Zeke Roosevelt, a slender, ginger-haired cowboy who was part of the crew of stock wranglers from the Bucking Bull Ranch that Ashley had hired for her film, gave her a friendly wave. He leaned against a corral fence post. A few feet away from him, a tall cowboy with a fringe of unruly black hair was twirling a lasso around his boots with an audience of young cowboys.
Ashley got out and joined Zeke at the corral fence. “Looks like you brought every boy associated with the Bucking Bull Ranch.” Five boys. All under the age of ten or so. Two of her cousin’s kids, who were Zeke’s stepsons, and the three Clark boys.
Zeke chuckled. “You try leaving a kid behind when they know you’re coming to the Bar D, even if they aren’t your own. It’s like coming to the circus.” He caught the attention of the woman in the corral. “Cassie here is a horse trainer. I thought you might be interested in what she can bring to your film.” He pointed toward the man jumping in and out of the spinning lasso. “And her brother Rhett is a champion roper. He coaches now. I promised the boys lessons if they did their chores around the ranch.”
“Ms. Ashley!” Little Adam Clark jumped up and down, holding a stiff coiled rope that was almost as tall as he was. “We’re going to play a roping game. Want to watch?”
“You bet I do.” Ashley gave the boy a big smile. Despite having a long to-do list, she always got a kick out of these boys and their energy. Even the stoic Wyatt Halford would smile at their banter and antics.
At the prospect of cowboy games, Andrew asked Cassie for his hat back and then scrambled between the corral rails to join the other boys.
“Rhett has an intriguing approach to keep kids interested in throwing lariats,” Zeke explained. “Speed drills and multiple targets, like an obstacle course. He’s coached a couple of junior champions. They’ll start in a minute. In the meantime, Cassie, why don’t you show Ashley the kind of horse stunts she can expect?”
“Sure. You always see horses going down in westerns.” Cassie pointed finger guns at the palomino and said, “Bang.”
The horse lay down in the dirt, as if shot.
“Good boy. Wake up, Romeo,” Cassie said.
The palomino stood up and trotted over to Cassie for a treat.
Cassie stroked the horse’s neck while he ate and then backed up. “Romeo, up.” She threw up her arms.
The horse stood briefly on his hind legs.
“Good boy. Romeo, bow.”
The palomino gingerly sank down on one leg and lowered his head.
“Come on, you show-off.” Cassie gave him another treat when he stood and then gave him a series of hearty pats.
Ashley applauded. “Well done.”
“Thanks.” Cassie came over to the railing with Romeo trailing after her. “It helps that Romeo is a people pleaser. Did you have any stunts in mind?”
“I haven’t gotten that far in the planning stage,” Ashley admitted. “What in the world are you doing training horses out here in the middle of—” she almost said nowhere but corrected herself midsentence “—the Idaho mountains?”
“It’s in my blood, I suppose. Our family used to run a traveling carnival, complete with a petting zoo and animal performances.” Cassie gestured to a barn behind the field the little ropers were in. “We’ve still got a lot of the kiddie rides in storage. A small train, a miniature carousel. You know, that kind of thing.”
“I tidied up a number of parts to use in roper training,” Rhett cut in, pointing to a small wooden horse mounted on a hay bale and a metal train engine with a mannequin sitting at the controls. “People seem to like throwing at targets rather than the traditional practice steer.” There was one of those, too. A metal frame with a horned bull’s head on it.
“I like throwing at the train conductor.” Adam jumped up and down, grinning. “We’ve only got a fake bull to practice roping on at home. I want to throw, Mr. Rhett. When can we?”
“Now.” Rhett plucked Adam’s cowboy hat off his head and then set it back in place. “But first, what’s the most important thing to remember when roping?”
“Release!” All the boys chimed in.
Ashley smiled, infected by their enthusiasm. If Wyatt were here, it seemed unlikely that he’d enjoy it as much as she did. He was too uptight, stiffer in person than he was on screen.
“Yes, your release is the most important technique.” Rhett nodded. “First time through we’re going to throw while standing on a hay bale. You get three throws at the three targets—train, horse and bull. We’ll go oldest to youngest.”
Adam groaned and slowly fell to the ground, much the same way Romeo had done in his stunt. “Wake me when it’s my turn.”
Davey climbed up on the hay bale. A birth defect had left him with only one hand, but he didn’t look as if it bothered him. He selected a coil of rope at his feet, leaving two others on the hay. With practiced ease, he began to twirl a loop over his head and his cowboy hat. And then he threw it toward the train conductor. It dropped smoothly over the mannequin’s shoulders.
“Good job.” Rhett gave the boy praise.
“I can do it faster,” Charlie, Davey’s younger brother, goaded.
Davey let out a groan as he lunged for the second lariat. “Speed. I stink when I throw fast.” And as if to prove it, his next toss was rushed and went wide of the carousel horse’s head.
“Rope me, Davey.” Adam scrambled to his feet and ran out into the target area.
“That doesn’t seem safe.” Ashley took a step forward before Zeke stopped her.
“He’ll be fine,” Zeke said. “They do better with live targets.”
“One-upmanship and fun.” Rhett nodded. “It’s that competitive instinct and passion for the sport that stops a roper from overthinking. And sometimes it makes them trust the throwing motion more than they otherwise would.”
“My brother, the roping guru.” Cassie scoffed, leaping onto Romeo’s bare back. “Or should I say he’s a roping man’s spiritual guide.”
But sure enough, Davey roped his brother. And later, when it was little Adam’s turn, he returned the favor.
* * *
“I’M NOT GOING to be pressured into signing anything by Ashley.” Wyatt eased onto the hotel room bed after having been outside with her. The mattress sagged nearly as much as his spirits. He was supposed to be rehabbing inflamed muscles around his lower vertebrae and clearing his head during this break, not facing moral dilemmas and sleeping on lumpy mattresses.
Do the right thing.
Was he a father? He denied the accusation. But denial wouldn’t straighten out his feelings about Laurel Monroe’s pregnancy. If this story went public with confirmed sources, his chances of landing the lead role in a sci-fi thriller franchise would be ruined.
Wyatt called his agent for an update on film negotiations.
“The news is grim,” Brandon told him. “Jess Watanabe’s people told me he was put off by the Monroe baby rumor.” Jess was going to direct a sci-fi thriller. He liked calm, serene sets and avoided controversy at all costs. The only drama he wanted was the kind that he filmed. “Their decision regarding you as the lead is on hold. I know I didn’t want you to go out there, but pictures of you dating slender, not pregnant Ashley Monroe is the best way to banish these rumors. I know you hate to share your personal life to the public, but in this case, please send me photos for my team to post on your official fan page.”
Wyatt suppressed a groan. “That’s playing right into the Monroe hands.”
“I know, but we need some play, buddy.”
Wyatt promised to keep his agent in the loop before hanging up.
“We’ll need more hangers.” Jeremy surveyed the room’s small closet. He’d already placed Wyatt’s cowboy hat on the top shelf. “And an ironing board. Does your phone need charging? Do you want to shower and change into clean clothes?”
Wyatt
stared at the ceiling. His personal assistant wasn’t interested in Wyatt’s career. He was interested in his wardrobe and his calendar and keeping people at a distance, the way he’d done with little Gabby earlier. Jeremy’s role was clear. Wyatt’s path out of this mess was not.
He wished he could just close his eyes and make the entire situation disappear.
“After I unpack, I’ll head downstairs so you can rest.” Jeremy did a double take, his attention caught by something outside the second-story window.
Rest. Sometimes Wyatt felt like the pampered creature his father accused him of being.
Point of fact, he was tired. It had taken nearly two days of travel to get here from South America, where he’d been filming. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a full eight hours’ sleep.
But rest? The Monroes had a plan. And he’d bet it wasn’t a plan where he was a priority. Wyatt could feel a double cross in his bones better than his coal-mining father could feel the earth tremble before a cave-in.
Jeremy continued to stare out the window the way most people stared at their cell phones during a tweet storm.
“Jeremy?”
“Do you remember when the little girl was babbling about our view?”
“About the Sawtooths and the wildflowers?” Oh, yeah. He remembered. She’d reminded him of his older sister Natalie when she was a kid, who could talk a mile a minute if you let her. Much as it pained him to do, Wyatt needed to get back to West Virginia to see his family before he began shooting his next film.
Do the right thing.
He and his family were no longer close. A few years ago, he’d bought his two older sisters and his father each a small ranchette, and his mother a fancy headstone at the cemetery. The gifts didn’t make up for his estrangement, but they eased his sense of duty. His mother had always told him that family came first. But his father...
“You’ll regret spending money on me when folks realize you got no talent other than your good looks,” his father had said when Wyatt handed over the keys. He’d never been supportive of Wyatt’s chosen occupation.
If it hadn’t been for his mom and older sisters hauling him around as a kid for modeling and small roles in commercials, Wyatt might never have pursued acting at all. He’d be working as a miner now, riding horses and ATVs on the weekends. But they had, and his father’s staunch disapproval fueled his need to be the best action star Hollywood had ever known.
“You should come see this,” Jeremy said. “I didn’t pay attention to the scenery when I was driving.”
And Wyatt had been dozing the last half of the trip. He rolled out of bed and sauntered the few steps to the window.
The Salmon River meandered past the inn, its rocky bottom clear from above. On the opposite bank, the carpet of wildflowers began, blue and yellow blossoms swaying in the breeze. Beyond that, a pair of moose meandered across the meadow as if out for a leisurely stroll. And across the valley, the grandiose Sawtooth Mountains rose up to the sky.
It was postcard pretty. But according to the media, so was Wyatt. The difference was that nature had created all that harmonious beauty spontaneously, while Wyatt’s presentation was polished by a team of stylists—hair, fashion, fitness, social media. Sometimes he felt there was nothing genuine left about him, inside or out. Nothing but his broken-in cowboy boots and his cowlick.
He returned to the bed, muscles protesting, feeling twice his thirty years. He shifted, lying sideways across the mattress, his head, neck and shoulders hanging off one side of the bed, his feet hanging off the other. “What’s the likelihood we can set up my inversion table in the corner?” He needed to release pressure on his vertebrae.
“Slim to none with two beds in here.” Jeremy unzipped a suitcase and began shaking out Wyatt’s shirts. “Do we have to stay? It’s so provincial.”
It was a small town, much like the one Wyatt had grown up in. Other than this being the setting for the Ashley-Laurel debacle, he had no gripe with it.
Wyatt stared at the log wall as he tried to relax his muscles to maximize the stretch. But all he saw was Ashley’s smile while she kissed him. All he heard was her play on the situation as a movie script. All he felt was her softness as she filled his arms. She surprised him when he thought no one could anymore.
Wyatt Halford from West Virginia would have grinned.
Wyatt Halford from Hollywood scowled.
* * *
“THANKS FOR MEETING me here.” Shane addressed the group he’d assembled at Egbert’s fly-fishing shop at the north end of town.
Ashley checked the time, wondering what Wyatt was doing. Or more specifically, what he was thinking...about her, her moviemaking venture and that kiss. She frowned. The only wondering she needed to be doing about Wyatt involved speculation as to when he’d sign those paternity papers.
On the back porch, Egbert shouted instructions to a pair of tourists who’d stopped to try their luck fishing in the Salmon River. “Flick your wrist. Yes, snap it. Careful of the trees. Pick up that slack with your free hand. There. Good. Better. Isn’t that relaxing?”
It didn’t sound relaxing to Ashley, but it was a welcome distraction from thoughts of handsome actors. She sat on a bench between her brother, Jonah, and Gabby. “You’ve got ten minutes, Shane.” And then Ashley had a call with the man she wanted to hire as her director of photography.
“I won’t waste words.” Shane was in casual corporate mode today, wearing a black polo shirt and tan khakis. He might no longer be running Monroe luxury hotels, but he was running things in Second Chance, trying to revitalize the town’s economy. And he’d challenged the eleven other Monroes who’d inherited with him to do something—anything—to help him.
At the end of the year, the twelve Monroe heirs were voting on what to do with the town—keep or sell. Currently, the vote was split down the middle. Ashley was voting to sell. She could use the influx of cash to fund her movie production. At the same time, she was rooting for Mitch to obtain historical protections for certain structures so that whoever bought up the land couldn’t bulldoze all Second Chance’s charm and history.
“We’ve hooked the big fish.” Shane meant Wyatt. “And now we’re going to reel him in.” Shane was wasting time with metaphors. He tended toward the melodramatic when he had an audience.
Ashley rolled her eyes.
“We got Wyatt in town. Now our goal is for him to perform in the Old West Festival,” Shane continued. He’d changed the date of his little street fair so many times, but now it was the day after Laurel’s wedding. “And to do that—”
“I thought the goal was to get him to be in our movie,” Jonah said only half-seriously, because Jonah was rarely serious about anything. He nudged Ashley.
“I thought the goal was to get him to sign Laurel’s paternity papers,” Ashley said with a straight face, joining in. She nudged Gabby.
“I don’t know what you guys are talking about.” Gabby grinned because she was a player when it came to yanking Shane’s chain. She was such a great addition to the family. “My only goal was to meet Wyatt Halford. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Shane washed a hand over his face. “I’m going to assume this is redheaded humor.” Because those seated before him all had red hair, while Shane’s was walnut brown. “Focus, all of you. If we can link Wyatt’s name with Second Chance, tourism goes up. If we link his name to the Old West Festival, Ashley gains leverage in Hollywood. And if Wyatt becomes fond of the script Jonah’s written, Wyatt might decide to play Mike Moody on the big screen, double bonus for Ashley, Jonah and Second Chance.”
“But that still doesn’t mean he’ll give up his legal claim to Laurel’s babies,” Ashley pointed out.
“That’s where Operation Snaparazzi comes in.” Shane smiled at Gabby. The duo had created a network of residents to pose as Wyatt Halford fans, snapping his picture with Ashley ar
ound Second Chance and posting them to social media as a way to boost attendance at the Old West Festival this weekend. Not to mention, the world would be abuzz with curiosity if Wyatt and Ashley were together in a charming, romantic mountain setting. “He’ll be so relieved at the positive press your fake dating creates, that he’ll sign those paternity papers. Trust me.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Egbert called from the back porch. “Your lure’s caught on that log. No...no. Don’t step in the...” There was a splash. “Don’t fight the current,” he shouted. “It’ll take you to a sandy shoal down by the inn.” And then Egbert muttered, “And this is why I insist clients wear life preservers.”
And wasn’t the situation out back an apt metaphor for the state of things in Second Chance? It didn’t matter if the Monroes were Second Chance’s safety net. Sleepy towns, like rookie fly fishermen, were just not bankable. And bankrolls funded films.
“I want to trust you, Shane,” Ashley said, channeling her mother’s inflexible tone. “But I don’t trust Wyatt to play into your hands.” He was just too stubborn. “Why can’t you write a press release about the gold you found in Mike Moody’s hideout?” She checked the time again. “That will create more interest in Second Chance and your festival. And Wyatt might find it intriguing enough to read the script and sign on. I don’t want him to feel like he’s being manipulated and then put us into a grudge match where the only move he has is his right to those girls. Luckily, he doesn’t seem interested in them at the moment.” And he was on record in the press as saying he wasn’t ready to settle down.
Shane crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowing. Shane was a dear, but he preferred unquestioned leadership to collaboration.
“Or we could just hand Wyatt the script and cut to the chase,” Jonah said crisply. “I tried to leave him a copy when we tracked him down in South America, but Shane wouldn’t let me.”
The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance Page 4
