Counterfeit Cowboy

by Gail MacMillan

  “Maybe you should just marry the lady. Two years of months between dates can wear any woman’s patience thin.”

  “Yeah, as if she’s ready to give up her job at the rehab centre to go traipsing around the country with a bunch of gypsies like us.”

  “You never know what a woman will do for love until you ask, Joe.”

  “Look who’s talking! Mister didn’t-even-make-a-move on the sharpest, best-looking lady we’ve encountered in a dog’s age.”

  “I don’t think that particular lady would be in the market to spend any time with someone she called a counterfeit cowboy, Joe. Anyhow, it’s a good thing the set-up guys are ahead of us with the tractor trailer. Stopping back there made us late, but they’ll have most of the equipment on stage and ready when we get there. Damn, we’re like a traveling circus with all the stuff we have to cart around. It used to be so simple.”

  “Hey, Jordan.” Twenty-year-old Matt came forward to drop into the seat across from him. “One hot lady, right? A bit old for me, but not for a geezer like you.”

  “You’re forgetting…I’m the single father of four. Not a lot of women are ready to take that on.” He opened one eye to look over the mechanic-turned-lead-guitar-and-backup-singer.

  “Okay, enough said.” The lanky tire-changer stood and braced against the bus’s sway.

  “Get some sleep, Matt.” He closed his eye again. “We’ll be arriving late for our next gig. We’ll need to move fast.”

  “Sure.” He lurched toward the back of the bus. “But sounds as if I’m not the one that needs some shuteye.”

  Jordan heaved a sigh. What was wrong with him, bitching at the kids? They’d been behaving in his custody and working hard at their careers in the music industry. Hopefully in a year or two he’d find someone to take over his position as singer, someone Annie Wise would accept as his substitute, someone good enough to keep the band up in the ratings. And he could finally go home.

  Yeah, right.

  Someone who could replace the poster boy Jordan Brooks had become. Annie had made him into the guy every man wanted to emulate, every woman fell in love with. She’d created him as surely as if she’d molded him out of clay, added a bit of talent, and then breathed life into her handiwork.

  He ran his hand through the light brown hair that curled below his ears. Too long and far too phony. Once upon a time it had been black and cropped short.

  And all that working out at any gym they stopped long enough to frequent? He’d been happy with the muscles gained by pulling lobster traps, harvesting potatoes, and cutting wood for his parents. He thought about those too-tight jeans and custom-made shirts, the thousand-dollar cowboy boots and five-hundred-dollar Stetsons. Hell, he was a counterfeit cowboy.

  “Hey, Jordan, you’ve got to hear this,” Jessie hailed. The band of four had assembled near the back, around Paul, who played keyboard. “Paulie’s got another one…hit, that is.”

  Jordan stretched stiff shoulders and heaved himself out of the seat. A gifted composer, Paul had a sensitivity level that rivaled a fingernail on a sunburn. Wouldn’t do to ignore him.

  “Let’s have it, boy.” He sat down opposite the rail-thin twenty-year-old.

  Paul twitched a grin and bent over his keyboard. The kid still showed signs of the drug addiction he’d had when Jordan had lured him into his band.

  “Play it, Paulie.” Matt, once a wizard at stealing cars, was beating out the rhythm on the arm of his seat. “Jordan’ll love it.”

  He glanced over at him and Jordan caught the message: Paul’s having a bad day.

  “Yeah, Jordan, you’ll love it.” Jessie supported his friend. Jessie, the wild child from a string of failed foster homes, caught dealing drugs at sixteen and well on his way into major crime when Jordan had got him into the band and agreed to be responsible for him.

  He glanced over at his final band member, James, snoring softly in the back seat. Gentle James, the guys had dubbed him. Over six feet tall and weighing in at what Jordan guessed to be about 200 pounds, James played drums and had a heart as big as all outdoors. He’d been arrested for beating up a couple of punks who’d been robbing an elderly woman. They’d successfully dodged the charge and implicated James.

  He’d been playing drums in Jordan’s high school band at the time, and Jordan knew the big teen well enough to believe his side of the story. He’d gone to court with him and managed to get him released on probation into his custody. Now the twenty-year-old played his heart out for Jordan and sent nearly every dollar he earned back home to care for his widowed mother, disabled in a car accident.

  Damn it, I can’t quit. I can’t leave any of these guys. If someone had reached out to Kevin when he needed help…

  A ripple of despair circled out from his solar plexus. Even Paul’s song, which definitely sounded like hit potential, couldn’t stop it.

  “Good stuff, Paul.” He stood and patted the composer on a boney shoulder. “We’ll give it a play the first chance we get.”

  “Thanks.” He looked up at Jordan, eyes full of gratitude. “I have a few kinks to work out, but I think it’ll fly.”

  “Kids okay?” Joe Farrah asked when Jordan returned to his seat behind him.

  “You’re starting to sound like a parent, Joe.” Jordan slid back into his seat. “They’re fine. Hey, where’s the horse trailer?” He squinted out the front window.

  “They pulled off the highway a few minutes ago, headed somewhere out along the coast, I’d guess.”

  Somewhere with salt air and sea breezes and sandy beaches and rugged cliffs. Something he wouldn’t admit to as homesickness shadowed over him. His stomach began to roil again.

  “Got any more of that pink stuff, Joe?”

  “Here, in the small cooler.” The driver used his foot to shove the container back toward Jordan. “Gut bothering you again? You should see a doctor, lad.” His gruffness softened over the last sentence.

  “Just too many late night fries and hamburgers,” he muttered, reaching to raise the lid. “Wonder if a vet could prescribe something?” He tried to grin but pain contorted his expression.

  “Damn! Pull over, Joe. I’m going to be sick…again.”

  Chapter Four

  “Shel, we’re home.” Travis nudged her awake.

  “Already?” Shelby pulled herself upright in the truck seat and blinked.

  The sun was setting across Chaleur Bay as Travis turned truck and trailer through the gate with the Ebony M sign and down the dirt road toward the farmhouse and outbuildings on the small peninsula. Bordered on two sides by water, it offered a wonderful vista of cliffs and bay.

  “What do you mean already?” He gave her arm another playful punch. “I’ve been driving for the last three hours while you snoozed.”

  “Sorry, Travis. You should have wakened me.”

  “Not a problem.” He drove past the rambling Victorian farmhouse with its wide all-around veranda and gingerbread trim, his sister’s clinic on its far side looking out of place with vinyl siding and modern windows. He stopped when they reached the stable, huge because of the attached indoor arena, then backed the trailer into position at the paddock gate.

  “I’ll turn ’em loose,” he said. “You go on up to the house and relax.”

  “No way.” Shelby opened her door. “You head up to the house. My turn to take over.”

  “Who’s taking over?” A male voice made Shelby turn to face the good-natured grin on the face of her neighbor Andy Crowell as he strode out of the barn. Suntanned, broad-shouldered, and all of six feet tall, Andy Crowell definitely wouldn’t be hard on any woman’s eyes. Not Jordan Brooks good-looking, but— Where did that come from? She gave herself a sharp mental shake.

  “Andy, hi. Everything okay? Thanks for looking after the stock.”

  “You’re late.” He held the truck door open for her.

  “We had a flat.” Travis was already letting down the tailgate. “Jordan Brooks and the guys in his band helped us change it.”


  “Yeah, right.” Andy went to help him. “And I’ve got a date with Angelina Jolie tonight.” He peered into the trailer. “Where’s Black?”

  “That’s what we’d like to know.” Shelby climbed out of the truck and stretched cramped muscles. “But I’m sure Michelle Latton does.”

  “Michelle? What’s she got to do with it?”

  “Long story short.” Shelby gave him details of what had happened and her suspicions.

  “Come on, Shel,” Andy Crowell guffawed when she’d finished. “Michelle wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  “And you’d know, wouldn’t you.” Weary and frustrated, she snapped at him. “She tried to steal you, didn’t she?”

  “What’s that?” Travis stopped short in backing Fancy out of the trailer. “Michelle Latton came on to you, Andy?”

  “It was a long time ago, in high school.” The dairy farmer headed into the trailer to get another horse.

  “You were too young to take notice.” Anger at the memory churning in her chest, Shelby was suddenly eager to take a verbal swipe at the woman. “Andy and I were dating pretty steadily. She started making moves on Andy just before the tryouts for the National Equestrian Team. I think she hoped it would make me lose some of my focus.”

  “Nasty.” Travis rubbed Fancy’s nose. “What did you do, Andy?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” The man backed a gelding out of the trailer and mumbled his reply. “Can we drop the subject?”

  “Nothing only because within a week she was off to Toronto.” Shelby turned and strode toward the house.

  “Hey, come on, Shel, that’s a low blow.” Andy’s words followed her, but she didn’t pause or glance back.

  ****

  “So what did you think of him?” Andy Crowell slouched in a kitchen chair, a beer in hand.

  “Who?” Shelby slid two frozen dinners into the microwave and held up a third. “You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

  “No, thanks. Don’t try to distract me. What did you think of Mr. Superstar up close and personal? Every woman’s fantasy?”

  “Possibly.” She shrugged and punched in a time. “If you like that kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Killer blue eyes, sandy brown curly hair, shoulders out to here, and the cutest butt…”

  “Damn it, Shelby!” He slammed his beer onto the table with a vehemence that startled her. “He’s a phony, a rhinestone cowboy if there ever was one. What you can see in…”

  “Calm down. I’m teasing. I’m about as interested in him as I am in getting a bad sunburn.”

  “Yeah?” He drew himself up in the chair.

  “Yeah. Now, are you sure you won’t stay for supper? I’d like to make a small attempt at repaying you for babysitting the place.”

  “Doctor, there’s only one way you can thank me, and you know it.” He chugged the last of his beer, stood, and rounded the table to pull her into his arms. “Marry me, Shel, and make an honest man of me.”

  “This isn’t a good time, Andy.” She avoided his kiss. “I’m exhausted and more than a little stressed about Midnight Black.”

  “Okay, fine, sure.” He released her and headed for the door. “But—” He paused to look back at her. “I’ll be around when you get the stars out of your eyes.” He quirked an eyebrow and slapped the back of his jeans. “Remember my butt is right here, ready and willing to be ogled any old time.”

  “Get!” She threw an oven mitt at him.

  He dodged and went out laughing.

  Chapter Five

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Harris, Jenny.” Shelby waved from the door of her clinic the following afternoon as her last two clients of the day drove away, their cat in its carrying case in the back seat.

  Another non-profit case. But she’d had no choice. Maureen Harris was a single mother struggling to bring up a child on minimum wage. The cat was one of the few perks in her daughter’s life. How could she charge a ten-year-old in faded jeans and dollar-store T-shirt the going rate?

  She looked down at the crumpled five-dollar bill in her hand and sighed. It wouldn’t even begin to cover the cost of the medication she’d given the old cat, but at least it had saved mother’s and daughter’s pride in that they felt they hadn’t accepted charity.

  Rolling her shoulders, she stepped back inside and looked around at the clutter. Going away for the weekend had caused a backlog of patients that had made Monday a madhouse of catching up. She’d had a steady stream of patients since eight o’clock that morning, and she still had to get at the farm accounts and prepare supper for Travis and herself. In the evening she had two riding students coming for lessons.

  Her cell rang. She glanced at the caller ID. RCMP. Good news?

  “Dr. Shelby Masters.”

  “Doctor, Sergeant Ben MacKenzie here.”

  “With good news, I’m hoping?”

  “Sorry. We’ve got nothing. Your horse seems to have vanished without a trace. We’re guessing whoever stole him has taken him into the USA or our members would have found some trace of him here in Canada. We’ve alerted the border patrol and U.S. authorities, but we were probably too late to catch the thieves at any crossing. They had several hours’ head start, remember. We’ll keep trying, but I have to be honest with you. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” Shelby shriveled inside. “I know you’re doing your best. Please keep me posted.”

  “Certainly. I wish we had better results for you.”

  She rang off and slumped against her desk. Weariness and disappointment felt like lead weights on her shoulders. Coping with the situation suddenly seemed beyond her.

  Glancing out the window, she watched a light wind ruffling the water of the bay into small whitecaps under a beautifully blue sky. The breeze kept the heat of the late afternoon July day under control, balmy, in fact.

  Damn it, she deserved a little R-and-R. She pulled off her white smock and tossed it over a chair. With long, determined strides, she left the clinic through the door that led into the parlor of the farmhouse and kept on going across the room and out onto the verandah. With a sigh, she sank into one of the worn wicker chairs beside the door and closed her eyes.

  Just a few minutes away from it all, just a few minutes.

  A rattling accompanied by a revving motor and shifting of gears broke into her escape. Damn! What now? She opened her eyes to see a dusty green pickup liberally trimmed with rust bumping its way up the drive.

  The truck shuddered to a stop at the verandah steps. A pair of long legs covered in faded jeans swung out. They were followed by a tall, broad-shouldered body. The newcomer wore a tattered baseball cap, sunglasses, a T-shirt advertising the Atlantic Agricultural Fair, and a five-o’clock shadow.

  A drifter looking for handyman work. I’ll end this fast. She pulled herself out of her chair.

  “If you’re looking for a job—” she began.

  “No, just hoping to change your mind.”

  “About what?” Frowning, she walked to the top of the steps to get a better look at him.

  “I thought you’d remember.” He pulled off his cap. “It wasn’t all that long ago.”

  She narrowed her eyes and perused him more carefully. The short curly black hair and stubble of beard didn’t trigger a memory.

  He removed his sunglasses and grinned up at her with a pair of unforgettable blue eyes.

  Oh, my Lord! It couldn’t be!

  Chapter Six

  “What are you doing here?” The words came in a gush as she stared down at Jordan Brooks—long, wavy hair cut short, its color changed, formerly clean-shaven face stubbled.

  “Looking for someone to teach me to ride.”

  “And you thought turning up here with my owing you one would change my mind? I’ve already turned your offer down, Mr. Brooks. I’ll be glad to pay you for helping us out on the road, if you want to make things even.” Overcoming her initial surprise, she crossed her a
rms on her chest.

  “Annie thought I should give it a try in person while we were in the area.” He leaned against the verandah railing. “She thinks this place is a perfect hideout and you’re the instructor I need. Annie knows a lot about horses and horsemanship.”

  “So she told me.”

  “You’d be doing me a big favor. I’m willing to help out around the place as well as pay for the lessons. I’m capable of manual labor. In fact, I’ll use that as my cover…your hired hand. The truck is part of my disguise.” He jerked a thumb toward the pickup. “I’d like to sit down and discuss the possibility with you.”

  Why did he have to show up now? She’d refused Ann Wise’s proposition when Black’s stud fees had promised relief from much of the financial stress. Now, with unpaid bills piling up, the RCMP investigation turning not a single clue as to her stallion’s whereabouts, and a dead-tired sensation flooding her body, his offer caused her to waffle.

  “If you need help making a decision, get your brother to sit in. As your partner, he should have a say.”

  Did he have to look so appealing? Did he have to sound so warm and friendly?

  “He’s working in the arena down at the barn. And he’s not my partner yet. He only legally becomes half-owner of Ebony M when he turns twenty-one.”

  “Okay, but if you’re afraid of being alone with me, feel free to get him up here.” Blue eyes teased her.

  “I’m a vet trained in large animal care.” The words snapped out. “If I can handle a Clydesdale stallion, I think I can handle one…”

  “Counterfeit cowboy?” A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Look, you may as well know how I really feel about this deal Annie conjured up. I’m not exactly over the moon about leaving my band for an entire summer. If there was any other way, trust me, I wouldn’t be here.”

  Blue eyes met green and held…for a moment. When words came again, they were Shelby’s.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Come around to the back door. We can talk in the kitchen.”