Crazy for Cowboy

by Roxy Boroughs

  CRAZY FOR COWBOY

  by

  Roxy Boroughs

  Copyright 2012 Roxy Boroughs

  All rights reserved

  This ebook is licensed for your personal reading enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Publisher: Baucis & Philemon

  Series Creator and Cover Designer: Steena Holmes

  Layout: WriteAdvice Consulting

  ISBN: 978-0-9878565-8-6

  CRAZY FOR COWBOY — Overview

  She’s through with cowboys. But this one’s the ‘reel’ deal.

  Equine veterinarian, Emily Grant, has had her share of cowboys, and they always break her heart. After vowing to give them up forever, Brandon Hollister strides into her life.

  He’s a different kind of cowboy, one that works on the silver screen. But is he just playing the part when it comes to love? Or can this sexy hunk get past a case of mistaken identity to become the man to win Emily’s heart.

  A 50,000-word sweeter romantic comedy from the award-winning author Roxy Boroughs. Part of the Stampede Sizzlers series, created by Steena Holmes.

  Praise for CRAZY FOR COWBOY:

  “From the moment I started reading CRAZY FOR COWBOY I knew I was going to love it. There are tons of great one-liners, the characters are fun and engaging, and since I'm a sucker for a strong, sexy, vulnerable hero, I was cheering all the way for the ‘cowboy’ to win his girl! I laughed out loud as I was reading, and found myself anxiously flipping the pages to see what would happen next. Kudos to Roxy Boroughs for spinning another winning tale. Job well done!” — Pamela Yaye, multi-published Harlequin author.

  For B

  My cowboy in gray flannels.

  A big thank you to Steena Holmes, for allowing me to ride on her coattails, and designing the cover art to boot. Thanks to Suzanne Stengl for suggesting I resurrect this old gem from my backlist, and to my critique partners Lecia Cornwall, Sherile Reilly, and especially Pamela Yaye.

  Heartfelt thanks to the Alberta Romance Writers’ Association, and the Calgary Chapter of the Romance Writers of America, for their unwavering support.

  Most importantly, thank you, Dear Reader, for joining Brandon and Emily on this sweet romantic romp.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  About the author, Roxy Boroughs

  More Stampede Sizzlers

  CHAPTER ONE

  Emily Grant peered down at her jeans and cringed. Could she have worn anything more inappropriate?

  Of course, if she’d known where Jackie was taking her, she might have packaged herself differently and nixed the Levi’s in favor of a skirt; done something with her long, brown hair besides free it from its usual ponytail. And she would have applied some lipstick, for heaven’s sake.

  Hardly, her practical side told her. She had an upcoming appointment with a horse. She was packaged appropriately. Just not for the chichi restaurant her friend had chosen for lunch.

  What was wrong with Bob’s Burger Bar? There, at least, she could have ordered in peace without worrying about which cutlery to use, or how to hold her wineglass. At Bob’s, the vino came out of a box and was served in Styrofoam cups. And the cutlery was plastic, your standard fork and knife set. Here, at Eduardo’s, there were three forks, two knives and as many spoons. What was she going to do with them all? The gleaming utensils twinkled at her, mocking her indecision.

  “Don’t worry about Len,” Jackie was saying, oblivious to the fact that, with those silver bracelets wrapped around her wrists like Slinkys and her mile high bouffant, she looked as alien in the place as Katy Perry in her E.T. video. “The man was a jerk. You can do way better.”

  “I don’t know.” Emily hid her burning cheeks behind her menu. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something wrong with me.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’ll find a new cowboy, honey. Don’t worry.”

  Emily leaned her elbows on the table and let her shoulders sag. A new cowboy? Not if she could help it. “At this point, I don’t even want to think about them. I’m taking a sabbatical from dating. A long one.”

  “How long?”

  “The truth is, Jacks, I don’t want to see another cowboy as long as I live!”

  “Speaking of which, did I ever tell you about the time I was almost abducted by aliens?”

  Emily lowered her menu and eyed her friend from across the table. Talk about non sequiturs. What the heck did little green men have to do with her sinking love life? “Aliens?”

  “It was back in grade eight, before I met you,” Jackie explained, twirling a strand of her currently fire engine red hair around her index finger. “My Aunt Bertha took me on a trip to New York to catch some Broadway shows. And, other than theater, do you know what the Big Apple is famous for?”

  Emily scrunched up her mouth as she pondered the question. “Their delis?”

  Her friend let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s the alien abduction capital of the world!”

  Out of her peripheral vision, Emily noticed two ladies at a nearby table shift their positions. They had abandoned their meals and were leaning in, focused on Jackie’s story. Emily hoped they were making more sense of it than she was. She might have to ask them for the English translation afterwards.

  “Anyway, it’s night, right? I’m tucked in and ready for sleep. Then, all of a sudden, I feel like I’m being pulled out of bed.”

  “As if you were falling? That’s a fairly normal sensation when you’re drifting off,” Emily stated, providing the voice of reason.

  “No. It wasn’t like that.” Jackie slid forward in her seat. The two matrons leaned in closer, too. “I was still awake and I was definitely being pulled. When I opened my eyes, I was lying diagonally across the bed, like someone had tugged on my arm. I looked around the room and there was no one—just my aunt, snoring away in the next bed. I started to relax and then...bang, it happened again.” She slapped her hands against the table like a prosecuting attorney. The cutlery jumped. So did the two ladies.

  “And here’s the really eerie part, Em. The next morning, my aunt told me she dreamed some weird creatures were in the hotel room with us.” Jackie pulled away from the table, clearly pleased with her story. “Get it?”

  Emily sat back, too. “Not in the least.”

  Jackie let out an exasperated groan. “I knew they were coming to take me, so I kept repeating over and over in my mind, ‘No. I’m not going. No! I’m not going!’”

  “And?”

  Her friend paused for dramatic effect. “They gave up.”

  “I see.”

  Jackie frowned. “You don’t see, do you?”

  “No. Not really,” Emily admitted.

  The enigma called Jackie was undeterred. She plowed ahead with gusto. “Here’s the point. It worked for me; it can work for you. Just say no to aliens.”

  Emily nodded, although she wasn’t exactly sure what she was agreeing with. Aliens? This had to be the strangest story Jackie had ever told, and that was saying something.

  “Don’t you see how it
relates?”

  “I haven’t got a clue.”

  “You’ve had trouble with cowboys, right?”

  That was an understatement. Emily sometimes questioned her decision to become an equine veterinarian. There was no way to avoid the charming buckaroos in that line of work. She longed for the proverbial house with the white picket fence, and the husband and children to go with it, all the things she didn’t have growing up. But what cowboy was going to stick around long enough to build that kind of life with her? Certainly none of the ones she’d dated. Sure they were attractive, rugged and adventurous. They were also foolhardy, unreliable and...they broke her heart every time. And none worse than this last one.

  Len.

  He’d sent her a postcard. From Colorado. Asking her to pack his stuff and send it out to him. Two years of her life and that’s all she got? A three and a half by five inch picture of the Unsinkable Molly Brown? What kind of subliminal message was that? She’d felt like dumping his clothes in the Bow River to see if they would fare as well as the good woman herself.

  In the end, however, Emily had managed to be mature. She’d shipped his belongings to him. C.O.D., of course. She wasn't a complete chump. After six weeks, just thinking about the breakup still made her hands tremble. With anger? With pain? Probably a bit of both. She closed the menu and set it down beside her, before anyone could notice her quivering hands.

  “Yes. I’ve had trouble,” she said, fingering the gold lettering embossed on the cover.

  “So, just say no to cowboys and they’ll stay away.”

  Emily blinked. Was it really that easy? Did she merely have to tell the universe her intentions to have them fulfilled? Perhaps Jackie had a point. Wasn’t that what Oprah always preached? “Just say no to cowboys, huh?”

  “And hello to a nice, steady guy with romance on his mind.”

  “Hey,” Emily protested. “Don’t forget cute.”

  Jackie smacked her palm against her forehead, her bangles chiming together. “What’s the matter with me? Okay, we’re amending that last order,” she said, talking to some unseen being above. “Emily is looking for a nice, cute, steady stud-muffin.” She lowered her gaze and locked eyes with Emily. “Better?”

  “Much better.” Emily lifted her wineglass and tapped it against her pal’s. “Let’s drink to it.” She took a sip of the cool liquid then reached across the table and patted her friend’s hand. “And thanks, Jacks.”

  “For what?”

  “For always coming up with a story that makes my troubles seem so...well...normal.”

  “That’s my job,” Jackie replied, smiling back and giving her hand a squeeze.

  “And thanks for always being there to listen.”

  And she always had been. Ever since Emily and her mother had moved to Calgary. Ever since that first day at the new high school. Unlike the other kids, Jackie had never been judgmental. She’d never teased Emily about her father.

  “Are you ladies ready to order?”

  Emily looked up at the young, blond waitress who’d spoken. Poured into a classy black mini-dress was a woman who would have made Kate Moss look chunky. In contrast to her diminutive physique, there was nothing dainty about her demeanor. The waitress had all the command of an army drill sergeant.

  Obediently, Emily opened the menu at her side. “I need something fairly fast,” she answered, her voice taking on an apologetic tone.

  “You can’t stay?”

  “Sorry, Jackie. I have to be at the Rocky Meadows Riding Stables by three.”

  “Our pasta is excellent and very quick.” The waitress ran an acrylic fingernail down the list. “May I recommend the Linguini Eduardo? It comes in a creamy Alfredo sauce with tender chunks of seasoned chicken. And it will go beautifully with the Chardonnay.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Make it two,” Jackie chimed in, closing her menu and handing it to the waitress. The woman flashed them a cool smile then scooped up the two booklets and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. “So, what’s up at the stables?”

  “They’ve got a mare that may need surgery. I’m going to check her out today.”

  “You’re ditchin’ me?”

  “Sorry about that. I just got the call this morning.”

  Jackie swatted the air with a dismissive stroke and set off another wave of tinkles. “No problem. I should get back to the office anyway. The next show starts rehearsing in a week and I’m still sorting out the actors’ contracts.”

  Emily was thankful for the shift in conversation. No sense vowing to stay away from cowboys then talk about them all the time. “How is the new job?”

  “As administrative work goes, this lunchtime theater is a heck of a lot more fun than answering phones for a bunch of engineers who are out searching for oil.” Jackie grabbed her napkin off the table and flipped it onto her lap with a flourish. “Hey, I’ll get you some complimentary tickets. It’s a 50’s musical. There’s not a cowboy in it,” Jackie assured her. “Just Fonzie wannabes.”

  “Good.” Emily unfolded her own napkin and smoothed the cotton square over her thighs, mentally rehearsing her next line. “Jackie, that story about the aliens…did that really happen? Or are you setting me up for one of your practical jokes?”

  “Who? Me?” Jackie batted her sparkly green eyelashes.

  “Don’t give me that innocent look. If some guy walks in here dressed like a Martian and embarrasses me, I’ll—”

  “Take it easy. You’re safe. There’ll be no Martians. And no cowboys, either. That’s why I picked this place. There’s not a cowboy on the planet who would dare step into a ritzy joint like this.”

  Movement at the entrance caught Emily's eye. She looked toward the door, her gut clenching. “Oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t look now, but...”

  Her warning was useless. By the second word, Jackie’s head was turning. “Oh, my God,” the redhead echoed.

  Emily slunk down in her seat, wishing she still had that menu to hide behind. Trouble was again heading her way. The tall, dark, and Stetson-wearing kind.

  * * *

  Brandon Hollister strode into the restaurant, his spurs jingling across the fake marble tiles.

  With a little more practice, he’d have the cowboy swagger nailed. But he had to lose the grin. How could he pull off the tough guy image with a smile that threatened to stretch from ear to ear?

  He pursed his lips. The grin sprung back into place. He tried biting the insides of his cheeks. Not a chance. Brandon felt the smile spreading across his lips before he had the opportunity to bite down.

  He gave up the fight. It was impossible to be surly. Not when good fortune was shining down all over him.

  Darlene had actually allowed him to borrow the outfit and everything that went along with it—the spurs, the chaps, the ten gallon hat, the long oilskin duster, all of it—proving, yet again, that it’s not what you know but whom. He’d heard that his old classmate was working as the costume mistress on a couple of projects. He just hadn’t expected her to be assigned to this one.

  Brandon took another step and heard the echo of his boot resound through the restaurant.

  Normally, at this hour, there was a constant barrage—patrons talking, cutlery clanging, wineglasses clinking and, on a bad day, the sound of dishes smashing. At the moment, however, all he could hear was Mozart’s Gran Partita—recognized not because of Brandon’s great appreciation for classical music, but because he heard the damn piece at the restaurant every day.

  He scanned the room for the cause of the silence and was surprised by his discovery. Everyone was staring.

  At him.

  He looked down at his clothes and took a quick intake of breath. No wonder. He was as out of place as John Wayne at an Andrea Bocelli concert. It was July. The annual Stampede would start up in a few days. Everyone would be dressed in their cowboy regalia then. But not now. And not at Eduardo’s.

  Brandon whipped aroun
d the two-sided gas fireplace that effectively separated the kitchen area from the patrons of the restaurant. He wasn’t exactly hidden—he was head, shoulders and chest taller than the mantel—but he was definitely less conspicuous. He dipped his head beneath the brim of his hat, for good measure.

  Now he knew how movie stars felt, spending their days with the eyes of the world upon them. He wondered if he could ever get used to that kind of life. And resolved, if that stroke of luck came to him, he could certainly live through it. Anything was possible, now. The cowboy gig proved that. This was the job that would put him back on track. His father would have been proud.

  Brandon felt a tightness in his chest. After six years you’d think it would lessen. But no. It still happened. Every time he thought about his dad.

  Brandon always remembered him the way he’d looked on that last day, leaning against the doorframe, a strange expression in his eyes as he watched his son pack.

  They’d always been close. In the years following his mother’s death, Brandon began to look upon his dad, not only as a parent, but as his best buddy. It was no surprise that his father had totally supported him when he’d decided to move to Vancouver and try his luck in the biz there—maybe even follow in the footsteps of Michael J. Fox and conquer LA. But his dad’s look that day still haunted Brandon. It was the look of a man who was losing a part of himself.

  While Brandon was boxing up the last of his things, the call came. His father had suffered a massive heart attack at work. He’d died on the way to the hospital. Brandon never even got the chance to say goodbye.

  In that one moment, everything changed. Suddenly, Brandon was the head of the household with a younger sister to support. He put his career plans on the back burner. He couldn’t leave. Not then. There was no way Ally could have managed on her own.

  “May I help you, sir?”

  Brandon pulled himself out of his thoughts and tipped his hat back from his forehead. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, addressing his coworker.