The Cowboy's Claim

by Nina Crespo

  The woman walking down the path joined them. An inner radiance lit up the delicate features of her dark brown face. “Hi. I’m Zurie Tillbridge. You must be Chloe Daniels.”

  “Yes.” Chloe returned Zurie’s firm handshake and smile. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “Lena said it was important. I’m happy to help. I see you met my cousin Tristan.”

  Tristan. So that was his name. She’d met him if snapping at her was considered an introduction. “Yes, we’ve met.”

  A hint of irritation came into his neutral expression. “You scheduled another meeting here this morning?”

  “I did.” The smile on Zurie’s face dimmed from friendly to professional.

  Chloe’s family drama radar locked in. Ooh...interesting. Zurie was clearly in charge, and he respected her, but something other than who was the bigger boss divided them. Jealousy? An inheritance dispute? Had one of them been a secret baby? Whatever the issue was, observing their relationship could lead to a gold mine of information for developing the character she wanted to play.

  Tristan gave a curt nod and broke the silence. “I’ll leave you to it. Find me when you’re ready for us to meet.”

  He turned to walk away, but Zurie put a hand on his forearm. “Not so fast. We’ll meet about the expansion when I get back. Her visit is what I wanted to talk about. Chloe’s an actress, and she’s here to research a part for a film. I’d planned on showing her around but my schedule has changed. I’m going to Florida instead of Nevada. A colleague who’s a visiting faculty member for an equine studies program has to take time off because of a family emergency. I agreed to fill in for her. I’ll be gone for six to eight weeks instead of a couple of days.”

  “But I’m supposed to shadow you for the next six weeks,” Chloe objected.

  “Tristan will have to take over for me.”

  He shook his head. “My schedule is full. I don’t have time to babysit anyone.”

  Seriously? He thought she needed a babysitter? Not now or ever. Chloe faced him and flashed an overly sweet smile. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m fine on my own.”

  “You’re afraid of horses and that’s a problem, especially if you’re hanging around my stable.”

  “The problem was that I just didn’t expect to see one.” She followed his gaze to her soiled boot and heat bloomed in her cheeks. “What I meant to say is the horses caught me off guard.”

  His brow raised. “So that’s what you’re sticking with? You were caught off guard to see horses at a horse stable?”

  “Hold on.” Zurie put up her hand. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you before I got here, but I have a plane to catch.” She looked to Chloe. “If you want to observe operations at Tillbridge, you’re going to have to shadow the person stepping into my shoes.” She looked to Tristan. “Whoever is in charge of Tillbridge during the time I’m away will be the one to show Ms. Daniels the ropes. If you don’t think you can handle both of those duties, I’ll assign someone who can.”

  Chapter Three

  Tristan drove the golf cart down the narrow paved trail winding through the green landscape, and the wheels dipped in and out of every separation in the pavement.

  Chloe sat on the passenger side, digging her fingers into the cushion underneath her as she bounced in the seat.

  They rounded a curve and zipped by a fenced-in pasture with horses on one side, and on the other, a worker riding a large mower in the empty field.

  The scents of rich earth and freshly cut grass intertwined with the smell of horse manure. Yeah, it was everywhere. Chloe couldn’t stop a grimace as she glanced at her dirty boot. She’d have to get used to dealing with it along with Tristan.

  He hadn’t spoken or looked at her since having a side conversation with Zurie at the stable. She couldn’t hear what they’d discussed, but from their hard expressions and the stiffness of their body language when they’d gone their separate ways, it hadn’t gone well. She’d told him she could walk back to the guesthouse, but he’d insisted on giving her a ride. Probably to keep her from wandering around his stable.

  At the end of the path, he steered into the parking lot on the side of the green-roofed two-story white building with green trim and a pitched roof. Sunglasses hid his eyes. “Car?”

  “There.” Chloe pointed to the red two-door midway down the first row.

  Based on his current mood, she actually preferred his choice of not talking to her at all or communicating in monosyllabic caveman-speak.

  He pulled up behind the rental and hit the brake.

  As she lurched forward, she banged the toe of her boot. Chloe started counting to ten and made it to four. “Why are you so mad about me being here?”

  “Do you honestly want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  He removed his sunglasses and the force of his gaze pinned her to the seat. “First, my schedule is already packed without adding more to it. Second, the stable is busy in general so it’s not the best time to have someone tagging along, and third, what we do here isn’t acting. We work hard. The only way you can learn about this place is actually digging in and sweating through the day-to-day, not rolling over the surface and acting the part for entertainment.”

  “Hold on a minute. I know how to work hard, and yes, acting is about entertainment, but that doesn’t mean that the role I’m auditioning for isn’t important for people to see.”

  “What part is it?”

  A based-on-real-life scientist who studied the effects of climate changes on animals in an effort to save them from extinction. She actually had tried out for that part a few weeks ago, but just like with the Drippy Dry commercial, she hadn’t gotten that one either.

  If she told him that was the part she was auditioning for now, he might see her in a different light—but lying would mean she felt the need to justify herself and her choice of roles. She didn’t. Using her imagination to create enjoyment for people by transporting them into a different world was nothing to be ashamed of.

  Chloe looked directly into his eyes. “The friend of a supernatural horse whisperer who owns a horse farm.”

  He put his sunglasses back on and muttered. “That figures.”

  A held-back suggestion of where to put his “that figures” almost set her mouth on fire, but she had better things to do than argue. She got out of the golf cart. “When and where should I meet you?”

  “Philippa Gale is the manager and chef for the guesthouse. You’re meeting her here at ten o’clock.”

  “I’m supposed to be shadowing you.”

  “I have to sort out my schedule first. I’ll get back to you. I’ve got people waiting for me. There’s a new horse coming in, and I’m late. I have to go.” Tristan released the brake on the golf cart and sped off.

  Sort out his schedule? She wasn’t going to just sit on her butt waiting around for him to decide when he’d get back to her. Like she’d told him earlier, she was fine on her own.

  She hauled her purple suitcase and carry-on bag out of the trunk of her car, then wheeled them up the side ramp to the covered white-pillared porch.

  A soft breeze swayed green rocking chairs in front of windows framed by green shutters. In the distance, at the bottom of a gently sloping grassy incline, horses grazed in a fenced-in pasture.

  Seconds passed before she registered why she’d paused and drawn in such a deep breath. The clean, fresh air was devoid of exhaust fumes. And the view was stunning.

  She walked through the double-door entry into a dark, wood-floored modern space boasting just enough country living accents. Gold framed paintings of horses running and grazing in rolling fields and near mountains hung on white walls.

  Chloe continued straight ahead past a seating area with two navy couches surrounding a stained natural wood coffee table to the reception counter.

  Th
e slim brunette standing behind it wearing a navy blouse with the stable’s logo smiled. “Hello. Welcome to Tillbridge.”

  The woman checked Chloe in and gave her a key card. On a map featuring the twenty-room guesthouse, she pointed out the adjoining Pasture Lane Restaurant along with the guest cottages on the property, the stable and the general area.

  Chloe folded the map and stuck it in her purse. “Can you tell me where I can find Philippa Gale? I’m supposed to meet her in a half hour.”

  “Try the restaurant. One of the staff will be able to tell you where she is.”

  “Thank you.”

  Upstairs in her room, Chloe stripped off her red boots in the mahogany-floored entryway and left them by the door.

  The smell from her boot diminished in the light scent of pine polish used on the wood furniture in the room.

  She put her purse and carry-on bag on top of the dresser to her left. Then she placed her suitcase on the padded bench to the right that was sitting at the foot of the queen-size bed with a blue quilted headboard and covered with a sumptuous cream comforter. Another beautiful view pulled her to the side window.

  A green lawn extended from the side of the guesthouse to the tree line where the beginning of a paved trail was visible. Where did it lead? To a pasture or another scenic spot? She’d have to explore where later.

  Holland believed the outdoors stimulated creativity. In fact, she had sent the actors for the snowbound blizzard drama she’d directed to live in the wilds of Alaska for a month so they could acclimate to how the area could affect the characters they’d played. The snowmageddon film, as it was often called, had received multiple accolades, and the lead actress had won an award for her performance.

  Sure, the part she was auditioning for wasn’t the lead, but if she was great, which she would be, it would move her from mediocracy to prominence as an actress. And possibly open the door to an even larger future—becoming a director and someday a producer.

  When it came to women she admired who were working behind the camera, Holland Ainsley was her shero. The films she directed were gracefully unfolding stories that featured breathtaking visuals, and unflinching performances that were thought-provoking. Holland was also known for not being afraid to fight for her vision or for more opportunities for women to direct and produce in Hollywood.

  If she made Holland aware of her interest, Holland might consider talking with her and provide guidance of how she could move ahead.

  But none of that would happen if she didn’t get over her apprehension around horses and nail winning the part.

  Earlier, she really had just been caught off guard to see them that up close and personal so soon after arriving. Well, she’d actually been closer to Tristan than the horses. The light clean scent, which wasn’t cologne, that had emanated from him had been so soothing. It had reminded her of a cooling summer rain and taken her mind off the horses, but how good he’d smelled wasn’t the point. She hadn’t been prepared for the experience of seeing what had once caused her worst nightmare. Next time, she would be.

  She wasn’t a frightened child trapped on the back of a large runaway creature. She was an adult consciously grabbing hold of her future. This was about taking the necessary steps, even baby ones—like not freezing up again when she saw a horse. She could do this.

  Chloe drew in a deep inhale, then released it along with her doubt and lingering childhood memories. She opened her suitcase on the bench. After changing into a white blouse and blue jeans, she unpacked the boots she’d splurged on before she’d left for Maryland.

  The smooth glossy black knee-high riding boots were fashionable and eye-catching, but also said “I know what I’m doing, look at me.” Definitely not appropriate. Chloe picked up the second pair—brown vintage-looking cowboy boots. They had such an easy-breezy fun vibe. She traced over the distressed leather and excitement buzzed at the thought of slipping them on.

  But as much as she loved them, they didn’t support the attitude she wanted to convey while observing the staff. Despite what Tristan believed, she wasn’t there for attention nor was she expecting the “star treatment.”

  Setting them aside, she dug a little deeper in her bag and found her low-key black flat ankle boots with a tread sole. They were a better choice and wouldn’t cause her to stand out for the wrong reason.

  Ten minutes ahead of her meeting, she walked downstairs to the Pasture Lane Restaurant.

  Natural light from a wall of glass and tall green potted plants gave the pale wood-floored space an open, airy feel. Casually dressed patrons occupied half of the two dozen or so wood tables accented by green padded chairs.

  Chloe seated herself as the sign on the hostess stand indicated, choosing a corner table near a window.

  A blonde college-aged woman rushed around delivering food and taking orders. Her shirt said I NEED COFFEE... MY HORSE... AND A NAP, but from the look on her pink flushed face, she could also use another server waiting tables.

  Been there. Working shorthanded was the worst.

  When she’d moved from Cincinnati to Los Angeles, shortly after her college graduation seven years ago, she’d waited tables to pay the bills in between auditions.

  Those early days of her acting career had been tough but rewarding. Not only had she waited tables, but she’d also worked as a receptionist at Television City. That had led to her snagging an assistant’s position that had opened the door to meeting more people in the industry, including Lena.

  It had taken three years for her to get her first real break—a temporary role on a soap opera. After that, she’d landed minor parts including one in a cable television series. It had ended after one season, but good reviews on her acting had provided enough street cred for her to get hired for small parts in film and television, and later, her last role, a reoccurring character in a cable crime drama series. She’d just been promoted to series regular when the network decided to take the show off the air. It had been a tough reminder of just how easily opportunities could disappear and to never take them for granted.

  The young woman stopped at Chloe’s table carrying a white thermal carafe. “Good morning, my name is Bethany. I’ll be your server today. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Chloe smiled her thanks as Bethany filled her cup. “I’m here to see Philippa Gale? I have an appointment.”

  “Chef Gale is busy in the kitchen, but I’ll let her know you’re here. May I have your name?”

  “Chloe Daniels.”

  Bethany stopped to clear a nearby table, then hurried through the double doors at the other end of the room.

  A moment later, a tall woman around Chloe’s age emerged from the kitchen.

  The lime-green bandanna securing her dark locks matched her chef’s coat and the Crocs visible under the hem of her black pants.

  She strode over to the table. “Hello, Ms. Daniels.” A faint lilt added a Southern flavor to her words. “I’m Philippa.”

  “Please, call me Chloe.”

  Philippa sat down. The smattering of freckles on her light brown face and her friendly smile gave her a youthful appearance, but an all-business mindset reflected in her brown eyes. “Tristan called earlier about you interviewing me today for your article.”

  “Article?” Apparently monosyllabic, caveman-speak didn’t encompass enough words to explain the situation properly. “No, I’m not a writer. I’m an actress. I’m here for a few weeks to research a part.”

  A near eye roll came with Philippa’s huff of exasperation. “Look. I hate to put you off, but the guesthouse is fully booked with an antiquing tour group, I’m short-staffed and we’re prepping for the lunch rush.”

  Tristan knew the restaurant schedule and probably the staffing situation. Was he trying to set her up for failure or just drilling home his belief that everyone had something important to do at Till
bridge but her?

  The only way you can learn about this place is actually digging in and sweating through the day-to-day, not rolling over the surface and acting out a part for entertainment...

  Tristan’s words ticked like pebbles on a window in Chloe’s mind. “I can help.”

  “No. You’re a guest.”

  “I have front and back of the house restaurant experience. I’ll also learn a lot more through participation than just observation. Helping you helps me.” Philippa’s hesitation drove Chloe to her feet. “If I’m more of a nuisance than a help to you, I’ll leave—no questions asked.”

  But Philippa kicking her out wouldn’t happen. She wasn’t going to screw up a chance to get better acquainted with the operation or prove Tristan wrong.

  Philippa stared at Chloe as if working out an internal debate. She stood. “Come on then.”

  Chloe followed her. Just like when she stepped on set for the first time, jitters of excitement arose at the prospect of tackling something new.

  Philippa would probably assign her more of the grunt work like wrapping the silverware in the napkins and setting up glassware and condiments in the server stations. She could also help by clearing tables and bringing out food. It had been a while since she’d done it, but she’d be okay once she got started.

  In the kitchen, the scents of bacon and freshly baked bread just coming out of a double-tiered oven along the wall filled the medium-sized red-tiled space. Cooks stirred pots of food on the two gas burner stoves in the center island. Across the kitchen, another worker chopped salad vegetables at a stainless steel table.

  Chloe’s mouth watered. She’d definitely sample the food later.