Crazy for Cowboy Page 10

Emily scrunched down in her seat. Peeking over the steering wheel, she watched as Houston, or whoever he was, made his way to the front door of the white, two-story structure.

  If this was his home, he certainly had a very green thumb. There were shrubs and flowers everywhere. The place even had a white picket fence.

  Emily sensed a woman’s touch and cringed. Would Jackie have talked a married man into asking her out? Into kissing her?

  No. Her friend was capable of some pretty major pranks, but she wouldn’t go that far. And Emily couldn’t imagine a married actor, no matter how much he needed money, agreeing to it either. Nor would his wife. Houston had to be single.

  Just then the front door opened and a tiny form ran out of the house. Emily rolled down her window so she could hear.

  The child, a boy, was laughing as he ran up to the man she knew as Houston. The fellow stopped and reached down, picking up the child and throwing the giggling bundle over his shoulder.

  Her heart switched gears and accelerated. Was he married after all? Was this his child? She pulled up her binoculars and had a closer look at the pair.

  The little boy was the same one as in the photo Houston had shown her the day of the picnic. Was it really his nephew? Was that part of his story true?

  As if to answer her question, a dark-haired young woman, who looked like a female version of Houston, opened the door and called out.

  “Where have you been? You said you’d be home half an hour ago.”

  “Sorry, Ally, I got tied up.”

  “With the lady vet?”

  Emily’s stomach did a somersault. That was her they were talking about. She leaned closer to the open window.

  Now that Houston had closed the distance between himself and the woman with the dark hair, Emily could hear only snippets of their conversation. The odd word, here and there, popped out—‘restaurant’ and ‘calling’.

  The man looked at his watch and let out an exasperated groan. “Gotta let ya go, Liam.”

  That may have been the actor’s plan, but the kid had other ideas. No sooner was the child back on terra firma than he wrapped himself around the man’s leg.

  Emily smiled. No matter what Houston had lied about, he had apparently told the truth as well. It appeared that he did have a sister named Ally and a nephew named Liam. And the same love that Emily had seen in Houston’s eyes when he talked about his nephew was there now as he lumbered over to his sister, the child still coiled around his leg. Gently, he persuaded the little boy to go to his mother, then he turned toward the garage.

  It was time to get going. Someone was bound to wonder what she was doing there. Especially when she was getting all misty, choked by a warm and fuzzy feeling that threatened her desire for vengeance.

  Poking up her head, she jotted down the house number and the name of the street on her map. She watched as Houston made his way toward a set of outside stairs that apparently led to a couple of rooms on top of the garage.

  She looked back toward the main house. Ally and the boy had disappeared behind the front door. The coast was clear.

  Emily sat up straight in her seat, gave the steering wheel a turn and put her foot on the accelerator.

  A horn honked behind her. She turned to discover the vehicle she’d almost sideswiped. Damn. A good spy would have checked before pulling out of a parking space.

  She mouthed a sorry to the driver, who looked like he was not anywhere close to forgiving her, and realized that she’d probably blown her cover. She dipped her head and pulled away from the curb, her tires squealing.

  * * *

  It was the horn that drew Brandon’s attention. He was almost at the top of the stairs when he turned to see a white truck pulling away at high speed. The vehicle looked surprisingly like the one Emily drove.

  Brandon chuckled to himself. That woman was on his mind so much that he was seeing her everywhere. Even on the way home, he kept spotting a white Ford pickup. He was starting to get delusional about that girl. He’d been so anxious to get to the riding stables to see her, he’d forgotten to take his cell with him. Again.

  He pulled out his keys and opened the door to his apartment. He dumped the contents of his pockets onto the kitchen counter then checked his voicemail as he undressed. Six messages. When his sister told him that his phone had been ringing all afternoon, she hadn’t been kidding.

  The first three calls were from Sarah; the next two from Katie. One of the other waiters had called in sick and they were desperate for him to cover the shift.

  He glanced at his watch and figured he could still make it. He was down to his birthday suit by the time the last message started.

  “Brandon, this is Kent Miller. I’m the Production Assistant on the Houston Savage movie. I just wanted you to know that the shooting schedule has changed. Your first day of filming will be on the 18th. Please call me back to confirm at...”

  Brandon didn’t catch the phone number the voice recited. He just stood in the middle of his apartment, buck naked, staring at the machine. He’d already forgotten the guy’s name. Already forgotten most of what the man said. There was only one piece of information that had made an impact and still resounded through his brain.

  He had only three more days to learn how to ride a horse.

  * * *

  Emily went back to her condo and headed straight for her laptop. She clicked the internet icon and went online. She guessed that performers had a professional association, just as veterinarians did. Surely she’d be able to discover Houston’s real name through it.

  She came up with two: the Canadian Actors’ Equity Association and the Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists. The second website had an option to search for performers. She selected it, only to discover that, in order to find an actor, you first needed to know his name, the very thing she was looking for.

  She leaned her elbow on the desk, balanced her head on her fist and thought. To discover Houston’s identity, she’d have to get creative.

  “What would Jessica Fletcher do?”

  She remembered the play they’d seen. He’d told her he’d acted the part of Berowne in Love’s Labour’s Lost. It was as good a lead as any.

  Emily typed the play’s title into her search box, and added the words ‘Calgary production of’ for good measure. Fifteen minutes later, after going through archived photos of a number of theater companies, she was staring at a picture of her cowboy and reading the accompanying cast list.

  Finally she knew the name of the man who’d kissed and caressed her under the stars, the man who’d been lying to her ever since she’d met him. She sat back in her chair and grinned. “I’ve got you now, Brandon Hollister.”

  Emily turned off the computer, picked up the telephone and dialed. After three rings a voice on the other end answered with a cheery, “Hello?”

  “Hi, Jackie. Got any plans for Wednesday night?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Whoa!” Brandon pulled on Smokey’s reins and brought the animal to a stop in front of the stables.

  He had to admit, under Sam’s tutelage his riding skills had improved. But that wasn’t saying much, considering where he’d started. He had no idea if his horsemanship would be good enough to get him through the movie.

  “Good ridin’,” Sam complimented, moving his own horse alongside the dappled-gray. “I told ya I’d have ya lookin’ like a pro in no time.”

  “And that’s the thing I’ve run out of. Time. Filming starts tomorrow.”

  Sam patted him on the back. “Relax. I bin on some o’ those movie sets. If there’s any fancy ridin’ t’ be done, they bring in someone special t’ do it. If it’s jus’ a matter o’ ya sittin’ on a horse an’ trottin’ around, yull be fine.”

  Brandon nodded and rubbed his eyes. For the last three days he’d been running on adrenaline. In order to accommodate as much riding as he could, he’d worked out a split shift at the restaurant. The schedule was catching up with him.

 
“Make sure ya get a good night’s rest, son. The pretty girls in the theater don’t wanna look at a cowboy with bloodshot eyes.”

  Brandon was sure that the redness had as much to do with his allergies as lack of sleep. With all the extra contact he’d had with horseflesh, he’d been taking a full dose of antihistamines. In fact, it was probably time to pop another.

  “Don’t worry, Sam. I’ll make sure I get some rest. After tonight.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “I have a date.”

  Sam nudged him with his elbow. “Did you talk Doctor Em in t’ goin’ out with ya again?”

  “Yup,” Brandon replied, doing his imitation of Gary Cooper.

  The older man chuckled in approval. “Well, ya sly dog.”

  * * *

  Emily heard her own voice rise in panic. “What do you mean you can’t come until nine-thirty?”

  “Sorry, Em. We had to reschedule the actors’ photo shoot,” Jackie explained from the other end of the telephone line. “If it’s too late, maybe we should get together another night.”

  “No. It has to be tonight. Six o’clock. You promised.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s not like the tea and cookies are going to go bad.”

  Emily eyed the box of Oreos sitting on her kitchen counter. It was true. Chances are they wouldn’t go bad. In this lifetime.

  She plugged in the kettle for a cup of tea and grabbed a fistful of cookies. She needed to calm down. She was starting to sound hysterical. If she kept it up, Jackie was going to put two and two together and arrive at the actual reason Emily had invited her over. To expose her link with Houston.

  Brandon, she reminded herself. The cowboy’s name was Brandon. And he wasn’t even a cowboy. Just an actor Jackie had coerced for her prank.

  “You’re right, Jacks. I was hoping we’d have more time to talk. Nine-thirty is fine.” It was all she was going to get. It had to be fine.

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

  Emily listened to the dial tone, then placed the phone back in its cradle. Her brain worked frantically. What was she going to do now? Houston—correction—Brandon was due to arrive soon and Jackie, the guest of honor, was tied up at a photo shoot.

  She forced herself to think rationally. Her revelation would just take place later than planned. In the meantime, she’d have to go through with the date. Otherwise, Brandon would get suspicious.

  When the water came to a boil, Emily made herself a cup of herbal tea and snatched another cookie. She laced her fingers together and held the Oreo in both hands, trying to keep herself from shaking.

  Why was she getting worked up? It was just a date. A movie. Nothing that would put her in a compromising position. So why were those pesky butterflies slamming around in her stomach? Or maybe it was the cookie bits, doing a whirling dervish. Either way, she didn’t like the feeling.

  Emily fixed her attention on the kitchen clock. She watched as the minute hand ticked closer and closer to her fate. She finished her tea, rinsed her cup, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It took her a good five minutes to remove all the traces of the Oreos from her molars.

  She locked her apartment door with cold fingers and made her way to the lobby to find Brandon already there.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

  “You didn’t. I just arrived.” He wrapped an arm around her and brought her close, kissing her full on the lips.

  She melted into his arms. God, he smelled good. It should be illegal for a man to smell so delectable.

  He opened the lobby door for her and ushered her into his car. Once there, she played it cool, chatting about her day at work, the migration habits of the monarch butterfly, and the effects of global warming on the environment—topics that, in no way, could be construed as romantic. She was pretty sure that if he’d had any hopes of a sexual encounter, she’d effectively crushed them with her lack of titillating conversation.

  Regardless, Emily still felt a sense of trepidation as they entered the theater, popcorn and soda in hand. Sitting across from Brandon in a Japanese restaurant, had been one thing. It would have been difficult for the man to make a move on her then. But a darkened movie theater was an entirely different scenario. Jackie often boasted about her sexual conquests, made during The Artist, Midnight in Paris and Dr. Suess’ The Lorax.

  As the film started, however, Emily sensed that she had little to worry about. Brandon seemed completely uninterested in her. He was scrunched down in his seat, with his cowboy hat pulled low, seemingly absorbed in the screen.

  She was surprised he’d suggested the romantic comedy. It was a movie Emily had been hoping to see, she just hadn’t expected to find a cowboy willing to sit through a chick flick.

  For the forty-eighth time that evening, she reminded herself that he wasn’t a cowboy. He was an actor. Naturally, he’d be interested in all kinds of movies.

  The audience around her laughed. Emily looked up at the screen to see the hero emerge from the shower, dripping wet and running around with only a copy of Crime and Punishment to cover his assets.

  A laugh erupted from Brandon. Actually, it was closer to a snort. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought it was a snore. He jerked up and looked in her direction.

  Emily smiled back at him, if only to keep up the pretence of the date. That he took the small gesture as an invitation was obvious. He reached for her hand and held it, smoothing his fingers over her flesh.

  Her heart started to pound. This was it. Pretty soon his arm would be around her, his lips would be nibbling on her earlobe and then he would begin to trail soft kisses down her neck. She told herself that the excitement she felt was really the fear of having to fend him off.

  But the fear, the excitement, or whatever it was, died after a few minutes, as her date’s hand went limp and his body slowly sank back into his chair.

  * * *

  “I loved the scene where he got caught in the shower.”

  “That was funny,” Brandon agreed, as he fought his way through the traffic back to Emily’s place.

  The shower bit was the only part of the film he’d actually seen. He’d dozed through the rest of the movie, waking only when the audience’s laughter jolted him. Unfortunately, instead of revitalizing him, his forty winks left him feeling dazed and even more exhausted.

  “I was confused about the subplot,” Emily was saying. “Did you understand how the guy with the diamonds fit in?”

  Brandon scratched his head. What guy? What diamonds? “No. I didn’t get that part either.”

  He was glad she was in a talkative mood. Her chatter was helping to keep him awake. If he could just see her to her door, he vowed to have a little snooze in his car before driving home. He managed to conceal another yawn, while Emily was occupied with her watch. “You in a hurry?”

  She quickly folded her arms onto her lap. “No, why do you think that?”

  “’Cause that’s the fifth time you’ve checked your watch.” Brandon started to wonder just how well he’d hidden his fatigue from his date. Had she interpreted his lack of energy as a lack of interest? Was he about to get the heave ho?

  “No. No, not at all. I was just hoping you’d be able to...come up and visit for a while.”

  Brandon almost swallowed his tongue. He’d gone from feeling rejected to getting a proposition in three seconds flat.

  What an offer! And she’d said it so beautifully, a mixture of sweet innocence with the spice of seduction behind it. It was the invitation he’d been dreaming of. But why did she have to make it now, when he had all the vigor of a wet noodle? Could he say no without offending her? If he did, would she ever invite him up again?

  “Sure,” he told her. “I’d love to.”

  * * *

  The trap was set.

  Emily checked her watch again. It was nine-fifteen. It would take them another five minutes to get to her place and another minute or so to park. Then she would lea
d Brandon up to her apartment. As soon as Jackie arrived, the hoax would be revealed and the tables would turn. The joke would be on them.

  Just like clockwork, it was nine-twenty when Brandon pulled into an empty stall in visitor parking. Still playing his role as the gentleman cowboy, he came around to open her door. Although, she noticed it took him a rather long time to get to her side of the car.

  Emily made her way to the front entrance. She half expected Brandon to take the keys and open the door for her, but when she swiveled around to look for him he was still several paces behind. She turned the key in the lock and swung the door open herself.

  He finally caught up to her in the lobby. She waited until he was beside her, then gestured toward the elevator. He took the hint and started walking toward it. Slowly. Why was he so hesitant? He was just going to her home, after all. Not to the gallows.

  When they got to her floor, Brandon lagged behind. She could hear his footsteps dragging across the carpet as he traipsed along.

  She opened her apartment door and stepped back so he could go in first. He moseyed in, at a snail’s pace, then leaned against the wall.

  “The living room is this way,” she said, lifting her arm to indicate the direction.

  He followed her lead and walked toward the open area. “This is nice,” he said, looking around the room.

  It was nice, Emily supposed. But more like a doll’s house than a home. There were no knickknacks and very few furnishings. What pieces she had chosen were white. She remembered her mother’s mortification when she’d first seen the couch and matching chair.

  “But white will get dirty so fast,” her mom had warned.

  Emily eyed the upholstery with disdain. It looked as fresh and white as the day the delivery men had set it up. What did that say about her social life?

  “Thanks. Have a seat,” she offered Houston, stealing another look at her watch.

  Damn. It was nine-forty. It had taken Brandon much longer to get up than she’d expected. Jackie could be standing at the downstairs buzzer, waiting. She might have rung five or six times by now. She might have given up and gone home. “I just have to check my messages. I’ll be right back.”