Counterfeit Cowboy
Praise for Gail MacMillan and…
Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Counterfeit Cowboy
by
Gail MacMillan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Counterfeit Cowboy
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Gail MacMillan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Debbie Taylor
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Yellow Rose Edition, 2013
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-923-0
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-924-7
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Gail MacMillan and…
LADY AND THE BEAST
:
“A sensuous, true romance if ever there was one….”
~Megan, Night Owl Reviews (3.5 Stars)
CALEDONIAN PRIVATEER
:
“A lovely story of romance and suspense with history thrown in.”
~Robin, Romancing the Book (4 Roses)
“A great job…realistic and convincing…will hold your interest.”
~Regan Walker, historical expert (4 Stars)
HOLDING OFF FOR A HERO
:
“Great wit and humor.”
~Matilda, Coffee Time Romance & More (5 Cups)
“What do you get when you mix these two [people], a pug, a German Shepherd, a lot of jinx and a mystery? Amazingly good book, that’s what!”
~Rain Hart, The Romance Reviews (4 Stars)
GHOST OF WINTERS PAST
:
“I loved that there was a sled dog team. …Entertaining and well written…definitely worth checking out…for a suspenseful read with some romance along the way.”
~Jasmine, Long and Short Reviews (4.5 Stars)
“A wonderful read…a great author…riveted me to it ’til the last page…a fast read but exciting.”
~Daniella, Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews (3 Stars)
ROGUE’S REVENGE
:
“[The hero] is more together than most people could ever hope to be. The heroine is a bit of an idiot with a huge chip on her still-emotionally-immature shoulder.”
~Allison Larue Shaw, Amazon.com reviewer
Dedication
To my faithful canine companions Fancy and Bruiser
Chapter One
“Yeah! Go, Jordan!” Travis Masters waved his Stetson and roared with the rest of the crowd packed into the arena. Singing his latest number-one hit, Jordan Brooks, country-western superstar, gyrated around the stage in front of a capacity audience. “Hey, Shel, isn’t he terrific?” Travis yelled at his sister standing beside him.
“Terrific,” she muttered. “Travis, I’m heading back to the motel,” she shouted.
Right now a shower and a soft bed are a whole lot more appealing than watching some counterfeit cowboy strut his stuff.
“Ah, come on, Shelby.” Twenty-year-old Travis caught her by the arm. “Stay. I know you laid out big bucks to get us in here tonight.”
“No,
you
stay and enjoy.” Grinning, she shoved him off. “These bones need rest.”
“Only if you take the truck. I don’t want you walking alone at night.”
“Okay. See you later.”
At an exit, she paused and glanced down into the arena. Ignoring the man dancing on stage, she smiled. Her horses had acquitted themselves well out there today. They’d taken top honors in both western pleasure and halter classes. Already she’d been approached by breeders and owners, the former interested in having mares covered by her stallion Midnight Black, the latter seeking her and Travis’s training skills. These offers, combined with the income from her veterinary practice, could move their farm’s financial status a little farther away from the dreaded minus sign on their bank statement.
What a relief that will be!
As another roof-raising cheer went up from the crowd, she glanced at the stage. Jordan Brooks had pulled off his guitar to make a deep bow, then straightened to raise a hand to the audience. Over six feet tall, he wasn’t all that hard on the eyes as he stood grinning and waving. When he swung to speak to his band, she recognized he owned one of the nicest derrieres she’d seen in a long time. Wrapped in an aura of good-old-boy affability, Nashville’s latest sensation apparently had everything it took to capture the admiration of country music fans.
Am I the only one on the planet who doesn’t adore Jordan Brooks? Anyhow, I’m too tired to give a rat’s behind.
With a shrug, she left the arena.
Outside, she paused, drew a deep breath of the June night air, and looked up at the stars. They didn’t appear nearly as jewel-like as they did from her Ebony M farm on Chaleur Bay, four hundred miles away. The reflection of city lights watered down their beauty.
The thought of starry nights at the farm with a salt-tanged breeze blowing in off the bay brought a sigh. For the past two years she’d had little time to appreciate the maritime beauty of the place she called home. There’d been few opportunities for anything other than work, work, and more work. And definitely no time for romance.
Suddenly she longed for an evening of wine and roses in a soft summer night, with star diamonds in a black velvet canopy and one special man. One very special man, the likes of whom she had yet to meet. A man who could sweep her off her feet with a single kiss and make her dizzy with desire.
This is no time to start waxing poetic, Shelby Masters.
That guy doesn’t exist.
She brought herself back to the moment and headed for the stables behind the arena.
Images of the weeks ahead furrowed her forehead. Even with their success that day, she and Travis would have to put every ounce of their energy into making the most of the summer months. She’d known it wouldn’t be easy when she inherited her Uncle Jack’s horse training and breeding facility. During the past year only her burgeoning veterinary practice in the annex she’d added to the old farm house had kept the place on its financial feet. And then just barely.
This show had been all-important, the best advertisement she could afford, to showcase Ebony M Farm. Fortunately she, Travis, and the horses had made good. Now if only she could get dreams of becoming a country-western singer out of her brother’s head. He was irreplaceable. She’d never be able to find anyone with his skill with horses who was willing to work like a rented mule for the salary she’d be able to pay.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want him to have his dream. She simply couldn’t bear to see him hurt or disappointed. She knew the pain of thwarted dreams. The road to Nashville fame had to be full of sinkholes destined to dishearten even the most adamant aspiring talents.
“Good evening, Dr. Masters.” His voice made her whirl at the stable doors.
“What…?” The word sputtered. She faced the dark silhouette looming out of the shadows, a jumping sensation in her chest.
The man stepped into the light spilling from the barn door. Blond and so evenly tanned it had to be artificial, with teeth that gleamed wolfishly as he flashed a smile, he wore beige Dockers and a green sport shirt opened at the throat, where a gold chain glinted against bronzed skin.
Geez! Another certified phony. And wearing jewelry!
“Relax, Doctor. I’m Tom Hadly, Michelle Latton’s agent. Been enjoying the show? I’m a fan myself. I’d love to have Jordan Brooks on my client list.”
“What do you want?” Her heartbeat returning to normal, she faced the man, annoyed. She had no time for either Michelle Latton or her manager.
“I’ve got a business proposition for you.” He stepped close and looked down at her. “I understand you and Michelle were high school chums.”
Chums! Hardly. Sworn enemies, arch rivals. What did that witch want now?
“Look, Mr. Hadly, I’ve had a really busy day. I’m tired, and I want to get to bed.” She started to brush past him, but he caught her by the arm.
“This will only take a minute.”
“Make it quick.” She felt his fingers bite into her arm.
“Here’s the thing.” He released her and leaned back against the door jamb. “As you probably know, Michelle is staying at her father’s summer place just down shore from your farm. She was at the show today and took a liking to your stallion. She wants to buy him.”
“Midnight Black isn’t for sale.” Shelby swung to leave, but again he caught her arm.
“You must be aware Michelle’s currently the star of the afternoon drama
The Wild and the Beautiful
. She can make a handsome offer for that horse.”
“Don’t you mean she plays a bad girl on a soap?” Her heartbeat rose again. Michelle Latton still had the power to escalate her blood pressure. “I thought it was called
The Greedy and the Gorgeous
. Anyhow, my horse isn’t for sale at any price.”
“Take a minute to reconsider.” His tone became soft, placating, smooth as a snake’s glide. “A nice fat check would be welcome at that little farm of yours.”
“We’re doing just fine, thank you very much.” Her jaw tightened and ticked. Anger heated every inch of her body. Shrugging him off, she strode into the stables.
“You’ll be sorry, Doctor.”
His words, following her, sent a chill of apprehension tingling down her spine. Michelle Latton never took no for an answer. She always got what she wanted. And now she wanted Midnight Black.
****
Shelby paused inside the barn door to listen to the horses munching and shifting in their box stalls. The sounds soothed the frustration and apprehension Tom Hadly’s words had aroused.
To hell with the man and his witch client. This has been Ebony M’s day in the sun. I won’t let a pain in the butt like Tom Hadly and his protégée ruin it.
Lights burned all night in the facility, keeping the corridor well illuminated. The security guard, a potbellied man past middle age, sat snoring in his chair near the door. As she passed him, Shelby caught the reek of whiskey and grimaced
.
Really impressive
.
A soft whicker drew her attention, and she smiled.
“Coming, Fancy,” she called to her favorite mare, a charcoal grey with silver mane and tail. The flashy animal had performed to perfection that day in the western pleasure classes, bringing the audience, cheering, to their feet as she’d loped around the ring.
“Hello, girl.” She stepped into the box stall. The mare nuzzled her as Shelby drew a couple of horse nuggets from her pocket. “You deserve a treat, but this is the best I have right now. Tomorrow when we get home you can run in the pasture as wild and long as you please.”
An impatient snort drew her attention, and she went out, closing the stall door behind her.
“Black, you handsome devil.” She crossed the walkway to look at the stallion peering out through steel bars. “Behave yourself. You’re headed for a full summer of lady friends. You’ll need to save some of that bluster for them.”
The stallion snorted, arched his thick, glossy neck, and stamped.
Shelby checked on their other two horses, then headed out to the parking lot. She climbed into the farm’s ten-year-old pickup and turned the key in the ignition. Travis wouldn’t mind walking the three blocks back to their motel. Her weary body would. Tomorrow they’d be home and she could sleep in her own bed. Tonight even the dubious comfort of a cheap motel room was appealing. The competition had been exhilarating but exhausting.
****
As she entered the motel’s foyer, a slender woman with sleek, shoulder-length blond hair got up from a chair and strode toward her as fast as six-inch stilettos would allow. She wore an ankle-length black skirt slit thigh-high and a white silk blouse that, like the song declared, was “cut down to there.” A whiff of something light and exotic surrounded her.
“Dr. Masters.” No question in the address, just complete certainty.
“Yes.” Shelby paused and felt a wave of annoyance.
What now?