Crazy for Cowboy (5 page)

“So, you’ll be coming again tomorrow, won’t you?”

“Yes. Probably for the next couple of days, but—”

“Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

What was wrong with this guy? Couldn’t he take a hint? “It’s a big ranch, Mr. Saveloy.”

He touched her shoulder. Those tingles stopped her cold. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you.”

His voice was low. Inviting. Now was the time for her to boot it, open the door to her truck and go. Except she couldn’t move. Her body felt weightless, as though, at any moment, she would float up to the sky. Or fall down in a heap at his feet. Take your pick.

He solved her dilemma by plucking the keys from her hand and opening the door for her. “Do you have a last name, Doctor Em?”

She tried not to look at him but found her gaze moving over his body—starting at his belt buckle, creeping upward, following the buttons on his shirt, inch by inch until she reached his mouth and those full, sensual lips that seemed ready to smile.

“Mmmmmm? I’m sorry, what did you ask me?” Emily cleared her throat, trying to rid her voice of the strange, dreamy sound that had crept into it.

“If you had a last name.”

Should she tell him? What would she accomplish by disregarding his question? He could get the answer from Sam easily enough.

“It’s Grant.”

He smiled that hundred-watt beauty at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow then...Emily Grant.”

He reached for her hand and gently deposited the keys into her palm. The world seemed to stop for a moment as he stood there, his hand enfolding hers. Then he was gone, sauntering back toward Sam like he owned the world.

In a daze, she flopped into the driver’s seat of her vehicle and started the engine. She shifted the truck into reverse, slamming on her brakes as a streak of tan shot across her back wheels. She swiveled around to see what kind of animal she’d just avoided hitting.

By golly, it was a prairie dog.

* * *

Brandon popped another antihistamine as he watched Emily disappear down the road. He realized that whatever chance he might have had with her was probably gone, too.

How had things spun out of control so quickly? He reviewed the last twenty minutes in his mind, wondering when he could have ended the deception. He had tried. A couple of times. But at each turn, Sam had stepped in. Who could have known that the old guy’s improvisational skills would surpass Robin Williams’. The riding instructor should have come with a warning label.

“I think she likes ya.” Sam punctuated his sentence by spitting on the ground again.

Brandon took a step toward him. “Why did you do that?”

“What?”

Sam stood there, looking like an angel. Brandon felt his blood pressure rise. “Why did you lie like that?”

“Judgin’ by the way yur tongue was hangin’ outta yur mouth, I was pretty certain ya like the lady. I was jus’ givin’ ya a hand.”

“You call that a hand?” Brandon would need an elevator to get out of the hole he’d dug himself into.

“Now if ya take my advice,” Sam went on, unrepentant, “yull stay away from ‘er. She’s a woman, and women only bring ya grief. But, yur young. Ya won’t listen t’ me.” He shrugged, then pointed a finger at Brandon and wagged it. “Jus’ don’t git serious ‘bout ‘er.”

Brandon rubbed his forehead, trying to massage away a headache that had the older man’s name written all over it. “There’s no chance of that happening. I’d have to tell her the truth first. Which is going to be next to impossible now.”

“Why would ya wanna do that? It’s clear she likes ya the way ya are.”

Brandon wondered if his instructor had been thrown from a horse and landed on his head once too often. “No, Sam. She doesn’t like me the way I am. She doesn’t even know the real me. She thinks I’m a cowboy.”

“’N’ that’s the only kinda men Doctor Em goes out with. If ya wanna chance with ‘er, ya gotta be one.”

Brandon recalled the look Emily had given him in the restaurant—the reason he had approached her in the first place. Even today, after he’d made a total fool of himself, she’d still gazed up at him all starry-eyed. And who had put that twinkle there? Houston Saveloy, Mr. Cowboy.

“Look,” Sam continued, “in a couple o’ weeks, I’ll have ya ridin’ like a pro. Ya really will be a cowboy. Ya won’t be lyin’ then.”

Brandon rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. Whether he was rubbing the dirt away, or grinding more in, was difficult to say. “You might have a point. What time tomorrow?”

“When she’s makin’ ‘er rounds, Doctor Em usu’lly shows up here around lunch. If ya have yur lesson in the mornin’, yull be done by the time she gits here.”

And his secret would be safe. Maybe Sam was right. He could wait and see how things went with Emily. If nothing happened between them, he wouldn’t have to confess a thing. If it did...well...he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

CHAPTER THREE

As it happened, getting out of bed the next morning was the first hurdle.

Brandon swung his legs over the edge of his foldout couch and groaned. His abs felt as if he’d spent the morning doing crunches. He tried to rock himself up into a sitting position but the attempt left him flat on his back, sucking in air.

A different strategy was needed. Grabbing his sheet, pulling hand over hand, he hauled himself up to a semi-vertical position. Mission accomplished, he slumped over, leaning his elbows on his knees for a rest. Even that hurt.

He looked down at his legs. His inner thighs were chafed where the saddle had rubbed against him and his forearms were tense from holding onto the reins for dear life. He was glad he’d had the foresight to take out an insurance policy. Another day of this horseback riding just might kill him.

With a deep breath, he pushed himself off the bed. If he’d thought sitting was bad, that first step was murder. His other aches and pains were nothing compared with the soreness in his butt. No wonder cowboys were bowlegged.

He threw his bathrobe over his stiff shoulders and slipped his feet into a pair of old sandals. He discovered, with a sigh, that his toes were one of the few parts of his body that still felt okay.

Rejoicing in that fact with a weary, “Yippie-yi-yo-ki-yay,” he hobbled into the bathroom, splashed some water on his face and gave his teeth a quick brush. Then he shuffled over to the front door of his apartment and opened it, breathing in the morning air.

As if to mock his physical distress, Mother Nature had blessed the city with another beautiful day. The breeze coming over the Rockies was cool and fresh. Although they were miles away, the snow-capped mountains looked close enough to touch as they peeked over the trees and houses of the neighborhood.

Gingerly, Brandon turned and locked the door behind him. He slid his keys into the pocket of his dressing gown and made his way down the outside stairs, clinging to the railing like an eighty-year-old man.

At the bottom of the steps, he waddled to the right. He passed the hydrangea shrubs and followed the short path that led to the kitchen door of his home, the one he’d bought for himself and his sister.

He couldn’t afford to keep up the mortgage payments on the big house they were living in when his dad died. His father’s life insurance policy had covered funeral costs but little else. So Brandon sold the family home and bought a smaller, three bedroom house he could own outright. He put Ally’s share of the sale into a trust fund and began renovations with his earnings from the restaurant. With a little ingenuity and a lot of hard work, he transformed his bedroom over the garage into a bachelor apartment with its own entrance. The compact quarters boasted a main room, a small kitchenette and a bathroom—all done in cedar wood. Brandon was proud of the results but Ally always teased him about his remodeling job, claiming the place was decorated in
early ski lodge
.

The sound of her humming drew him back to the present. He smiled to himself and moved closer until he could see Ally through the screen door, dressed for school in her usual jeans and belly shirt.

She jerked up when she noticed him and made a face. “You bum. How long have you been standing there?” Turning her back to him, she pulled three bowls from the cupboard. “Your mail is on the counter.”

Brandon let himself in, scooped the letters into his hand then sat down at the kitchen table with a grunt. He flipped through the mail, grabbing his bank statement and tearing it open while his sister placed a bowl of cereal in front of him.

“Thanks, Ally.” Frowning, Brandon looked at his balance. If he was going to ride like a real cowboy, he’d have to dip into his savings to pay for the lessons. Mentally, he made a rough calculation. The investment would be worth it. When his movie check came through, it would more than make up for the expenditure. Plus, he’d have another skill to put on his résumé, not to mention another credit—a principal role in a Houston Savage film.

“Come on, Liam,” his sister hollered down the hall. “You’re gonna make me late.”

“Minute,” a little voice answered.

Brandon chuckled. How often had he heard Ally say the same thing to stall for time? The expression was coming back to haunt her.

“Men!” Ally rested a hand on each hip and tried to look cross. It was amazing how much she had changed in the six years since their father’s death.

First, she’d started listening to heavy metal, filling her closet with black. All her outfits were tight on the bottom, loose on top, and ripped everywhere. Brandon had decided not to interfere at that point. He figured it was just a phase she was going through. Then Ally started hanging out with a tough group of kids and staying out all night. When Brandon intervened, she flew into a rage, screaming at him that he had no right to boss her around, that he wasn’t her father. She’d stormed out of the house and didn’t come home for a week. Brandon spent each of those seven days, driving the streets, looking for her. He'd finally found her at a friend’s place, hung-over and sheepish. In retrospect, it was no big shock when she announced that she was pregnant, but it still broke his heart.

Ally, however, had shown little concern. At fifteen, everything to her was a romantic adventure. She’d had this notion that she and the baby’s father would run off together, following life wherever it led. Well part of the dream came true. Her boyfriend hit the road pretty fast, but without her. Nine months later, Ally was left with a little baby and a big helping of resentment toward men.

To counteract his sister’s feelings, Brandon started spending time with his nephew. Whenever he wasn’t at the restaurant, he would take Liam out for a walk around the park, first in the stroller, then later, he’d pop the kid up onto his shoulders and go.

Now that Liam was five, they went to the zoo, to the movies and to hockey games—all the things Brandon’s own father had done with him. What had started out as a sense of duty soon became a pleasure. The little guy was so cute that it hadn’t been any kind of hardship to be with him. And maybe that’s what finally pulled Ally out of her funk. The child’s ready smile and good-natured ways were impossible to resist. Ally began spending less time lying in bed, focused on the disappointments in her life, and more time living. The black hair was gone, as was the heavy makeup. Her clothes were still dark and her nose was still pierced, but she’d taken on the task of motherhood with a maturity that made Brandon proud.

Ally caught her brother’s eye and gave him a wicked grin. “Uncle Brandon’s here,” she announced in a singsong voice.

There was a squeal of excitement, then the patter of running feet. A blur of color whipped around the corner and jumped right into Brandon’s lap.

“Uncle Brandon!”

Brandon gritted his teeth, trying to shift the weight of his nephew to a part of his body that didn’t ache. “Hi, big guy.”

“Hi, bigger guy,” Liam said, giving his usual comeback as he peered at Brandon’s breakfast. “Can I have cereal, too?”

“Sure thing,” Ally replied, filling a bowl for her son. “And what’s up with you?” she asked as Brandon lifted Liam over to another chair with an audible grunt.

“Horseback riding lessons.”

“Naw, it’s something else. There’s a gleam in your eyes and it has nothing to do with sore muscles.”

Brandon didn’t much like sitting there while his sister scrutinized him. He suddenly knew how a laboratory specimen felt. “What are you talking about?”

Catlike, Ally leaned in, ready to pounce. “You’ve met a woman, haven’t you?”

Brandon dropped his spoon into his bowl with a clatter. “I meet women every day.”

“Ooh, the man is touchy. I must be right to get that kind of rise out of you. What’s her name?”

He took another mouthful of Cornflakes and chewed. Life was unfair. When he was young, he’d prayed for a little sister. He just hadn’t expected to get one that could read his mind. “Her name is Emily Grant.”

Ally pulled her chair forward and sat down, her elbows resting on the table, her hands cradling her head. It was the pose she adopted when settling in for a good heart-to-heart talk. “Did you meet her at the restaurant?”

“Uh-huh,” Brandon answered between chews.

“She’s a waitress?”

“No. A customer. Then I saw her again at the riding stables. She’s a vet.”

“Cool. Maybe she can cure you. I always figured you were an animal.”

Brandon growled back at her, which sent Liam into a fit of giggles.

Ally ignored them both, pawing a stray clump of hair away from her face. “Maybe a woman in your life will help you keep your nose out of mine. When do we get to meet her?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Brandon said, holding his hands out in a defensive move. “Nothing’s happened yet, and I doubt anything will.”

“What? You mean you haven’t even kissed her?”

“Yuck,” the boy beside him exclaimed, presumably reacting to the idea of smooching with a girl rather than the taste of his breakfast.

“Why not, slowpoke?” Ally asked, then reached across the table to wipe a dribble of milk from her son’s chin. “She does like you, doesn’t she?”

“I think so, but...”

“Is she a-scared of boy germs?” Even Liam, his regular supporter, was putting him on the spot.