Counterfeit Cowboy (8 page)

****

“Take off your shirt.” In the farmhouse guest room, Shelby pulled the drapes against the hot afternoon sun and gave the order as he slumped down to sit on the edge of the bed.

“What? Listen, I know you’re a doctor, but I really don’t feel comfortable stripping in front of you.” He quirked a weak grin in her direction.

“Yes, well, you won’t be going to bed in my house in a soiled shirt. I’ll bring you one of Travis’s T-shirts. Let me help you with your boots. New, aren’t they?”

She knelt in front of him, and he was too exhausted to protest as she began to unlace his recent acquisitions.

“Travis thought I needed them.”

“You do. And riding ones, too. I should have mentioned them before you went to town.” She pulled the first one off.

“Not to worry.” He struggled out of his shirt and dropped it on the floor. “Travis saw to it that I bought those, too. They’re in the truck.”

“Good for Travis.” She removed the second boot. As she straightened, she stopped short, her gaze on his chest.

Hope she’s seeing something she likes. Otherwise all those crazy sessions at gyms were a waste. Damn, right now I’m too sick to really care.
He dropped back against the pillows and felt her raise his feet onto the bed.
What a wimp
. He hated his quisling body for making a fool of him.

“Rest.” She adjusted cool pillows under his head in the shaded room. “I’m going to get something that will settle your stomach and make you sleep.”

“I can’t take a nap…not in the middle of a working day.” He started to struggle up, but she pushed him back with a strength that at first surprised him, then made sense. She was a vet, accustomed to wrestling animals. One sickly singer wouldn’t present much of a challenge.

“Yes, you can.” She straightened, put her hands on her hips, and looked down at him. In jeans and T-shirt, curls coming lose from her ponytail to fall across a forehead glistening with sweat on this hot day, Dr. Shelby couldn’t have looked more like an angel of mercy than Florence Nightingale to the Crimean troops.

“I’m in charge around here and you’ll do as I say.” She put a cool hand on his forehead. “You’re a bit fevered. I’ll bring an ice pack.”

Man, that felt good…soothing and relaxing and comforting all in one.

“Okay.” With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes and let the peace and comfort of the old farmhouse bedroom take over. He needed this, just exactly this. To be cared for instead of caring for others, just for a little while. Just until he got his gut under control.

“Good. Get out of those jeans and under the sheet. I’ll be right back. If you feel nauseated again, the bathroom is across the hall.”

She headed for the door, but he stopped her.

“Dr. Masters…Shelby?”

“Yes.” She paused and turned back from the waist up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. You’ll feel better soon.” She left, closing the door softly behind her.

He hesitated, then pulled himself up to shuck his jeans. When he stretched out in his underwear between cool, clean sheets, a sudden sense of peace enveloped him and he felt his stomach relax.

Feels a lot like home one summer day when I got sick eating too many blueberries and my mom put me to bed. Same great old-fashioned room, same type of bed, same type of comfort and reassurance. Maybe this is all I need to get myself in shape. Maybe six weeks here will set me back on track so I’ll be able to handle the boys again. If I learn to ride even a bit, that will be a bonus.

“Drink this.” Shelby reentered the room, a sweating glass in one hand, a cold pack under her elbow.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and handed the drink to him as he sat up, the sheet to his waist.

“Good.” He muttered the word as he tasted the lemonade-flavored beverage. “I needed that. Think I was dehydrating.”

“Could have been.” She waited until he finished, took the glass, and put a cool hand on his bare shoulder to push him back against the pillows. “Here.”

She pressed the cold pack against his forehead. He flinched at its touch, then sighed as relief flooded through his head.

“Sleep now.” She started to rise, but he caught her hand and was rewarded with a startled but not unwelcoming look.

“Sorry about this. I promise I won’t make a burden of myself again. In an hour or two, I’ll be ready to go back to work.”

“I know you will.”

She stood, looked down at him with a smile that made his entire body tighten, then left.

****

“How are you feeling?”

Shelby’s voice brought him awake. He blinked to see her standing beside his bed in the darkened room.

“Better.” He forced a grin and clasped his hands on the pillow behind his head. “Not a great way to start off as a hired hand.”

“Never mind about that. Do you think it may be food poisoning? A burger left on the hot tray too long?”

“No.” He drew a deep breath. “It’s me and my mixed-up gut. Too many fast food meals too late at night, black coffee for breakfast, junk to fill the hunger void. The past three years are catching up with me. Doctor says I have to start eating healthy at regular hours, but in my line of work? He’s got to be kidding.”

“That’s a situation we can remedy.” Shelby opened the curtains to let in the late afternoon sun. “You’ll find we eat sensibly and at the same times each day. If that’s all that ails you, we’ll have you back on your feet in no time. I’ll call you for supper in a half hour. Chicken stew with dumplings and a blueberry cobbler for dessert.”

“If you hadn’t opted to be a vet, you’d have made a great chef.”

“Flattery will only get you another home-cooked meal.”

“Well, then, let me rave on.”

“Not necessary. See you in the kitchen.”

She smiled that great smile again and left. Jordan stretched, then eased himself out of bed. He pulled on his jeans she’d hung over the end of the bed and went to the window to look out toward the fields and barn.

In the corral a beautiful charcoal animal with silver mane and tail was prancing, accompanied by a jet black one, while another the color of cinnamon watched sedately. Fancy. The charcoal one was called Fancy. The others he knew he’d meet shortly. He hoped he’d prove a good student. He couldn’t afford to let that movie deal fall through.

But this place.

It was special.

The sea, the horses, the house, but most especially the two people who lived there.

He turned back to the bed and found a fresh white T-shirt waiting for him. Travis’s, he guessed as he pulled it on and it settled tight across his chest. Man, these people really did their best to take care of a client, didn’t they?

****

“Shel, I’m heading over to Will’s to jam, okay? I’ll be back around ten thirty.”

“Okay, but no later.” She muted the television and dropped the remote on the coffee table. “We have a big day tomorrow. I’ll be working with Jake, so you’ll have to take on those two mares I’ve been handling.”

Jordan overheard the exchange from the kitchen, where he’d just finished cleaning up.

“No problem. See ya, Jake.” Travis brushed past him as he headed into the living room doorway, a dish towel over his shoulder.

“See ya, Travis.” He watched him go, then turned to Shelby. “Kitchen all spick and span, ma’am.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to clean up, not after being sick today.”

“I’m fine now. If I stay away from junk food, I’ll be okay.”

“ I’m watching the news. Care to join me?”

“Sure.” He took a chair across from where she was curled up on the couch. “By the way, this is a great house.”

He looked around the room with its polished oak floor, comfortable chintz-covered furniture, knotty-pine walls, and cozy fireplace.

“We’ve always liked it.” Shelby hunched her shoulders. “It’s cozy on cold or rainy nights with a log fire blazing. By the way, that will be one of your chores…keeping the woodbox over there filled.” She pointed to the container to the left of the hearth.

“Will do. So that’s horse-turning-loose, manure shoveling, and wood provision.” He stretched his legs in front of him. “Just keeping a mental note of my duties.”

“More importantly, you have to appear to know what you’re doing.”

“Point taken. You and Travis will have to give me a crash course.” He grinned over at her. “I’m here to learn.”

“Have you ever ridden…at all?” She settled herself comfortably.

Man, she’s pretty. Hard to believe she’s a vet, patching up animals, operating…

“Draft horses, when I was a kid, but they never went beyond a plodding trot. And actually that was only a few times.”

“So we’ll start from scratch.” She returned her gaze to the television and snapped on the sound. “Oh, my, look.”

He did and saw a film clip of him and his band performing.

“Ann Wise, agent for county music superstar Jordan Brooks, announced today that her client will be taking a six-week hiatus from the stage. Brooks will be resting at a private estate in Bermuda, as a guest of friends. Recently, there’s been speculation that Brooks is suffering from stomach ulcers, but Wise has refused to confirm the rumors. Her only comment is that he will be back in the limelight this fall and on the road well before Christmas to promote his new movie.”

“Hell!” Jordan snatched the remote lying on the coffee table and snapped off the television. “Now where did that pile of garbage get started?”

“You mean the bit about you being in Bermuda, or the stomach-ulcer part?”

“Both, but it’s the last that’s eating me. I don’t like lying to anyone. Fans deserve better than that junk. Sure, I can see the part about my being in Bermuda…helps my cover here. But now cards and e-mails and all kinds of stuff will start pouring in because people feel sorry for me and are concerned about me. That’s not fair.”

“I guess that’s the price you pay for having a high-pressure agent.” Shelby stood and stretched.

“Hey, sorry.” He turned the television back on. “Didn’t mean to make you miss the rest of the newscast.”

“Not a problem. I have paperwork to do in my office before bed. Watch TV as long as you like. Just make sure you’re able to get up in the morning, ready for a full day’s work.”

“Give me a chance. I might surprise you.”

At the door of her office she paused, then turned slowly back to face him.

“You could spend the night in the guest room. You’ve had a rough day, and it will be more comfortable there.”

Damn, it was tempting, with those wonderful emerald eyes so soft and warm, that pretty face and sweet body. Too tempting.

“I’m fine now.” He stood. “I’m not about to start taking liberties with my position here. I’m Jake Banks, hired hand, and my place is in your bunkhouse. But thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

“If you’re sure.”

I’m not sure, but I know it’s the right thing to do.
“Positive.” He turned and walked out of the house.

He paused, before starting down the lane to the cabin, to look out over the bay resting in a flat calm, tinted with the reds, pinks, and purples of a magnificent sunset. A small fishing boat heading inward broke the surface sending out multicolored ripples in its wake.

A lobster boat? Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a fresh boiled lobster. Wouldn’t that go a long way to fixing me up…physically and mentally.

He watched until the little boat disappeared into a curve of the shoreline, then turned, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and headed toward the cabin, whistling.

Never mind the lobster. I’m feeling a lot better already.

Chapter Eight

“Put your fingers back behind her teeth.” The next morning Shelby watched as Jordan struggled to get the bridle on Cinnamon Candy. At eighteen, Candy, the farm’s oldest and most childproof mare, had seen it all, from ten-year-old novices to fifty-year-old grannies. Country music’s superstar would be perfectly safe around the old girl.

“There!” he said finally, stepping back triumphantly. “Got it.”

“Well, it is in her mouth, but…” Stifling a chuckle, Shelby pointed at the mare’s ears. One was inside the bridle strap, the other out.

“Ah, man!” Jordan stepped back and slapped his hands onto his hips. “Sorry, girl,” he addressed the mare. “I bet this is one of the worst days you can remember.”

As he moved to rectify the situation, the bridle fell off into his hands.

“Sh-… Sorry, Doctor. I’ve been around four kids who only seem to be able to communicate in street lingo for too long.”

“Come on, let’s try again.” Swallowing her amusement, Shelby took it from him and eased the bit into Candy’s mouth. She’d seen lots of novices in her time but none that struck her as funny as this handsome “cowboy,” dressed for the part in jeans, plaid shirt, and riding boots, struggling with the docile mare. “See? She’s not going to bite.”

“Okay.” He heaved a deep breath, then rubbed the mare’s nose. “Bear with me, darlin’. I’ll get the hang of it sooner or later.”

Candy nuzzled him.

Now he’s charming my mare.
Isn’t there any living thing, human or otherwise, that doesn’t love Jordan Brooks besides me?

A moment later he threw up his hands, cowboy-roper fashion. “Yeah! Got it!”

Candy snorted and pranced.

“Easy, girl.” He moved to comfort her. “Sorry about that. Saw it in a movie. What’s next?” He turned to Shelby.

“Do it again.” She slid the bridle off the patient mare and handed it to him. “Until you’re comfortable with it.”

“You’re one tough teacher, ma’am. Blame her, Candy, if your mouth is sore tonight.”

As he worked the bit back into the mare’s mouth, his concern for Candy’s comfort impressed her. A slow, warming sensation began to slide over her.

Enough.
She wasn’t about to become one of Jordan Brooks’ enamored fans.

“Okay, let’s give Candy’s mouth a rest,” she said after he’d had a second success. “She hasn’t been groomed in a couple of days. I’ll show you how to put a halter on her, fasten her in the cross-ties, and use the brushes. This afternoon you’ll saddle her and take a ride.”

“Moving kind of fast, aren’t we?” He looked over at her, blue eyes so serious she felt her heart hiccup. What would it be like if he was saying something important…like that he loved her?