Книга - Remember Me, Cowboy

Remember Me, Cowboy
C.J. Carmichael


How Can He Not Remember Her?Corb Lambert is ready to marry Laurel Sheridan. She’s pregnant with his baby—and Corb is the type of guy who will do the right thing. He just wishes that he could remember the passion they shared before a terrible accident wiped his memory clean. Laurel can’t decide whether to go or stay.Corb is willing to take on his responsibility, but Laurel can’t bear the thought that he doesn’t remember her, especially since she fell for him, hard. She’s got a life in New York—but her baby deserves a father. Could he love back all over again?Or is she just staying in Montana to give her child a name? Laurel has to know now, because one person can’t do all the loving….










How Can He Not Remember Her?

Corb Lambert is ready to marry Laurel Sheridan. She’s pregnant with his baby—and Corb is the type of guy who will do the right thing. He just wishes that he could remember the passion they shared before a terrible accident wiped his memory clean.

Laurel can’t decide whether to go or stay. Corb is willing to take on his responsibility, but Laurel can’t bear the thought that he doesn’t remember her, especially since she fell for him, hard. She’s got a life in New York—but her baby deserves a father. Could he love her all over again? Or is he just staying in Montana to give her child a name? Laurel has to know now, because one person can’t do all the loving....


The door chimed and Laurel glanced up to welcome her next customer

The smile forming on her face froze the minute she saw him.

Corb Lambert.

She’d heard he’d been out of hospital for several weeks now. She’d wondered if maybe he would phone her when he was finally released, and when he hadn’t, she’d told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been through a lot physically, and had lost a brother besides. He wouldn’t have time or inclination to think about the woman he’d charmed during the week before his accident.

But now he was here, and clearly his smile and the twinkle in his eyes hadn’t been damaged one bit. “Hello, sugar. Looks like Coffee Creek got a whole lot sweeter since the last time I was in town.”

She smiled, thinking he was feeding her the same line on purpose. But when she glanced up at him, she saw no spark of recognition in his eyes. “Corb?”

He looked puzzled. Then he frowned. “Have we met before?”


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Coffee Creek, Montana, the setting of my new series for Harlequin American Romance. You’re about to meet the Lamberts—a family of ranchers and cowboys who own the largest spread in Bitterroot County, all controlled by matriarch Olive Lambert. Olive would like to control more than just the operations of the ranch—she also has ideas about what jobs her children should work and who they should marry. Does mother know best? I’ll let you be the judge.

One of the pleasures of writing a family saga is creating the setting for the stories. In this case I took a real town name—Coffee Creek, Montana—nudged it a little in the southwesterly direction, made it the head of fictional Bitterroot County and decked it out with interesting establishments like the Cinnamon Stick Café and the Lonesome Spur Saloon. There’s a two-story brick courthouse in the center of town, next to the post office and library. If you’d like to see the pictures that inspired the setting and stories, you can visit my storyboards on www.pinterest.com (http://www.pinterest.com) under CJ_Carmichael.

Once you’ve soaked in the ambience of the setting, please go ahead and meet our first hero and heroine of the series—Corb Lambert and Laurel Sheridan. Their story was so much fun to write. Just imagine you had a whirlwind courtship with a fellow, were sure you had fallen in love, and then he had a head injury and forgot he’d ever met you. What happens next? Just keep reading....

C.J. Carmichael

www.cjcarmichael.com (http://www.cjcarmichael.com)


Remember Me, Cowboy

C.J. Carmichael




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hard to imagine a more glamorous life than being an accountant, isn’t it? Still, C.J. Carmichael gave up the thrills of income tax forms and double-entry bookkeeping when she sold her first book in 1998. She has now written more than twenty-eight novels for Harlequin, and invites you to learn more about her books, see photos of her hiking exploits and enter her surprise contests at www.cjcarmichael.com (http://www.cjcarmichael.com).


This is for the Happy Bookers, with whom I’ve shared many evenings of good conversations about books and life, bottles of wine and wedges of cheese: Cheryl, Marg, Mary, Mary-Lou,

Nancy, Rhonda, Shelli, Sunita and Susan.


Contents

Prologue (#uaf40b32b-c34b-5a7c-8827-c47e1c351705)

Chapter One (#uabe06a72-267b-5578-8e93-017fb1bfd5b9)

Chapter Two (#udf3979cc-0c3c-540d-98cc-ac5827e920bb)

Chapter Three (#u68c42186-a2f2-5384-9156-d4d2e67a4bf7)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

Where was the groom? Laurel checked her watch, not sure whether to feel annoyed or worried. Her best friend Winnie Hays should have been marching down the aisle of the Coffee Creek United Church ten minutes ago.

As young girls, growing up together in a Montana farming community about an hour from Coffee Creek, she and Winnie had planned their wedding days down to the color of the flowers and the flavor of the cake. Actually, Winnie had planned, and Laurel had gone along with her, claiming to want whatever it was that Winnie wanted.

For the longest time their friendship had worked that way. Winnie decided to take swimming lessons, so Laurel did, too. Winnie started dating a boy, so Laurel dated his best friend. After they’d finished high school and Winnie applied to college in Great Falls, no one had been surprised when Laurel decided to study at the University of Great Falls, too.

Only after they’d earned their undergraduate degrees had Laurel finally realized that she yearned for something Winnie didn’t—to leave Montana. So, scared to death but determined, she moved to New York City on her own to pursue her dream of a career in magazine publishing.

To her credit, Winnie never tried to talk her out of her decision. “You have to go for it, Laurel. Or you’ll always wonder what if...”

Good advice. From a good friend.

And now, three years later, on what should have been the happiest day of Winnie’s life, the bride was starting to panic. “I don’t understand. Brock promised he’d be early.”

The ceremony had been scheduled to start at three o’clock. Fifteen minutes to the hour a dark sedan had arrived from Coffee Creek Ranch driven by Brock’s eldest brother, B.J. Dark-haired B.J., with his noble high forehead and chiseled features, had escorted his mother, Olive, into the church.

Olive, still pretty at sixty, her petite figure showcased in an ivory-colored, raw silk suit, had walked proudly on her son’s arm as they made their way to the front pew. Having met her several times now during her week in Coffee Creek, Laurel still found it difficult to believe that this diminutive, soft-spoken woman ran the biggest ranch in all of Bitterroot County.

That arrival had been twenty-five minutes ago. Now the church was packed with invited guests and the organist had just started through her repertoire for the third time.

“This is so not a good sign.” Winnie grabbed bunches of white satin, hitching up her dress so she could stand on a chair for a better view down the street. “Where the hell are they?”

“They” included not only the groom, Brock Lambert, but the middle Lambert son, Corb, who was the best man—and no doubt about that in Laurel’s mind, though she’d only known him a week—and the driver, Jackson Stone.

Jackson was the quiet one. So far Laurel had been unable to engage him in any conversation lasting more than five minutes, so it was only thanks to Winnie that she knew he’d come to the Lambert’s ranch as a foster child when he was thirteen. Apparently he’d taken to ranch life so well he was now considered part of the family.

“What time did Corb say they left?” Winnie asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Thirty-five minutes ago.” Laurel bit her lower lip anxiously. The drive from the Coffee Creek Ranch to town normally took fifteen minutes. No higher mathematics degree was required to figure out they should be here by now.

“What’s happened...?” Winnie spoke softly, her gaze still fixed to the street.

“Don’t worry,” Laurel soothed. “Could be they ran out of gas or had a flat.”

“Or maybe they got halfway here only to realize that Corb forgot the ring.” Cassidy Lambert smirked. As the only girl in a family of four boys—if you counted Jackson, and most people did—she didn’t faze easily. Or conform. She’d agreed to be Winnie’s bridesmaid on the condition that she would not wear high heels. “It has to be running shoes or cowboy boots,” she’d dictated. “Take your pick.”

Which explained the cream-colored boots in butter-soft ostrich leather that she was swinging as she sat on her perch on the ledge of the same window that Winnie was peering out of.

“But if they’ve been held up,” Winnie reasoned, correctly in Laurel’s mind, “why haven’t they called?”

That was the unanswerable question. One of three men might have forgotten to charge his phone last night. But all three? Hearing tears in Winnie’s voice, Laurel stepped forward to urge her off the chair.

“You’re making me dizzy up there. Here, sit for a while. You heard Olive say that this would be the first time one of her boys had been to church in a decade. Maybe they got lost and, being men, won’t stop for directions.”

Laurel generally counted on humor in moments of tension. And she was rewarded with a wisp of a smile, before Winnie’s faced creased with worry again.

The fact was, no one could miss the church in Coffee Creek. The white steeple made it the tallest building in a town of about fifteen hundred people. Damn those Lambert men. How could they do this to Winnie? They better have one hell of a good excuse for being so late.

“I’ll call them.” Cassidy jumped softly to the wooden floor. “I’ll go get my phone.”

As soon as she’d left for the minister’s office where they’d stowed their personal effects, Winnie let out a small moan.

“I can’t stand this anymore. I’ve been dying to tell Brock, but you’ll have to be the first to know.”

“Know what?” Long familiarity with her friend’s dramatic streak meant Laurel didn’t overreact. She frowned at a scuff on her imitation Valentino pumps, then tried rubbing it off with her thumb.

“Maybe you should sit down. I don’t want you fainting or anything.”

“Fat chance, Winnie. I am not the fainting kind.” But she abandoned the scuff. This actually sounded serious.

“I called Brock at the crack of dawn today and told him to get to the church early. That there was something I needed to tell him before the ceremony.”

“So you decided to come clean about your criminal record? Good call.”

Winnie didn’t even crack a smile. “I’m serious, Laurel. I should have told him earlier, but I was in shock myself.”

Laurel didn’t interrupt this time when Winnie paused. She just waited for her friend to find the right words.

“I’m pregnant.”

Laurel could feel her mouth drop open. She couldn’t help it. Those were not the right words she’d been expecting to hear. “Holy cow. Really?”

“Yes. Two months along, I figure—”

Winnie stopped talking as the door opened. Cassidy was back, cell phone in hand, frowning.

“Brock isn’t answering.” She punched another button. “I’ll try Corb.”

No one spoke. The relentless repitition of “Ode to Joy” was getting on Laurel’s nerves.

“Damn.” Cassidy disconnected the call after reaching the answering service. Next she tried Jackson’s number. Again, no one picked up. “If this is some sort of prank, I’m going to kill them.”

But Laurel could see the worry in Cassidy’s deep green eyes. She was scared. So was Winnie. Her face had gone whiter than the fabric of her wedding gown, making her brown eyes seem almost as black as her hair.

Winnie glanced out the window again. “Someone’s coming! I think it’s Jackson’s SUV....”

Cassidy peered over her shoulder. “No. It’s a County Sheriff vehicle.”

The three women exchanged looks, no one saying what they were all thinking. This couldn’t be good. Laurel’s pulse thumped crazily in her throat as she watched the driver park in front of the church. A long-legged woman dressed in uniform, dark hair worn in a long braid to accommodate her hat, stepped out to the street. She glanced left, right, then seemed to take a deep breath before heading inside the church.

“Who was that?” Laurel wondered.

“Sheriff Savannah Moody.” Winnie’s voice was unnaturally low. “She’s a good friend of Brock’s. We were going to invite her to the wedding, but he said there was bad blood between her and B.J. I don’t know the details.”

Laurel’s mind went blank, refusing to speculate on the reasons for the sheriff’s unexpected appearance. Instead, she thought of the day, a week ago, when she’d arrived at the airport in Billings, having spent most of a day traveling to Montana from New York City.

Winnie had been called in for an unexpected dress fitting and so she’d sent the best man to collect Laurel. Corb Lambert, brother of the groom. “He’ll be the cowboy with a dimple in his left cheek,” was all Winnie wrote in her hurried text message.

Laurel hadn’t seen him at first. She was worried about her bag, which hadn’t appeared on the carousel, even though most of her fellow passengers on Delta 4608 had claimed their luggage and departed the airport at least five minutes ago.

“Please don’t let them have lost my suitcase,” she pleaded with the airline gods. Besides her clothes for the week, she stood to lose her bridesmaid gown and Winnie and Brock’s wedding gift.

And then she saw them both, in the same second. The brown, beaten suitcase with the pink ribbon tied around the handle. And the cowboy striding toward her with a grin and a sparkle to his eye that made her automatically pat her hair and suck in her tummy.

“Sugar?” He walked right up to her. “If you’re Laurel Sheridan I think Coffee Creek is about to become a whole lot sweeter.”

A corny line, but, oh, how her heart had pounded.

As it was pounding now, in a much less pleasant way.

Laurel squeezed Winnie’s hand, staying close to her friend, who’d started to tremble. They followed Cassidy out the door of the antechamber into the vestibule. Two wide doors stood open to the church where all the guests awaited. Chatter filled the air, along with the Beethoven.

And then, abruptly, the organ stopped and everyone turned, expecting to see the bride. A collective gasp washed over the room when Sheriff Moody stepped forward, instead. With a grim expression she said, “I need to talk to someone from the Lambert family.”

A brief hesitation, then B.J. stood, tall and lean in his charcoal suit and tie. “Savannah.” His grim expression grew darker. “What happened?”

Olive made her way to her feet and said what everyone in the room was fearing. “Has there been an accident?”

The silence intensified as one second stretched

into two.

“I’m sorry, Olive. But yes. There’s been an a-accident.” The sheriff’s voice broke on the last word and Laurel could feel Winnie wobble on the delicate heels of her wedding shoes. On cue, Cassidy came up on the bride’s other side and helped Laurel hold her steady.

Sheriff Moody looked from B.J. to the bride, then finally back to Olive. “Jackson’s SUV hit a moose on Big Valley Road, about five miles from town.”

The name of the road meant nothing to Laurel. She was holding her breath, praying again, not with sharp annoyance as she had at the airport, but with total desperation. Please let them be okay. Just a few cuts and bruises, she bargained, maybe a broken leg or two.

“Brock?” Winnie locked her gaze on the sheriff, who slowly shook her head.

“I’m so sorry, Winnie. Brock was sitting in the front passenger seat—the impact point with the moose. He didn’t have a chance.”

Winnie made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a cry, then pulled her hands free from the supportive hold of Laurel and Cassidy and covered her face.

Laurel wrapped her arms around her friend, her mind slipping away to the party they’d had, just last night. She and Corb had been dancing. They’d had a few beers. The lights were low and her body had tingled at the touch of his hands on her waist and shoulder. When she’d stumbled, Corb said, “Tired? Let me walk you home, sugar.”

He’d done more than just walk her home. A lot more. Never in her life had she fallen for somebody this hard. This fast.

“What about Corb?” B.J.’s voice was stretched tighter than a barbed wire fence. “And Jackson?”

“Jackson was driving, wearing his seat belt and the air bag was able to cushion him from the worst of it. He’s badly bruised and shaken, but he’s okay.”

And Corb?

“Your other brother was in the backseat. He should have been fine, but I’m afraid he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. As we speak he’s being medevaced to Great Falls. I can’t say how bad his injuries are. You’ll have to talk to the doctors for that.”

“Is he conscious?” Olive asked, her voice rough, eyes desperate.

The sheriff shook her head. “No.”


Chapter One

Two Months Later

Laurel was making the rounds of the Cinnamon Stick Café with a fresh carafe of coffee, when she noticed Maddie Turner’s mug needed refreshing. She paused to serve the stocky, gray-haired rancher, who glanced up from the papers she was reviewing to give her a smile.

“Thanks, Laurel. Could you get me another cinnamon bun, too, please?”

“You bet, Maddie.” After two months of running the Cinnamon Stick while Winnie convalesced on her parents’ farm, Laurel was a fixture with all the regulars. And Maddie Turner, owner of the Silver Creek Ranch, sure did love her baked goods.

When she’d first started working at the café, Laurel had drooled over the cinnamon buns, too. Now, just the sight of one of the frosted goodies made her queasy. Laurel tried not to inhale as she plated one of the buns, then passed it to Maddie.

Back behind the counter, she put on a fresh pot of coffee. As she filled the carafe with water from the tap, her gaze was drawn out the window to the line of willow trees that grew between the café and the creek for which the town was named.

Another lovely September day. She wished she had time to get out and enjoy the sunshine, but, as usual, she was being run off her feet.

When Winnie told her, ten months ago, that she’d fallen in love with a cowboy and was going to move to Coffee Creek to open her café, Laurel had thought how quaint.

Now she knew better. The café was charming to look at, the food was devilishly delicious, but the work? It was damned hard. The first month she’d had so much to learn, she’d been running all day long. Then, when she’d finally found her rhythm, she’d caught some sort of bug that she still hadn’t managed to shake.

What she needed was rest, but she wouldn’t complain. How could she, in the face of what Winnie was going through? Thank heavens for Eugenia, Vince and Dawn, Winnie’s regular staff. Without their help, and willingness to work extra hours, she could never have kept Winnie’s café afloat while her friend struggled to deal with the double whammy of losing her fiancé and dealing with what had turned out to be a difficult pregnancy.

Laurel still couldn’t believe what had happened.

Imagine losing your fiancé on the day of your wedding. Actually being in the church, in your gown, waiting... Laurel felt sick every time she thought back to that day.

In the awful hours following the grim news, she’d canceled her flight back to New York, and she’d promised Winnie she would stay in Coffee Creek as long as she was needed, never guessing she’d still be here two months later.

But with Winnie laid up in bed on doctor’s orders, what choice had she had? She couldn’t let Winnie lose her business as well as the man she’d been planning to share her life with.

With a long sigh, Laurel replaced the coffee carafe in the machine. Maddie, finished with her paper and her coffee, waved as she made her way out of the café and into the ancient Ford truck angle-parked out in front. Laurel was clearing her table when Vince Butterfield, Winnie’s baker, came out from the kitchen.

She couldn’t believe it was eleven o’clock already. “Time to call it a day?”

He nodded, never one to use a word when a gesture would do.

“See you tomorrow, Vince.”

He tipped his head in her direction, just half of a nod this time, then made his way out the back door.

Laurel still found it amazing that this man—a weathered and scarred ex-bronc rider who looked about ten years older than his real age of sixty-two—was responsible for the bakery’s rich cinnamon buns, mouthwatering bumbleberry pies and buttery dinner rolls. He came in every morning, except Sunday, at four in the morning and worked his magic for seven hours before getting on his bike and riding out to his trailer ten miles from town.

Winnie had confided some details of his past to Laurel—a former rodeo cowboy with a drinking problem, he liked the early hours at the bakery since they left him too exhausted to stay up much past eight in the evening. Early to bed meant no late nights at the bar, which meant no more drinking.

“He figures this job saved his life,” Winnie told her. Laurel wondered how Winnie knew so much about him. The man had never said more than three words in a row to her, and those had been, “nice meetin’ ya.”

The door chimed and Laurel glanced up to welcome her next customer. The smile forming on her face froze the minute she saw him.

Corb Lambert.

She’d heard he’d been out of the hospital for several weeks now. And had wondered when she was going to see him.

It seemed now was the moment.

He looked good, though his hair had been cropped and she could see a long scar on the side of his head. His dimple flashed when he gave her a smile, though not as deeply as before. Laurel figured he’d lost about fifteen pounds.

He came up to the counter hesitantly, holding his hat politely in hand.

Through the grapevine, Laurel had kept posted on Corb’s recovery from the accident. He’d been in a coma for forty-eight hours, and in critical condition for several days beyond that. All in all he’d been in hospital for almost three weeks, with visits strictly restricted to family members only.

Or so Laurel had been told when she’d called the hospital to ask about him.

She’d wondered if maybe he would phone her when he was finally released, and when he hadn’t, she’d told herself she shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been through a lot physically, and had lost a brother besides. He wouldn’t have time or inclination to think about the woman he’d flirted with, and charmed, during the week before his accident.

But now he was here, and clearly his smile and the sparkle in his eyes hadn’t been damaged one bit by his accident. She took a cloth to the clean counter, willing her heart to return to its regular standing rate of sixty-five beats per minute.

“Hello, sugar. Looks like Coffee Creek got a whole lot sweeter since the last time I was in town.”

She smiled, thinking he was feeding her the same line on purpose. But when she glanced up at him, she saw no recognition in his eyes. “Corb?”

He looked puzzled. Then he frowned. “Have we met before?”

Oh, Lord. She’d heard he had some memory problems after the accident. But she hadn’t been prepared for this. “I’m Winnie’s friend from New York City. Laurel Sheridan. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. I was meaning to—” She stopped, wanting to say so much, yet not knowing how to begin.

He didn’t remember her. How was that possible? He’d touched and kissed the most intimate parts of her. They’d stayed up talking until the wee hours of the morning, sharing their deepest secrets.

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!”

“How awful for you.”

“It was bizarre. He started asking me questions—the same questions he asked when he was driving me home from the airport. At times I thought he had to be faking it, but he really doesn’t remember me, Winnie. How can I tell him that he got me pregnant?”

“Back up a minute. Are you sure you’re pregnant? Have you taken a test?”

“No. But—”

“You’ve got to take the test.”

“I already checked the general store. They don’t carry those pregnancy test kits. The next time I’m in Lewistown I’ll—”

“No need to wait that long. I bought a couple boxes when I took my own test. In case I screwed it up or something. Look under the bathroom sink.”

Laurel suddenly felt shaky and weak. She realized she was scared silly. It was one thing to suspect you were pregnant.

Quite another to know for sure.

“Want me to call you back?” she asked Winnie.

“Are you kidding? I’ll hold,” answered her friend. “Now get in the bathroom and pee on that stick.”

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING, Corb took a little longer with his chores than usual. Partly because of the nagging headache that he just couldn’t shake. And partly because of a certain redhead that he wished he could remember.

On his way toward the ranch house, where breakfast would be waiting, he came across Jackson, carrying a sack of feed over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you leave that for a bit and join Mom and me for breakfast?” Corb asked.

Before the accident, a typical day had seen him, Brock, Jackson and Olive eating together every morning after chores. But since Corb had been released from hospital, Jackson hadn’t joined them once.

“Nah. I’d rather finish with the horses. I’ll eat later.”

Jackson was a quiet guy. Though lately he’d been more quiet than usual. Corb paused, wondering if he should insist that Jackson take a break and get some food.

But Jackson had already ducked into the far barn with the special feed they’d purchased for Lucy. They had another equestrian barn on the property for the American Quarter Horses which they bred for sale. The purebreds and the working horses were never allowed to mingle.

Then there was the cattle barn, clear on the other side of the yard, where Corb spent most of his time.

Coffee Creek Ranch was a big operation requiring lots of work—and while they hired several wranglers and part-time help in spring and fall, all the key positions stayed with the family.

With Brock gone, though, there was going to have to be some reshuffling of responsibilities.

Corb entered the main house from the back entrance, kicking off his boots in the mudroom, then washing his hands in the stainless-steel sink next to the coatrack.

Bonny Platter, their housekeeper for the past three years—a record tenure for the position—came to the doorway with her hands on her ample hips.

“I have pancakes and sausages waiting, but first you better get your mother out of bed. It’s time she joined the land of the living.”

Corb was damned hungry, having started the day three hours earlier on just a package of oatmeal and a cup of instant coffee. But he shared Bonny’s concern about his mother.

“I’ll round her up,” he promised.

“What about Jackson?”

“Just spoke to him. He’s giving breakfast a pass.”

“Again?” Bonny sounded annoyed.

“Again. I’ll go get Mother.” Corb crossed through the kitchen to the hall that led to the master bedroom. After his father’s death ten years ago his mother had redecorated the room with a bunch of flowery fabrics and pinkish colors. Now he always felt awkward when he was called to enter the feminine space.

For that reason, or perhaps out of habit, he hesitated at the door after knocking. When a full minute passed without any answer, though, he finally cracked the door open.

“Mom? Are you awake?” Ten o’clock on a weekday morning and she was still in bed. Prior to Brock’s death, this behavior would have been unthinkable.

“Yes, Corb. Please shut the door. I’m not ready—”

He ignored her and strode inside, stopping abruptly in the near darkness. “Jeez, you can’t even tell it’s daylight in here. Why didn’t Bonny open the curtains?”

He made his way toward the outline of the windows at the far wall, then pulled back on the fabric, allowing in the brilliant morning sunshine.

“Bonny didn’t open the curtains because I asked her not to,” his mother answered tartly. Normally she styled her hair in a sleek bob, but it was looking lank and gray today. An appointment at her hair salon was long overdue.

She squinted at him and frowned. “The sunshine gives me a headache.”

Feeling the scar on his scalp throb, Corb could relate. But he didn’t admit it. Instead he checked the tray on the table beside his mom’s bed. The toast and coffee were untouched. “What’s this? Mom, you have to eat. Come on, Bonny will serve you something fresh in the dining room.”

Her expression turned contrite. “You’re a sweet boy to worry about your mother, Corb. I’m just not hungry.”

“At least sit at the table with me.” He stood by her bed, until finally she sighed and sat upright. He waited until she swung her feet to the ground, then held out his hands to her.

“You’re kind and patient, Corb. Just like your father.”

Being compared to his father was about the highest compliment his mother could give. It was curious, Corb thought, that while his father had treated all of them pretty much equally, his mother seemed to have a unique relationship with each of her children.

B.J., as the eldest, had always been the son that Olive expected the most from—until he’d decided to become a full-time rodeo cowboy. Now Olive rarely mentioned his name.

Brock had been the doted-upon youngest son, while Cassidy, the baby of the family and the only daughter, seemed to take the brunt of their mother’s criticism.

He’d gotten off easy as the middle child, Corb expected. Often ignored, but that was okay with him. And if he suspected that his mother would have traded his life if she could have spared Brock’s, that didn’t bother him, either.

Frankly, he would have given his life for Brock’s, as well.

He led his mother to the dining room, pulling out her chair and waiting for her to sit, before settling at his own spot at the gleaming oak table. Bonny emerged from the kitchen with two hot platters of food, pancakes and sausages for him, a boiled egg and toast for his mother.

Corb was reaching for a second helping of pancakes, when the house phone rang. A moment later, Bonny brought him the receiver. “It’s Laurel Sheridan.”

His heart flip-flopped at the mention of Winnie’s pretty friend. He reached for the phone, at the same time rising from his chair and heading for the patio door leading outside.

“Hi, Corb. I— This is going to sound strange but I was wondering if you could come by the café tonight after closing time?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. You close at five?”

“Yes. I— The thing is, I have something to tell you. Something that happened during the week before the wedding. I know you don’t remember. But...”

Lord, but she sounded nervous. Was she worried he’d say no? But he was certainly keen to spend more time with her. And he was also anxious to fill in some of the missing blanks in his memory, as well.

He paced to the edge of the deck then stared beyond the outbuildings and pastures to the profile of Square Butte, the mountain that flanked the south side of their property.

In between were hundreds of acres of rolling hills covered with wild grass and dotted with patches of brush, aspen and ponderosa pine.

Usually the sight of the land—his family’s legacy—filled Corb with a profound sense of calm and peace.

Today, he felt anything but peaceful.

There’s something about this woman, he realized. Something he should be remembering.

“We’ll talk at five,” he promised, wondering what she had to tell him.

* * *

WHEN THE FACT of her pregnancy had been confirmed yesterday, Laurel had spent most of the night wondering how she would break the news to Corb.

She’d spent the better part of the day thinking about the very same problem. During a lull in business, around 9:00 a.m., she’d called the ranch to ask Corb to come into town.

He’d sounded surprised to hear from her.

Of course he was. In his mind they had only just met yesterday.

“My pie, Laurel?” Burt, the postmaster had finished his sandwich and was looking expectantly at the pie on display just twelve inches from his nose.

“I’m sorry, Burt. My mind is somewhere else today, I’m afraid.” She lifted the glass cover off the stand and slipped a wedge of the juicy bumbleberry pie onto a plate, then grabbed a clean fork and set it down, too.

The door chimed and she snatched a quick look.

A couple of young mothers with strollers headed for the corner booth. Laurel smiled at them, then turned to the cash register so she could get the bill for the elderly couple who’d been waiting to pay for five minutes now.

Corb wasn’t due for another four hours. She had to relax and focus on the present instead of fretting about what she was going to tell him. So what if she didn’t have a plan? She’d just have to trust that she’d know the right words to say when the time came.

* * *

BY FIVE MINUTES to five Laurel was rethinking the wisdom of meeting Corb right after work. She should have given herself an hour to rest and get cleaned up. Every time she caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror by the sink, she thought she looked drawn and pale. Her feet and lower back ached. And she was tired. You’d think her body would have adjusted to being on her feet all day by now, but the job seemed to wear her out more and more each day.

If this was pregnancy, then it sucked.

And she still had seven more months to go....

And then she’d have a baby.

It was too much to think about. Better to focus on one day at a time.

The door opened, setting off a cheerful tinkle from the bells.

Expecting Corb, she was surprised to see a balding, middle-aged man looking hungry and cranky.

Right behind him was Corb.

Yesterday the cowboy had been wearing work clothes. Faded jeans and a shirt that had seen so many washes that the fabric was threadbare at the cuffs and collar.

Not today.

Today he was in dark, pressed jeans and the shirt he’d worn at the rehearsal party the night before the wedding day.

He came up to the counter, right next to the balding, cranky man and she waited to see what he would say. If it was anything about the town getting sweeter, she would know that she was stuck in an endless loop of Groundhog Day.

“Hey, Laurel. How’s it going?”

“You remembered my name this time.”

“No bumps to the head in the past twenty-four hours. Generally—and you’ll have to take my word on this—I’m pretty good with names.” He gave her a warm, approving look. “And faces.”

Not five minutes had passed since he’d walked in the door and already she was feeling it. Sizzle. For whatever reason this cowboy totally did it for her.

God help her.

“Excuse me,” said the balding cranky man. “I don’t remember your name, little lady, but I’m pretty sure I was here first. Doesn’t that entitle me to some service?”

“Of course, sir. What would you like?”

“Two coffees and a half dozen of those sticky buns to go.”

“Cream or sugar?” she asked, all too aware of Corb watching her.

“Nope. Black like the creek.”

This seemed to be a standing joke in the town, since it had been named for the creek that ran through the town with water the same color as a weakly brewed pot of joe.

As she boxed up six of the cinnamon buns, Corb settled himself on a bar stool.

Laurel willed her hands to be steady as she poured the coffee. A few minutes later, she sent balding cranky man on his way, locking the door behind him and putting the Closed sign in the window.

Turning, she removed her apron and gave Corb a nervous smile. “I’ll just clear off the dishes from the back booth, then we can sit down and talk.”

Corb was off his seat in a flash. “Let me help.”

They each carried some of the mugs, plates and cutlery to the dishwasher. When it was loaded, Laurel started a wash cycle, then stood awkwardly.

The kitchen seemed a lot smaller when Corb was sharing it with her. They stood so close that she could smell the scent of his soap.

“You must think it’s pretty strange that I asked you to come here.”

“Not strange,” he insisted. “I was glad.” He looked at her intently. “Since we met yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

His words gave her a warm, sweet thrill, and she was reminded of why she had fallen so hard for this cowboy, so fast. He was totally sexy and a terrible flirt. But he had a soft side, too. And could be disarmingly honest.

She poured them each a glass of water, then led the way to the back booth. She slid onto one bench and he settled in on the opposite side.

He looked at her expectantly.

Nervously, she sipped the water. “I see you’re wearing your lucky shirt.”

“I am.” His eyes widened. “But how do you know that?”

Their eyes met and held. His, dark green and fringed with thick short lashes, were oh so familiar to her. But what did he see when he looked into her eyes? Did any of the memories of their time together come back to him?

Like their first dance, when he’d held her in his arms and told her he was glad he’d worn his lucky shirt because that night was turning out to be one of the best of his life?

“Laurel, ah, just how well did we get to know each other in that week before the wedding?”


Chapter Three

Despite the water, Laurel’s mouth was suddenly too dry to form words. Here was her opening. But she still had no idea what to say.

Suddenly she wondered if it was even safe to tell him the truth. Weren’t you supposed to be careful when dealing with people who’d suffered traumatic memory loss?

But the trauma was the accident—not their affair. No, she had to tell him the truth.

Absentmindedly Corb put a hand to his scar, then quickly withdrew it when he noticed Laurel watching.

“Is your head hurting?”

He nodded.

“Can I get you anything? I have over-the-counter painkillers.”

“Took a couple of those before I came here. I’ll be all right. The headaches aren’t as bad as they used to be. I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. Laurel could tell by the forced quality of his smile. It was just so weird to be talking to him like this—as if they’d truly just met. Could he really not remember kissing her? Looking into her eyes as they made love?

He shifted uncomfortably, and she realized she’d been staring at him. She turned away, pretending to check the view out the window. Anything to keep from staring at him.

Finally Corb asked, “Are there things about you and me that I ought to know?”

“Yes.”

“Then fill me in, please. You can’t know how strange it feels to have a whole chunk of your life gone totally missing.”

“I hardly know where to start.”

“How about when we met?”

“Okay. That’s easy enough. It was at the airport. Winnie had an appointment so she sent you to pick me up.”

“Really? Seems like I ought to remember that.”

She smiled. “When you saw me you said it looked like Coffee Creek was about to get a whole lot sweeter.”

He groaned. “Sorry. Usually I try to use that line only once per woman.”

“We talked nonstop during the drive home from the airport. You took me straight to your ranch for a family dinner.”

He shook his head, his eyes reflecting his inner torment at his inability to recall any of this. “Was I wearing this shirt that night? Is that why you knew about it?”

Laurel traced a pattern on the table with her fingernail. “Not that night, no. You wore it at the rehearsal party the night before the wedding.” She raised her eyes to his, briefly. “When the music started, you asked me to dance. And when I said yes, you replied that it was a good thing that you’d worn your lucky shirt.”

“So. We danced together?”

“Yes.” And a whole lot more. But how on earth was she going to tell him? She could see that he was already blown away by just the few things she’d already shared.

“Wow. This is so freaky. It feels so unreal.”

Yeah. Tell me about it. “Maybe one day you will remember. When the headaches stop, perhaps your memory will come back.”

He gave her his charming smile. “I’d love to recall the feeling of you being in my arms. But I’m not so sure I want to remember the accident.”

Pain resurfaced on his face, and Laurel could tell this wasn’t the physical kind. Suddenly she went from feeling nervous to nauseous.

She put a hand on her stomach and took a deep breath. As much as she wished Corb remembered everything about their affair, she, too, was glad he had no recall of the accident. “The doctor told Winnie that Brock didn’t suffer. That he probably didn’t even register what was happening.”

“Yeah. That is some comfort.”

He didn’t look comforted, though, and she realized that she wasn’t going to tell him the rest today. He’d been through enough. Let him absorb the fact that they’d spent quite a lot of time together, first.

To be hit with the fact of her pregnancy right now just wouldn’t be fair. Besides, maybe he’d remember their affair on his own if she gave him a chance.

“Thanks for filling in those blanks for me, Laurel.”

“No problem. I thought you should know. But I should probably finish closing up here and getting the place ready to open in the morning.”

He took the hint with grace, getting up from the booth and heading for the door. She followed him outside, where the day was still warm and sunny. Once he was gone, she’d take a walk along the creek, see if fresh air would help her feel better.

“It was good to see you again, Laurel.” Corb had been carrying his hat. Now he settled it on his head, preparing to leave, but for some reason, not heading for his Jeep.

Laurel couldn’t answer. Since she’d stood up, her stomach had not been happy. Now it was threatening to heave the contents of her water glass all over the front sidewalk.

The feeling would pass. It always did. She put a hand on her stomach. Closed her eyes. Please...

But the feeling didn’t go away. In fact, it grew worse.

She needed a restroom. Now.

Cupping a hand over her mouth, she raced back inside, desperate to make it in time. Behind her, Corb called, “Are you okay?”

No. She sure wasn’t.

* * *

CORB DIDN’T KNOW what to do. He couldn’t just drive away without making sure Laurel was all right. Tentatively, he headed back inside the café and stuck his head down the short hallway that led to the restroom. He could hear retching on the other side of the closed door.

Jeez. That didn’t sound good.

He waited for the noise to subside, then called out, “Can I get you anything?”

“I have everything I need here. Fresh water. Towels. A solid door between us so you can’t see how embarrassed I am.”

He grinned, glad that she wasn’t so ill she had lost her sense of humor. There was the sound of flushing. Then her voice again, from behind the closed door. “You can go now. I’m fine.”

“Hey now. No need to be embarrassed. If I worked in this place, I’d overdose on cinnamon buns, too.”

“Ugh.” Water splashed from the sink, a few seconds passed, then the door opened and a pale-faced Laurel stepped out. “Sorry about that.”

His smile vanished as soon as he saw her. Despite her flippant commentary, she was obviously ill. “You look like hell. You’d better lie down.”

“I will.” She glanced pointedly at the door. “After I lock up behind you.”

“I’m not sure you should be left alone.”

“Believe me, I’m fine. I’ve had this bug for a few weeks now.”

“That’s a long time to have the flu. Have you seen a doctor?”

She gave him the oddest look. Then her face went superpale again. She put a hand to the wall, balancing herself.

He immediately sprang forward, placing his arm around her shoulders. “Maybe I should drive you to the clinic in Lewistown right now.”

“No. No. That isn’t necessary. I’ll just head upstairs and lie down.”

She didn’t say anything more about shooing him out the door Corb noticed. So he stayed right behind her as she climbed the stairs that led to Winnie’s apartment above the café. He could see right away that Laurel had been sleeping on the pullout couch in the sitting room. Sheets were folded on the chair beside the couch and a pillow with a white cover laid on top.

“I’ll make up the bed for you.”

Laurel didn’t turn down his offer, just collapsed into a second chair, looking pretty much like death warmed over. What was wrong with her?

Quickly he removed the top cushions, pulled out the bed, then put on the sheets.

“You make a cute housemaid,” Laurel commented.

She couldn’t be too sick if she was still making wisecracks.

“Yeah, but I don’t do windows.” He tossed the pillow on the bed, then pointed at her. “Lie down.”

Obediently as Cassidy’s old border collie, Laurel did as told, only pausing to kick off her sandals before sinking gratefully onto the bed.

“Good girl,” he said. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Woof, woof.”

He laughed, then gave her a quizzical look. Funny how she almost seemed to be able to read his mind at times. He went to the small galley kitchen and found a glass on the draining board which he filled with cold water from the tap.

“Anything else you want while I’m in here? Crackers or something?”

“Water is fine.”

He handed her the glass then watched as she took a careful sip. Even though she was sick and pale, she still looked pretty. The freckles dusting her slender nose was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He had an odd sensation of déjà vu, then realized he’d probably admired her freckles when they were dancing. Holding her in his arms, standing a good six inches taller than her, he would have had a perfect view of them.

“Was it a slow dance?” he asked.

She didn’t meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“I thought so.”

Her lashes flew up as she looked at him. “You remember?”

“Just your freckles.” He had the strangest urge to lean over the bed and kiss them. Once the freckles had been taken care of, he’d move to those rose-petal lips of hers. Why was it redheads always had the most kissable mouths?

Not that he’d dated so many redheads in his life. In fact—Laurel was pretty much the first.

This woman. She had a pretty strong effect on him. He’d better get out of here before he said or did something really stupid.

“If you’re okay, I guess I’ll be going.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

“Don’t worry about locking up behind me. Coffee Creek is a safe sort of place.”

“Really?” Laurel said softly. “Could have fooled me.”

* * *

“I’M NOT GOING to be able to tell him, Winnie. I just can’t.”

Fifteen minutes after Corb left the apartment, when she was sure her stomach had settled enough that she wouldn’t be sick again, Laurel had called her friend.

For the past two months all her focus had been on helping Winnie.

But now she was the one who needed help.

And, as usual, Winnie didn’t let her down.

“Okay, let’s say you don’t tell him. What are your options?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

“Well, how about this? Abortion.”

Laurel’s answer was instinctive. “No way.”

“Fine then. Option two—you have the baby and give it up for adoption.”

“No way.” That answer had come out of nowhere, too, and Laurel was surprised at how sure she felt about it. She had been adopted by her parents, and she’d always wondered about her biological mother and father. Why had they given her up? She’d sworn that she would never do the same thing, no matter how dire her circumstances.

Well, these circumstances were pretty dire, but at least she was twenty-six, not sixteen as her own birth mother had been.

“Well, then. That leaves only one alternative. You’re going to have a baby, Laurel. Just like me. We can be single mothers together. We’ll be like a same-sex couple except for the sex part.”

Reluctantly Laurel laughed. In some ways the picture Winnie was painting was almost appealing. But there was one big problem with it. “I’m not moving to Coffee Creek.”

“Oh, I know. I was just teasing. But isn’t it a good thing you got that job promotion? The extra money is bound to come in handy now.”

In theory, yes. But she’d already tested her employer’s patience with an extended leave of absence. What would her editor say when she told her she was going to have a baby?

“Oh, Lord, this is so complicated....”

“And you haven’t even factored Corb into the equation yet,” Winnie pointed out.

“But if I don’t tell him...”

“If you’re keeping the baby, you have to tell him. Can you really imagine any other way?”

Laurel realized Winnie had just talked her around in one big circle. They were back where they’d started, with no other option in sight.

Feeling as if she’d been saddled with a thirty-pound weight, she sank back into the pillows that Corb had plumped up for her.

“You’re right. I have to tell him.”

* * *

THE FIRST TIME Corb had driven past the location of the accident had been the day Jackson chauffeured him home from the hospital. A plain white marker had already been placed in the spot where Brock had died.

This was to be expected. In Montana, sites of traffic fatalities were identified in this way to remind drivers to take caution when behind the wheel.

What wasn’t to be expected was the wreath of purple daisies that had been hung over the marker.

No one in the family had any idea who had put the flowers there.

Until now.

Corb pulled over to the side of the road, behind a familiar, rusted old truck. When he got out from the driver’s seat and crossed over to the other side of his Jeep, he saw Maddie Turner. His mother’s sister. The woman none of them were supposed to talk to.

His earliest recollection of the feud between the two sisters was when he was around six years old. His dad had been driving him home from his first day at school, and they’d stopped to get an ice cream from the freezer out front of the gas station.

A truck much like the one at the side of the road here, had been parked at the pumps. He remembered the woman looked old to him then, but he’d thought she had nice eyes.

For some reason, though, his father had ignored her.

This struck him as wrong. He was used to his dad smiling and chatting with all sorts of folk, whether he’d met them before, or not.

“Who was that lady, Dad?” he’d asked on the drive home, in between licks of his chocolate-covered ice cream.

“That woman is your mom’s sister. Her name is Maddie Turner.”

“Why— Then she’s my aunt, isn’t she, Dad?”

“Well, yes, but you shouldn’t think of her that way. Long ago she and your mom had a big disagreement. That woman hurt your mom pretty bad.”

His little-boy heart had been stricken by the very idea. “What did that lady do to her?”

“Your mom doesn’t like to talk about it, and neither should you. Corb, next time you run into her, in town, or wherever, you just quietly go about with your business. Got that?”

“Got it, Dad.”

Following family protocol, as established all those years ago, Corb supposed he ought to get back into his truck and drive away.

But screw family protocol. His dad had died a long time ago. Now Brock was dead, too. Why was this woman, who the family had disowned, setting out flowers for him?

Corb leaned against his truck to watch. The new wreath had been hung. Now Maddie Turner took the dead flowers and stuffed them into a black garbage bag. Then she started wading through the tall grass back toward her vehicle, without even glancing in his direction.

She was going to get into her truck and drive off without saying a word. And suddenly Corb knew he couldn’t let that happen.

“Why?” he asked.

She stopped and stood still for a few moments.

She was about the same height as his mother, but built much stockier, carrying at least twenty-five extra pounds. Her gray hair was cropped bluntly at her chin, and her features were thick, her skin heavily lined.

She had none of Olive’s delicate beauty.

Except for her eyes. Even at her age, which must be around sixty, he figured, they were large and a lovely shade of green.

“You are breaking the unwritten code, Corbett.”

He couldn’t say what shocked him more. Her speaking voice which was soft and refined. Or the fact that she not only knew who he was but used his full name, which almost no one but his mother ever did.

He decided to ignore the comment. “Why are you putting out flowers for Brock? Did you know him?”

“Just let it be, son.” She blinked and a single tear rolled down the side of her face. Then she tossed the garbage bag in the back of her truck before driving away.

Corb watched, puzzled. Technically, Brock had been Maddie Turner’s nephew. She had every reason to leave a tribute to him if she so desired.

But he couldn’t help wondering if there was more to this than just that simple explanation. If perhaps Brock had broken the unwritten rule, too.

* * *

CORB GOT BACK into his Jeep and followed Maddie Turner farther along Big Valley Road, up to the point where the road forked. When she headed right, toward Silver Creek Ranch, the place where she and his mother had been born and raised, he turned left. He’d never been to the Turner place. Once it had been on par with his father’s spread. But his mother had inherited a good chunk of the land with Grandpa Turner’s death, and so now Coffee Creek was the much bigger property. Still, Silver Creek had to be a big operation for a single woman to handle on her own.





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