Counterfeit Cowboy (21 page)

“Yes, well, what difference would it have made? You got the girl, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” His eyes narrowed as he watched her pull the saddle from the mare’s back. “I’m just hoping he didn’t get her first.”

“What? What do you take me for, some starry-eyed groupie?” She whirled on him, eyes flashing emerald fire. “Jordan was paying me sixty thousand dollars to teach him to ride. I needed the money, he needed the lessons. We agreed on a strictly professional arrangement. Now you can either believe me or take a hike.”

“Now, don’t go getting all hot and bothered, baby.” He caught her in his arms and looked into her eyes, brown eyes hot with determination. “I’m not about to give you up even if you and Mr. Blue Eyes did have a thing. He won’t be back, and that’s all I need to know. Simmer down, and let’s go up to the house and discuss our wedding plans. I’m thinking New Year’s Eve. My folks can come up from Arizona then. What say?”

Shelby paused and looked up at him, at the warmth coming into his brown eyes, felt his strong arm going around her shoulders. Andy Crowell would always be around when she needed him. And he was right. Jordan Brooks would never come back.

“Okay. Let’s discuss wedding plans. But first I have to put Fancy away.”

“You do that, babe.” He gave her a slap on the behind as she turned away, and she knew what that meant. Lord, she was having trouble holding him off until after the wedding.

Chapter Seventeen

“Man, I never thought I’d see the day.” The wrangler took the reins of Jordan’s horse as the singer dismounted and brushed dust from his shirt. “Last spring a kid’s pony could have sent you flying. Now you come back two months later, riding like a pro. You must have had some teacher.”

“I did.” Jordan rubbed sore muscles in his thighs. He might be riding well, but he was doing it away too often. The director was determined to get the movie in the can by the end of September, and all the equestrian scenes that had previously been omitted had to be done within a week. “How many more times do I have to ride off into the sunset or gallop to a sliding stop in front of a camera, I wonder.”

“No idea, my man.” The wrangler started to lead the wet horse away. “But I do have to get this guy cooled down and fixed up for whenever they want him next. Sure wish they had a double for the big guy, but being a fancy-looking albino… There aren’t all that many of them around.”

Fancy. Jordan’s mind raced back to a beautiful charcoal mare with silver mane and tail and her equally beautiful rider. Every fiber in him ached to be back with them, back on Ebony Farm on the bay, with the possibility of another moonlight picnic…

“Hey, cowboy, we’re ready for you,” the director yelled.

Here we go again
.

“This is the scene where the bar girl rushes out and plants a big one on you,” Kurt Davis reminded when Jordan joined him at the frontage of what was supposed to be a western saloon. “The scene you might remember we had to write in to suit your agent. So hop to it.” Sarcasm tinged the last couple of sentences.

Hell. Michelle.
He’d almost forgotten about her.

“Okay, okay, here I am, ready as I’ll ever be.”

Seconds later the soap opera star burst out of the swinging doors and into his arms. And she was kissing him, no faking about it—kissing him while he fought the urge to peel her off him.
God, if it was only Shelby.

But it wasn’t and never would be…unless he did something about it. Something drastic and dramatic and…

“Cut.” The director’s voice brought him back to reality and the blessed relief of Michelle letting go of his mouth and body. “We’ll do something really unique and print that first take. That okay with you, Jordan?”

“More than okay.” He started to turn away, but Michelle’s taunt stopped him.

“Still pining for that little hog doctor back in New Brunswick, cowboy? Well, if that kiss is any indication of what you can do, she’s welcome to you.”

****

This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done
.

Jordan Brooks backed the prancing white horse out of the trailer and swung into the fancy, hand-tooled saddle. He sucked in a deep breath, then put his heels to the gelding’s sides and trotted down the shoulder of the highway toward Ebony Farms. At the gate, he halted the animal. The yard was filled with vehicles, music was blasting, and the smell of barbecuing meat filled the air.

What’s going on? Oh, right. It’s Canadian Thanksgiving. Been working in the U.S. so long I forgot. Shelby must be having the neighbors over for a feast.
He grinned.
Maybe the arrival of Jordan Brooks will help things along.
He nudged the horse into a trot down the dusty drive.

In the field behind the house, partygoers were spread out over the lawn around several picnic tables and a smoking barbecue. Presiding over the latter was Andy Crowell. As Jordan approached, the crowd, one by one, turned toward him and conversation stopped. He saw Andy Crowell reach out to a CD player beside the barbecue and shut it off. Silence.

“Jake!” Shelby emerged from the house, a vegetable tray in her hands and paused to stare at him. “What are you doing here?”

Am I a complete ass or do I just feel like one?
Riding in on a white horse, for God’s sake. Lucky I only wore jeans and a shirt with cowboy boots. The white Stetson I almost opted for would have made me look like a complete fool in front of this crowd.

“ ’Afternoon, Doctor.”
Play it out as best you can, idiot. That’s your only option.
“Came to give you a demonstration of my riding, but I can see you have company, so I’ll leave.”

He started to swing the gelding back toward the road, but Andy Crowell stopped him.

“Hell, no, man. Come and join us. Folks, meet Jordan Brooks in the flesh. He worked here all summer, undercover as Shelby’s hired hand. Let’s give him a big welcome back.” He began to applaud. As their surprise subsided, the crowd joined in. Whistles and yells of joy followed.

“Hey, Jordan, how about a tune?” one man yelled, and as a loud roar of agreement went up from the group, Jordan knew he had no choice. He stepped down from his horse and forced his affable stage grin.

“Sure. Just need a guitar and someone to hold my horse.”

“There’s an old one of Travis’s in the living room.” Shelby put the tray on a table on the verandah and came down the steps. “Will you get it, Andy? I’ll hold the horse.”

As she approached, in her plaid shirt and jeans, she took his breath away.
How long before these people leave and I can have you all to myself?
She reached to take the reins from him and he saw the diamond sparkling on her hand.

“Andy and I officially got engaged today.” She followed his gaze.

Hell and damnation! Punch me in the gut, set my hair on fire, shoot me in the kneecap. Anything but this.

“Shelby…” Words clogged in his throat.
God, do I look even half as gut-shot as I feel? This is all wrong. She must know this is all wrong.

“Jordan.” Her hand touched his on the reins. The word was soft, gentle, maybe even apologetic. “It only makes sense.”

He wanted to say more, so much more, but he was aware of the watching crowd.

“We’ll talk later.” It was all he could force out.

“Here ya go, boy.” Andy Crowell was coming out of the house, holding out a guitar to him. “Give us a tune.” He turned to the crowd and put an arm possessively about Shelby’s shoulders. “Do we know how to throw an engagement party, or what! Jordan Brooks, live, for entertainment.” He threw up his free arm, hand fisted, and the group roared. “Go, Jordan.”

He gave Jordan a smug quirk of his mouth, then drew Shelby over to a picnic table bench to sit beside him to enjoy the show.

****

“Why are you doing this?”

He was waiting for her in the dark kitchen when she entered and snapped on the light.

“Jordan!” His name burst out in a gasp, and instantly he was sorry. Damn! He’d scared the daylights out of her.

“I want to know why you’re marrying a man you wouldn’t have on a platter ten years ago.” He remained slouched in the chair at the table, his hand clutching the longneck he’d taken from the fridge. “A man who got so loaded at his engagement party his fiancée had to drive him home.”

“That’s really none of your concern.” He watched as she sucked in a deep breath. “Maybe I suddenly realized I love him, maybe…”

“Yeah, right. No one would accept that explanation, not even in the worst romantic movie. How about the truth?”

“Okay.” She threw her sweater over a chair and went to the sink to fill an electric kettle. “Tea?”

“Beer’s just fine.”

“Suit yourself.” She shoved the plug into the outlet and turned to face him. “It’s like this. Maybe I’m not madly in love with Andy. Maybe it’s just a nice, comfortable kind of arrangement between two people with common backgrounds. Furthermore, combining Ebony Farm with Crowell’s Dairy makes good economic sense. That way, as Andy’s partner, I’ll legitimately be able to get farmer’s tax breaks that a horse-breeding enterprise isn’t entitled to. And then there’s Andy’s better equipment and manpower. He has six full-time men working for him. Grady could use some extra help from time to time. Now I’ll have access to Andy’s workers…and equipment.”

“Losing Travis made that big a hole in your business?” Amazed, he stared up at her. “I thought you said you were good, that you could manage without him. And I sent Grady to help you. He should be doing okay.”

“Grady’s doing fine, but his help alone won’t allow me to prosper both with my practice and the farm. And I want Ebony Farm to prosper more than anything on earth.”

“Damn it, Shelby!” He was on his feet, his hands on her shoulders. “Are you willing to sell yourself for a farm? Do you think your uncle would want you to do that?”

“I owe him…owe him his dream.” She wrenched free.

“Listen, I understand he raised you and Travis after your parents’ deaths, but still…”

“Rescued and then raised.” She jerked the cord from the outlet as the kettle whistled. With shaking hands she took a cup and a teabag from the cupboard and poured boiling water.

“Rescued?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and frowned at her. “Rescued how?”

“You may as well know.” She carried her cup to the table and sat down. “Sit.”

He took the chair opposite her. “Okay, tell me.”

“Our parents went to Africa as agricultural advisors when I was ten and Travis was just under a year old. We were living in a native village when rebels attacked. My mother managed to hide Travis and me under some animal hides. She warned us not to come out or even move, no matter what happened. When the fighting ended, our parents were dead, along with half the village.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Jordan felt his heart contract. Other words eluded him. He stared at her, hoping she could see how he felt.

“We stayed with what was left of the native population for nearly a week.” She clutched her teacup and stared down into it. “They buried our parents with the villagers quickly because of the heat. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I couldn’t speak the language, and although the villagers were kind, they had no idea what to do with us. To make matters worse, Travis got sick.

“Just as I was despairing, a guide entered our village. Behind him, dressed like Indiana Jones, was Uncle Jack. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life. My relief when he caught me up in his arms was so intense I think I may have passed out for a few seconds. He took Travis and me to the nearest airport. Within two days we were at Ebony Farm and Aunt Jane was nursing us both back to health.”

She looked up at him. “Now do you understand why I have to do everything in my power to make his dream for this farm come true?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. But marrying Andy Crowell…”

“He’s a good man, our lifestyles fit…”

“I’m a farmer’s son.”

“Who is now the number-one country singer in North America, who is completely obligated to his band. Jordan, get real.” She placed her cup on the table with a thump. “You may have been a farmer’s son, but now your lifestyle is so far from mine...”

“I have the money to let you hire a dozen guys to work this place.” He leaned forward and took her hand.

“And what would I do? Wait here for a man who only got back once or twice a year? Or maybe leave this place to the hired hands, abandon my practice, and become a gypsy like you? I’m not that kind of girl, Jordan.”

He looked at her, long and hard, and recognized the dogged determination in her expression.

“Okay, if you’re that sure, I’ll be going.” He stood and staggered.

“How many beers have you had?” She caught his arm.

“
I don’t know…a six-pack, maybe.”

“Maybe, or more. You’re not fit to drive any more than Andy was. Sit down. That fancy albino is quite comfortable in the barn. I’ll get your truck and trailer from the road and bring it up to the house. You’re spending the night in the guest room. Grady has made it clear he doesn’t want roommates in the cabin.”

“And just how will that go down with your fiancé?” He looked down at her and realized she was right. He wasn’t fit to drive.

“He trusts me.” He caught the slightest waver in her words. “It’ll be okay.”

They were close, she was holding his arm, steadying him, like she’d done so many times before. She smelled great, looked terrific. His mind let go of reality and he pulled her into his arms.

The kiss that followed made his head reel far more than any alcohol ever could. Dr. Shelby Masters had the power to intoxicate him fully and completely. And—hot damn!—she was kissing him back, her mouth welcoming him with every ounce of body and soul.

“Shelby,” he muttered when she finally pulled away to look up at him. He saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes and he muttered again, more softly, “Shelby.”

As the first tear trickled down her cheek he wiped it away with his thumb. “Don’t marry him, Shelby, not if you’re not really and truly in love with him.”

She jerked back and turned away. “I don’t want to be alone for the rest of my life, Jordan, or to spend it waiting for a man to come home a couple of times a year. I want to be settled down with a good man who shares my interest in farming and animals, who’ll give me children and a nice, normal life.”