“So you found us another cook?” Cody asked.
His uncle Ted nodded, gnawing at his toothpick. “Working on lunch in the cookhouse as we speak.”
Relief surged through him. “That’s great. I know the hands have been whining about the food. So who did you find?”
“A surprise,” Ted said with a grin Cody didn’t trust.
“You know I don’t like surprises. Just tell me. Clayton’s not that big. Please don’t tell me you listened to Jonathan and got Vivienne Clayton to come and cook.” The city chef would never last on the ranch.
Ted said nothing. Instead he opened the door of the cook shack with a flourish. Cody stepped inside.
And stared in disbelief as the very person he had warned his uncle against now stood in his kitchen.
* * *
Rocky Mountain Heirs:
When the greatest fortune of all is love.
The Nanny’s Homecoming—Linda Goodnight
July 2011
The Sheriff’s Runaway Bride—Arlene James
August 2011
The Doctor’s Family—Lenora Worth
September 2011
The Cowboy’s Lady—Carolyne Aarsen
October 2011
The Loner’s Thanksgiving Wish—Roxanne Rustand
November 2011
The Prodigal’s Christmas Reunion—Kathryn Springer
December 2011
About the Author
CAROLYNE AARSEN and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in an office with a large west-facing window through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.
The Cowboy’s Lady
Carolyne Aarsen
I’d like to dedicate this book to my amazing
fellow authors in this series: Linda Goodnight,
Deb Rather a.k.a. Arlene James, Lenora Worth,
Roxanne Rustand and Kathryn Springer.
It has been a lot of fun working with you all.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on
your own understanding. In all your ways submit
to him and he will make your paths straight.
—Proverbs 3:5–6
Chapter One
She was back where she started.
How many years had she itched to get out of Clayton, Colorado, aka Hicksville? As soon as she graduated from high school, Vivienne Clayton headed for New York to make her name as a gourmet chef.
But here she was. Back in her hometown. And looking for a job at the Cowboy Café.
Oh, the irony!
Vivienne adjusted the black cardigan she put over the white ruffled T-shirt she’d agonized over choosing. She glanced down at the skinny jeans and black flats she’d chosen for her mission. Too dressy? Not dressy enough?
It would be perfect if she were applying for a chef’s job at any restaurant in New York.
But for the Cowboy Café?
C’mon, Vivienne, she told herself, finger combing her long hair away from her face. You’re a Cordon Bleu–trained chef. You can rise to any culinary occasion. Rise to this one.
And before she left the house this morning, her sister Brooke had said she’d be praying for her—for what that was worth. Vivienne wasn’t sure God heard prayers anymore.
Back in New York, living in her tiny apartment, she felt like a minuscule mote in the endless humanity filling the city. She doubted God even knew where she was then.
Doubted he even cared that she was back in her hometown now.
Just before she took a step up to the door, a memory intruded. Her as a young girl coming to this selfsame café, hoping to get a job as a waitress, hoping to help out her family after her father passed away.
But that was then. This was now, and now she was taking charge of her life.
Before she could reach for the door, however, it flew open and a teenage girl stormed out, sandy brown hair flowing out behind her, her eyes a smudge of black mascara and green eye shadow, tears coursing down her cheeks.
“I hate the ranch. I hate living there!” she shouted to the tall, broad-shouldered man who came out right behind her, dropping his cowboy hat on his head. “Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean you can make me go back.”
“Bonnie, now is not the time,” the man growled. He slanted an embarrassed glance toward Vivienne.
And to her surprise, Vivienne couldn’t look away. Time halted as her heart quickened with an unidentifiable emotion.
He was good-looking—she had to concede that—but something else was happening with her reaction to him. She knew him. Clayton wasn’t a large town, and she had grown up here. She held his gaze, searching his hazel eyes, making note of his dark brown hair, glancing over his stubbled cheeks and chin.
“Viv?” he asked, his dark eyebrows shooting together in a frown. “Vivienne Clayton? I heard you were back.”
She blinked, trying in vain to pull up something to trigger a memory. But nothing. She lifted her hands as if in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t remember who you are.”
His eyes grew suddenly hard and he pulled back as if she had slapped him. “And why would you?” he said with a short laugh.
Who was he? And why did she feel they had some history? Some connection? And how come he seemed angry with her?
“So are we going back to your stupid ranch, Cody?”
