Remember Me, Cowboy

She’d told him her entire life story. She hadn’t intended to—normally she was quite reserved—but he’d seemed so genuinely interested in everything about her.

The bells over the door chimed again, a fact Laurel barely registered until Jackson joined them at the counter and tapped Corb on the shoulder.

“You here to flirt? Or order coffee?” He nodded at Laurel. “Hey, Laurel. Any word on how Winnie is doing?”

“She’s okay.” Winnie had made her promise not to say a word about the baby. She wanted to wait until she was well enough to return to Coffee Creek and deliver the news to the Lambert family in person.

“Will she be coming back soon?”

“I doubt it. She’s had some health issues, and for now it’s good for her to be around her mom and dad.” She glanced at Corb who was listening to the exchange intently, lines marring his high forehead and obscuring his charming grin.

“So you’re Winnie’s friend from New York? The one who was traveling down to be her maid of honor?”

“He doesn’t remember much about that week,” Jackson said by way of explanation.

Corb nodded. “Scared me at first. I guess I’m kind of glad I don’t remember the crash.” He swallowed. “But there’s lots of other stuff that’s gone, too. The specialist told me it’s normal, though, so I’m trying not to worry about it.”

Laurel knew she shouldn’t take his loss of memory personally. But it was hard not to feel hurt that he didn’t recall her at all. “Is it possible your memory will come back?”

He shrugged. “They say it could happen—but no guarantees.” He stiffened his spine, and managed another smile as he offered her his hand. “Hard to believe I could forget a woman as beautiful as you. Must have been some knock to the head, huh?”

It was so weird to shake his hand, as if they were strangers making their first acquaintance. Playing along though, she kept her tone light. “Nice to meet you—for the second time. I take it you’re here for coffee. Like to add a couple of cinnamon buns to your order?”

“I’ll take one, sugar. How about you, Jack—” He turned to confer with his foster brother, but Jackson was already on his way out the door.

“I’ll skip the coffee for now and go put in that order at the feed store.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Corb said. Then, leaning over the counter, he added, “Say, Laurel, I was wondering if you could give me Winnie’s number at her folks’ place. I’ve been meaning to call her and see how she’s doing. My family’s been treating me like an invalid. Mother put me in the guest room at the main house, and until today, wouldn’t let me even touch the keys to my truck. So I haven’t had much chance to check in on her.”

“Sure.” Laurel wrote the number on an order slip, then tore it off the pad and handed it to him. According to Winnie, none of the other Lamberts had been in touch since the funeral and Olive hadn’t even returned the calls Winnie made to Coffee Creek Ranch. So Laurel was glad to see at least one member of the family willing to reach out to her friend.

“Maybe I should ask for your number, too.” Corb’s eyes glinted with charm as he folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans.

Gosh, this was weird. He was flirting with her as if he’d never met her before.

“You’ll find me here most of the time,” she answered lightly. “How’s your mother doing?”

The flirting light left Corb’s face. “Not so well. She’s been spending too much time alone in her room. Now that I’m stronger, I’m trying to coax her out, get her working with the horses again. That’s the only thing that’ll cure her, I figure.”

“I can’t imagine your mother on a horse. She looks so fragile.”

Corb laughed. “Looks are deceptive where my mother is concerned. But losing Brock has taken a toll. When Dad died, she didn’t have the luxury of isolating herself with her grief. Us kids were a lot younger then and she had to run the ranch. Now she knows she can leave all that to me and Jackson—though to be honest, it’s been mostly Jackson up until now.”

When Corb fell silent, Laurel passed him his coffee and bun, and Corb put a ten-dollar bill on the counter, refusing change.

He lifted the lid off his coffee and was about to add sugar, when Laurel stopped him.

“I already did that. Two packages.”

He gave her a puzzled smile, then headed out the door.

* * *

AS SOON AS he was out on the street, Corb let his smile drop. The effort of being himself these days was almost more than he could bear. All his life he’d been the easygoing Lambert, the charming one, the peacemaker. Never had his family needed him to fill that role more than they did right now. And never had he felt less like doing it.

Corb looked at the coffee and the bun he was holding. He ought to gobble it down and head over to Ed’s Feed Supply, where he knew Jackson was picking up that alfalfa mix for the new palomino his mother had bought three months ago.

She’d actually bought the horse for Cassidy, though she’d never admit it. As if a new horse—even a great horse—would lure his sister back to Coffee Creek.

No, like B.J., Cassidy had decided to make her own way in the world, which meant there were only two of them—himself and Jackson—to carry on. Work was piled up so high at the ranch, he felt like they’d never catch up. He had no right to be taking a break and yet he found himself settling on one of the pine benches that flanked the café entrance.

He took out the cinnamon bun, and with his first bite, he could hear Brock saying that he was marrying Winnie for her buns. He’d always give a wink when he said this, and Winnie would groan.

Corb followed the roll with a long swig of the sweetened black coffee. It had caught him off guard that Laurel knew how he liked his coffee. Why didn’t he remember Winnie’s maid of honor?

Leaning back, he allowed his eyes to close for a second. Though he wouldn’t admit it, not to his doctors or his family, he was suffering from some terrible headaches these days. He figured they’d ease off with time. But in a way he didn’t want them to. Brock had died and he felt that he needed to pay a price, since he’d been the one to live.

Well, there was Jackson, too, but he’d joined the family when Corb was already fifteen, so it wasn’t like they’d grown up together the way he and Brock had. God, he couldn’t believe his baby brother was really gone. That damned moose coming out of the brush at just the wrong moment had stolen so much from so many people.

He felt especially bad for Winnie. It was too bad she’d taken off and left the county. He wished his mother would call her, but at the best of times Olive had not been fond of the woman Brock had chosen for his bride and these were definitely not the best of times.

Thankfully Winnie’s friend from New York had stuck around to help her out. That had been real good of her.

But even from this one meeting, he could tell that Laurel Sheridan was that sort of person. You could see the kindness in her eyes, a warmth that gave her pretty face a special glow.

He admired her hair, too. Thick, red and long, all piled up in a luxurious mess. He wondered what she looked like with it down. The fact that he’d probably already seen her that way but couldn’t remember, made his head throb.

Stop it!

What the hell was he doing, anyway, fantasizing about Winnie’s friend at a time like this? His family was in mourning, damn it. Besides, it was weird that he couldn’t recall meeting her when she obviously remembered him.

Had they spent much time together in that week before the wedding?

He wished like hell that he could remember.

* * *

RIGHT AFTER CORB left the café, Dawn Dolan showed up to start her shift, her long, fine blond hair already pulled back in a ponytail. She came in the back way, grabbing an apron from one of the pegs on the wall by the freezer as she passed by.

“Busy day?” she asked. “I hope so. I could use some good tips. I saw this top that would look perfect with that new skirt I bought last week.”

Online shopping was twenty-year-old Dawn’s main form of recreation. Laurel wished she would spend as much time on her college correspondence courses as she did surfing the net, but that was Dawn’s choice to make.

“Lunch hour rush is sure to start soon,” Laurel said. “So that’ll be your big chance to wow the customers and earn big bucks.”

They both smiled at this—the café did well for such a small town. But big bucks? Hardly.

“Mind if I take a little break?” Laurel checked her hair in the mirror, pursed her lips and added some peach gloss. “It’s been a long morning.”

“No problem.” Dawn glanced at the sandwich special Laurel had printed on the chalkboard. “Should I mix up the tuna salad?”

“That would be great.”

Laurel dried her hands on her apron, then slipped the strap over her head and slung it on the peg with Winnie’s name stenciled above it. She went out the back way and walked around to the front. As she’d hoped, she found Corb Lambert sitting on one of the benches.

Maybe slumped was a better word. His eyes were closed; he seemed to be soaking up a little of the noon sun, but his brow was furrowed. He looked like he was in pain. Physical or mental, she couldn’t tell. She supposed he had a right to be feeling both.

She sat next to him.

Though he must have sensed her presence, he said nothing, and for a minute or so, neither did she. Instead she focused on the sun’s glorious heat as it penetrated her tank top and jeans. It felt so good to rest. Why was she always so tired these days?

Across the street Laurel could see the post office and library. Though she’d only been in Coffee Creek for two months, Laurel knew the middle-aged people who worked inside each of those buildings. They were regulars at the café, too.

Tabitha, the librarian, always came to the Cinnamon Stick for her morning tea and muffin. Burt, from the post office, stopped in for his lunch. In fact, he’d be crossing the street for his sandwich and black coffee in about twenty minutes.

She turned to the man beside her. He’d opened his eyes and was now looking at her. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said. “I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your brother.”

There were many other things she’d wanted to say to Corb Lambert. But this was the most important.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry I don’t seem to recall meeting you before. You’re sure we did?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He put a hand to his head, to the spot where his scar was barely visible under the stubble of his newly grown hair. “It doesn’t seem real to me. The accident. Brock’s death.”

“Winnie’s still in shock, too, I think.”

“She and my brother were good together.”

“Winnie was crazy about Brock.”

“A lot of people were. Brock was a lot of fun, but a hard worker, too. My mother saw to that.”

“She sounds like quite the woman, your mother.”

He chuckled. “She comes across as delicate and soft-spoken. But once you get to know her you realize she has a way of controlling things from behind the scenes. Us kids used to knock ourselves out to please her. Some of us still do.”

“I guess she had her hands full running a place like Coffee Creek Ranch. Must be a lot of work for her. For all of you.”

“It is, but we love it. At least those of us who stayed on the ranch love it. My brother B.J. is more interested in the rodeo circuit. And Cassidy seems to be feeling the lure of the city. Mom is hoping she’ll move back home when she finishes school, but Cassidy is equally determined to go her own way. I figure the two of them are too headstrong to live in the same county let alone the same house.”

He put his hat back on and took the last sip of his coffee. Laurel thought he was about to leave, but then he started talking again.

“How about you, Laurel? How are you doing? I bet you never counted on spending this much time in Coffee Creek when you left the city.”

“I sure didn’t pack enough clothes for two months,” she agreed with a smile. “Fortunately a friend of mine from work, Anna, sent me a package by bus.”

“Are you missing the city? Coffee Creek is about as small as towns come, I guess.”

“I grew up in a rural community, so it hasn’t been hard to adapt.”

“You did? Where?”

“The Highwood area. Our farm was five miles from Winnie’s.”

“Well, that explains how you know one another.”

“We’ve been friends since our first day at school. Winnie helped me through some hard times back then. My mother died when I was eight. Then my father passed away the night of our high school graduation. Both times Winnie and her family were there for me.”

“And now you’re returning the favor.”

“I wish it wasn’t necessary. But yes. As long as Winnie needs me, I’ll stay.”

“I have to wonder. What drew you all the way to New York City in the first place?”

This was so surreal—she and Corb had had almost this exact same conversation during the drive from the Billings Airport to the ranch the first time they’d met. They’d had many follow-up discussions during the days that followed, to the point that she’d shared the most private details of her past.

And now here they were—back at square one.

“I was never all that happy living on a farm.” Her relationship with her father probably played a big role in that. She and Corb had had a long conversation about this, too, but now she glossed over that part of her past. “Teachers told me I had a talent with words, so I studied English and after I graduated, I moved to New York and applied for every job even remotely related to publishing. Eventually I was hired by On the Street Magazine as a lowly online sales rep—but I was sure it would be just a matter of time before I was promoted.”

“And were you?”

She smiled. “I was finally offered an editorial assistant job just a month before the wedding.”

“I hope they’re holding the job for you?”

Laurel hesitated. “They are. But to be honest, I’m getting some pressure to come back soon or give my notice.”

Across the street, the door to the post office opened. Burt waved, then started in their direction. And then a rusted pickup truck rumbled in from the west, pulling up next to Corb’s black Jeep Cherokee.

Laurel stood, and as she did so, felt the now-familiar queasiness in the pit of her stomach. “I’d better get back to work. Looks like the lunch rush is about to begin.”

“See you, Laurel. It was nice talking with you.”

They made direct eye contact then, and Laurel felt the zap of instant attraction that had first pulled her to him when they’d met at the airport.

But this time she felt a second zap, too.

The tiredness. The nausea.

It might not be a bug or the unaccustomed work at the café.

She could be...

No. She didn’t dare even think the word. Because being that was the last thing she needed right now.

And she was pretty sure it would be the last thing Corb needed, too.

Chapter Two

At five o’clock, Laurel put out the Closed sign, then wiped down the kitchen counters.

The Cinnamon Stick was a small establishment, intended to serve primarily take-out coffee and baked goods, though Winnie always had homemade soup and sandwiches on the menu, as well. For those who opted to stay—and there seemed to be plenty of people who wanted to do this—there were four stools at the counter and two big booths on the window wall.

Laurel loved the colors Winnie had chosen for the bakery—delicious hues that made her think of pumpkin pie, caramels and mocha lattes. Unfortunately the idea of eating any of those foods was totally unappealing right now.

All afternoon the suspicion that she might be pregnant had grown into a near certainty. After all, she hadn’t needed to buy tampons once since she’d left the city.

And she’d been too wrapped up in Winnie’s problems to notice.

Hell.

Wasn’t it her luck that just as things were starting to work out for her careerwise, something would happen to set her back?

Not for the first time, she wished Winnie was here with her, which was silly, because if Winnie were able to stay in Coffee Creek and work at the café, then Laurel would be back in the city living in her cute, if miniscule apartment, working her butt off at her new job.

But even if she’d left for New York the day after the wedding, as originally scheduled, she’d still be pregnant.

Oh, Lord, she just had to talk to Winnie.

Once she was satisfied that the café was clean and ready for the next day, Laurel went down the hall. To the left was the customer restroom. To the right, a door that led to a staircase and the second floor of the building.

She was barely in the door of the one-bedroom apartment when the phone started ringing.

Laurel kicked off her sandals—oh, that felt good!—then dashed for the receiver, hoping it would be Winnie. “Hello?”

“Hey! How are you doing?”

Her friend sounded stronger. More like herself. “I’m fine. How about you?”

“I had a good day today. Really. Got out of bed. Showered.”

Her tone was self-deprecating, but Laurel understood the effort that had been required. “That’s good, Winnie.”

“I gave myself a talking-to last night. Decided this baby was going to be a mental case if I didn’t get a grip on myself.”

“No one can blame you for grieving. It’s only natural.”

“It’s not like I’m forgetting about Brock. That’s not even possible. But I have to start facing a future that doesn’t include him. Mom got me started on a knitting project. That probably sounds lame. It’s really helping, though.”

“Are you kidding? Knitting is cool.” Laurel went to the sofa and settled in for a long chat.

“So how are things going at the Cinnamon Stick?”

“Pretty good.” Laurel gave her the cash register totals for the past week, then filled her in on some of the day’s highlights, omitting, for the moment, the visit from Corb and Jackson.

“That sounds great. I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing for me.”

“You’d do the same for me. You know you would.”

“But you can’t keep putting your life on hold. You have to book your plane ticket home. Tonight. I’m serious.”

“And what about the Cinnamon Stick?”

Winnie sighed. “We’ll just have to close it until after the baby is born. My doctor is saying work is out of the question for me. Maybe if I had a desk job. But I can’t be on my feet all day long. It would be too much of a strain.”

“I’ll vouch for that.”

“Oh, Laurel. It’s exhausting you, isn’t it?”

Yes. But for reasons she wasn’t quite ready to explain. Not until she knew more about Winnie’s plans.

“Are you going to stay with your parents until the baby is born?”

“It’s looking that way.”

“Well then, maybe you should rethink telling the Lamberts about the baby in person. Jackson and Corb were in town today and I felt awkward when they asked about you. They should be told. I mean, this kid is going to be their nephew.”

“Yes. And Olive’s grandchild. Believe me, I know.” Winnie sucked in a long breath. “And I would tell them if I hadn’t had such an awful relationship with Olive.”

She’d complained about Olive before. And while Laurel agreed that Olive wasn’t the warmest person, she did think Winnie was exaggerating.

“How can anyone not like you? I mean, you’re so easygoing, without any strong opinions on anything.”

“Exactly. I’m perfect, but Olive doesn’t appreciate that.”

They both laughed. Then Winnie continued, “According to Brock, my first faux pas was serving Maddie Turner at the café.”

“Maddie’s one of your best customers. Why wouldn’t you serve her?”

“Because.” She paused dramatically. “Maddie Turner and Olive Lambert are sisters.”

Mentally Laurel compared the two women. “Impossible.” Olive was fine-boned and elegant, while Maddie was sturdy and down-to-earth.

“Yes. Estranged sisters. I guess it’s an unspoken rule in the Lambert family that no one is to talk to Maddie or even acknowledge the fact that she exists.”

“How bizarre. What happened to cause the rift? Did Brock ever tell you?”

“He didn’t even know. It’s like some big family secret.”

“And is that the whole reason Olive Lambert doesn’t like you? Because you dared to serve coffee and baked goods to her sister?”

Winnie laughed. “Not hardly. Olive had someone else in mind for Brock. A daughter of one of her bigwig ranching buddies. It made her crazy that he picked me instead.”

Laurel never knew whether to believe Winnie when she talked about Olive this way. “Is it really possible, in this day and age, that a mother would think she had the right to arrange a marriage for her son?”

“It sounds crazy. Yes. But you have to see her in action. She never raises her voice or argues—she has this passive-aggressive way of getting her way. Her

children—in particular, her sons—can’t seem to jump high enough trying to please her.”

Laurel didn’t doubt that Winnie believed what she was saying, but at the same time she suspected that Winnie’s point of view was biased. Because Winnie also had a very strong personality. And it was possible that they had suffered from a clash of personalities.

But how unfortunate that they hadn’t been able to move past their differences after Brock’s death. The two women who had loved him most should have been able to share their grief.

“Have you considered selling the Cinnamon Stick and moving closer to your parents permanently?”

“I have,” Winnie admitted. “Mom and Dad have been pushing me to do just that. But this morning I called the real estate agent who sold me the property. Unfortunately, the market has softened in the past year. Even if I was lucky enough to sell the place, I’d never get back what I put into it.”

Laurel took a moment to absorb this. “So you’re stuck here?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then you’ve got to make peace with the Lamberts. Living in Coffee Creek, you won’t be able to avoid them. And think of what it could mean to your baby. He’d have all those uncles and an aunt and a grandmother....”

Another sigh from Winnie. “What you say makes sense. I will try to make nice with Olive. I promise. Just...not quite yet.”

“Don’t put it off too long, okay?”

“I won’t. As long as you promise to get your butt back to New York and that fabulous new job of yours.”

“About that.” Laurel hesitated. Putting this in words was going to make it seem so real. But she had to face up to facts. And who better to trust than Winnie? “I’m not so sure that I can go back to New York just yet. I’ve come up against a bit of a speed bump.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know how I said I’ve been tired? Well, I’ve also been nauseous. And today I realized that I haven’t had my period since I left New York.”

Winnie’s soft gasp was audible. “Really, Laurel?”

“Afraid so. I believe I’m about two months pregnant.”

“So it must have happened right before you left New York. But I didn’t think you were dating anyone seriously back there.”

“I wasn’t.” Here was the tricky part. “Actually, it happened on the night of your rehearsal dinner.”

“Shut up. It did not.”

Laurel let her friend process for a few moments.

Sure enough, it didn’t take Winnie long to come up with the right answer.

“That must mean Corb is the father? The two of you seemed awfully cozy that night, but I never guessed—”

“You were too busy being crazy in love with Brock to notice.”

“Yes. I suppose I was.” Pain registered briefly in Winnie’s voice before she returned to the subject under discussion. “Have you told him?”

“I can’t, Winnie. He doesn’t remember anything.”

“Are you serious?”

“It’s called retrograde amnesia. Apparently he doesn’t recall anything much from the week before the accident. When he came into the café today, he didn’t know my name. He acted like we had never met!”