Shoulda Been A Cowboy

“In Walhalla with Aunt Mona. And I have an unexpected guest. Please tell me you have muffins so I don’t have to go home and bake.”

“Cranberry-pecan, apple cinnamon, or blueberry-walnut?”

“All of the above. If this guy’s size is any indicator, I’m guessing his appetite is huge.”

“Businessman?” Jodie asked.

Caroline shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s just passing through on a move to Baltimore.”

“You okay there by yourself?” Concern shone in Jodie’s hazel eyes.

“There’s a dead bolt on the door to our private rooms. I’m as safe as anyone is these days. And the police department is only a block away.” She rolled her eyes. “And nosy neighbors even closer.”

Jodie opened the door of a stainless steel freezer, removed three packages of frozen muffins, dropped them into a plastic bag, and placed it on the counter. “I don’t know why you buy these from me. Your baking’s better than mine.”

“Thanks, but yours take the prize. Besides, I have so little time to myself, I hate to spend it in the kitchen.”

The bell on the front door jingled, indicating a new arrival. A tall, good-looking man with dark brown hair and matching eyes closed the door behind him.

“Hi, Rand,” Jodie greeted the newcomer. “What’s up?”

Randall Benedict rented the office suite over Jodie’s café for his law practice. Last October, he’d married Brynn Sawyer, another of Caroline’s lifelong friends, and had made a permanent move from New York to the valley.

“Hi, Jodie. Caroline, I’m glad you’re here. I stopped by your house, but your guest said you’d gone to town.”

Rand’s eyes were troubled, and thin-set lips and a tightened jaw replaced his usual rakish grin.

“Is something wrong?” Caroline’s heart stuttered. Why would the attorney seek her out? Had her mother had an accident and he’d been drafted to break the bad news? “Is it Mama?”

“As far as I know, your mother’s fine,” Rand assured her quickly, “but I have some sad news.”

The skin on the back of her neck tingled, and, in a flash of precognition, Caroline took a deep breath and waited, knowing that what Rand was about to say would change her life forever.

“It’s Eileen Bickerstaff at Blackberry Farm,” he said. “She died last night.”

Chapter Two

In Rand’s law office above the café, Caroline fidgeted in the maroon leather chair beside his mahogany desk. The cold from the plastic bag of frozen muffins in her lap seeped through the thin fabric of her dress and chilled her thighs. She shivered with cold and grief. Eileen, despite her age, had seemed healthy and vibrant. Her death came as a shock.

“I don’t understand,” Caroline said. “What’s so urgent that you have to tell me now?”

Rand reached into the top right drawer, withdrew an envelope and slid it across the desk. “Before you open that, there’s something you need to know.”

“Poor Eileen.” Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. The elderly woman had been more than an employer. She’d been a friend and confidante, a source of unconditional acceptance and affection, more loving and maternal than her own mother. Caroline had known that Eileen was ninety-eight, but the old woman had seemed timeless, and Caroline had expected her friend to be around as long as Caroline remained in the valley. She’d never considered the possibility that Eileen would die before Caroline made her break.

“I know this is hard for you,” Rand said. “We’re all shocked by Eileen’s death. Especially Brynn. She’s the one who found her.”

Brynn had resigned as an officer with the police department when she’d married Rand last year and moved to River Walk, the house on Valley Road nearest Blackberry Farm.

“If it’s any consolation,” Rand was saying, “Eileen’s passing was peaceful. She died in her sleep with a smile on her face.”

Caroline glanced at the envelope where her name was scrawled in Eileen’s elegant but spidery script. “What is it I need to know?”

“Eileen left you a bequest.”

Caroline swallowed hard to keep from sobbing. Dear Eileen. She’d probably provided a small contribution to what she’d dubbed Caroline’s Escape Plan.

Rand’s next words took Caroline’s breath away. “She left you Blackberry Farm and all her savings.”

“What?” Caroline reeled with shock. Rand had to be mistaken. “That’s not possible.”

“I drew up the will myself last year, remember? You were there.”

“But I didn’t know its contents. I only witnessed her signature. Why would she leave everything to me?”

“Eileen told me you were like the daughter she never had. She had no living relatives, and she knew you would appreciate Blackberry Farm with its long history in the valley.”

Guilt stung Caroline as deeply as grief. As the reality of Eileen’s bequest had sunk in, her first thought had been to sell the property. The thousand-acre farm, complete with two houses in addition to the main farmhouse, would bring more than enough money to finance Caroline’s move west and buy the ranch she’d always wanted. Eileen, however, had apparently left her the place with the hope that Caroline would remain in the valley. But her friend’s expectation didn’t make sense. Eileen, more than anyone, had known Caroline’s dreams of owning a ranch out west, far away from Pleasant Valley.

“Are there conditions to the bequest?” she asked.

Rand hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly what?”

“The property and bank account are yours, free and clear. But there’s the letter Eileen left you. She must have sensed she was dying, because it’s dated yesterday. She left me a copy.”

Caroline’s gaze fell on the envelope again.

“Read it,” Rand said. “It explains everything.”

With trembling fingers and conflicting emotions, Caroline opened the envelope and withdrew the letter that Eileen must have produced on the printer that sat beside her well-used computer on her living room desk.

My dear Caroline,

If you are reading this, it means that I am gone. Don’t cry for me, child. I’ve had a long and interesting life, and your delightful friendship was one of its high points. I’m happy to leave Blackberry Farm to you. Yes, I know you’re itching to escape the valley, and eventually, if you wish to sell the property and head west, I’ve no objections. But before you go, I have two favors to ask.

I hadn’t expected to make my exit so soon and have other plans in the works that I need you to carry out for me. First is Hannah, Daniel’s little sister.

Caroline glanced from the page to Rand. “Daniel? At Archer Farm?”

The likable teenage boy had been the greatest success of Jeff Davidson’s social experiment. A good kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd, Daniel had blossomed under the care and guidance of Jeff’s Marines. He’d become a responsible worker in Jodie’s café, made the Dean’s List at Pleasant Valley High and turned his life around. With his juvenile record sealed by the courts, Daniel was well on his way to becoming a productive citizen.

“Daniel came from a single-parent home,” Rand said. “His mother’s recent death left his nine-year-old sister alone.”

With dread settling like bricks in the pit of her stomach, Caroline turned back to Eileen’s letter.

Rand has made all the arrangements for me to serve as foster mother to nine-year-old Hannah, so she can be near her brother, her only living relative. Hannah is scheduled to arrive next week. You are under no legal obligation—and Blackberry Farm will be yours, regardless—but I’m asking as a favor that you take over guardianship of Hannah, at least until Daniel graduates from high school next year. I’m certain Rand can take care of the legal technicalities.

Caroline eyed Rand with dismay. “I don’t know anything about children!”

“Believe me, I can relate,” Rand said with a wry smile. He’d taken custody of his two-year-old nephew last year after the death of Jared’s parents in a car crash. “You have to keep in mind that all first-time parents are new to the experience. It’s a learn-as-you-go proposition.”

Stunned by Eileen’s first request, Caroline was almost afraid to read the second.

If the prospect of Hannah hasn’t scared you off, my second request might seem easier. I want you to honor the year-long lease I signed recently for Orchard Cottage.

Orchard Cottage, Caroline recalled, was the small house at the edge of Blackberry Farm’s apple orchards. Included in the complex were an ancient barn and numerous outbuildings.

I’ve rented the place to an artist who wants the barn for his studio. He will arrive in a few days. He’s counting on this, and I’m hoping you won’t disappoint him. His payments will provide you some extra income.

“A tenant,” Caroline said with relief. “That’s not a problem.” Especially compared to a resident nine-year-old.

Rand lifted his eyebrows. “Keep reading.”

Leery of what she’d find, Caroline returned to Eileen’s letter.

As part of the lease agreement, I have promised to provide lunch and dinner daily to the tenant. I had originally figured the arrangement would provide company for me and free his time for his artwork. I hope you can honor this facet of the lease.

Caroline stifled a groan. A guest for lunch and dinner every day? She might as well be running her own bed-and-breakfast. Then she gave herself a mental shake. How could she not honor Eileen’s wishes after the woman’s incredible generosity in leaving her Blackberry Farm? An ironic twist of fate had left her with both the means to make her immediate escape from the valley and obligations that would keep her here another year.

“Well?” Rand had been studying her face. “What do you think?”

“I’m still in shock.” She quickly read the remaining lines of the letter and choked back tears at the warm words of affection. “I’ll need to think about Eileen’s requests and let you know.”

Rand followed her to the door. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

“Will you notify me about the funeral arrangements?”

“You’ll be first on my list.”

Caroline thanked him and hurried down the stairs. Easy for Rand to say she’d do the right thing. She was the one who had to figure out what the right thing was.

ETHAN SPRAWLED on the porch steps of the old Victorian, his elbows on the stair tread behind him, his feet crossed at the ankles on the bottom step. Contentment, an alien emotion, settled over him, eased his breathing and slowed his pulse. For the first time since making his decision to move from the city where he’d spent his entire life, he felt at peace with his choice. He missed his parents and sister, but he couldn’t endure another Sunday supper with Jerry’s chair empty, his place setting forever removed. The vacant space chided Ethan louder than any words of blame. The absence of his brother’s grinning mug across the table had been a painful reminder of Ethan’s inadequacy, his failure to be there when Jerry had needed him most.

His family swore they didn’t fault Ethan, but the agony in his mother’s face, the perpetual slump of his father’s strong shoulders and the missing sparkle in his sister Amber’s eyes seared deeper than any words of blame. He hoped his move would grant him the serenity to come to terms with the past. If his current state of mind was any indicator, he was on the right track.

Although the temperature had soared earlier in the day, deep shade from an ancient magnolia held the late afternoon heat at bay and cooled the porch. Above the hum of a central air-conditioning unit next door floated the notes from a piano, a classical piece that soared and swirled. He appreciated the beauty of the strange music and welcomed the fact that its unfamiliar tune triggered no memories. He’d learned through experience that he couldn’t escape them, not with alcohol nor medication. Exhaustive physical labor often helped, but not always. He’d also learned that he could handle memories better when they didn’t ambush him, triggered by a sound, a scent, a sight or a few key words.

Post-traumatic stress disorder, his therapist had called it, and warned Ethan that running away wouldn’t stop the cascade of terrifying flashbacks and painful memories, either. But Ethan had to try.

There will be peace in the valley for me some day.

The line from his mother’s favorite gospel hymn popped into his head. Maybe the haunting melody was an omen, he prayed. He’d been through hell the last few months. He could use some peace.

Footsteps on the walk scattered his thoughts. The owner of the bed-and-breakfast had returned, her walk as seductive as he’d remembered, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight, her willowy figure causing his mouth to go dry. She was carrying a plastic bag with a Jodie’s Mountain Crafts and Café logo and looking as if she’d seen a ghost.

He rose to his feet to meet her. “You okay?”

She’d been walking with her head down. At his question, she jerked her chin up and gazed at him. Her enticing blue eyes widened with a mixture of confusion and surprise, as if she’d never seen him before.

“Ethan Garrison,” he reminded her. “I checked in earlier.”

“Of course.” A flush as pink as summer roses brought the color back to her cheeks.

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“I’m Caroline Tuttle.” She sounded distracted, making him wonder what had happened in the short time she’d been gone that had shaken her former poise.

Something about the woman stirred his protective instincts. “You sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and moved around him to climb the stairs.

“Wait, please.” He cast about for something to say, anything to keep her with him a little while longer.

“Yes?” A tiny line between her feathery eyebrows marred the porcelain perfection of her forehead, and he felt himself going under for the third time in the shimmering depths of her deep blue eyes.

Then he noted the bag in her hand and found a way to keep the conversation rolling. “Is this Jodie’s Café open for dinner?”

She shook her head, and the scent of her shampoo, evocative of the wisteria covering the side arbor, filled his nostrils. “Jodie’s place is open only for breakfast and lunch.”

“Is there somewhere I can grab a bite?” He wasn’t really interested in food, but the topic gave him a good excuse to keep talking.

“The closest restaurant is Ridge’s Barbecue, but it’s twelve miles east on the main highway.”

He sighed. “I’ve been driving since before dawn. The last thing I want now is to climb back behind the wheel. I guess I’ll make do with the crackers and Coke left in the cooler in my truck.”

“Or you could have supper here with me.”

He searched her face for signs of flirtation, but found only Southern hospitality. But he would take what he could get. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with a beautiful woman. Or had wanted to this badly. “I don’t want to impose on you and your family.”

“Mama’s visiting her sister, so it’s just me for supper. If you’ll join me, I won’t have to eat alone.”

No husband, no kiddies. This was his lucky day. “You’re sure it’s no trouble?”

“Not a bit.”

OKAY, SO SHE’D LIED. But the trouble wasn’t in preparing supper. The trouble was the six-foot-plus of gorgeous testosterone sitting at the island in her kitchen. Caroline had wanted something to distract her from the sadness of Eileen’s death, but she should have been more careful what she’d wished for. Any more distraction and she’d be chopping off her fingers instead of slicing tomatoes.

“Sure you don’t want some help?” Ethan propped his elbows on the island, looking more delicious than the meal she was preparing. “I’ve done a lot of cooking in my line of work.”

“Are you a chef?” Somehow she couldn’t picture him in a chef’s apron and hat. A business suit didn’t fit, either. With his short-cropped brown hair, body by Bowflex and intense gaze, he reminded her of a young Bruce Willis, a man capable of saving the world—or at least his little corner of it.

“Not a chef. A firefighter.”

“Ah.” So she hadn’t been far off in her analysis. And firefighting explained the horrible burns on the back of his hands. But he didn’t seem the type who wanted sympathy, so she kept her tone light. “One of those guys who runs into the buildings everyone else is running out of.”

“It’s mostly sitting around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for a call.” The warmth of his smile was at least four-alarm. “Unless it’s my rotation for kitchen duty.”

What was it about this man that had her hormones doing happy dances? She focused her attention on scooping seeds from a cantaloupe, and the explanation hit her. She’d grown up with every male close to her age in the valley—not counting Rand Benedict. All of them were now married and settled down, except for Lucas Rhodes, an officer with the police department. So Ethan Garrison was the first unattached male she’d met in a long, long time whom she didn’t regard as a brother.

Or was he unattached?

She arranged wedges of melon and tomato, along with slices of country ham, on a white stoneware platter. “Moving across country must be a chore.”

“And an adventure,” he added.

What the heck, she might as well fish for information. “Will your family be joining you?”

Agony flickered across his face, and she wished she could call the question back.

“I’m traveling solo.” His neutral tone seemed tightly controlled.

She hastened to change the subject in hopes of easing his discomfort. “I’ll be moving across country soon myself.”

“You’re selling the bed-and-breakfast?” He lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

“It belongs to my mother. She’ll keep it open after I’m gone.”

She’d said those words recently to Eileen. And now Eileen, one of her dearest friends on Earth, was gone. Out of the blue, the full impact of Eileen’s death hit her like a runaway eighteen-wheeler, and a sob escaped before she could hold it back.

In a flash, she found herself wrapped in Ethan’s strong arms, her face pressed against his broad, hard chest, her tears staining his T-shirt. He smelled of sunshine, leather, and was distinctively male. Holding her with unexpected gentleness for such a big man, he didn’t try to stop her crying.

“Let it all out,” he murmured against her hair. “Whatever it is, you’ll feel better for it.”

Her loss of control in front of a perfect stranger—perfect in every way—horrified her. His strong arms were both consoling and unsettlingly stirring. Forcing herself to abandon the comforting warmth, Caroline pushed away, crossed the kitchen and plucked tissues from a box of Kleenex.

“Sorry.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I just found out that a friend of mine passed away last night.”

The pain returned to his eyes, and he nodded with understanding. “It’s hard losing a friend.”

“She was quite old. She’d lived a good life and it was her time. I thought those facts would make her passing easier, but they don’t.”

“Look, you’re dealing with a loss,” he said with appealing gentleness. “I can grab a snack from my cooler. You don’t have to feed me, especially under the circumstances.”

“No! Please stay.” She shuddered at the need in her voice and tossed the crumpled tissues into the trash. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“You’re sure?”

Between Eileen’s unexpected death and Ethan’s provocative presence, Caroline was more befuddled than sure, but she nodded. “There’s wine in the fridge. Would you like a glass?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She retrieved the bottle of white wine from the refrigerator. Ethan took it and the corkscrew from her, and she removed long-stemmed glasses from the cupboard. With a deft twist, Ethan popped the cork and filled the glasses. He handed her one, and their fingers touched, sending a frisson of delight up her arm.

What was happening to her? Was Eileen’s death making her crazy? She took a deep breath to steady her whirling senses.

Ethan lifted his glass in a toast. Their gazes locked, and compassion glimmered in the green brilliance of his hazel eyes.

“To absent friends.” His deep voice was thick with emotion.

She raised her glass, but discovered she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “To absent friends.”

They both drank, and Ethan settled once more on the stool beside the island. “Now, how about telling me all about this town you’ll be leaving soon?”

Chapter Three

“That was a great meal,” Ethan said later. “I appreciate your taking the trouble.”

“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t any trouble.” Caroline was determined to remain quiet. She’d done far too much talking during supper, encouraged by Ethan’s questions about the town. She’d left him little time to tell her about himself, and she was curious about the handsome stranger with the badly burned hands.

They were sitting on the screened back porch in wicker rockers, finishing the bottle of wine and watching lightning bugs flit through the deep shadows of the garden. Jasmine and honeysuckle scented the air. The rising full moon cast silvery dapples on the lawn and added another element of romance to the night.

Caroline placed her half-finished glass on a side table. If she was thinking of romance, she’d definitely had too much to drink. Sure, Ethan Garrison was drop-dead gorgeous. Also kind, gentle, amusing, probably even a hometown hero, but he was also only passing through, and she had more important issues to occupy her mind than the way he made her pulse race. She had yet to decide whether to remain in the valley to honor Eileen’s requests about Hannah, the foster child, and to provide meals for the artist who was leasing Orchard Cottage.

Eileen had emphasized that her bequest wasn’t contingent on Caroline’s compliance with her final wishes. If Caroline arranged to have Blackberry Farm put on the market as soon as the will was probated, she could leave Pleasant Valley next week. Eileen’s savings and the eventual income from the farm’s sale, along with Caroline’s own nest egg, would give her enough money to travel through the western states, check out the territory and choose the perfect spot to put down roots.

“If you’re so determined to live out west,” Eileen had said in her strong gravelly voice one morning several months ago, “I don’t understand why you haven’t left long before now.”

“I can’t afford to.”

Eileen had straightened in her rocker in her usual ramrod posture reminiscent of royalty. Her soft gray eyes gleamed with wisdom behind silver-rimmed glasses, and every snow-white strand of her Gibson Girl hairstyle remained in place. With her face remarkably unlined and flushed with color for a woman in her nineties, she must have been a radiant beauty in her youth.

“You could have taken a job out west,” Eileen said, scrutinizing her closely, “until you earned enough to buy your own place.”

Caroline twisted her face into a smile that was more of a grimace. “I know everyone in town thinks I’m a wuss for putting up with my mother.”

“And what do you think?”

“That there’s more to it than that.”

Eileen rocked gently, not commenting, waiting for Caroline to explain. Caroline grappled for the right words.

“I’m not afraid of my mother,” she began, “in spite of what some people think. And I’m well aware of her faults. She’s a…difficult woman. Has been ever since Daddy died.”

“So you’re not staying with her out of a sense of obligation?”

“That’s a very small part of it. She is my mother, after all, and I’m her only child. I figure if I have to work until I can fulfill my dream, I might as well help her while I’m at it. Then, when the time comes, I can leave home with a clear conscience.”

“And that’s all?” Eileen’s gaze was skeptical.

Caroline sighed. “No.”

“I’m being a prying old busybody,” Eileen had said with self-deprecating laugh. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”

But Caroline had loved talking to her old friend. It helped her think. “Maybe I am a wuss.”