Crazy for Cowboy (18 page)

“That’s okay. I can manage.”

With her help, he pulled himself out of the truck and hobbled up to the emergency room desk. The nurse looked at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“What did you do to yourself?”

“He fell off a horse,” Emily answered for him. “He has a four inch laceration on the anterior aspect of his left thigh. It’s about a half-inch deep. He’s going to need sub-q sutures.”

The nurse pursed her lips, giving Emily a quick appraisal. “You a doctor?”

“Vet.”

The nurse grunted, plainly unimpressed with the news. “When did he last receive a tetanus shot?”

“He can’t remember.”

“Then he’s probably overdue.”

Brandon felt detached. The two women were talking about him in the third person, even though it was his leg they were talking about. Strangely, he didn’t mind. All of Emily’s attention was focused on him. She was taking care of him. Could life get any better?

The nurse showed Emily where the waiting area was, then took Brandon into one of the emergency rooms and told him to wait. A short time later, another nurse came in and asked for his hospital card and ID. Brandon was relieved that they hadn’t questioned him in front of Emily.

Sure, he’d admitted to working in a restaurant and to his interest in acting, but he still hadn’t cleared up the cowboy issue or mentioned his real name. For all she knew, he could be a genuine wrangler, who waited tables between jobs and lucked into some extra work on this movie because of his horse expertise.

If he didn’t already have one gimpy leg he would have kicked himself. Why hadn’t he told her everything when he’d had the chance?

Brandon sat on the gurney, his legs straight out in front of him, and realized how badly he’d screwed up. Not only with Emily, but with the movie.

If he hadn’t lied about riding, he wouldn’t have gotten injured. Now his scene was delayed. Time was money in the movie business, and that’s just what he was costing the Production Company. Money. Probably a ton of it.

He glanced at his watch. “Damn.” Three hours had passed since he first got to the set. His call time had long since come and gone.

The door opened slightly and a squat, blonde nurse poked her head in. “Sorry for the wait. We’ve had another emergency. A car accident. It will be a while before a doctor is available.”

As she walked over to him, he saw that she was carrying a silver basin. “I thought you might like to wash up, in the meantime.” She placed the bowl, along with a towel and face cloth, on the bedside table. She crossed to the door then smiled back at him. “Do you need a shirt when you leave?”

Brandon looked down at his bare chest then over to the garbage can at the crumpled, soiled lump of cotton that used to be his costume. “The woman who brought me had my coat. Did she leave it here?” He couldn’t lose that. Though both pieces belonged to the film company, a shirt could be replaced much easier and at less cost than an oil-skin duster. He hoped the same could be said about his trousers.

“Just try and relax, huh?” The nurse gave him a crooked grin then disappeared.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He had little time to contemplate the answer. When he looked back toward the door, another figure was standing there, with his coat draped over her arm.

“Emily.”

“I’ve been thinking I should have stitched you up, myself,” she said, leaning against the door jam.

“They’ve had an emergency. It’ll be a while yet. You don’t have to wait, if you don’t want to.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, big boy?”

“Hardly. In fact, the nurse brought me some soap and water and told me to wash up.” He pushed himself onto one elbow. “Would you like to take advantage of my weakened condition and help?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I think the only one planning to take advantage is
you
...of the situation,” Emily answered, her cheeks hot. If she couldn’t act cool and professional with him fully clothed, how was she going to cope with him half-naked and wet?

She leaned over him, dipped the cloth in the basin then swirled it around in the soap, working up a good lather. “So, tell me more about this movie. What kind of character do you play?”

“You’re stalling.”

Emily looked down at his bemused expression, then at the washcloth and the massive amount of soap she’d managed to pack into it. Okay, so she was stalling.

This would be a true test of her professionalism. She’d had to bathe patients before, but they’d always been of the four-footed variety. None of them looked like Brandon Hollister.

She squeezed out some of the excess soap and began. She started with his shoulders, pulling the sudsy mix across his chest and down his down his solid arms.

Earlier, she’d tried to avert her eyes from his exposed flesh, now she relished the view. The muscles of his chest were well defined, as were his biceps. She wondered, fleetingly, if he’d done any modeling. He certainly had the body for it. The only thing marring his torso were the purple blotches that had begun to appear across his skin. She smoothed the cloth over the bruises gently.

“Am I hurting you?”

“You’re torturing me.”

His voice was raspy, sexually charged. Distracted, she dropped the washcloth right between his legs.

“Shall I get that, or do you want to,” he murmured.

“I don’t need it,” she told him. She flicked back her hair with what she hoped was an attitude of nonchalance. To further prove her cool efficiency, she continued her work, running her soapy fingers over him. “So, are you going to answer my question?”

The grin on his face was wicked. “I’ve forgotten it.”

Emily giggled as she realized she had the same problem. “Me, too.”

His laugh joined hers. “Besides, I think it’s your turn to answer some questions. I’d like to know more about you.”

Emily shrugged. “What’s to know?”

“You said you moved here from Saskatchewan with your mother. What’s she like?”

An odd topic considering Emily had her hands all over him. She guessed he was doing his part to put on the breaks. “My mom’s a powerhouse. She was always working two and three jobs just to make ends meet and help me through school.” Emily was getting misty. Talking about her mother always did that. The love she felt for the only parent she’d ever known, the sacrifices that parent had made for her, and the thought that they were not as close as they once were, always brought a lump to her throat.

“She landed a job with a small company that she really enjoys. She plays golf, bridge and has a ton of friends. It’s wonderful to see her finally enjoying life. She’d like you,” Emily told him, rinsing the soap from his flesh.

“Does that mean I get to meet her?” His eyes twinkled.

“If you’re good.”

“I intend to be,” he promised, twirling a strand of her hair around his index finger. “It must have been hard for you in high school—coming to a new city, you and your mom coping on your own.”

“It was difficult.” Some of the memories of those days crept up, the other kids teasing her because she didn’t have a father. Accusations that she was a bastard; that her mother was loose. Somehow, with Brandon close, those memories didn’t hurt as much. Somehow, the fact that he’d shared his feelings about his father and his fear of failure assured her that she could trust him with her own secrets. “I’ve always felt I was responsible for my father leaving. I thought that if only I’d been prettier or smarter, he might have stayed.”

“But you weren’t born when he left. How could he have known what he was walking out on?”

“I know. It’s silly. But I still felt that way. I guess a part of me still does.”

Her hands were on his stomach when his muscles there contracted. He lifted himself up toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “Just for the record, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. I thought so from the first time I saw you in the restaurant. And you are obviously very smart. You went after the career you wanted.”

Emily looked away, pleased and embarrassed by his words. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.” He eased a finger under her chin and guided her lips toward his for a kiss.

“You’re beautiful, too,” she told him, meaning it.

He smiled and kissed her again, deeper this time. “So, when is it my turn?”

“To what?”

“Give you a sponge bath.”

She laughed. “You’re a naughty boy. My only intention is to get you cleaned up.” Emily pursed her lips, feeling like a schoolmarm. “I could use that washcloth now.”

“You know where it is.”

So, he was daring her, was he? Deliberately, she leaned forward and reached for it. Her patient sucked in a breath.

“That will teach you. Now lean forward while I do your back.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The skin there looked as though it belonged to a midshipman who’d been flogged. She ran the cloth between his shoulder blades, lightly stroking the small cuts and scrapes that crisscrossed his flesh.

The last thing she washed was his injured leg. Careful to avoid the area that was lacerated she sponged around it. “There,” she said, wringing out the cloth, “I’m done.”

“Does that mean it’s my turn?”

Unable to think of a comeback, she threw the washcloth at his head. “I’d better go.”

“Stay.” His words ended with an upward inflection, more like a question than a statement.

Holding her hand, he maneuvered her down beside him, until she was curled up in the crook of his arm on the narrow hospital bed. Light kisses grazed her hairline. Emily snuggled in closer, lifting her head to look at him. She propped herself up and ran her fingers through his tangled curls. She saw the tension around his eyes.

“I hope I didn’t bore you, talking ancient history.”

“I’m glad you did. Makes me feel special.”

“You are special,” she told him. “For a long time, I thought I went out with cowboys because those were just the kind of guys I met.”

“You don’t think so anymore?”

“No. I guess Jackie was right.”

“Your friend? About what?

“I think I was dating men who were like my father,” Emily said slowly, putting the words together as the thoughts came to her. “Men who were unsteady. Men who were destined to leave me.”

Neither of them heard the door opening. It was the sound of a polite cough that drew their attention to the fact that they were no longer alone.

Brandon’s female doctor bustled in, tactfully ignoring the fact that two bodies were just intertwined on the bed.

Emily excused herself and, at Brandon’s request, called his sister to let her know that he was in the hospital. Another hour passed before he was discharged. Emily went back to his room and helped him put on his duster. She wrapped her arm around him and leaned in close as she led him down the hall toward the exit. “Take your time. We’re not in any hurry.”

“Howdy!”

Emily looked up to see a person waving to them from the emergency room door. The young woman wore an oversized cowboy hat, looking very much like a cartoon version of Annie Oakley. Emerging from behind her was a young boy, wearing a white Stetson and riding a hobbyhorse. Emily glanced over at Brandon, who’d turned an impressive shade of red.

“Ally?”

“Well, this must be Emily,” Ally began, her words flavored with a country twang. “It’s a mighty fine pleasure to meet ya. Sonny has told us so much about y’all.”

“Sonny?” Emily stifled a giggle as she shook the woman’s hand.

“That’s what we call him around the ol’ homestead.”

“Ally, why are you dressed like that?”

“What do you mean, Sonny?”

“We’re playing cowboys,” Liam called out.

“I can see that,” Brandon told the boy, “I’m just not sure why.”

“We wanted your friend to feel at home,” Ally answered, looking at Brandon as though he were dense.

“Oh, man.” Brandon slapped his hand against his forehead and almost destroyed what was left of Emily’s composure.

“I hope you can come back to the house with us. We’ve planned a real down home meal for you, Emily,” Ally told her. “Beans, corn dogs and prairie oysters.”

“That’s cows’ tentacles,” Liam explained, still prancing around on his horse. “Yuck!”

“Looks like you’ve been eating already, Liam. What’s that on your face?” Brandon leaned down and ran a knuckle across the little boy’s cheek.

“Ketchup from lunch,” Ally said after a quick appraisal. She looked over at Emily and smiled. “I’m surprised any food finds its way into his mouth at all. Shall we get a move on?”

“Sounds like a plan. But I should get back to the set.” Brandon held his hand out to Liam. The little guy took it and walked beside his uncle. Emily moved to the boy’s other side and was surprised to feel little fingers curl around her hand, too.

“What are cows’ tentacles, anyways?”

Emily looked at the other adults. They were trying to suppress their laughter, even as she was. Then the smile left Brandon’s eyes.

She followed his line of vision and found a man coming through the sliding glass doors of the hospital—the same balding man that she’d seen giving directions on the set.

And he didn't look pleased.

* * *

Brandon took one look at Nick Sunderland and knew the words
you’re fired
were coming up fast. It would have been painful under any circumstance, but knowing that Emily and his family were going to hear it, too, was going to be the ultimate humiliation.

“Everyone, this is the director of the picture, Nick Sunderland,” Brandon announced, figuring that proper introductions should take place before formal dismissals. “Sir, this is my family.”

Nick nodded at the group. “Perfect. I’m sure they’ll all want to hear this.”

“Listen, Nick...Mr. Sunderland...I’m really—”

“I know what you’re going to say, Brandon, but the movie comes first. We could let the lawyers deal with this, but I think we can reach an arrangement without all of that legalese mumbo-jumbo.”

Brandon’s stomach sank to his boots. Were they actually going to sue him? How could he win a battle against the studio’s high-priced lawyers?

He felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to find Liam, staring up at him. “What’s that man saying?”