by Meg Maxwell
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 b
reak, 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.