but he was sure about one thing. Whatever it held for them, they’d embrace it together. He smiled and reached for the baby.

  “Okay, then.” Courtney ran a hand through her curls. “I’ll just be a little while.”

  “Take your time.” He reached into his back pocket for his phone. A hefty tip would bring their dinner to them. “The food won’t be here for at least an hour. Meanwhile, me and Addie, we’ll hang out.”

  He settled into the rocker with the wailing baby. He tried to give her a bottle. She pushed it out of her mouth and cried harder. Gently, he patted her backside to no avail. Finally, he put her against his shoulder and crooned to her while the realization of what it meant to be a father started to sink in.

  Was he up for this?

  More than, came the ready answer.

  The muffled sound of running water, the one lullaby he knew by heart and the rhythmic motion of the rocker finally did the trick. Addie’s wails faded to soft hiccups. Within minutes, she slept against his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck.

  He waited until he was sure she’d fallen sound asleep before he settled her in her crib. Carrying the monitor, he returned to the living room just as Courtney emerged from the back of the apartment.

  Damp tendrils curled loosely about her perfect face. She’d slipped into the fancy dress he liked, the one she’d worn to the fund-raiser. He cracked a grin at her bare feet, glad she’d lost the painful-looking sandals.

  He closed the gap between them.

  “I’ve been waiting for this moment for such a long time,” he whispered.

  He kissed her then, the first brush of his lips against hers stirring a fierce hunger. He swept the tip of his tongue across her mouth, and she opened to welcome him. He tasted mint and inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume mingled with the faintest hint of soap. As their tongues met, he plunged his hands into her hair the way he’d dreamed of doing for as far back as he could remember. He threaded his fingers through the silky strands and moaned her name.

  Wanting, needing, to do things right, he tamed the fire before it could engulf him. He caught the uncertainty that flared in Courtney’s eyes. Softly caressing her hand, he dropped to one knee. He slipped the box from his pocket the way he’d practiced.

  “Courtney, I’m not the greatest catch in the world, but I love you more than life itself. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  A sudden attack of nerves wasn’t part of his plan. The world tilted on its axis, the small box trembling in his outstretched hand as he waited for her answer.

  Courtney’s heart stilled. A soft “Yes, oh yes” barely escaped her lips before she tugged Travis to his feet, unable to wait another second to have his arms around her, his mouth on hers. Her hands shook as he slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

  “If it’s not what you want…” he began.

  She shushed him. “It’s perfect,” she insisted, catching the brilliant sparkle in the light. “But you’re even more perfect.” She tipped her head then, and time stopped as she lost herself in a kiss she never wanted to end.

  An hour later, breathless and hungry for more than kisses, they were still wrapped in one another’s arms when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Take-Out Taxi,” came a voice on the stairs.

  Courtney sighed. “Do we have to eat?” she asked, peering up into Travis’s eyes.

  Gently, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Stamina, woman. If we’re in this for the long haul, I need sustenance.”

  “Well, then, by all means.” She grinned then and, looking down at her rumpled clothes, ducked around the corner.

  “Hold that thought,” he whispered before crossing the door to pay the boy.

  Later, as they traded bites of the baked brie and portobello mushrooms that were the restaurant specialty, Travis asked, “Have you given any thought to where and when you might like to become Mrs. Courtney Oak?”

  Her cheeks warmed as she considered how they’d spent the last sixty minutes. “You haven’t given me much time to make wedding plans,” she whispered.

  “I was thinking maybe before school starts in the fall?”

  She gave him a doubtful look. “Half the town will want to be there. Most places book up months, sometimes years, in advance.”

  Travis spread soft cheese on a toast point. “What about holding the ceremony at McLarty Park? We could stand at home plate and say our vows.”

  She blinked, unable to hide her skepticism. “I admit my feelings for baseball have changed. But for our wedding?”

  He sat so close that she felt his laughter before she heard it. Her lips curved as she sighed. “You were teasing me.”

  The admission earned her another of Travis’s amazing kisses. When they broke apart, he gazed intently into her eyes.

  “Where doesn’t matter. Not to me. Not as long as we’re together,” he insisted. “But I don’t want to wait. Not a moment longer than we have to.”

  “I do happen to own a café.” She closed her eyes, picturing the banisters of Coffee on Brevard draped in tulle.

  “Perfect,” Travis declared. A stricken expression crossed his face. “Unless you want something fancier. A big reception. With waiters in tuxedos and a live band. I know that’s the kind of thing you’re used to. We could do that, if you want it.”

  “I don’t need fancy,” she whispered. “I just need you.”

  She loved the feel of Travis’s hands as they slipped around her waist, his breath against her neck when he leaned in to steal a kiss. Slowly, she eased her plate onto the coffee table, much preferring Travis’s embrace to anything even the finest restaurant had to offer. Not so long ago, she’d had all the trappings that came with wealth and fame, but that life had been empty, vacant. For a while she’d thought she’d lost everything. Instead, she’d found true happiness, love and a second chance for her family in the little town of Cocoa Village.

  Knowing she’d made the right choice, Courtney sighed into Travis’s kiss.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  If
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  About the Author

  Leigh Duncan is the award-winning author of more than two dozen novels, novellas and short stories. Her first full-length book was published by Harlequin American Romance in 2010. Leigh went on to write seven more books for Harlequin, including the highly acclaimed Glades County Cowboys series, before she began writing the more complex, heart-warming and emotional stories that have resonated with her readers. The lead author for Hallmark Publishing’s new imprint, an Amazon best-selling author and a National Readers’ Choice Award winner, Leigh lives on Central Florida’s East Coast where she writes women’s fiction and contemporary romance with a dash of Southern sass.

  Leigh loves to stay in touch with readers through social media. Find her at http://facebook.com/LeighDuncanBooks, or visit her website at http://leighduncan.com.

  Other Books by Leigh Duncan

  Rodeo Daughter

  His Favorite Cowgirl

  The Rancher’s Lullaby

  A Reason to Remember

  The Billionaire’s Convenient Secret

  The Growing Season

  Pattern of Deceit

  Journey Back to Christmas

  A Country Wedding

  The Orange Blossom Series:

  Butterfly Kisses

  Sweet Dreams

  Broken Road (coming soon!)

  The Hometown Heroes Series:

  Luke

  Brett

  Dan

  Travis

  Colt

  Find these and all Leigh’s other books at:

  http://leighduncan.com/books/

  Want the inside scoop on the next book by Leigh Duncan?

  Join my mailing list so you don’t miss release news, fun giveaways, free books and more!

  http://leighduncan.com/newsletter/

  Behind every book is an amazing team.

  Many thanks to those who made Travis possible:

  Cover design:

  Kim Killion

  The Killion Group, Inc.

  Interior formatting:

  Amy Atwell and the Author E.M.S. team

  Proofs:

  Marlene Engel at Precision Revision

  Don’t miss the next book in

  The Hometown Heroes Series…

  Excerpt from

  COLT

  Chapter One

  “Are we there yet, Mommy?”

  Emma Shane slowly counted to ten when her daughter’s sneakered foot struck the side of her seat. Again. Strapping her four-year-old into the center of the car offered the best protection but, apparently, none of the safety experts had considered the added wear and tear on a mother’s nerves. Emma craned her neck until she met a pair of dark eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Don’t kick, Bree.” Summoning patience she certainly hadn’t learned at her own mother’s knee, she spoke softly. “Want a juice box?” At Bree’s nod, Emma reached into a stash nearly depleted after two days on the road.

  “Are we there, Mom?”

  “Not quite, honey, but we’re getting close.”

  Emma swept the back of her hand across her face. Late spring in Florida was more intense than she’d expected, but the perspiration that dampened her brow had more to do with second thoughts than her car’s faltering air conditioner. Still, sweat was sweat. She wiped her hand on her jeans while she prayed that this time she’d made the right decision. That this move would be their last. She spared a quick glance at the hand-drawn map taped to the dashboard.

  “Real close,” she added.

  Twenty miles outside of Okeechobee. Two miles past the abandoned gas station on the right. She counted five driveways after the blinking yellow caution light. At number six, she signaled for a left turn and braked to let an approaching semi pass.

  Emma gripped the steering wheel, her car swaying while the truck thundered by. Vents in the carrier’s long sides provided a quick glimpse of cattle on their way to market, proof there was more to Florida than citrus, beaches and tourist attractions.

  She glanced at the scenery that hadn’t varied since she’d turned inland from the coast three hours ago. Under a sun so bright it washed the color out of the sky, cows dotted the pale green grass that stretched as far as she could see. Ahead, shimmering mirages wavered on the blacktop. She squinted, making sure no other vehicles approached.

  The way clear, Emma pulled across the two-lane road onto a dirt apron beneath a sign that was surprisingly nondescript considering the idyllic pictures on the Circle P’s website. She stopped to get her bearings and stared at a graveled track that stretched into the utterly flat distance before it disappeared around a copse of low trees.

  Had she made yet another wrong turn in a life filled with them?

  The wide gate, according to the directions included in the folder along with her job offer, absolutely had to remain closed at all times. But it wasn’t. Someone had propped the gate to one side. They’d even looped the security chain around a post, making sure it stayed that way.

  If this was the Circle P’s version of a welcome mat, it wasn’t much of one.

  Thud. Bree’s sneaker struck Emma’s seat again. “Mommy…”

  The symbol branded into the wooden sign overhead confirmed that, locked gate or not, they were in the right place. Emma brushed the end of a long ponytail over one shoulder.

  “The main house and the barn should be just another half mile ahead. Help me look for them, okay, kiddo?”

  She put the vehicle in gear. When gravel shifted and spit from beneath the sedan’s tires, she slowed the car to a crawl.

  “Look, Mommy! There’s cows. Lots of them. Where are the horses? Can I have a horse, Mommy? And cowboy boots. And a cowboy hat. Can I, Mom? Huh? Huh?”

  “We’ll see.” Emma stared at the sharp horns sported by several dozen cattle. Her gaze dropped to the strands of thin wire strung between wooden posts. As she had a dozen times during the long drive, she wondered if walking away from all she’d worked for in the four years since Jack’s death had been her best idea. She shook her head.

  Going back was not an option.

  She’d reduced that particular bridge to ash when, in the middle of yet another of Chef Larue’s nightly meltdowns, she’d rolled her knives into their carrying case. Hung her apron on a hook by the door. Emptied out her locker. And walked out on the belligerent cook, leaving him with no one to scream at but the busboys.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have, but Seth’s job offer had given her the courage to leave. Really, though, Chef Larue shared the blame. He’d set things in motion by putting her in charge of catering the Cattlemen’s Association awards dinner, where she’d met Seth and Doris Judd.

  Emma had instantly warmed to the soft-spoken older couple, who’d raved about the bite-size beef taco appetizers, a recipe she’d created especially for the event. They’d talked for hours, Seth and Doris sharing stories that made life on the ranch he managed in southern Florida sound absolutely perfect. When the wizened ranch hand had asked her to recommend a place for their wedding anniversary, Emma had slipped him a card, good for two complimentary dinners at the tony Chez Larue. Two nights later, she’d joined them at their table.

  In his thank-you note, Seth suggested she leave New York’s frenetic pace behind and come to the Circle P as his wife’s assistant. Though she wasn’t quite ready to make that change, Emma had considered the offer each time Chef Larue rapped his famed wooden spoon across the fingers of an error-prone line cook. She’d weighed the merits of idyllic ranch life whenever she slogged through ice and snow on her way to the bus stop. Or when the babysitter didn’t show up, or Bree brought another cold home from day care. Until, finally, she’d asked Seth to put the details in writing.

&
nbsp; The day the offer arrived in the mail, her fingers had shaken so badly she had to read the contract twice before she understood that Seth was handing her the opportunity to run her own kitchen—after a short apprenticeship. The deal included a house, hers as long as she stayed on the ranch. Finally, she could provide Bree with the safe, secure childhood Emma had yearned for since she was her daughter’s age.

  Okay, maybe she should have looked a little closer at the picture Seth and his wife, Doris, had painted of the Circle P. From behind the wheel of her car, she studied the road that seemed to lead to nowhere. The setting was far more rustic, far more isolated, than she’d ever dreamed. She wished she’d thought to ask for photos of the kitchen and cringed imagining rust-coated refrigerators and warped counters.

  Her neck stiffened, and she rolled it.

  Accurate image or not, there was no turning back. For both their sakes—hers and Bree’s—she had to make this work. She’d learn a new style of cooking, prove she could run a kitchen that catered to both ranch hands and the Circle P’s upscale clientele. And she’d do it in the year before Doris retired.

  She filled her lungs. With two years of culinary school and another couple as a sous chef under her belt, she was ready for the challenge.

  The highway disappeared from her rearview mirror as the long driveway curved around the trees. Emerging on the far side, Emma held her breath and braced for her first glimpse of their new home. Her foot eased off the gas. The car rolled to a stop while she studied an immaculate two-story house. An impressive barn occupied the space to one side. Opposite it stood a gigantic greenhouse. But the biggest surprise were the cars and pickup trucks. Dozens of them. They haphazardly crowded a grassless yard between the buildings.