“I’ll share Cheyenne with you when you come home.”
As nice as the offer was, it wouldn’t work. “Jason plans to sell the ranch, remember?”
“Yep. I sure do.”
“So I won’t have a place to run home to anymore. At least, it won’t be here. And like I said, you don’t know for sure that the new owner will want you to stay on. I mean, I hope they do.”
“Like I said...” His eyes sparkled, and a grin tickled his lips. “I’m not worried.”
“Yes, but you have to be responsible for a puppy now.”
“Having something to look after will do me good.”
She thought about some of the homeless people she’d seen on the city streets, pushing a grocery cart laden with their belongings, a tethered dog trotting along beside them. Not that she had any reason to think Ian would ever find himself homeless. He’d built a good reputation with the other ranchers in town. He was also a hard worker and would undoubtedly find a job somewhere. But he seemed to be as carefree as a tumbleweed, especially when it came to making plans, which was yet another reason they’d never make a go of it. Their basic personalities were just too different.
“You’re going to find that the ranch house is nearly all packed,” Ian said. “Juliana had most everything boxed up by the time she left. So it might not be too comfortable sleeping in there. But you’re welcome to stay with me, if you want.”
Memories of the nights she’d spent in his bed swept over her, warming her blood and setting a flutter in her tummy. But that wouldn’t do either of them any good. Well, maybe it would for as long as it lasted, but she couldn’t afford to get too invested in him—or anyone—at this stage in her career.
“As tempting as that might be,” she said, “I’d better pass. Besides, Juliana told me the kitchen is still in order. And the guest bed has fresh sheets. So I’ll be okay.”
“Suit yourself.”
Their gazes locked for a moment, as a lover’s moon shone brightly overhead. And while Ian didn’t say another word, she felt compelled to continue arguing her case.
“We already discussed this,” she said.
His smile dimpled his cheeks in a way that could tempt a good girl to rebel. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping with me, although I won’t turn you down if you insist.”
She clicked her tongue and returned his smile. “You’re incorrigible, Ian McAllister. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“No, I’m not. You said it yourself, a relationship between us would crash and burn. And I agreed.”
He had, and it was true. But that didn’t lessen her attraction to him, which seemed to be just as strong as it ever had been. She’d just have to ratchet up her willpower and avoid him whenever possible.
So she walked up to the porch and placed Cheyenne next to his chair. As she did so, she caught a whiff of soap and leather, musk and cowboy. Dang, downplaying their chemistry wasn’t going to be easy.
He reached for her hand, and as he did, his thumb grazed her wrist. Her heart quickened.
“It’s good to have you back, Carly. I missed your company.”
She’d missed him, too. The horseback rides, the sing-alongs on his porch, the lovemaking in his cabin, the mornings waking up in his arms... But she tugged her hand from his grip. She didn’t have to pull very hard. She was free from his touch before she knew it.
“Well, I’d better turn in,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
“Good night.”
No argument? Not that she wanted one. But she was used to men coming on to her.
So why wasn’t she relieved that he’d taken no for an answer so easily?
Because life got complicated when hormones got in the way of good judgment, that’s why.
“Sleep tight,” she said as she turned and started for the house.
The chords of his guitar rang out in the night as he played a lively melody with a two-step beat, a tune she didn’t recognize, a song she’d never heard. She turned, crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one hip. When she did, he stopped playing.
“That’s nice,” she said. “Is it something you wrote?”
“Yep. You like it?”
“I really do. You have a lot of talent, Ian. You ought to do something with it.”
“I just did. And you heard it.”
“That’s not what I meant. You should let me—or somebody—record this song. Maybe it could be a hit.”
“You have a beautiful voice, Carly. But I’m not interested in recording this song. It’s something I wrote for my grandparents. It’s going to be my gift to them.”
“That’s great, and I’ll bet they’ll love it. But what if you could do even more with it? Wouldn’t that be an awesome tribute to them?”
“I’d like them to be the first to hear it performed at their wedding anniversary.”
“But maybe afterward—”
“Sorry. My mind’s made up.”
So it was. And that should serve as a good reminder that Ian wasn’t a go-getter like she was. Sure, he could put in the effort when it came to working the ranch, but he had no other goals besides living as simply as possible. Plus, she’d learned that, as carefree as Ian McAllister could be, he was as stubborn as Granny Rayburn’s old milk cow when he did make a decision.
She nodded, then turned to go. As she made her way to the house, the melody followed her, and so did Ian’s soulful voice as it sang of two lonely hearts finding each other one moonlit night, of them falling crazy in love and of the lifetime vow they’d made, one that would last forever and a day.
She would have liked to have met the couple that had inspired him to write such a beautiful song. If she had known them, maybe she would look forward to settling down herself one day. But not for a long time—and certainly not with Ian.
When Carly entered the front door of the ranch house, unexpected grief struck her like a wallop to the chest.
The inside walls were lined with boxes stacked two and three high, each one carefully labeled with what was inside. Carly had known that her new sister-in-law had first inventoried and then packed up Granny’s belongings, but that still hadn’t prepared her for the heartbreaking sight.
Seeing a lifetime of memories all boxed up, especially the plaques, pictures and knickknacks that made the ranch a home, reminded her that Granny was gone and the Leaning R would soon belong to someone else. And for the first time in Carly’s life, coming home wasn’t the least bit comforting.
As she wandered through the empty house like a lost child, the ache in her chest grew as hard and cold as dry ice.
Needing comfort—or a sense of place—she hurried to the kitchen, where she and Granny had spent a lot of time together. She nearly cried with joy at the familiar surroundings. It was the only room that still bore Granny’s touch, the only place that still offered a safe haven from the disappointment of the outside world.
She studied the faded blue wallpaper, with its straw baskets holding wildflowers. The colors, now yellowed with age, had once brightened the kitchen where Carly