Crazy for Cowboy Page 2

  Katie abandoned her bussing job and moved forward, her eyes growing larger with each step. “Oh, my gosh. Brandon? Is that you?”

  The door to the kitchen swung open and Sarah appeared. In her standard black dress, the petite actress looked as fragile as a barracuda. She stopped in her tracks and gave him the onceover. “What’s with the getup?”

  “Careful, missy,” Brandon cautioned, practicing his cowboy drawl. “You’re speakin’ to one of the bad guys in the new Houston Savage movie.”

  Sarah planted a fist onto one hip. “No way.”

  “Take a look at the script if you don’t believe me.” He pulled out the text from under his arm and handed it to her. “You can be the first to crack it open.”

  “That’s great, Brandon. Congratulations. I’m so proud of you.” Katie jumped up and wrapped her hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level to plant a kiss on his cheek.

  Sarah, her focus on the script, barely looked up. “Houston Savage is going to be filming here in Calgary? Really?”

  “Do you get to meet him?” Katie asked, releasing her hold.

  “Even better. He’s going to kill me.”

  “Huh?” The blank look on Sarah’s face was pure comic book.

  “In a barroom brawl,” Brandon clarified.

  “Houston Savage?” Katie hopped up and down, sending her apron flapping. “Wow.”

  Brandon suppressed a chuckle. Katie was even more excited about it than he was. If that were possible. With all the leaping she was doing, he half expected her to take flight. And Sarah, standing there, paging through the script, was the picture of pouting petulance. The two women were perfect foils for one another: Katie’s natural exuberance versus Sarah’s practiced cynicism. If they teamed up and formed a partnership they’d be the next Abbott and Costello.

  “How come I didn’t get an audition for this movie?"

  “It’s a boy flick, Sarah. The only woman in the film is Houston’s love interest and they’re flying her in from LA.”

  Sarah tapped her fake nails against the back of the manuscript. “Figures. Probably some big-busted model with the IQ of a snail.”

  “Houston Savage,” Katie repeated again in mid-flight. “He is so hot. I’ve loved him ever since he was in that cowboy movie with Matt Damon.” She sent a shy smile Brandon’s way. “Can you get his autograph for me?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Forget that. Bring him here. Lana Turner was discovered in a soda shop. This might be my big break.”

  Trust Sarah to think that a star could be discovered in an Albertan restaurant. Brandon shook his head.

  That’s when he saw her.

  She was seated on the other side of the restaurant, across from a woman whose hair was...what the hell would you call that color? Tomato? Whatever it was, Lucille Ball’s mop would have been mousy by comparison.

  But there was nothing mousy about the brunette. Her hair was rich and thick, her skin smooth and luminous, and her large eyes were focused solely on him. Brandon wouldn’t have pegged himself as the wallflower type, but he’d never had a woman stare at him the way this pretty stranger at table ten was doing.

  Of course, most of the women he met were restaurant patrons, pretentious members of the elite, sporting hats that would have cost him a week’s pay. But not the brunette. She was down to earth—he could sense that. She wore little makeup, no jewelry and a simple blue shirt that made her eyes sparkle.

  “By the way, who’s covering your shifts while you’re filming?”

  “You can take them if you like,” he answered, tearing his gaze away from the brunette. If there was one way to get on Sarah’s good side, it was to toss a few extra hours her way. And now that she was buttered up, Brandon was free to pursue the far more pressing issues on his mind. “Who’s serving at table ten?”

  “That would be me,” Sarah answered.

  “I don’t remember seeing those two women in here before.”

  “Me neither. But the dark-haired one is certainly having a good look at you.”

  So it wasn’t his imagination. The brunette was checking him out. It was the getup, plain and simple. Women went nuts over cowboys. And since he was all dressed up, he might as well take advantage of it.

  “Well, if you two little fillies will excuse me,” he said, tipping his hat to his comrades, “I’m gonna mosey on over there.”

  Sarah’s eyes turned to slits. “Why?”

  Why was right. What did he think he was doing? Approaching a woman in a restaurant? A woman he’d never met before and would probably never see again? What was he hoping to gain? His colleagues stared up at him with puzzled expressions.

  “I thought I’d try out my western accent on a captive audience.”

  “Sure.” Sarah smirked. “Go pour on the charm, cowboy.”

  * * *

  “Oh, my God.” Emily jerked up in her seat, splashing wine down the front of her top.

  “What is it, now?”

  “He’s coming this way.” Patting her shirt, Emily realized she was doing a better job of spreading the spill than mopping it up.

  “Take it easy, Em,” Jackie whispered. “Remember, use my technique. Keep repeating it in your mind: just say no to cowboys. Just say no to—”

  “Howdy, ladies.”

  Emily popped her elbows onto the table and plunked her chin on her fists in an attempt to hide her damp chest from the new arrival.

  “Y’all come here much?” he asked them, drawing out each word. Emily noticed that the two women at the other table had abandoned their coy leaning-in maneuver. This time, they swiveled right around in their seats to take a good look at the tall stranger.

  “This is our first visit,” Jackie explained to the man.

  “Well, it’s a mighty fine restaurant,” he said and flashed a million dollar smile. “So I’ve bin told.”

  Emily felt a primal drumbeat banging in her chest. That grin was enough to make any woman’s heart go pitter-pat. That, and a pair of ocean blue eyes that made her breath hitch. To heck with hiding her blouse. Emily reached for her wine and took a slug.

  “You little ladies have names?”

  Emily nearly choked. She had no intention of telling a strange man—much less, a strange cowboy—her name. No matter how tasty he looked.

  “I’m Jackie,” her friend informed him. Emily shot her a glance, silently warning her to stop there. Jackie nodded in her direction, as if in agreement, then opened her mouth again. “And this is Emily.”

  What a pal. Emily gave her friend a kick under the table.

  “Ouch!”

  “Howdy,” the cowboy said again, apparently unaware of the skirmish.

  Emily locked onto those baby blues of his. She watched, transfixed, as he removed his hat and raked a hand through a mop of dark curly hair. She found herself imagining how those locks would feel, sliding between her own fingers.

  “Fine,” she gulped. “Thanks.”

  “So?”

  The cowboy turned his head toward Jackie. “So?”

  “What’s your name, pardner?”

  “Uh...” He placed the hat back on his head. Emily saw a vacant look pass over the man’s features. How hard a question could it be?

  “Houston,” the fellow answered. “Houston Sav...”

  Emily cocked her head to one side and waited.

  “...e...” he continued, haltingly. The guy was being really careful with his pronunciation. Maybe he had a speech impediment. Either that or he needed new batteries.

  “...loy.”

  “Sav-e-loy,” Jackie repeated, letting the name hang in the air. Her brow wrinkled. “Is that Jewish?”

  “No,” he replied. “Very WASP.” That smile spread over his lips again. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being Jewish. A lot of my friends are Jewish.”

  Jewish cowboys? Emily held back a giggle. Although she was sure kosher cowpokes existed, she couldn't recall ever running into one.
Whatever this guy’s roots were though, he certainly had an interesting accent.

  “Where are you from?”

  It was the question that had been on Emily’s mind but it was Jackie who had voiced it. In spite of her resolution, Emily leaned forward, eager to hear the answer.

  “Uhhhhh...”

  Again that hesitation. He was a typical cowboy in that respect, a man uncomfortable with conversation. A perfect illustration of the strong, silent type. And wasn’t that one of the things she’d hated most about the men she’d dated? Their lack of communication skills? Then why was it so darned attractive on this guy? It was almost as though he was...did she dare even think the word...shy.

  “Houston,” the cowboy said. “Houston, Texas.”

  Houston Saveloy from Houston, Texas? Obviously, his parents had no imagination when it came to names. If the guy had a sister, they'd probably called her Dallas.

  Texas. At least now his accent made sense. And he was a man who had apparently spent some time in the sun. But his face wasn’t weathered like most of the cowboys she knew. Maybe the guy used Oil of Olay.

  “He must be hot in that coat,” one of the women at the other table muttered.

  “He’s hot, period,” declared her sidekick.

  Forget peripheral vision. Emily was so stunned by the exchange, she turned and looked at the older pair full on. The lady furthest away was staring openmouthed at her tablemate.

  “Martha!”

  “Well, I’m not wearing blinders,” Martha hissed back.

  The first lady threw her napkin onto her plate in disgust. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

  Emily glanced back at the cowboy. What was that spreading across his cheeks? Was the man actually blushing? How cute was that? Too bad she’d sworn off his type. She took another gulp of wine.

  “If you’re in the mood for dessert, I have a suggestion.”

  Emily recognized the voice. It was the cowboy who’d spoken—in a very seductive manner—but who was he talking to? She looked up to find him smiling down at her.

  She swallowed. Hard.

  Sure the guy was attractive. But that probably had more to do with her sick addiction to cowboys than his actual physical charms. Take off the hat, the duster, the shirt and the pants and he’d be...

  Well...

  Standing there naked.

  Emily had a sudden flash of what that might look like and licked her lips. Talk about dessert.

  She gave her head a shake. That train of thought had completely derailed and led her to a dangerous place. She tried again.

  Take off the hat and the cowboy clothes and he would be...just an average guy. Probably not that cute at all. And that crack about dessert? What an obvious come-on. Was she willing to sit there and forgive such a poor pickup line?

  This was it. Her big chance. The opportunity to do her part to avenge wronged women everywhere. The words, just say no to cowboys rolled around in her brain. She placed her tongue behind her back teeth and opened her mouth.

  “Nnnnn-ahrg.”

  A wrinkle appeared between the cowboy’s eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  Emily tried again. “Nnnnnn.” She sighed. “Nnn-o.” Getting better. “No.” There, the word was finally out of her mouth. “No,” she repeated with more confidence.

  She felt a moment of elation. She’d actually done it, actually said no to a cowboy. It wasn’t until the man’s smile faded and he took a step backwards that she began to feel something else.

  Mortification. Suddenly, she realized how rude she must have sounded.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the waitress said, appearing with two steaming plates of pasta.

  The cowboy moved to one side, his head lowered, his words mumbled. “Well, I’d better mosey along and let you ladies git to yur lunches.”

  Emily nodded. She was afraid to open her mouth again. She’d made a royal mess of it. Or had she? This was her first step. She’d said no to a cowboy. So she’d been a bit rude. It wasn’t as if she was ever going to see the guy again.

  Well it was darned unlikely. But if she did happen to run into him, he’d know that she was off limits. Her new resolution was working just fine. Still, from now on, she planned to leave the talking to Jackie. She was better at it and besides, in the presence of this man, Emily had already proven she couldn’t string together a coherent sentence.

  As if reading her mind, Jackie chirped a cheery, “Adios, amigo,” and the handsome stranger walked away.

  * * *

  Brandon felt like an idiot. Damn but his improvisational skills were rusty. When the tomato-topped woman had asked his name, the only cowboy one he could think of was Houston Savage. He’d managed to catch himself before blurting out the whole thing and was able to twist the last name.

  But Saveloy? Wasn’t that some kind of dried up sausage?

  Great. He’d made a total fool of himself. It was a good thing he’d never see the beautiful brunette again.

  How could he have read her so wrong? She’d been practically drooling over him. Then, before he could tell her about Eduardo’s mouthwatering tiramisu, Emily vanished and an ice queen appeared in her place. And, in spite of his frostbite, Brandon still found her appealing. What would Freud say about that? That actors are masochists? That thespians thrive on rejection?

  And why was he getting worked up about her anyway? It wasn’t as if he had time for a serious relationship. Not while he was working double shifts at the restaurant.

  On the other hand, if this film role gave his career a jumpstart, then he could consider the possibilities of dating. The opportunities for work were certainly out there. Though he’d been out of the acting loop for the last six years, he’d kept in touch with his buddies in the business. Things had picked up in Calgary since he'd graduated from college. They were filming big budget movies, a couple of TV series, even the odd commercial, right in his hometown. And now that his sister was doing better, he could think about getting back into the theater scene, maybe start his own company and produce a couple of plays. Some of his fellow actors had mounted successful shows with less than ten grand.

  “How’d it go?” Katie looked up at him with impish glee.

  “I think I fooled them with the accent.”

  Sarah set down a stack of dirty dishes on a nearby table and moved toward him. “Did you ask the dark-haired one out?”

  Had Sarah overheard something? Like Emily’s rejection, for instance? Was she trying to mock him? He decided to play it cool. “No. Why would I have done that?”

  “Judging from the way you were looking at her, I thought you were finally interested in something other than work. God only knows the number of friends I’ve tried to set you up with.”

  “I’m not a blind date kinda guy, Sarah. I’d rather be in a gunfight with Billy the Kid.”

  Katie gave him a friendly swat on the arm. “You’re too good looking to waste, Brandon. You need to get out more.”

  “I guess I’ll take that as my cue to leave. I have to get this costume back to the Wardrobe Mistress before my shift starts. Hey, Sarah, do you have the script?”

  “Yup,” she said, producing the text from under the counter. “I didn’t get very far into it. Looks interesting, though. Especially that scene where you first ride up to Houston’s character and tell him that you and your cronies are in town to—”

  He gulped. “Did you say ride up? You mean, on a horse?”

  “Duh. Yes, on a horse. It takes place in the mid-1800’s. You’re not going to drive up in a Lamborghini.”

  Brandon felt a cold chill creep over his body. “That can’t be right. My character doesn’t have to go anywhere near a horse.”

  “Then why does it say you do?”

  “Where?”

  Sarah flipped open the manuscript. “Right there on page forty-seven.”

  His stomach gave a queasy lurch. “Let me see.” Brandon grabbed the booklet and peered over the text. That wasn’t the scene he’d read for the auditi
on. Sure the casting director had asked if he rode. And sure, he’d told a little white lie and said yes. From the pages he’d seen, it didn’t look as though he’d actually have to. And he’d been desperate for the part.

  “Are you all right?” Katie’s forehead crinkled with concern. “You’re awfully pale.”

  “No wonder, wearing that big coat on a hot day like this.”

  Brandon reached for one of the chairs. “I think I need to sit down.”

  “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

  Before he could answer Katie, Sarah pushed him into the seat and removed his hat. “Put your head between your legs,” she ordered.

  “No. I’m okay.”

  “Sure you are. Let’s get that coat off, anyway.” Sarah reached for a sleeve and tugged. Katie followed suit and pulled on the opposite arm. Brandon felt as though he was in the middle of an old-fashioned taffy pull, and that he was the taffy.

  “I’m fine,” he snapped, wrenching away from them both. Instantly, he felt like a jerk. His friends were trying to be helpful and how had he repaid them? “I’m sorry, guys.”

  “Brandon, I’ve never seen you like this.” Katie crouched down in front of him, gently placing her hand on his knee. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “You’re not afraid of horses, are you?”

  “No...not exactly.”

  “Then what exactly?” Sarah coaxed.

  Could he say it? Without being ridiculed? This was Cow Town. You might as well admit you were a Liberal at a Conservative Convention. Brandon took a deep breath.

  “I’m allergic to them.” Once he’d opened his mouth the words swooshed out like a geyser. “I’ve never been on a horse in my life, except for the time I went to Chuck Mallory’s seventh birthday party. His father plunked me down on a pony’s back and I sneezed so much I threw up.”

  Katie brought her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, no.”

  “Maybe you’ve grown out of it.”

  “No such luck. Every year I go to the Calgary Stampede to test it. And every year I end up snorting louder than the bulls.”

  “Boy, oh boy, are you in trouble.” Sarah’s observation may not have been helpful, but it sure was accurate.

  “What if you can’t do the movie? Can they sue you?”