Crazy for Cowboy Page 9

  Houston was the cowboy she’d been waiting for all her life.

  With a sigh, Emily plunked her keys down on the kitchen counter, the sound reverberating through the small condo. She took in the noises around her: the ticking of the clock, the whirr of the fridge. It was so quiet she could hear her heart pounding. After her evening with Mr. Saveloy, the one bedroom apartment seemed extra lonely.

  Her smile faded. Now she understood how her mother had felt when Emily moved out of the house. It had been just the two of them for so long. Her mom had confessed to a bout of empty nest syndrome and, at first, called almost every day. Now, three years later, the older woman had a better social life than her daughter. She was out almost every night of the week, playing bridge, going bowling, seeing friends. More often than not, when Emily phoned, she ended up listening to her mother’s voicemail message.

  She really couldn’t find fault with the arrangement. Her mom had gone without adult companionship for years. It was wonderful that she was finally enjoying herself. Still, there were times when Emily wondered if her mother was purposely avoiding her. And the forbidden subject of her father.

  Emily kicked off her shoes and padded into the living room. Wide awake and tingling with memories of Houston despite the late hour, she plopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote control, craving company. With a flick of a button, the television came to life.

  She channel surfed, pausing on a popular series with a couple locked in a tight embrace, then a game show where three young men competed to win a date with a stunning blonde, and onto an old black and white movie with Bela Lugosi, his fangs poised over the heroine’s neck. Seemed everyone was pairing up this evening. Even Emily. Just thinking about her night with Houston sent a rush of heat to her lower body. She’d never get to sleep at this rate.

  “I could call him.”

  As quickly as the idea came to her, she realized she couldn’t. They’d never exchanged phone numbers.

  “Darn.”

  With cell phones and a host of service providers, it was all but impossible to uncover someone’s number. Emily wasn’t even sure how he spelled his last name. Her only hope was that they’d meet up the next day at the riding stables. In the meantime, she’d just have to munch her libido into submission.

  She made a beeline for the kitchen and, standing on tiptoes, reached into the cupboard above the stove and pulled out a bag of popping corn. She measured the kernels and poured them into the top of her hot air popper. She was about to plug it in when a familiar voice caught her attention.

  “I’m a guy who likes a soft touch.”

  Emily peeked around the corner at the TV, the cord of the popper dangling in her hand. The commercial was one of those cheesy low-budget jobbies, created to run in the wee hours. On screen a sexy James Bond type was shown from the waist up, his trusty revolver held across his chest. When Emily recognized the man, her mouth fell open. She sunk onto the couch, the air swooshing out of her lungs.

  “After a day chasing bad guys and saving the world, I like to come home to soft hands.”

  A woman’s hand appeared reaching around him, the lady herself invisible, as if she stood concealed behind his back. She caressed his cheek, showing off her long, beautifully painted nails, while sultry music played.

  “As many as I can get.”

  Six more hands came into view, all belonging to women, all perfectly manicured. Fingers stroked his chest, straightened his tie, but the Bond character kept his gaze on his audience, unfazed.

  “Don’t deny me, ladies,” he continued, the women’s hands enthusiastically exploring him, wrinkling his suit, mussing his hair. “Nail Me.”

  Overwhelmed by the women, the man fell back wearing a sly expression. The words, ‘Nail Me Salon’ appeared on the screen, another announcer voicing them. “We specialize in manicures, pedicures, acrylics, gels and paraffin wax treatments. Look at us as your very own secret agent.”

  Heart skittering, Emily grabbed the TV remote and jabbed the OFF switch, killing the power as her thoughts swirled. She played the commercial back in her mind. A stylish suit had replaced the usual jeans and shirt. A slicked back hairstyle had tamed that boyish tousle. The TV spot may have been filmed several years previously but there was no doubt that the guy who’d just been plugging the Nail Me Salon was Houston Saveloy.

  What the heck was he doing on TV?

  Her brain shifted into high gear, reviewing the facts, starting with this latest information. She added Houston’s eccentric riding technique, his interest in Shakespeare, his amazing kisses...especially his amazing kisses. Why hadn’t she seen it before? He just wasn’t cowboy material.

  But if he wasn’t a cowboy, what was he?

  She remembered Jackie’s probing questions, about cowboys in general and Houston in particular. Was it all a set up? Was this one of Jackie’s practical jokes? A gag that had gotten totally out of control?

  Jacks was well known for her pranks. On her last birthday, Emily awoke to find thirty-odd plastic, pink flamingos on her balcony—some clad in bikinis. Two years earlier, Jackie had planted a tape recorder in an injured bull’s pen. When Emily had gone into examine the animal, he began talking, telling her she looked “Totally moo-velous”. And Jackie had matured since high school. Once, back then, she’d convinced a grade twelve boy to call Emily and pretend he was then heart-throb, Leonardo DiCaprio.

  So would soliciting a guy to play the part of a romancing cowboy be much of a stretch? Maybe tell the man that Emily would be easy prey if he wanted to take things a little further.

  No. Not even Jackie would go that far.

  And, yet, what other possible explanation was there? Wasn’t it a little too coincidental that Houston had shown up at Eduardo’s on the very day that she and Jackie had dined there? And wasn’t it Jackie who’d suggested the restaurant in the first place?

  Following her train of logic, Emily went a step further and asked herself the million dollar question. If this was, indeed, a plan hatched by Jackie, who would she have asked to play the part of a rugged cowboy?

  The answer bounced back readily. An actor, of course. And that solution certainly explained what the guy was doing on television, peddling paraffin wax treatments.

  Emily dragged a throw pillow into her lap. She dug her fingers into its softness, twisting the material until it resembled a pretzel.

  So, it had all been a performance. Right from the beginning, Houston had been pretending to like her. The man’s acting ability was phenomenal. He deserved an Academy Award. So did her pal.

  Emily could picture Jacks, the armchair psychologist, thinking a little flirtation with a nice cowboy would help her friend get over her problems. But, somewhere along the way, the joke fell apart. Houston overplayed his role, made her care about him, and the farce spiraled out of control.

  Hurt, betrayal and mortification—they thrashed around together in Emily’s gut and burned up her cheeks with flames of embarrassment and indignation. She rubbed her decidedly un-soft hands together, like the Wicked Queen in Snow White. Before slipping between the sheets of her bed in the wee hours of the morning, she’d figured out a plan to expose them both.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Emily usually took Sundays off. Unless there was a medical emergency, that day was traditionally reserved for laundry. She’d bum around in her sweats, throw a load into the washer, go grocery shopping, and generally chill out.

  Not this Sunday, however. Inspired by Houston’s James Bond commercial, this day marked the beginning of her new career...in espionage.

  She started with her disguise, a pair of dark sunglasses and an old baseball cap. She tossed the items onto the passenger seat of her truck, along with a brand new map of the city, a pair of binoculars and her copy of the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds.

  The plan was simple. She’d go to the riding stables and ask for Houston’s address, claiming that he wanted her to mail him one of her business cards. Since every
one who signed out a horse had to be entered into the computer’s database, Houston’s particulars would be there. As soon as she had the information, she’d check her map, go to his home, park her truck at a discreet distance and pretend to be bird watching. When, in fact, she would be watching for quite a different species of fowl.

  The tall, dark and devious kind.

  As soon as Houston was in her sights, she’d call Jackie and concoct a story about her truck breaking down and needing a ride. When the two culprits were on scene together, Emily would expose their partnership and claim she knew about their scheme from the start, saving face and having the last laugh at their expense, for a change.

  Emily arrived at the stables early and went into the main office. One of the teenagers who generally worked on the weekends was behind the desk, chatting on the telephone. By the way he was grinning it was obvious there was a pretty, young female on the other end of the line.

  Emily searched her memory banks for the teen’s name. It started with a C, she knew that much. Charles? Chuck? Chip? What the heck was it?

  The young man finally hung up and turned toward her. She had a split second to read the nametag on his shirt before he spoke.

  “Hi. Doctor Em, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right, Gene.” Okay, so she was way off with the name. “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

  “Sure.” He leaned against the counter, his eyes shielded under the brim of a brown Stetson.

  “There’s a guy who’s been hanging around here lately,” she began, trying to sound casual. “Goes by the name of Houston Saveloy. He asked me to mail him a business card, but I’ve misplaced his address.”

  “You can leave the card with me, Doctor Em. I’ll pass it on to him.”

  Gene was a helpful fellow. Too helpful. In one sentence, he’d completely ruined her strategy.

  “Ah...you see...the problem is...” she began, scrambling for an idea. “He wasn’t sure if he’d be coming back this way again. Is he on your computer system, by any chance?”

  The teen’s bottom lip protruded as he considered her question. “We don’t usually give out that kind of information, ‘cause of privacy laws and all, but I trust ya.” He went back to his desk, punched a button on the computer and a database popped up. “How do you spell the last name?”

  “I’m not sure. S-a-v-e-l-o-y, I think.”

  “That’s okay. I can look it up using his first name. You said it was Houston, right?”

  “Right.”

  He typed in the letters using two fingers, lifting his head a couple of times to check the screen. Satisfied at last, he hit another button. The computer was silent for a moment then beeped.

  “Nope. No one here called Houston.”

  “Oh.” Damn. It was probably a made-up name. Why hadn’t she thought about that possibility before? “I must have heard him wrong. I’ll ask around, Gene. Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem, Doctor Em. See ya later.”

  Emily nodded and made her way outside. “Well, that plan backfired.”

  She had zip on the guy—no name, no address, no phone number—nothing she could use to track him down. Without any other leads to go on, her career as a secret agent was over.

  “Emily, I didn’t expect to see you here today. My morning just got a whole lot better.”

  The voice was unmistakable. That low, sexy baritone could only belong to one man. Apparently, the culprit himself would provide her with her next move.

  “Hi, Houston,” she said, turning to find him looking as appealing as ever, dressed in his usual jeans, which were currently coupled with a long-sleeved gray shirt. She’d imagined that he would have changed somehow, that his lies would have shown on his face. It would have been easier for her if he’d grown horns, for example, or a big wart on the end of his nose. Emily choked back her disappointment. “I was hoping I’d find you here. I didn’t get a chance to...properly thank you for the other night.”

  A disarming smile curved his lips. Emily had to remind herself that it, too, was probably an act, no matter how genuine it looked.

  “I’m the one who’s thankful,” he said. “Being with you is a privilege, ma’am.”

  If the BS were any thicker, she’d need hip waders. Just play along, she told herself. Don’t let on that you know about his deception. “Let’s do it again then. Soon.”

  “How about a movie?”

  “Sounds great. I’ll have to check my schedule, though. I’ve got a surgery this week and…” Emily decided to test the waters, to see if the fishie would bite. “I’m supposed to go out with Jackie. You remember Jacks, don’t you?”

  “The girl you were with at Eduardo’s?”

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “Jackie and I have been friends since high school. She’s working at a lunchtime theater downtown. Jackie used to be a receptionist at an engineering company, can you believe it? I don’t know how Jackie lasted there for as long as she did. She’s enjoying her new job much more, but that’s Jackie for you. She’s always been very dramatic. Very theatrical.” She watched his face as she rambled on. No matter how many times she repeated his accomplice’s name, his reaction was the same. He just stood there, smiling. This guy was one cool cookie.

  “How about Wednesday night? Is that good for you?”

  Emily looked up at him, blinking. “Good for me to what?”

  His brow crinkled. “A good night for you to go out with me.”

  “Oh. Right. Yes.” She tried to clear her head of his sexy grin and the seductive invitation that went with it. “Wednesday is fine.”

  “Great. Where shall I pick you up?”

  There it was. Another opportunity to get the information she needed and complete her mission. “Why don’t I come and get you?”

  His smile faded. “Uh...that’ll be kinda awkward with a truck, don’t you think? I can pick you up here if you—”

  It was a pleasure to watch him squirm, but she couldn’t let him do it indefinitely. “I have a better idea,” she interjected. “Why don’t you come to my place?”

  She knew she was going out on a limb, arming him with her home address. She was sure James Bond wouldn’t have put himself in such a compromising position, but she had to make sure ‘Houston’ didn’t suspect her real motives. Because another plan had already begun to formulate in her mind.

  No doubt Jacks already knew where the guy lived. When Emily called from his place with her story about a broken down truck, her friend would get suspicious. But Jackie would think nothing of an invitation to Emily’s home. She’d have them both meet her there on Wednesday night, reveal their machinations and turn the tables.

  Emily pulled a pen out of her purse and jotted down the street number on the back of one of her business cards. “It’s an apartment-style condo,” she informed him. I’ll meet you in the lobby, say around six o’clock?”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Call me at work during the day to confirm, just in case things get crazy. The number’s on the other side.”

  “Will do. I look forward to it.” He took the card, grasping her hand and leaning in. She drank in the scent of him as he placed a lingering kiss on her lips.

  Emily took a step back and gave her head a little shake, wondering if her brains were becoming permanently scrambled. But she couldn’t allow his considerable charms to cloud her judgment. She had to remember her purpose and think like a professional. A professional spy.

  “Can I walk you to your truck?”

  “No. Thanks. I still have some work to do here.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you Wednesday night.”

  “Wednesday,” she agreed. Then his mouth melded to hers again. He pulled away slowly, smiled again, and headed for his car.

  Swaying slightly from the close encounter, she watched as he climbed into his vehicle and was hit with another brainstorm. No reason she couldn’t follow him and see where he lived. Any and all information she could get on the guy would prepare
her for the battle that lay ahead.

  His car was a small, blue-colored, four door...thingy. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the make and model? It would have made her job so much easier. This spying business was more difficult than she’d first imagined.

  As she waved goodbye, she repeated the license plate number, over and over in a whisper. As soon as he was out of sight, she jumped into her truck, scribbled the number across the top of her map and headed out.

  She had to make sure she followed at a distance. A white half-ton with medical equipment in the back was not the best surveillance vehicle in the world, but it was all she had. Luckily for her, the highway wasn’t especially busy on a Sunday morning. And with Stampede in full swing, everyone who might otherwise have been on the road was watching the rodeo and eating cotton candy. She was able to spot the blue car about a mile up the road. She pulled on her dark glasses, crammed her baseball cap down over her head and merged into the flow of traffic, four city blocks and three cars behind the imposter.

  When they hit the turn-off into Calgary, she had to lessen the gap. Still, she always managed to keep a few cars between her and her prey. Now she was thankful that she had her truck. Sitting higher than she would have in most vehicles, she was able to keep the blue car in sight at all times.

  Emily watched him veer off into a residential area. She slipped back further, not wanting him to discover her as the traffic around them diminished.

  Up ahead, she could see the blue car turn left. She moved along the asphalt slowly, turning at the same intersection. The road that lay before her was long and filled with side streets. The blue car was gone.

  He had to be around here somewhere. She crawled along, checking each driveway, pulling over to the curb and looking up the first side street with her binoculars, growing more and more uncomfortable in her new role as stalker. She was about to call it a day when she spotted him, getting out of his vehicle, one house in from where she was parked.