Crazy for Cowboy (4 page)

She was being silly. Was she going to freeze up every time she ran across a cowboy? Just because of her new resolution?

She had to get over it. She had to get used to seeing and talking to them. In her line of work it was unavoidable. Having a conversation with this one might get the whole cowboy thing out of her system. And apologizing for her rudeness might stop her daydreaming about this gorgeous buckaroo, in particular.

If only she could find her voice.

“Mr. Saveloy!”

There.
It was out of her mouth. But, oddly, it gained no response. Granted, she was still fairly far away. Perhaps he hadn’t heard her. “Mr. Saveloy! Houston!”

This time she got a reaction. But only from the instructor. Sam—a thin, wiry sexagenarian, who had more ex-wives than teeth—was staring at her, scratching his head, as if he didn’t know who she was talking to.

Saveloy must have been scouting out employment, after all. It was obvious that Sam wasn’t familiar with him. He didn’t even know his name. Unfortunately, it was Emily who was left looking like an idiot in the process. Sam had a poor enough opinion of women as it was. The only way for the old guy to know that she wasn’t losing her mind was to go and say hello to Mr. Houston.

Up close and personal.

* * *

After ninety minutes around horses, Brandon was starting to relax. It took about ten of those minutes for him to figure out what Sam was saying. The guy had a worse drawl than the one Brandon had learned for the movie. But, instead of a Texan accent, Sam’s speech was pure country Canadian.

The ol’ feller had spent their first twenty minutes together explaining how horses think, before showing Brandon how to mount one. It was as if the guy had a Ph.D. in horse psychology. Forget Robert Redford, this cowboy was a genuine horse whisperer.

Brandon breathed in through his nose, relishing the scents around him—fresh grass, hay, horseflesh and manure. At least his antihistamines were working. Sarah had, again, come to his rescue, recommending an over-the-counter medication that was delivering everything it advertised. He hadn’t sneezed once.

“Now we’re in fer it,” Sam grumbled.

Brandon eyeballed his instructor. What the heck was he talking about now? “I beg your pardon?”

“Doctor Em’s comin’ this way.”

Doctor M? It sounded like a character from a James Bond movie. Or someone Mike Myers created to combat super spy, Austin Powers. Brandon turned, but instead of finding a balding, fifty-year-old villain, he saw the pretty brunette from the restaurant.

He’d spent most of the night dreaming about her. And when he wasn’t dreaming, he lay awake thinking about her, in a way that made it extremely difficult to get back to sleep.

His mouth went dry. Damn, she looked even better in real life. Especially in that pair of faded jeans. Though it wasn’t exactly the outfit he’d fantasized her wearing the night before.

“Women. They think they got the whole world on a string.”

Brandon nodded in agreement. This lady sure had him dangling.

“That’s why us men-folk have t’ stick t’gether ‘n’ look out fer one another.” Sam chuckled and shook his head. “This one’s a female vet. Have ya ever heard the like?”

“Is that what she does?”

“Yup. Treats the horses. We got a jumper boardin’ here ‘s been hurt.” The older man spat a gob of chewing tobacco onto the ground. “It’s not a job fer a woman, if ya ask me.”

Brandon disagreed. He couldn’t think of a more attractive combination: beauty and brains. He wasn’t sure what kind of education someone needed to be a vet, but he was positive there would be some science courses along the way. Biology, Chemistry—those were subjects that he’d barely passed in high school. Give him an English course and he could pull off a ninety average, no problem. Put him in a math or science class and he was a typical artsy. But he’d always admired the kids who excelled in those topics.

“Mr. Saveloy! Houston!”

“Who’s she callin’?”

Brandon tugged at his collar. It suddenly felt a whole lot tighter. “Uh...that would be me.”

“I thought yur name was Brandon Hollister.”

“It’s a long story.” And one that Brandon was ready to set straight. If Emily was going to be around the stables while he was taking lessons, he was bound to run into her again. “I met her yesterday at Eduardo’s, the restaurant where I work. I had on my costume for the movie. I was kind of playacting and—”

“She thinks yur some cowboy fella named Houston Saveloy?”

“That’s right.”

Sam projected another stream of brownish saliva onto the grass. “Saveloy, huh?” He cocked his head to one side. “Isn’t that some kinda dried up ol’ sausage?”

Brandon winced. “Let’s not get into it.”

And there wasn’t time. Emily had crossed the distance between them. “Hi, Sam. Mr. Saveloy.” She nodded her head to them and smiled. It was a cute lopsided grin, as if she didn’t quite trust herself to give into it all the way.

Brandon smiled back. “Hi, Emily. Sorry I didn’t hear when you first called but … ah … there’s something I need to tell you about that. You see I…”

She was gazing up at him, her lovely gray eyes sparkling. She certainly wasn’t making it any easier. Did she have to look so enticing?

He cleared his throat and tried again. “The reason I didn’t notice when you called me...this is quite amusing, actually. It’s because...”

He saw the puzzlement in her eyes as she waited for him to finish his sentence. He took a breath to do just that but another voice answered instead.

“He’s deaf in one ear.”

Brandon shot a glance at Sam. The older man was beaming contentedly, revealing a gaping hole at the front of his mouth where a couple of teeth used to be. “It’s from an ol’ bronco ridin’ accident, right Houston?”

“Huh? No. The problem is…” Brandon felt Sam’s bony elbow nudge him in the ribs.

“Landed on the side o’ his head,” Sam continued. “Punctured that eardrum.” He leaned into Brandon’s ear—his good one, presumably—and whispered, “I told ya, us men-folk have t’ stick t’gether.”

Brandon’s cheeks were warm, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t his allergies acting up. He didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Lying was not his usual style. Especially to women.

Oh, he may have concocted a little white one now and then. Like the day Katie brought some homemade cookies into the restaurant and he’d told her they tasted great, even managing to choke down three. And there was that time when he’d assured his sister that she most definitely did not look fat in her new dress. A little lie, on occasion, was a good thing.

But not lately. He’d been party to two, huge bald-faced fibs in as many weeks—first to the casting director about riding and now, with Sam’s help, he’d perpetuated his cowboy persona to the lovely vet.

“I’ve never noticed you here before, Mr. Saveloy. Are you looking for employment at the stables?”

“Uh...” Brandon stalled for time while he contemplated the best way to set the story straight. Casually, he put his hand against the horse. He leaned in, crossing one ankle over the other. It was a relaxed, cowboy-like stance, he thought.

Until he found himself sprawled on the dirt at Emily’s feet.

* * *

Emily gasped and bent over Houston’s prostrate form. “Are you all right?”

What had possessed him to lean against Smokey like that? He was a well-trained animal, of course he stepped to one side. Without the horse to support him, Houston had tumbled sideways to the ground with a thud.

The cowboy raised himself onto one knee and looked up at her. A layer of dirt coated his face, leaving two white spots around his eyes.

“I’m fine. It was just a little—”

“Prairie dog,” Sam said, concluding Houston’s sentence. “Houston was protectin' ol' Smokey from one. Those critters are terr’ble, Doctor Em. They nibble on the horses’ ankles.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard.” Carnivorous prairie dogs? Emily was starting to wonder if she’d stepped into The Twilight Zone. There was definitely something weird going on. At the risk of being pulled into the abyss, she offered a hand-up to Houston. As soon as his skin touched hers, little tingles ran all the way up her arm and down her body.

“Oh!” Emily pulled away and Houston toppled back to the ground, butt first. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Houston assured her as he scrambled to his feet.

Emily rubbed her palms together to shake off the dirt. She could still feel the warmth of Houston’s hand on her flesh. The earth must have been electrically charged.

“There’s the little varmint,” Sam cried out, stomping at the ground. A mushroom-shaped cloud of dust rose up like a mini nuclear explosion.

She scanned the area, hoping to save the animal from Sam’s clunky boot, but darned if she could see the creature anywhere. She heard Houston take a deep breath. And another. She turned in time to see him hide his face in the crook of his arm. All the air he had gathered into his lungs came out in a sneeze that nearly shook the fence rails.

“Bless you. Are you all right?” No sooner had she spoken than another sneeze gripped him. “Do you need a tissue?”

“Doe
thanks,” Houston mumbled, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket as he sniffled. “
Id’s jusd da dusd.
”

Dusd?
The man sounded as if he was speaking a foreign language. “I’m sorry?”

“
Dusd.
” Houston patted the dirt from his clothes to illustrate, which immediately set off another sneeze.

“Oh,
dust
.” It wasn’t a book on translation that Emily needed in order to understand Mr. Saveloy—it was a box of decongestants. Still, she was getting the hang of it. Just as she was settling into her role as interpreter, Sam started to pull Houston away.

“Anyways, Doctor Em, we should git back t’ it. Right, Houston?”

“
Righd
. I was
jusd gonna ged od
Smokey
add
go for a
spid
.”

Emily leaned in closer. “A
spid
?”

“You know.” Houston made a circular gesture with his index finger.

“Oh, a
spin
.”

“Yeah,
aroud da
block.”

She’d never heard it put quite that way. This was a horse they were talking about, not a Trans-Am. “Go right ahead. Don’t let me stop you.”

The two men exchanged a look that Emily couldn’t quite decipher. Then Houston grabbed the horn of the saddle and prepared to mount the horse. From the
right
.

“Hey, cowboy,” Sam said quickly. “That fall musta jarred yur preserves.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Most folks mount from the left, ’member?”

Houston froze. “Oh, yeah. I keep
forgedding
.” He turned to Emily, a faint blush appearing beneath the dirt on his cheeks. “My last horse was...
right
-handed.”

Was he putting her on? This guy was either pulling an elaborate joke or else he was a total virgin when it came to riding.

She watched as Houston stuck his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up onto the horse’s back. It was a surprisingly elegant move, given all of his previous histrionics. Before Emily could comment on the incongruity, she felt Sam’s hand on her arm, drawing her aside.

“Whadaya think o’ his technique?”

“It’s unusual, to say the least.”

“Think the kids’ll git a kick outta it?”

Emily blinked. “Kids?” Now Sam was speaking in riddles.

“You were right ’bout the job, Doctor Em. Houston’s applyin’ here t’ teach the little gaffers. He’s been showin’ you some o’ the stunts he does t’ learn them what not t’ do.”

Saveloy taught children how to ride? Emily couldn’t help but smile. There was something about a guy who related to kids that always got to her. Not that she’d met many who did. It was mostly characters in movies and in books. Hardly any from her own life.

Now it made sense. Houston’s goofy shenanigans, at his own expense, were hysterical. The small tots would eat it up.

No wonder he’d chosen to ride Smokey. The dapple-gray quarter horse was as docile as they came. He wasn’t exactly the animal an experienced rider would favor, but he was perfectly tempered to be around children. She had to hand it to the cowboy. There weren’t a lot of guys who would risk looking ridiculous, no matter what the cause. In fact, she’d never met a man who didn’t take himself ultra-seriously.

Until she'd met Houston Saveloy.

Whoa, girl
.
You are on the rocky road to ruin
. So what if he liked children? So what if he was funny and sexy and made her tingle with just a touch? He was still a cowboy. He should have an
Off Limits
sign tattooed on his forehead.

In the absence of said warning, she had only one alternative. She had to get away from him before he lured her in any further. But, before she bolted, she was going to accomplish what she came over to do in the first place.

“Well, I’ll leave you boys to it.” She turned to Houston and spoke quietly. “I just stopped by to apologize for the other day in the restaurant.” Unable to look him in the eye, she examined an ant traipsing past her foot. “I was a little...preoccupied,” she concluded after an eternity.

Good. That was over. And she did feel better. Maybe now she’d be able to get Houston out of her mind.

Emily turned and walked toward her truck. Behind her, she heard the sound of fabric swooshing then footsteps pounding on the ground. She felt a warm, masculine presence at her side. Houston had abandoned his horse and was walking next to her, his pace matching her own.

“When will I see you again?”

Emily cranked her head around so fast she gave herself whiplash. Had Houston taken her speech as a romantic overture? She’d just apologized for being rude and now it looked as though she’d have to be rude again.

Don’t look at him
, she ordered herself.
Keep walking. Be polite, but firm.
“It was very nice to meet you...but we won’t be seeing each other again.”

“Why not? Sam told me you’re treating an injured horse here.”

“That’s right.” Damn, this was difficult. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings. She reached into her bag with trembling fingers and pulled out the keys to her truck.