LITMIR.BIZ

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to where it belonged, she couldn’t very well do that.

      So what was she going to do with her time, especially since she was trying to avoid Ian?

      Her gaze landed on the countertop, where she spotted Granny’s old recipe box. She reached for the familiar, white metal container, with the scene of a mountain meadow hand painted on the outside. She lifted the lid and studied the yellowed tabs, bent from use.

      Appetizers, beverages, breads, cakes...

      She thumbed through the cookie recipes, which had always been her favorites. Granny had made little handwritten notes on the back of most of them. What a treat to be able to read her great-grandmother’s thoughts tonight, especially when she knew sleep wouldn’t come easy.

      After rummaging through the pantry for a box of herbal tea, Carly filled the teapot with water, then put it on the stove to heat. Next, she took a seat at the antique oak table to begin reading through Granny’s recipes as well as the notes on the backs of them.

      She’d no more than pulled out the stack of cards listed under cookies when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the display. It was Heather, who was still performing in the show in San Antonio, the one Carly had once starred in and then had to quit.

      “Hey,” Carly said. “What’s up?”

      “I called to check on you. How are you feeling?”

      “A lot better, although I’ve been pretty tired lately. I think that’s from burning the candle at both ends—and that bug I had really wore me down.”

      “You probably ought to talk to a doctor.”

      “I plan to get some sleep while I’m on the ranch. I never rest as well as I do out here. If that doesn’t work, I’ll make an appointment to see mine.”

      “But how are you feeling otherwise? I mean, starring in that show was really important to you. And the director wasn’t happy when you had to quit. Wasn’t he the one who told you he’d put in a good word for you with his buddy in Nashville?”

      “Yes, he was. So I doubt that he’ll do that now. But I’ve been disappointed before.” By people, by life events. Fortunately, Carly had learned to shake it off and to pivot in a new direction, if she needed to. “Don’t worry. I’ll find another gig soon.”

      “Good. You really need to get your career jump-started before you get to feeling maternal and lay that dream aside for a husband who doesn’t appreciate you and a slew of whining kids.”

      Heather, who’d grown up as the oldest in a family of seven, had spent more time babysitting her younger siblings than being a child herself. So it wasn’t any wonder she felt that way.

      If truth be told, Carly had once dreamed of having a family of her own someday, with two kids, a dog and a house in the suburbs. She’d also told herself she’d find a husband who would be willing to coparent and who’d promise not to work or be absent on holidays. But two years ago, her gynecologist had nipped that wishful thinking in the bud when she’d told Carly that due to a hormonal imbalance and a sketchy menstrual cycle she probably wouldn’t ever be able to conceive.

      But true to form, Carly had shaken off that girlish dream, instead focusing on her career. Besides, she’d told herself, with the lack of parenting she’d experienced, what kind of mother would she make anyway?

      “Don’t worry about me falling in love and giving up my singing career, Heather. I’ll make it happen.”

      “I’m glad to hear it. And I love your can-do attitude.” Her friend blew out a sigh. “But please give me a call after you talk to the doctor. I’ve been worried about you.”

      Now that Granny was gone, there weren’t too many people who actually worried about Carly. She suspected Braden did, and Jason. The two of them had become a lot closer lately, especially since love and romance had softened her oldest brother.

      “Thanks, Heather. If it turns out that I have to make an appointment, I’ll let you know.”

      When she disconnected the call, Carly glanced down at the recipe cards in her hand. She flipped through them until she spotted one of her favorites.

      Sugar cookies. What fun Carly used to have rolling out the dough and cutting them into shapes, especially at Christmas. Then she and Granny would frost them. She turned over the card. In blue ink, Granny had written:

      Carly’s favorite. The holidays aren’t the same without these cookies. That precious child’s eyes light up in pure joy. Warms my heart so.

      Then, in pencil, she’d added: “It was a sad day when she grew too old to bake with me anymore.”

      Carly remembered Granny’s last Christmas. She’d called and invited her to come over and bake cookies. “Just for old times’ sake,” Granny had added.

      But Carly had been too busy. It hadn’t been the first time she’d declined to visit Granny or to spend time in this old kitchen, but it had certainly been the last.

      Was that the day Granny had penciled the note?

      Guilt welled up in Carly’s chest until it clogged her throat and brought tears to her eyes.

      “Granny,” she said aloud, “I’m going to bake a batch of sugar cookies for old times’ sake. And before your kitchen is packed away.”

      Carly set the card aside and pulled out another. Brownies. No one made them like Granny. And this particular recipe had a fudge frosting that was to die for. On the back, Granny had written, “Men and boys can’t say no to these! They make good peace offerings. And good bribes, too!”

      The teapot on the stove whistled. After setting aside a stack of recipes she intended to bake, including Granny’s Texas chocolate cake, Carly poured a cup of hot water into a cup, then tore open a packet of chamomile tea and let it steep.

      With nothing on her agenda for this trip home—and most of the packing already done—she reached into the kitchen desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. Then she began a long grocery list.

      She had no idea what she was going to do with everything she intended to bake, but it was going to do her heart good. And right now, her heart needed all the good it could get.

      * * *

      As the summer sun climbed high in the Texas sky, Ian came out of the barn with Cheyenne tagging behind him. Carly had taken off a couple of hours ago, but he’d been in the south pasture at the time and had only watched her pickup driving down the county road.

      He had no right to know where she was going, he supposed, but that didn’t make him any less curious.

      Still, as he headed for the corral, where Jesse Ramirez, one of the teenage boys Jason had hired, was painting the rails, Carly drove up. At least she hadn’t taken one look at the packed-up house last night and blasted out of town at first light. Apparently, she planned to stick around for a while.

      When she waved at him, his pulse spiked. But then why wouldn’t it? Carly Rayburn was every cowboy’s dream—a five-foot-two-inch blonde, blue-eyed beauty with a soft Southern twang and a body built for snug denim and white lace.

      She was dressed to kill today in boots, black jeans and a blue frilly blouse. With her blond curls tumbling down her shoulders, she looked as though she was ready for one of the rides they used to take together, and he was half tempted to call it a day and suggest they do just that. But Carly had hitched her wagon to a different star and sought the fame and glory Ian had been happy to leave behind.

      Of course, she had no idea who Ian had once been or why he’d given it all up. It was a secret he meant to keep now that he was living in small-town obscurity and going by his given name.

      As she climbed from the truck and closed the driver’s door, she said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to help me carry some of this stuff into the house.”

      “Sure. What have you got there?”

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