Crazy for Cowboy Read online

  “When?”

  “You told me you weren’t interested in the cowboy.”

  “I didn’t lie. Technically, he’s not a cowboy.”

  “But, technically, you thought he was. So, technically, that counts. You’ve broken your resolution.”

  “I have not. He’s not a cowboy. He’s an actor.”

  “Is that really any better on the evolutionary scale? Wake up and smell the latté, honey.” Jackie reached for Emily’s hand. “I hang around these people, Em. I know what they’re like. Actors are great for a few laughs, but they’re incredibly self-absorbed. They have to be. When you’re a performer, the product you’re selling is yourself.”

  Was Brandon self-absorbed? It wasn’t a term Emily would have used to describe the man she’d known as Houston. The love he’d expressed when he’d shown her the photo of his nephew, and the way he’d interacted with the boy on the front lawn of his house, told her that he was anything but self-centered.

  And, from the notes on the back of his résumé, he’d put his career on hold for a time. For his family. Would a self-centered man do that?

  “Brandon is different.”

  Jackie shifted her weight, thrusting one hip out and planting a fist on top of it. “Oh, really?”

  “You don’t know him like I do.”

  “And how well do you know him? You met him a little over a week ago and apparently he’s been lying from the start.”

  Emily gritted her teeth. That part was true enough. He had been lying. Ever since they met. How could she form a relationship with a guy that was dishonest?

  Relationship? Had she really come to think of it that way?

  Jackie was right. She had to wake up. The man had tricked her. But why? If Jacks wasn’t involved, what possible reason would he have to pretend? He was like one of those characters in the show they’d seen, wooing his lady by dressing up in costume. Why would he play such a stupid game?

  She stared down at his picture once again. Damn it. Here she was defending the guy, feeling as though she had a stake in what was said about him. As though she were...

  In love.

  She bit her bottom lip to hold in her frustration. She was a professional woman, a woman with her own business, a woman who could handle just about anything that came her way. How could she be so dumb when it came to men? She tossed his résumé into the trashcan beside the desk.

  “Good,” her friend said. “That’s the smart thing to do.”

  It might have been, but for some reason, Emily was finding it difficult to draw in a breath. She looked at his crumpled picture in the trash, at that smiling face gazing up at her. Fragments of conversation repeated in her mind.

  She remembered the picnic. At one point, he’d turned away from her. What had she said to make him do that? She probed her memory, replaying the scene.

  She’d asked him if he’d gotten the job at the stables. Why had that upset him?

  And then there was the night of the play. He told her he’d acted the part of the leading man in the same Shakespearean comedy. She’d interrupted him and proceeded to natter on about her high school drama exploits. If she’d just kept her mouth shut, would he have told her the truth then?

  And wasn’t it Shakespeare who asked, ‘What’s in a name?’ Did it really matter if people called him Houston, Brandon, Doug or Paul? Emily understood who he was deep down. She’d experienced his humor and his caring, protective ways. She’d witnessed the love he bestowed on his family; felt his tenderness and passion first hand. She’d seen into his heart, knew his soul. And both were beautiful.

  He wasn’t a fraud. Those other men she’d dated were. Brandon was everything a real cowboy should be. And more.

  “Wash your hands of him, Emily,” Jacks advised, gracing her with the mother hen look that she’d perfected from watching Florence Henderson on reruns of The Brady Bunch. “Promise?”

  Emily crossed her fingers behind her back. “Sure.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brandon stood across from the Wainwright Hotel, getting a feel for the backdrop of his upcoming scene.

  Of course, the building wasn’t the original Wainwright. It had burned to the ground in the late 1920’s. This hotel was a replica, constructed on the grounds of Heritage Park—a duplicate of the establishment that Martin Luther Forster built in 1907.

  The yellow, two-story, wooden structure, which sported a spacious veranda that swept across two sides of the building and on both levels, contained the bar where Brandon had already filmed his death scene.

  But it was the next scene that would really put him to the test. The scene where he’d first meet the star of the movie...by riding up to him on a horse.

  Brandon wiped his palms on the thighs of his pants. Or rather, his character’s pants. He’d made it to the set hours before his call time. Even so, his university pal, Darlene, had whisked him off to Wardrobe and Makeup. Wearing the character’s clothes and a pound of greasepaint—a darker base, a hint of sunburn and a whole lot of stubble—he really felt like a different person. A bad boy of the old west.

  Except for one thing. He still wasn’t sure he’d be able to ride like one.

  A short distance from the hotel. Brandon noticed several horse-trailers and, just beyond that, a couple of mares, grazing in a field. Movie horses. One of which he’d be riding, no doubt.

  He moved toward the area. Being around the animals, maybe even petting one, might calm his fears. He’d taken only a few steps toward his destination when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Ready fer yur big scene?”

  Brandon turned to find Sam, smiling up at him. “What are you doing here?” Not that he was unhappy to see his teacher. Sam’s presence helped boost his confidence.

  “Thought I’d come by fer...what’s it called?” Sam twisted his mouth in thought. “Moral support.”

  “Thanks. I could use it.”

  They walked, shoulder to shoulder, in companionable silence. As they neared the animals, Brandon spotted a man grooming one of the horses. The fellow looked up and waved in their direction.

  “Sam! How ya been?”

  “Robbie,” Sam hollered back, grasping the young man’s hand when they were close enough to touch.

  Robbie was young, all right. Brandon pegged him to be in his early twenties. If that. It was probably the mop of red hair and the cheeks speckled with freckles that gave him his youthful appearance.

  “You the wrangler ’round here, boy?” Sam asked.

  “Helping out,” Robbie replied, showing off a toothy grin that only added to his boyishness.

  Sam wiggled a thumb in Brandon’s direction. “This here’s Brandon Hollister. He’s in the movie.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Robbie smiled but seemed unimpressed. Brandon wasn’t surprised. He’d already seen at least twenty guys dressed up in old-time cowboy duds. Robbie probably had his fill of movie cowpokes.

  “He plays a bad guy,” Sam went on. “Gets a couple o’ scenes with the star.”

  Robbie’s grin faded. A look of admiration replaced it. “Wow. You’re a real actor.” He pumped Brandon’s arm up and down. “Glad to meet ya.”

  Brandon smiled back. Apparently, even cowboys were impressed by the glamour of Hollywood. “Good to meet you, too.”

  “Hey, Robbie, think my friend here can go fer a ride?” Sam asked. “Helps him git into character ‘n’ all.”

  Brandon shot a look at Sam. Since when did his riding teacher know anything about how a performer prepared?

  “Sure,” Robbie replied. “I know all about actors and stuff.” He reached for a clipboard on the side of the nearest trailer. “You’re gonna be riding King. That’s the black stallion over there.”

  Brandon turned to look in the direction Robbie was pointing, inadvertently gulping when he saw the huge beast.

  “You’re a bad guy, so ya hafta ride a black horse,” Robbie said with a chuckle as he made his way over to the pen. “That’s the movies for ya.”


  Brandon hadn’t made a conscious effort to stop walking. His feet just didn’t want to move forward.

  “Yull be fine, son,” Sam whispered, pulling him aside. “Movie horses are a pretty even-tempered bunch. Jus’ don’t be nervous.”

  “I’ll try.” Brandon eyed the large, black beast that Robbie was leading over to them—or rather, the large black beast that was leading Robbie. Now Brandon knew what the phrase ‘chomping at the bit’ meant.

  “Horses are like people, ya know,” he heard Sam saying. “Ya act jittery aroun’ ‘em, yur gonna make ‘em jittery. Take control, like I showed ya. Yur the boss, ‘member?” Sam finished his advice with his usual punctuation.

  “I remember. And thanks for the pep talk.” Brandon took a deep breath and approached King. The animal snorted and lurched back.

  “There’s a patch of trees over that way,” Robbie said, pointing in a northerly direction. “Just keep going, past the train tracks, till ya get to the ravine. There’s a great view there. Then you can circle back. That should give ya a feel for the horse.”

  “Sure,” Brandon replied. It sounded easy enough. He said a silent prayer and put his foot into the stirrup. If there was one thing he felt confident about when it came to horses, it was getting on. He pulled himself up, swung a leg over, and sat astride King.

  He wasn’t expecting the surge of energy that propelled the animal forward. It was as though Brandon had stepped on the gas pedal of a brand new Porsche. The horse sprang to life, knocking him backwards. Gripping the horn, he barely managed to stay in the saddle.

  “Don’t act nervous,” Brandon told himself. “Don’t act nervous.”

  He started down a steep slope. Brandon felt as though he was going to slip right off King’s shoulders and land in the dirt in front of the creature’s hooves. He pulled his knees in tight around the horse’s middle, his heart pounding in his chest. This was worse than any opening night jitters he’d ever experienced.

  Brandon made it to the bottom of the hill where he let out the breath he’d been holding. A throbbing at his wrist had him looking down at his hands. He realized he was holding the reins so tightly his forearms were already fatigued.

  He forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders, stretching his fingers, all the exercises that he’d learned at drama school. At least the ones he could do while sitting on a horse.

  Soon, his heartbeat returned to a semi-regular rhythm and he was breathing evenly. He wasn’t exactly relaxed, but he certainly wasn’t as nervous as he had been.

  “Well, King, ol’ buddy—let’s take a look at this view, shall we?”

  * * *

  Emily sat on the old-fashioned steam train, fanning herself with the newsprint map of the historical village.

  It was still morning and the day had already turned into another scorcher, unusual for the Prairie City. It didn’t help that the Park was overrun with people—tourists who’d come for Stampede now checking out other attractions the city had to offer. Or that she was lugging a big bag around with her. Chalk it up to force of habit. She kept everything on her—money, ID, her medical kit, even a pair of wire cutters. She’d helped trapped and injured animals escape with that trusty device on more than one occasion.

  With the heat, the bag seemed to gain five pounds and, after spending a good twenty minutes wandering through the dirt streets and peering in the windows of the old houses, she’d boarded the train to ride around the periphery of the park, continuing her search for Brandon.

  Jackie had given her the idea. If the theater had experienced difficulty getting actors because they were all playing cowboys in a movie at Heritage Park, then maybe that’s where her cowboy was, too.

  As the train pulled into Shepard Station, Emily saw a large yellow building, surrounded by trailers, equipment and actors in costume.

  It looked like a movie set, all right.

  She grabbed her bag, looped the strap over her shoulder, and stepped off the train.

  As she neared the crowd, she discovered even more activity. Technicians adjusted huge lights, makeup artists were dabbing at faces, there were even some genuine cowboys that she recognized, carrying old style shotguns. She’d had no idea that it took so many people to make a movie.

  On the veranda of the yellow building was a balding, dapper man talking to an angelic looking woman in a long white dress. Emily was sure she’d seen the actress before—in a film or maybe on television—but she couldn’t place her. The balding man looked even less familiar, though everyone seemed to be paying a great deal of attention to him. Emily assumed he was the director of the picture, or someone equally important.

  She made her way around the activity, scanning the area for signs of Brandon. As she neared a pen of horses, she pulled up short. Here was a man she recognized. Not quite the one she was looking for, but his appearance was certainly an interesting coincidence.

  “Sam?”

  The old cowboy turned away from the red-haired fellow he’d been talking to. “Doctor Em? Whaddaya doin’ here?"

  Sam may have been trying to act nonchalant but his voice betrayed him. He squeaked as badly as a choirboy entering puberty.

  “I’m meeting Houston. Have you seen him?” Man, she was getting good at this secret agent stuff. Lying was becoming almost second nature to her.

  Sam removed his cowboy hat and scratched his scalp. “He’s gone fer a ride.”

  Emily glanced over at the redhead. His gaze darted back and forth between her and Sam.

  “Fine,” Emily said, dropping her heavy bag at her feet. “I’ll wait.”

  “Ahhhhh...” Sam sounded like a creaky door opening as he fought for words. “He could be gone fer some time.”

  “Naw,” the younger man interjected. “If he’s just going to the ravine and back, it won’t take him long.”

  Emily felt sorry for the young guy. He was obviously trying to be helpful. It was equally obvious that Sam did not find the man’s comments so. The look Sam gave him had the redhead turning mute within seconds.

  “I think I’ll take a walk that way and meet him,” Emily told the two men, picked up her bag and started off in the direction the redhead had indicated.

  “Ya might miss him that way,” Sam cautioned her.

  Or she might miss the perfect opportunity to confront Brandon alone. “I’ll take my chances,” she called back and kept walking.

  Soon she was making her way down a steep embankment, holding onto the branches of nearby trees for support. She was sheltered from the blaze of the sun by a canopy of leaves. Still, she felt the sweat trickle down her back as she fought her way through the brush.

  At last, she saw him. Standing in a clearing, near the edge of the ravine, was a rider astride a black beauty of a horse. The image was postcard perfect—a gorgeous, sexy cowboy, against a backdrop of blue sky.

  There was a rumble beneath her. She looked to her right and saw the approaching train. She had only a moment before it would pass between them and separate her from the man.

  “Houston!”

  Brandon turned toward her. At the same time, the whistle on the train sounded. Then there was another noise. An ungodly one, as if a wild beast were screaming.

  Emily realized that the sound came from the black horse. The spooked animal reared back, sending his rider over the edge of the cliff.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Oh, my God!” Emily watched in stunned horror as the horse galloped into the path of the advancing train.

  She screamed and prepared for the inevitable clash of steel and flesh. But the horse surprised her. He managed to beat the train and run past her, grinding to a halt in front of a thicket.

  She was torn. She wanted—needed—to go to Brandon. But the train now separated them. It took her a moment, but she regained her senses and remembered her training. She could deal with both crises, one at a time.

  Right now, the only problem she could reach was the spooked horse. Emily approached the animal, cautiously. Mou
thing reassuring words, she grabbed his reins, and tied him to a nearby tree.

  By the time she had completed her task, the tail end of the caboose was disappearing around the bend. She crossed the tracks and scrambled to the ravine to peer over the edge.

  She scanned the brush and rocks and the water below, looking for Brandon. There, through the greenery, she spotted a swatch of an oilskin duster. Her heart pounding furiously in her chest, Emily began making her way down the embankment, half-sliding, half-tripping.

  She could see Brandon clearly now. He was lying on his back, his limbs splayed out at odd angles. Motionless.

  As she dove through the bushes toward him, she couldn’t help feeling that the accident was her fault. She should have realized that he was an inexperienced rider. Had she startled him? Was she the reason he was lying in a heap, his face pale, his body still?

  She threw herself down beside him, grabbing hold of the front of his shirt. “Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

  There was no reaction. She fought back tears. This was no time to get emotional. She had to remember her medical training and keep calm.

  She whipped out her cell and started to call 911 when she realized she had no idea how to tell the operator where they were. Emily pocketed the phone again, knowing she was his best hope. She leaned into him. “Please, honey, let me know you’re all right.”

  Two arms grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down. A pair of lips claimed hers with such intensity that an involuntary moan rumbled up from her throat. She pulled back and gave Brandon a swat on the chest.

  “You scared me!”

  “I scared myself.”

  “I thought you were dead!”

  “If all the angels look like you, then I am in heaven.” He took a big breath and winced. “I think I just got the air knocked out of me.”

  Emily ran her hands along his sides, looking for signs of injury. “I’m sorry I smacked you. I thought you were faking.”

  “I’m not faking anything, darlin’. Especially not this,” he said and pulled her down for another kiss.

  His tongue ran over her lips. Instantly, Emily felt an explosion of heat through her body. Her tongue joined his, as her hands began wandering over his chest.