Cowboy to Command

by Sabrina York

One wouldn’t think suspenders were sexy, but on this man, they were. Hell, he was sex on a stick. She casually wondered who he was. Though they had lots of dancers coming through the Double Stud, and most of them were hunky, none of them had ever captured her attention like this guy. There was just something about him that drew her eye.

  The music continued on and he removed his bandana, playing with it in a saucy manner—even rocking it back and forth between his legs in time to the music. And then, he took off his hat and tossed it into the empty seats.

  The very second his face became visible—and shock washed through her—Cody’s voice blared through the mike, utterly shattering her little fantasy.

  “Yeah, Brandon. That was good. But could you give the hat more of a spin? You know, so the women aren’t sure where it will land?”

  One of the guys on the floor tossed him his hat and there was a conversation back and forth about how the hat should be spun, and several demonstrations. And through it all, Porsche just stared.

  That incredibly sexy guy up there on stage—the one who’d made her actually drool—was Brandon. Funny, easygoing, dog-loving Brandon. He was an absolute, slobber-provoking hottie. It was hard to take in.

  The discussion about the hat and the spinning of it ended when Brandon perfected the toss and Cody said, “Let’s take it from the hat flip,” and the music started again.

  And again, Porsche was entranced. This time, knowing full well who he was, his performance was even more captivating. She memorized every move.

  Brandon was well into his routine when a movement to her left caught her attention. It annoyed her, because she didn’t want to be distracted, and she most certainly didn’t want to be caught snooping by Claire.

  But it wasn’t Claire. Cade and Lisa eased into the room, and Porsche stepped farther into the shadows. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but that was hardly it.

  She just didn’t feel like making small talk right now. Not with that vision of Brandon in her head.

  She needed to process.

  It was probably just an overactive imagination or something.

  Or maybe she was coming down with the flu, the way she was going all hot, then cold, then hot again. Who could really tell?

  But damn. He’d floored her. She’d known he was attractive. She just hadn’t been ready for him to suddenly be that attractive.

  She held her breath so the others wouldn’t notice her.

  “He’s really good,” Lisa said after a while.

  “He is.” Cade leaned against the doorjamb. “Hard to believe he can move around like that with his leg and all.”

  The comment confused her—she’d gotten the impression from Brandon that his wounded leg had healed—and she wanted to ask Cade what he meant, but she was eavesdropping, which made asking awkward.

  “They’ve made some amazing advancements,” Lisa said, and Cade nodded.

  What kind of advancements? Porsche wanted to scream. What’s the deal with his leg?

  It was as though everyone knew something that she didn’t. She shot a look at Brandon, his moves, the undulation of his body, the perfection of his bare chest. He moved lyrically, perfectly. She couldn’t imagine what on earth Lisa and Cade were talking about, but she knew she was damned sure going to find out.

  So when Cade meandered to the front of the house to talk with Cody about a reverberation in the amps, and Lisa went back to work, Porsche followed her into the kitchen.

  “Well, hey you,” Lisa said as Porsche wandered over to the counter. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Oh, I came to visit Dougal,” she said. A blatant lie and Lisa knew it. Her smirk said as much.

  “The guys are practicing.”

  “Oh are they? I didn’t know.”

  “Mmm.”

  “I should go see Brandon dance.”

  Lisa’s glance was a probing one. “Yeah,” she said. “I heard something about the two of you. Are you an item?”

  “Kind of.” That blasted heat rushed up her cheeks. “Have you seen him dance?”

  “I just did. He was practicing his old-time cowboy just now.”

  “Wow. Sorry I missed it.” The lie of the century. “So, what did you think?”

  “I thought he was great.”

  “Considering . . .”

  Lisa’s gaze locked on hers. “Considering?”

  Porsche forced away the sleazy feeling she got, fishing for information about Brandon, because she was desperate to know. Fortunately, desperation justified almost anything. She forced a sad smile. “You know. Considering his leg and all.”

  Lisa’s eyes went wide. “He told you about his leg?”

  “We are something of an item.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Cade said he was very private about that.”

  “For good reason.”

  “He hates sympathy with a passion.”

  “He would.”

  Lisa nodded. “Still, it’s hard to believe he can dance like that on his prosthetic.”

  On his what? Porsche kept her mouth from gaping open, but barely. She turned away and murmured, almost robotically, “Well, they’ve made some amazing advancements.”

  “No kidding. But I’m in awe that a man can lose a leg and still live a full and active life. He’s an amazing guy.”

  Porsche nodded, but her mouth had gone dry and her head was spinning. There was a faint buzzing in her ears.

  He’d lost his leg.

  He’d lost his leg.

  His leg.

  She couldn’t imagine suffering such a loss. She couldn’t imagine coping with it, much less turning around and facing each day with a freaking smile. But he did. Brandon was the most upbeat, positive person she’d ever met. He was funny and charming and . . . never once had he ever given a hint that he was angry or bitter or wounded.

  Oh, she’d always liked him—from the moment they’d met. And she’d come to like him even more as she’d gotten to know him better.

  But this?

  This was mind-blowing.

  He was, without exception, the most extraordinary man she’d ever met.

  “Are you okay?” Lisa asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Crying? I’m not.” She was. There were tears on her cheeks.

  “Porsche?”

  “It’s allergies.” She quickly grabbed a tissue and mopped at her face.

  “Wow.” Lisa studied her for a minute. “You might want to see a doctor about that.”

  She sniffed. “It comes and goes.” She attempted a smile but wasn’t sure if it was successful. Frankly, she didn’t care. “I should get home. Ford will be wondering where I am.”

  “Yeah,” Lisa said, watching her with a wary expression. “You do that. Do you want me to tell Brandon you were here?”

  What? “Oh, no. That’s okay. I’ll come by and see him later.” Once she’d processed all this. Once she could face him again.

  Because this revelation had tipped her world on its ear.

  Chapter Twelve

  Brandon was disappointed that Porsche hadn’t come by on Thursday. He’d been really looking forward to seeing her. But despite their casual see you tomorrows she didn’t show.

  It hit him harder than he would have liked. After rehearsal, he just sat at his dinette and moped.

  Dougal missed her too. He curled up in his little bed and whimpered incessantly.

  When the dog started throwing up, Brandon became very worried and called the vet. Naturally, their advice was to keep an eye on him, which wasn’t helpful at all. So when the vomiting got worse, Brandon bundled him in a towel and asked Claire to drive him into town, because he couldn’t hold the dog and drive the clunky camper at the same time.

  By the time they got to the vet, Douga
l was shaking and nearly catatonic. Brandon thanked Claire and rushed inside with the dog in his arms. He wasn’t even aware she’d followed until the vet greeted them in the lobby and she said, “Hi, Paul.”

  Paul, the vet, was a tall man with bright blue eyes and a red-burnished beard. He took one look at Dougal and called for the nurse. “We’ll need an x-ray and bloodwork, stat,” he said, handing the dog off. He asked Brandon questions—ridiculous questions—about whether or not he would authorize surgery if necessary and how much he was willing to pay. He answered, but was barely aware of doing so, his brain was in such a whirl.

  As Brandon watched the nurse disappear with a quivering Dougal in her arms, his distress must have been clear on his face because Claire took his hand. “It’ll be okay,” she said.

  Paul didn’t look so sure. “Is there any chance the dog has eaten something he shouldn’t have?” he asked.

  Brandon blinked. “He eats everything he shouldn’t. He’s a puppy. Yesterday he ate the carpet.”

  The vet nodded. “I understand. This could be an ingested item, or it could be food poisoning. Any chance he’s eaten chocolate? Antifreeze? Grapes?”

  Grapes? Really? Brandon shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Antifreeze?” Claire murmured.

  Paul nodded. “Unfortunately they like the smell. It’s lethal.”

  “We did go to a party last night,” Brandon said. And hell. He’d been more focused on getting Porsche alone that keeping an eye on his dog, damn it all. “He could have eaten something there.”

  “Okay. We’ll check him out. Feel free to wait here.”

  As Paul headed back into the exam room, Brandon called out, “Doctor?”

  He paused and glanced at Brandon over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “How bad is it?”

  When Paul didn’t answer, other than to shake his head—not even a fucking platitude—horror engulfed him. Brandon dropped into a chair. A feeling of utter helplessness swamped him.

  “He’ll be okay,” Claire said, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. “I’m sure of it.”

  “I should have watched him better.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. He gets into everything.”

  “Right.” But it was his job, his responsibility to keep Dougal safe. And he’d failed. He turned to Claire and squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “Of course I’ll stay. You’ll need a ride back home.”

  “This could take a while. I’ll call.”

  Claire stared at him for a long while and then she nodded. “Okay. But I’m calling Porsche.”

  His pulse flared. Damn, it would be good to have her by his side. He hoped she’d come. And indeed, about fifteen minutes after Claire had left, Porsche came through the door, breathless and wide-eyed. Without thinking, he shot to his feet and opened his arms and welcomed her in.

  What comfort there was in her embrace. He didn’t want to let her go. Couldn’t. He clung to her and shook as he struggled to get a hold on his emotions.

  What the hell was there about a little ball of fur that could gut him like this?

  “How is he?” she murmured into his shoulder.

  Brandon shrugged and held her closer.

  She allowed it for a moment, then pulled back to meet his gaze. She lifted her hand and wiped his cheek with her thumb. Her face went white. “Brandon?” And when he didn’t answer, she whispered, “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

  “They-they don’t know.”

  “Oh dear.” She said nothing else, but then, she didn’t need to. She sat beside him, pressing her warmth into him and he gobbled it up like a black hole sucking in a companion sun. She held his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder, and they waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  At long last, when darkness had fallen on the street outside, the doctor reemerged from the back with a clipboard in his hand and pinned Brandon with a sharp look. “Mr. Stewart?” he said, even though he and Porsche were the only two left in the waiting room.

  “Yes?” He leaped to his feet. “How is he?” Please, God. Please. I’ll never leave him unattended again. Please.

  “We think he’s going to pull through. He managed the surgery well. Fortunately, he’s a healthy little guy.”

  “Surgery?” Porsche wailed. “What was it?”

  “Intestinal blockage.” For some reason Paul smiled as he held out his hand to Brandon. “We thought you might want these back.”

  Bemused, he took the items from the doctor and stared at them. Two washers and four large bolts. It hit him like a tsunami. That short, fateful conversation with Cody and Cade in the shop. A couple of minutes of not paying attention. Damn.

  “It looks like he was a taste for hardware,” Porsche said, and just that quickly, she swept away his doom and gloom and, unaccountably, he laughed.

  “I guess so.”

  Paul handed him some paperwork to sign, and he did so mechanically. “We want to keep him here for a couple days. Keep an eye on him if that’s okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “And when you take him home, you’ll want to keep him quiet while he heals. We recommend a cone so he doesn’t pull out his stiches.”

  Porsche held back her smirk. Brandon could tell it cost her. But she did whisper, beneath her breath, “Cone of shame.”

  “Other than that, you’re all set to go.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” Brandon said, shaking his hand. He had no doubt this man had saved Dougal’s life.

  “No problem. And Mr. Stewart?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Keep the dog out of the garage if you can.”

  “No kidding.”

  • • •

  Porsche stared up at Brandon’s face as they stepped out onto the street. She hated the worried lines around his eyes, the tightness of his lips. It was clear he’d had a shock.

  She’d had a shock too, and this news about Dougal had been a second punch to the gut.

  Poor Brandon. He had so much on his plate, but he handled it all with calm resolve. He was amazing.

  She’d done a lot of thinking about him today, about his past, about his future. And even though she’d asked him to pretend to be her boyfriend, she wasn’t sure that was what she wanted anymore.

  How to approach the conversation with him though, that was a conundrum. It was rife with peril. So she decided to procrastinate. She pinned a smile on her face. “I am so glad he’s better.”

  “Me too.”

  She hooked her arm in his and peeped up at him. “Are you hungry?”

  He blinked, as though he hadn’t even considered it. “I could eat, I suppose.”

  “We could go to Bubba’s.” She nodded at the bar and grill down the street.

  He grimaced. “I don’t feel like dealing with a crowd.”

  Well, there would hardly be a crowd, but she understood. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

  He fixed a very somber gaze on her and said, “Would you be willing to come home with me?” And then, before she could even express her surprise, he added, “I’ll make you dinner.”

  She eyed him warily, although she knew at once she would go. Of course she would. He needed her. “What kind of dinner?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I take my food very seriously.” She winked at him. “If you had your list, you could write that down.”

  “I think I can remember that. How do you feel about steaks?”

  “The cow kind, or the vampire kind?”

  “Cow.” It was gratifying to make him smile.

  “I love cow steaks.”

  “Well, I broil a mean cow steak.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go gnaw on something.” She led him to her car and watched as he got in on the passeng
er side and collapsed into the seat. He’d had a hell of a day. She wished she was a good enough cook to make him dinner, but she knew better than to offer. More than likely, they’d both end up like Dougal with some kind of intestinal blockage. Her skills were that bad.

  His weren’t.

  His weren’t at all.

  In fact, the steak he made, basted in garlic and butter, and tender as a baby cow’s butt, made her orgasm. Or something like it. He also did some steamy thing with the asparagus that made it actually taste good and created a potato gratin that made her tongue weep.

  “Just a simple meal,” he said as he dug in. “I hope you like it.”

  She gaped at him. “Are you on drugs?”

  He grinned. “Just a little blood pressure medication, why?”

  “This is freaking phenomenal.” To illustrate her point, she jabbed her knife in the direction of the steak.

  “I’m glad you like it. I learned to cook on the Internet.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Lots of downtime in the field, so I made use of it.”

  “You must be some kind of savant.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yeah, like the Mozart of cooking or something.”

  “Didn’t he die of heartbreak?” Brandon joked.

  “I thought it was syphilis.”

  “I suppose syphilis could cause heartbreak.”

  “Perhaps, but I think you’re missing the point.”

  “Which is?”

  “You are a wonderful cook. People would pay to eat this.” She was completely serious.

  “Really?” His brow quirked up and he took on a wicked mien. “Maybe you should pay for my services.”

  Oooh. She liked that. “What did you have in mind?”

  “An after dinner kiss?”

  She stared at him, reminded of her resolution about him, and something delicious curled through her. This was the perfect opportunity. They were alone in a private place. He was looking at her with an amorous expression, and she was certainly ready to take the next step.

  She had decided she definitely didn’t want Brandon as a fake boyfriend.

  She wanted him for real.

  Funny, how it had crept up on her, her change of heart, but it had. Funny how she was so certain about this when, by rights, there should have been some twinge of guilt over deserting Cody.