With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Emmy Lou glanced at them both with a smile on her face. Then she picked up the remote, pointed it at the television and flicked off the power. “Then let’s eat.”

  “What was that clanging sound, anyway?” Fred asked as they headed toward the kitchen.

  Quinn wondered if Emmy Lou would tell on him. Fred could make his life a real hell if he knew about Quinn’s fear of bugs and snakes.

  “You must have heard me banging around with my cast iron pans. I got in the mood to rearrange them,” Emmy Lou said.

  And with that single statement, Emmy Lou won Quinn’s loyalty forever.

  THE RAIN LET UP that afternoon, and Jo spent the hours between lunch and dinner riding the fence line with Benny, checking for downed wire, while Fred kept watch on the new foal and taught Quinn something about roping. Jo wasn’t pleased to admit it to herself, but she also spent the afternoon missing Quinn.

  She wanted to be the one to teach him how to rope, although that would be a disaster in the making, and she knew it. Whatever time she spent with Quinn was filled with danger, and she wanted to be with him twenty-four hours a day. She had a gigantic crush on the guy.

  She had plenty of time to analyze why Quinn affected her so deeply, and she nearly had it nailed down. Any woman would be attracted to a guy who looked like Quinn, which explained the physical draw he had for her.

  But what had really hooked her was his ability to make bold, generous gestures coupled with his very human weaknesses. He’d flown all the way from New York on impulse to return the horse sperm, yet he was so frightened of creepy crawlies he’d wrecked the cab. He’d gallantly decided to move to the bunkhouse to keep a safe distance between them, but when faced with temptation, he’d crumbled, just as she had. Crumbled in a very delicious way. She still tingled at the thought of those moments on the sofa.

  “Say, what’s that yonder?” Benny asked, pointing to a far hillside.

  Jo squinted into the distance. “It looks like a man running.”

  “Then somethin’s wrong,” Benny said. “People don’t run out in the middle of nowhere. Unless they lost their horse or somethin’s after them.”

  “I’ll check.” Jo reached to her saddlebag and pulled out a scarred pair of binoculars that had belonged to Aunt Josephine. She focused on the small figure running up the hill and grinned. “It’s Dick. I think he’s jogging.”

  “Jogging? I wanna see.”

  Jo handed the binoculars to Benny and leaned over to rest her forearms on her saddle horn while she gazed at the tiny figure pumping madly up the hill. In jeans and boots. She loved it.

  “I can’t figure out what he’s tryin’ to catch. There ain’t no horse around, or cattle, neither.” Benny seemed totally mystified by the concept of a man running for no visible reason.

  “Actually he’s trying to lose something.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ chasing him, neither. No bear or nothing.” Benny continued to stare through the binoculars. “He looks plum possessed. I ain’t never seen him so red in the face.”

  “Let me look again.” Jo knew that revenge was a mean-spirited emotion, and she shouldn’t be indulging in it. Well, she’d have to get saintly some other day. Watching Dick jog was too damn much fun to miss.

  She adjusted the focus so she could see Dick’s red face. He was panting like a freight engine, too. Unlike Benny, she’d seen him that red in the face before—during the divorce proceedings when the judge had upheld her right to fence off Ugly Bug Creek so Dick’s herd couldn’t water there as they had been during the two-year span of Dick and Jo’s marriage. At that point old Dick was back to hauling water, and he hadn’t liked it much.

  “Do you reckon we should go over there?” Benny asked. “Somethin’ could be wrong.”

  “I think something’s finally right,” Jo said. Her heart lifted at the knowledge that Dick could be bested that easily, and she vowed she’d no longer be his victim. “Thanks to Quinn Monroe.”

  “Are you sure that’s his name?”

  “Yes.” Jo tucked the binoculars away. “That’s his name. Did Fred explain our plan?”

  “He tried, but I got mixed up. You know I get mixed up.”

  Jo’s heart squeezed at the forlorn look on Benny’s face. “I know you’re the best wrangler a gal could have.”

  “I wish I was smarter.”

  “You’re smart where it counts, Benny. Now let me try and explain this situation as best I can.”

  All the way home Jo did her best to untangle Benny’s confusion regarding Quinn Monroe and Brian Hastings. She thought she’d succeeded until Benny asked if he could be in the movie.

  “There may not be a movie, Benny.”

  “But Dick and Mr. Doobie are gonna be in it.”

  “Quinn was only pretending about the movie when he told them they could be in it.”

  “If there’s a movie, I wanna be in it,” Benny insisted stubbornly.

  “Okay,” Jo said at last. “If there’s a movie, I’ll do my best to get you in it.”

  “But I ain’t running up no hill.”

  “No, Benny.” Jo smiled again at the memory. “That’s a special thing only Dick has to do.”

  Benny grinned. “He looked like a dork, didn’t he?”

  “Yep, he looked like a dork.” Jo was in an extremely good mood as she rode toward the ranch buildings in the light of the setting sun.

  And the catalyst for her good mood stood in an empty corral, twirling a loop over his head. With a beat-up Stetson shading his eyes, leather gloves on and a rope in his hand, he looked a lot like a cowboy. Jo’s heart picked up the pace. She wondered if buried under all that Wall Street conditioning was a man who could learn to love wide-open spaces and tolerate bugs and snakes.

  Then she remembered why that was a dumb thought. No matter how much Quinn adapted to life as a cowboy, he couldn’t stick around, even if he had a notion to. The person everyone believed to be Brian Hastings couldn’t very well take up permanent residence in Ugly Bug.

  Fred was nowhere to be seen, and Jo decided he must have coached Quinn on the basics and left him to practice. Quinn twirled the loop one more time, and with a snap of his wrist he let it go. It floated out in a beautiful arc and settled nicely over the post he had been aiming for.

  “Yes!” he shouted, cinching it tight. “Finally!”

  “Nice throw, cowboy,” Jo called.

  He glanced over, shoved his hat to the back of his head and grinned at her. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  Jo gulped. Damn, but he looked good. Almost like he belonged here. She nearly tripped dismounting because she couldn’t stop staring at him. “Of course that post isn’t moving,” she said. “Most things don’t stay still when you try to rope them.”

  “That’s a fact.”

  He’d even started sounding like a cowboy, she thought.

  “I’ll put the horses up, if you want to go talk to Mr. Hastings,” Benny said.

  Jo groaned. Apparently she hadn’t gotten through to Benny on this double identity deal. “No, that’s Quinn over there, Benny.”

  “His name’s Quinn Hastings?”

  “No, it’s—” She decided if she kept this up pretty soon she’d be as confused as Benny was. She handed the reins to him. “Never mind. Thanks for taking care of Cinnamon for me.”

  “No problem. I love it.”

  “And that’s why you’ll have a place here as long as I own the Bar None.”

  “I know.” With a shy smile, Benny tipped his hat and led the horses away.

  Benny was another reason she needed to hang on to the ranch, Jo thought. A new owner might only notice Benny’s mental deficiencies and not give enough credit to his instinctive bond with the animals. And then there was Fred, who was getting too crippled with arthritis to do as much as he once had. If Fred was fired, then Emmy Lou would leave the ranch. All three of them depended on her to keep the place going.

  Jo looked at the corral as Quinn neatly roped the post again. The golden light from
the setting sun touched his broad shoulders as he coiled the rope for another try. He was learning that skill for her, just as he’d been determined to ride Hyper this morning so that he’d do a credible job as Brian Hastings. If she managed to hang on to the ranch, much of the credit would go to Quinn for agreeing to her wild idea.

  He’d abandoned his own work so he could get saddle sore, plagued with giant spiders and probably mauled by the townspeople during Saturday’s rodeo and dance. All to help out a lady in distress. Other than the satisfaction of a good deed, he wasn’t getting anything out of the deal.

  A girl should be grateful when a man put himself out like that, Jo thought as she watched Quinn form a loop and twirl it over his head. Unfortunately, gratitude had landed her in hot water once before, when she’d been stupid enough to think she owed Dick the favor of marrying him after all the help he’d given her running the Bar None. But Quinn wasn’t asking for her hand in marriage or a chunk of the ranch. All he wanted was to make love to her.

  God, that would be tough to take, she thought with a wry smile. But it wasn’t the lovemaking part that worried her. That would be glorious. No, what kept her from rushing into his arms and into his bed was not the loving. It was the leaving.

  10

  QUINN had loved watching Jo ride in. She’d tied her hair back with a scarf and worn an old brown hat that gave her a rough-and-tumble tomboy look he thoroughly enjoyed. She sat straight in the saddle, her tummy in and her breasts thrust forward as she laughed and talked with Benny. Nice.

  Years of riding had obviously made her feel completely at home in the saddle. He doubted she was the least bit worried about falling off. He’d spent a little more time on Hyper this afternoon, and he’d been constantly worried about falling off. With good reason. He had bruises on top of bruises.

  Wondering if he’d ever achieve that relaxed look on a horse, he studied the way Jo sat and how she gripped with her thighs. Then he had to stop studying Jo. Focusing on her while her thighs were open and her hips rocked gently in response to the horse was not a good idea.

  He’d really done himself in this time. He couldn’t back out of his agreement because Jo might lose the ranch and he’d feel guilty for not helping her. Yet the longer he stayed at the Bar None the more desperately he wanted to make love to her. Tomorrow was the rodeo and dance, and by Sunday he’d probably need to hit the road. His head understood perfectly that he should keep his hands off of her until then. The rest of him wanted to argue.

  Thinking about Jo had screwed up his usually excellent concentration on the task at hand. Consequently, as she’d returned to the ranch, he had yet to rope the post. Fred had told him not to quit until he lassoed that sucker at least once, and he’d begun to wonder if he’d be out here after dark with a flashlight, still trying after everyone else had turned in. He wanted to have some roping ability in case something came up during the rodeo, but he seemed to have no talent for it.

  Then he had an inspiration. Squinting at the post, he imagined it was Jo standing there, daring him to throw a loop around her. The concept took some effort, because Jo had interesting curves that the post lacked and a waterfall of fragrant hair and…okay, so the concept took tremendous effort. But finally he stared at the post so long it became Jo—saucy as you please, head thrown back, a taunting look in her brown eyes, a smile on those full lips.

  Quinn took a deep breath. Now this he could get into. Twirling the rope over his head, he concentrated on the image of settling a rope around those lovely shoulders and pulling Jo closer and closer and… Flick. He sent the rope sailing as he’d done a hundred times this afternoon. And he roped the post.

  Better yet, Jo had seen him do it and had called out some encouragement. Of course she also had to mention that the post wasn’t moving, a fact he knew very well. He had to perfect this stage before he could advance to moving targets.

  He decided to try again. This time he added an embellishment and imagined Jo standing in the corral, impudent as hell, with no clothes on. He roped the post even more competently than before. Apparently all he needed was the appropriate goal. Smiling, he loosened the rope from around the post and coiled it again.

  “Looks like you made some progress this afternoon.”

  Quinn turned to see Jo walking into the corral. In a few seconds she’d be the same distance from him as the post, but a little to the left of it.

  “I’m learning.” He built his loop and swung it over his head again. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”

  “Chances are nobody will expect you to perform tomorrow.”

  “I know, but I’d still like to have the basics down.” He twirled the rope and thought about his next move. If he missed he’d look really stupid. So he wouldn’t miss.

  “I hate to tell you, but the basics won’t do you much good if somebody wants you to demonstrate your roping skills. They’ll expect you to rope something alive, not a post planted in the ground.”

  “Maybe all I need is a little more practice.” He turned toward her, took a split second to gauge the distance and tossed the loop.

  She stared at him, openmouthed, as the loop dropped over her head.

  Using every new skill he’d gained, plus some instinct he didn’t know he had, he pulled at exactly the right moment, and the rope tightened around her arms, pinning them to her body. With a quick movement he cinched it.

  “Quinn!”

  Keeping the line taught, he went hand over hand toward her, watching her intently the whole way. She did her best to look indignant, but the effect was spoiled by the eagerness in her eyes. Finally he stood next to her. “How’s that?”

  “Very clever, Monroe.” Her breathing was quick, urgent. “You can let me go now.”

  “I guess I could.” He kept the rope taut with one hand while he pulled the glove off his other hand with his teeth. He loved the way her eyes darkened and flashed as she watched him. He tucked the glove in his belt. “Then again, I’ve never roped a woman before. Shouldn’t I get a prize for that?”

  “I’ve never heard of one. In Montana the men don’t generally go around roping women.”

  “Maybe they should try it.” He’d acted on impulse, not realizing how secluded the corral was. Benny and Fred would have no reason to pass on their way to the house for dinner. “It gets the women hot.” He took off her hat and set it on the post. Then he took off his and dropped it on top of hers.

  “Does not.”

  He loosened the scarf from her hair, pulled it over her curls and stuffed it in his back pocket. “Does, too.” He brushed his knuckles over her throat and down the V in her blouse, taking great satisfaction in the shiver he produced.

  “You want me to kiss you so bad you can hardly stand it.”

  “Listen to you.” She sounded breathless. “One lucky toss and your head’s swelled up like a balloon.”

  “That’s not the only part of me swelling up, honey bunch.” He tunneled his fingers through her hair and cupped the back of her head. “But I have the feeling you’re getting mighty stirred up, too.”

  Her lips parted in anticipation. “Your macho routine doesn’t do a thing for me.”

  He leaned closer, keeping his grip firm on the rope. “Oh, I think it does.”

  “Wrong,” she whispered.

  His lips hovered over hers. “Let’s see,” he said softly, and took his prize.

  If every roping session ended with this sort of reward, he’d give up his banking career. He took everything her ripe mouth offered, and she was offering plenty. She wasn’t just hot, she was steaming. He shifted the angle of his mouth, then shifted again, trying to get deeper, trying to touch the essence of her.

  She responded with a hunger that took his breath away. With a groan he tugged on the rope, snugging her against him. As he pressed his body to hers, he remembered how her hips had moved rhythmically as she rode in this afternoon. He remembered her passion this morning—the velvet of her breasts, the erotic taste of her. And he wond
ered if not making love to her, not ever making love to her, would drive him crazy.

  Fear of that prompted him to finally lift his mouth from hers and loosen the rope. It dropped to the ground at her feet. “I’ve tried not to want you, Jo.” He gasped for air. “It’s not working.”

  She lifted her arms and wound them around his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. “I’ve tried, too. I thought about you all afternoon.”

  “Good.” He continued to cradle her head as he stroked her back with his gloved hand.

  “Not good. This can go nowhere, as you very well realize. Unless, of course, I blow your cover.”

  “Don’t do that. Just make love to me. I’m developing a condition.”

  “A condition?” She lifted her head to look into his eyes.

  “What condition?”

  “Denim-tightis. It’s fatal if left untreated.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I offered you sweats.”

  “Cowboys don’t wear sweats.” He cupped her bottom and brought her tight against him. “They take care of the problem so their jeans fit right again.”

  Her voice grew husky. “Do you think it’s that simple?”

  “Probably not.” His aching erection sought her heat. “My jeans may never fit when I’m around you. But it’s worth a try. I really don’t think Brian Hastings would wear sweats to a country dance, do you?”

  “No.” Amusement and desire flared in her eyes. But gradually her expression grew serious. “What I meant was that making love is not a simple solution to the problem in any sense. Just suppose we make love tonight.”

  “I like supposing that.” His heart hammered as he rocked gently against her hips. “Let’s do suppose that. Let’s seriously suppose that.”

  “Quinn, quit joking around. I’m—” She paused and cleared the huskiness from her throat. “I’m trying to make a point.”

  “So am I. Going to bed may not be a permanent cure for my condition, but I’m willing to settle for symptomatic relief.”

  “And then what? Tomorrow’s Saturday.”