Sleep began to pull her under, but in that hazy moment before she drifted off, she realized who Jim Ford reminded her of. Michael. The two men looked very much alike, except Michael was clean-shaven and Jim Ford had a mustache. Talk about a crazy coincidence. Michael Hartford knew nothing about being a cowboy, and Jim Ford was an expert on the subject.
Maybe she should loan Michael a few of her Jim Ford books. They might help him the way they’d helped her. Jack’s lessons were all well and good, but Jim Ford provided the lingo. Michael also might get a kick out of knowing that if he grew a mustache, he could impersonate a well-known Western writer.
Tomorrow she’d leave a book in his room, along with a note to check out the author photo on the inside back cover. That should make him laugh.
5
BY LATE MORNING on the following day, Michael was hating life, and he hadn’t even made it out of the corral. If he’d had some image of galloping across a meadow on Day One, he could kiss that fantasy goodbye. He’d spent at least an hour, probably longer, learning to saddle and unsaddle his assigned horse, Destiny.
Destiny had stood patiently while Michael practiced over and over under Jack’s supervision. Mastering the bridle application had taken another big chunk of time. Jack had insisted, and legitimately so, that a rider needed to know these basics before climbing aboard. Jack was also a perfectionist in this regard. No student of his would get away with sloppy habits. No, sir.
Michael couldn’t very well bitch about Jack’s exacting attitude, either. The guy was offering his house and his services for free, out of the goodness of his heart. If Michael had been paying him, the dynamics would have been different, but under this program Michael kept his mouth shut.
Lack of sleep hadn’t helped his concentration any, either. He’d planned to work on his current manuscript for an hour or so the previous night because his deadline loomed. Usually, working helped him wind down, except the chapter he’d faced had included—of course—a love scene.
He’d thought about Keri while he wrote the blasted thing, so by the end of the writing session the scene had been hotter than he usually made them. And he’d been equally hot. At least he’d finished the chapter and could move on to some action sequences tonight.
That was assuming he could sit long enough to type. The first portion of the actual riding part hadn’t been bad—getting the horse to walk and then putting on the brakes. But then had come the torturous gait called the trot.
Michael had circled the corral endlessly while Destiny jolted every bone in his body. How naively Michael had written trotting into his manuscripts over the years. His characters were constantly trotting their horses here, there and everywhere.
His characters were also experienced riders who had somehow learned how to sit in the saddle without bouncing like a teenager on a trampoline. Michael wondered how in hell they’d accomplished that feat. Jack kept telling him to sit back and just move with the horse. Yeah, right. He wondered if a construction worker just moved with his jackhammer.
At least he wouldn’t have to worry about being tempted by the lovely housekeeper. After today, his privates would be out of commission. He might not be in shape to have sex for a month.
“Okay, slow him down,” Jack called out from his perch on the corral fence. “Walk him around a couple of times and we’ll call it quits for now and head in to lunch.”
Lunchtime meant seeing Keri again. Despite feeling achy and chafed, he brightened at that prospect. As he walked Destiny through the gate Jack held open, he thought about Keri’s expression last night when she’d reached into the vanity drawer and pulled out a box of condoms. She’d been flustered and cute as the dickens.
“That’s what I like to see after a trotting session,” Jack said. “A big ol’ smile on your face. You’ll be happy to know we’ll work on that gait some more after lunch. You’re better, but still not good enough.”
Michael hadn’t realized he’d been smiling, but Jack’s comment sobered him up real quick. “How about trying some roping instead? You know, switch things up a little.”
“Yeah, but you’re so close on the trot!” Jack turned to fasten the gate. “Another hour or so and you’ll have it down!”
Another hour or so and he’d be in traction. “Maybe so, but I’d rather spend some time roping. I have a scene coming up in the next chapter where the hero ropes the villain. I’ll probably do a better job with it if I’ve thrown a rope myself.”
“You’re working on something now?” Jack walked beside him as they headed toward the barn.
“I am. That’s why I brought my laptop, so I could write while I’m here.”
“Well, that’s just special. I hadn’t thought about you actually writing while you stayed here. I might need to get a plaque for the door of that room after you leave.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Michael pulled the horse to a stop at the hitching post.
“No, not really. But I wouldn’t do it because you want these lessons to be hush-hush. By the way, you can climb down from there anytime, now.”
“Oh. Okay.” Michael felt a little shaky and hoped to hell he didn’t fall off.
“Left side, Hartford. Left side.”
“Um, yeah. I was thinking about something else.” He put his foot back in the left stirrup and eased his right foot free.
“Don’t let yourself think about something else when you’re working around horses, my friend. You’re dealing with a thousand-pound animal. Anything can happen.”
“Anything?” Michael thought Jack said things like that mostly to scare him. Clenching his jaw against the pain in his thigh muscles, he swung down from the saddle. He’d be damned if he’d let out a groan.
“Absolutely anything.” Jack wore his dark glasses and his black Stetson, which made him look like a badass. “Death, dismemberment, you name it.”
“That really makes me want to get back on old Destiny.”
“Ah, I’m just having a little fun. You’re safer on him than you are walking down the streets of New York City. But I’ll bet you stay alert there.”
“I do.”
“That’s really all there is to it. Be vigilant when you’re around horses. Don’t be scared. Be aware. Destiny’s calm, but no telling what kind of horse you’ll end up with for the photo shoot. Some horses spook at a blowing scrap of paper.”
“It’s good advice. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t want you getting killed.” He grinned. “Aside from my concern for you as a fellow human being, I’d miss out on more Jim Ford books.”
“You’re all heart, Jack.”
“So they tell me.” He gestured toward Destiny. “Take off his saddle, and we’ll have a short lesson in grooming before we turn him loose in the pasture. We’ll rope this afternoon if that’s what floats your boat.”
Thank God. “I appreciate that.”
“I suppose you’ll need to rope somebody, if that’s what you’ll be writing about.”
“A post will do fine. I don’t need to actually—”
“Oh, I think you do. For authenticity’s sake.”
Michael glanced at him. “Are you volunteering?”
“Hell, no. I’ll volunteer one of the ranch hands. Tell me how big your villain is, and I’ll find somebody that size.”
“He’s about your height.”
“Hmm. Okay. Maybe Jeb, then.”
“How are you planning to explain this little exercise without telling him I’m a writer?”
Jack gazed at him. “I see your point. We don’t generally rope people around here. Jeb might very well question what we were up to.” He sighed. “Guess I’ll have to do it, after all.”
“You don’t have to. A post will work.”
“No, it won’t. There’s a world of difference be
tween roping a post and roping a man. I want you to get it right.”
“Okay.” Michael worked hard to keep from smiling. “If you insist.” His day was looking up.
He followed Jack’s instructions and brushed Destiny’s glossy coat before turning him loose in the pasture. Destiny seemed as glad to be free of Michael as Michael was to be through with Destiny, at least for today. Michael looked at the experience from Destiny’s perspective and realized that having a beginner rider bouncing on your backbone might not feel so good.
Following Jack’s lead, Michael washed his hands and face in the deep sink located inside the barn. As they walked up to the ranch house, Michael felt almost like a cowboy. His clothes were dusty, he smelled of horse and he walked slightly bowlegged thanks to his riding lesson.
Like Jack, he kept his hat on as they mounted the steps, crossed the covered porch and went through the massive front door. On the way down the hall he pulled the brim a bit lower. Yeah. He was getting into this. He wondered if Keri would notice the difference.
* * *
KERI HAD A basket of hot rolls in each hand when Jack and Michael strode into the dining room. And they were definitely striding, not merely walking. Jack had always had that cocky way of moving, and now Michael had picked it up.
She was mesmerized by the sight of Michael, who obviously was in the process of getting his cowboy on. She’d promised herself to stop mooning over him, but how could she help it if he ramped up his sexy quotient when she wasn’t looking? He even wore his hat with more authority. He’d spent the morning with a powerful horse between his legs, and she knew from her year at the ranch that riding could turn a regular guy into a conquering hero.
His gaze found hers and he smiled. Wow, did he ever look like Jim Ford when he did that. She’d left the book in his room, but he might not see it until this afternoon when he was finished working with Jack.
After returning his smile, she snapped out of her daze and delivered the rolls to two of the tables. Then she walked back into the kitchen. The ranch hands were hungry and she couldn’t dawdle. Platters of fried chicken and bowls of potato salad and coleslaw sat on the counter. Mary Lou opened the large commercial oven and took out the first of the apple pies.
She set it on the only vacant space left on the counter and glanced at Keri. “Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”
“I’m fine. Sorry for the delay.” She picked up two platters of chicken and hurried out the door. Mary Lou had come to depend on her to serve lunch, and unless she moved the main course out, no counter space was available for dessert.
Sarah used to help, but she’d done less as Keri took over her duties. This week Sarah was so involved with wedding plans that she wouldn’t have been much use, anyway. Both the ceremony and the reception would take place at the ranch, and the details surrounding that production were endless.
Once Keri was back in the dining room, she couldn’t help noticing where Michael had ended up. He and Jack had chosen the table where the ranch foreman, Emmett Sterling, sat with his daughter, Emily—who would be foreman someday—and her husband Clay Whitaker, who ran the stud program for the Last Chance. Four ranch hands rounded out the eight-place table.
Michael fit right in. The clothes he’d paid to have distressed were a little dirty from being out in the corral, which gave them more legitimacy. He joked with the people at the table as if he’d been part of this world forever. Not every city boy could pull that off, but Michael seemed to be a natural at it. Maybe he didn’t need to read the Jim Ford books, after all.
She approached his table with a platter of chicken and a bowl of potato salad. The ranch hands ate family style and passed the serving dishes around. In fact, lunch at the Last Chance had always seemed like a big family gathering to Keri, and she loved the idea that everyone was on equal footing here.
She wasn’t treated as a waitress, which meant she could pause beside Michael’s chair and ask him how the morning went.
“Great.” He gave her another one of those smiles that made him look like Jim Ford without the mustache. “Jack’s teaching me a lot.”
“Good. By the way, I left a book in your room, something that you might enjoy. I put it on your nightstand.”
“Thanks. What is it?”
“A Western by Jim Ford. It’s the perfect thing to read while you’re here.”
Michael must have swallowed wrong at that moment, because he launched into a coughing fit. One of the ranch hands got up and pounded him on the back while Jack offered him a glass of water. Keri stood and waited for the fit to be over, because she couldn’t simply walk away as if she didn’t care that he was choking. He wasn’t turning blue, so she wasn’t terribly worried, but it was a spectacular fit, all the same.
At last he settled down, took off his hat and wiped his eyes. “Sorry about that.” He looked up at her. “Thanks for loaning me the book.”
“I’m sure you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Well, I need to get back to the kitchen.” She turned to go, but not before she caught a look passing between Michael and Jack. She didn’t have time to interpret it because not everyone had food, and hungry cowboys looked forward to this meal. For many of them it was the highlight of their day.
Much later, after the pie had been devoured with many words of praise for Mary Lou’s cooking, the ranch hands began filing out of the dining room. Keri was clearing the dishes when Jack approached. Michael wasn’t with him.
“I didn’t know you were a Jim Ford fan,” he said.
“I am. Jeb loaned me one of his books and I’ve been hooked ever since.” She decided this was the perfect time to talk about the mouse incident. “About that mouse. I probably shouldn’t have made a stand in front of a guest. I apologize.”
Jack waved a hand dismissively. “You were right to give those boys the benefit of the doubt. I’m too cynical sometimes.”
“You could be right, too. It might have been an elaborate joke.”
“It doesn’t matter. The mouse has been decently interred.” Jack shoved his hat back with his thumb. “How long have you been reading Jim Ford?”
“Since last October. I ordered every book that was available. They helped me understand ranch culture and I thought maybe they’d help Michael, too.” She paused. “You know what’s amazing? Michael actually looks like the picture of Jim Ford in the back of his books, except for the mustache. Is that wild or what?”
Jack opened his mouth as if to say something, but he closed it again. “Yes,” he said at last. “I noticed that, too. Weird, huh?”
“Yes, totally weird.” But she’d seen something in Jack’s eyes that made her start to wonder. Michael couldn’t possibly be Jim Ford. Considering Jim Ford’s expertise, that made no sense.
Yet something was up. She could sense it. Jack and Michael had exchanged that significant glance at the table, as if they shared some kind of secret. She began weaving all kinds of scenarios. What if the real Jim Ford was an ugly old man who didn’t photograph well? What if he’d asked Michael to masquerade as Jim Ford, and now Michael had to learn some ranch skills to make the charade believable?
She decided to keep her eyes and ears open. If that meant keeping tabs on Michael Hartford, so be it. That wouldn’t be a hardship at all.
6
ROPING LOOKED SO easy in the movies that Michael had expected to pick it up really fast. He played a mean game of racquetball, so he considered himself as coordinated as the next guy. But he soon discovered that building a loop, as Jack phrased it, was much harder than it looked. And he had to build a loop before he could throw it at anything.
“You’re making it too big,” Jack said. “Start smaller.”
“A small loop looks wimpy.”
“A big loop that’s snarled around your ankles looks
a hell of a lot worse. You wouldn’t want anybody to think you’re compensating for something with that big loop, would you?”
“Hey!”
“Just sayin’. Make one about half that size and see how you do.”
Michael found the smaller loop worked much better. He made the rope spin in a circle next to him for a couple of seconds before it went all wonky again.
“Nice job. Keep playing around with that size while I check on Bandit. He pulled a tendon and I want to see if the swelling’s down any.”
Michael kept his eye on the twirling rope. “Bandit’s your horse?”
“My stallion.”
“Oh, ho!” Michael was proud of himself for keeping the rope turning in a perfect circle as he talked. “A stallion, you say? Now who’s compensating, Jack?”
“Nice comeback! Now you’re starting to sound like a cowboy.” Chuckling to himself, he started toward the barn.
Smug bastard. He’d earned the right to be, though. Michael envied his confidence and skill. He decided to throw all he had at this practice session so he’d have something to show for it when Jack came out of the barn.
Jack had said Michael would start by roping a nearby post. Then he’d progress to roping Jack. Michael gathered the rope, built his loop a little bigger and tossed it at the post.
He missed, but he’d expected that. He missed five times in a row, but on the sixth try, he roped the post. Okay, then. After he’d roped it three out of five attempts, he increased the size of his loop. He was getting the hang of it, now.
The rope spun in a circle wide enough so that it would fall neatly over Jack, hat and all, when he reappeared. Twirling the loop, Michael moved a little closer to the barn. He heard Jack’s boots on the barn’s wooden floor. Any second now he’d step into the sunshine, and then Michael would nail him.
His timing had to be perfect. Jack appeared. Michael let fly with the rope. It sailed toward Jack’s head, knocked off his hat and dropped toward his shoulders.
The Heart Won't Lie Page 5
