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

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  The other residents of Ugly Bug, however, weren’t behaving themselves. Whistling, stomping and calling out his name, or rather Hastings’ name, they jammed the modest bleachers. Camera flashes popped constantly, even though it was the middle of the day. At least ten homemade signs waved in the crowd. The more conservative ones said things like Brian Hastings for President, or We Love You, Brian, but one held by a rowdy band of high-school-age girls was covered in huge lipstick kisses with red, glittery letters that spelled out Take Me, Brian! Take Me Now!

  A couple of Western lawmen types had positioned themselves at either end of the bleachers. Quinn appreciated having them there, but if the mob decided to rush him, even Marshal Matt Dillon wouldn’t be able to control this crowd.

  Quinn swallowed. If he survived the parade, he was supposed to sit in a special section smack-dab in the center of those bleachers. The roped-off area already held Doobie and his tush-fixated wife, along with several other middle-aged couples. Jo had wangled a place in that section for Fred and Emmy Lou, thank God. Maybe they’d help protect him.

  As Quinn waited for the gate to open, sweat dampened the black Western shirt with pearl buttons that Benny had insisted he wear. Benny had also donated his best black Stetson, and Fred had brought out silver spurs that winked in the sunlight. Hyper’s coat shone like polished mahogany, and his mane and tail were braided with red ribbon. The horse looked great, just as Quinn had imagined. All Quinn had to do was stay on him.

  A wizened old cowboy swung open the arena gate, and members of the Ugly Bug High School Band swung into a fast-paced march. Quinn mentally reviewed his instructions. Once around the arena, then straight up the middle to face the grandstands. The other riders would fan out on either side of him, forming a line facing the bleachers as the band played the national anthem. Then he’d lead the riders around to the exit. Taking a firm grip on the flag, he nudged Hyper in the ribs with Fred’s silver spurs, and the crowd surged to its feet, applauding loudly.

  With a piercing whinny, Hyper reared.

  Quinn grabbed at the saddle horn with his free hand and by some miracle hung on, but by the time Hyper’s front feet hit the ground, the horse had the bit in his teeth.

  Quinn felt the gelding’s muscles bunch. “Whoa!” he yelled.

  Hyper wasn’t listening. He shot through the gate and in three strides was in a dead run. Quinn’s hat sailed off, and he lost his stirrups, but he kept his grip on the flag, which streamed dramatically over his shoulder. The grandstands, filled with cheering people, passed in a blur, then passed in a blur again as Hyper turned the arena into his private racetrack.

  As Quinn whizzed past the gate, the other riders waved their hats and whistled. Quinn would bet Jo wasn’t whistling. And if Hyper kept up this merry-go-round much longer, she might even ride out and pull him to a stop. God, how humiliating.

  “Whoa, dammit!” he yelled. He was afraid to let go of the saddle horn to pull back on the reins, and if he dropped the flag so he could grab the reins, then everyone would know he was involved in a major screwup instead of the dramatic flourish they were giving him credit for. Worse yet, they might begin to wonder if he was really Brian Hastings.

  He tried to remember what Fred had taught him. Oh, yeah. Grip with your thighs. You could even steer with your thighs, assuming your thighs didn’t feel as if somebody had set fire to them, which Quinn’s pretty much did.

  He gritted his teeth as he flashed by the stands again. Hyper was young and strong. He could probably run for quite a long time, especially when he had the impression he was being chased by an American flag. So Quinn couldn’t hope the horse would get tired. And he definitely didn’t want Jo to ride out and save him.

  The only solution was to get the horse through the gate somehow. After that Hyper would probably continue to run, but maybe they’d get far enough away that Quinn could safely drop the flag and try to establish control. Then again, maybe he and Hyper would see a great deal of the Montana countryside together.

  Quinn figured that if he shifted his weight and used his tortured thigh muscles, he might be able to get Hyper to swerve through the gate instead of sailing past it. Bracing himself against the pain, he started leaning and squeezing as Hyper went into the straightaway and headed in the direction of the gate. Twice before the horse had veered left and continued around the arena. Quinn vowed he wouldn’t do it again.

  Apparently Hyper didn’t care where he ran as long as he could keep doing it. He stampeded right through the gate as riders waiting beside it scattered in front of his pounding hoofs. Ahead was the parking lot, and beyond that, open country.

  Quinn hung on as Hyper veered headlong between rows of pickup trucks. Once out of the parking lot, Quinn figured he’d drop the flag and try to put an end to this wild ride. Then he heard hoofbeats behind him and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, Jo was in hot pursuit, with Benny behind her. Maybe it was just as well, he thought. He was nearly at the edge of the lot, and he really didn’t want to ride this nag all the way to Idaho.

  As he faced forward again, a long white vehicle pulled across the empty space at the end of the lot. Quinn squinted, not quite believing what he saw. A limo? In Ugly Bug? Hyper didn’t slow his pace as the limo stopped, blocking the horse’s path.

  Quinn dropped the flag and seized the reins in both hands. “Whoa, you sorry nag! Whoa, goddammit! You’re gonna hit the car, you idiot horse!” When Hyper didn’t respond, Quinn braced himself for one hell of a collision.

  Instead, Hyper gathered himself and sailed gracefully over the limo. Unfortunately Quinn didn’t make the trip with him. Falling sideways, he hit the roof of the limo and rolled down the windshield, coming to rest facedown on the hood.

  In seconds, Jo was leaning over him. “Don’t move! Did you hit your head? Where are you hurt? Oh, Quinn, speak to me!”

  He was having trouble drawing a breath, but he was at least able to register the concern in her voice. Well, good. She cared for him a little. “Don’t call me Quinn,” he muttered. “I’m Brian Hastings.”

  “That’s funny,” said another voice. “So am I.”

  “NOT YET, you’re not,” Jo said, barely giving the man a glance as she leaned over Quinn, her chest tight with fear. So Brian Hastings was here. So what? “Talk to me, my darling. Does anything feel broken?”

  “I don’t think so. Where’s Hyper?”

  “Benny went after him.”

  “Boss, you need anything?” said the uniformed driver as he climbed out of the limo.

  “Not right now, Sid,” Hastings said. Then he turned to Jo. “What do you mean, not yet? I’ve been Brian Hastings ever since the studio changed my name from Bernard Hilzendeger. I made it legal ten years ago. Listen, do you want me to call 911?”

  “Yes,” said Jo.

  “No,” said Quinn. “I’m okay.” He pushed himself slowly to his hands and knees. “But I dented the limo.”

  “It appears you did,” Hastings said.

  “Call 911,” Jo said as she gazed into Quinn’s beloved face. Fred had said the greenhorn had heart, and Fred sure knew what he was talking about. “He’s in shock.”

  “No, don’t call 911,” Quinn said, looking at Hastings.

  “My God.” Hastings stared at Quinn. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

  “Don’t you wish.” Jo didn’t spare the movie star a glance as she stroked Quinn’s cheek. “I’m so sorry I put you through this, sweetheart. Please forgive me. I should have found a better way to raise the money than having you impersonate this guy. If you’re seriously hurt I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Hold it.” Hastings frowned at Quinn. “You’ve been pretending to be me? Trading on my fame? Well, I hope you have a damned good lawyer, mister, because you have a lot more to worry about than a dented limo hood.”

  Jo whirled toward him, glad to be able to focus her anger on someone besides herself. “Don’t you dare threaten him! He nearly killed himself for me, and all because you wouldn’t g
et off the dime!”

  Hastings’ square jaw dropped. “This is my fault?”

  “It certainly is.” She shook her finger in his handsome face. “Your advance man came by my ranch and was so enthusiastic he got my hopes up that you would actually use my ranch in your movie!”

  Hastings adjusted his sunglasses. “Actually, I was thinking I’d—”

  “But did you show up to close the deal?” Jo barreled on. “No, you did not. Well, you may have millions, but some of us struggle along from one payment to the next, trying to live the American dream, while our ex-husbands sabotage us at every turn.”

  “But, you see, that’s why I’m—”

  “And then, when we finally find a decent guy who’s willing to go that extra mile for us, willing to risk life and very attractive limb to make our dreams come true, along comes some millionaire movie star threatening to sue the pants off him!”

  “And these aren’t even my pants,” Quinn added.

  Hastings propped his hands on his hips and gazed at Quinn. Then he looked at Jo. “I still don’t get it.”

  Jo took a deep breath. “It’s very simple. If my banker thought Brian Hastings was staying at my place, he’d assume the movie deal was on and that at some point in the future I’d be able to make a sizable payment on my loan so he wouldn’t foreclose.”

  “But then, if the movie never gets made…?”

  “By this fall, especially if the price of beef goes up, I should be able to make a payment that will satisfy him.”

  “I have a couple of other ideas, too, Jo.” Quinn climbed off the hood and came to stand beside her. “You don’t have to sell Clarise and Stud-muffin. Instead you should shop around for a better insurance rate, for one thing. What you’re paying is outrageous.”

  She turned to him, her eyes wide. “You snooped in my books?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. I set up a basic bookkeeping system you should have no trouble following, and in the process found some cost-saving—”

  “I can’t believe this!” Jo cringed at the thought that he’d seen the chaos of her financial affairs. “That is extremely private!”

  “Dammit, Jo, it’s my area of expertise. And I thought we’d arrived at a point where I could—”

  “You think because of what happened in that tree you now have the right to invade my private financial records and make all sorts of recommendations? Well, let me tell you, Mr. Quinn Monroe, investment banker, that I—”

  “Excuse me, Jo,” Hastings said. “That is your name, right?”

  “That’s my name.” Jo still glared at Quinn.

  “Jo, I have a comment to make. I’m not sure what went on between you and this Hastings look-alike in the tree, but if he’s willing to give you some free financial advice as a result, I suggest you take it. I hate to tell you what I pay my accountant, but it’s worth every penny. I’m not good with numbers, and obviously, neither are you.”

  Jo lifted her chin. “I’ve been managing.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then what was that speech about the American dream and loan payments and sabotaging ex-husbands all about?”

  “I got…carried away.”

  “Okay, but it’s hard-won advice I’m passing out. And these guys hardly ever work for nothing. That tree experience must have been something else.” Hastings folded his arms and glanced across the roof of the limo. “Here comes the horse you rode in on, Monroe.”

  Jo looked over to see Benny leading Hyper toward them. Then she glanced toward the arena and noticed a small contingent of people, led by Emmy Lou and Fred, coming toward them. She had to find a way to stall them until she figured out what to do.

  Benny reined in his horse and stared at Quinn and Hastings. “Separated at birth,” he said in an awed voice, shaking his head.

  Jo hurried to him. “Not quite. Listen, Benny, I need you to do something for me. See Emmy Lou and Fred coming over here with all those people?”

  Benny nodded.

  “I want you to ride over and tell them that Brian Hastings has a big surprise planned, and everyone has to remain in their seats, or it will be ruined.”

  Benny frowned. “Okay. But the flag’s on the ground.”

  Jo snatched it up, shook it off and handed it to him. Benny had always longed to carry that flag. “You take it back, Benny. You’re the flag bearer and the messenger, okay? I’m counting on you.”

  Benny grinned. “You bet.” He kicked his horse into a fast trot to make the flag ripple as he rode toward the approaching crowd, and Hyper followed docilely behind.

  Jo heaved a sigh and turned to Quinn and Hastings. “Now, where were we?”

  Hastings gazed at her. “I was about to ask if you want to negotiate the terms for my use of your ranch, or are you going to be smart and turn it over to Mr. Investment Banker, here?”

  Jo’s heartbeat quickened. “You really want the ranch?”

  “Yep. I drove out there just now, and it’s perfect. But nobody was home, so I came into town, saw all the commotion and decided to investigate.”

  Jo glanced from Hastings to Quinn. “That’s great. Really great. But we have this tiny problem.” She looked at Hastings. “People around here think Brian Hastings has already arrived.”

  Hastings stroked his jaw and looked at Quinn. “Think we could make the switch?”

  “Maybe,” Quinn said.

  Jo shook her head. “No way.”

  “Why not?” both men said at once.

  “Because you really don’t look anything alike,” Jo said.

  “Quinn’s eyes are much bluer, and he’s taller, and his shoulders are broader. His hair’s thicker, and he’s got that cute little freckle on his cheekbone, and everyone may not notice, but when he smiles, one of his eyeteeth is slightly crooked, which gives him a rakish air you can’t get with caps.”

  “I don’t have caps,” Hastings said stiffly. He glanced at Quinn. “But maybe I need the name of your stylist. To be honest, I haven’t been all that happy with Antoine recently.”

  “My barber’s in New York.”

  “No problem. Maybe he’d like to relocate.”

  Quinn’s expression turned belligerent. “If you’re going to steal the first decent barber I’ve found in six years, I’m not telling you his name.”

  “Guys. Could we get back on track? I don’t think it will work to switch one of you for the other, so what else have we got?”

  “We could say it was all a joke,” Quinn said.

  Jo looked doubtful. “But you promised people parts in the movie.”

  Hastings groaned. “Oh, boy. Here we go. Not speaking parts, I hope?”

  “No,” Quinn said. “I wasn’t specific, except I told this one guy, Jo’s banker, that he’d be perfect for this French character.”

  Hastings shook his head. “I’ll get with the scriptwriters. The last thing I want is bad publicity because some local guy thought he’d be in the movie and he’s not.” He hesitated, as if afraid to ask the next question. “Did you…tell them what it was about?”

  “No,” Jo said.

  “That’s a relief.”

  “I only gave them the title,” Quinn said.

  “The title?”

  “Yeah. The Brunette Wore Spurs.”

  “Ye gods and little fishes. That’s awful.”

  Quinn looked hurt. “I sort of liked it.”

  Hastings gave him a disparaging look. “Which is why you’re in investment banking and I’m in filmmaking. Okay, we can deal with that. I’ll tell them we had some fun with that title, thought of turning this into a Mel Brooks type spoof, but the producers didn’t think it would suit my image. You didn’t know that when I sent you out to Ugly Bug.”

  “You sent me? Wait a minute, you didn’t—”

  “Work with me here, Monroe. I’m trying to get you out of trouble, sport. Now, picture this.” Hastings glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “I met you in New York. That’s where you’re from, right?”


  “Yep.”

  Hastings nodded. “Good. I go there all the time. So I met you and noticed the striking resemblance.” He sent Jo a challenging look, but she only shrugged. “I’ve been looking for a stand-in, so I asked you if you were interested. You agreed to give it a try, so I sent you to Ugly Bug as a test, to see if people would believe you were me. It worked. I’m ready to hire you.”

  “But I don’t want the job.”

  “I’m not really offering you the job! Hell, you probably can’t even act!” Hastings shook his head. “Damn, but bankers can be literal. So I offer you the job, you turn it down, and we go on from there. Do you love it?”

  Quinn nodded. “It might work.”

  “Might work?” Hastings threw his hands in the air. “It’s brilliant! Improv at its finest! It’s so hard to get any honest appreciation these days.”

  “I appreciate it,” Jo said. “You’ve just found a way to save my reputation in Ugly Bug. Thank you.”

  “That reminds me,” Hastings said. “Where’d that dumb name come from?”

  “You don’t even want to know,” Quinn said.

  “Maybe not. We’re sure not using it in the script, that’s for sure. I even hate to put it in the credits, but I guess we’ll have to.” Hastings motioned to the limo. “Shall we?”

  Jo eyed the limo dubiously. “Where are we going?”

  Hastings smiled his perfect smile. “Straight into the arena, my friends. If there’s one thing Brian Hastings knows how to do, it’s make an entrance.”

  Jo glanced at Quinn. “You’ll have to go some to top the last one.”

  15

  QUINN WATCHED Hastings maneuver his way through the rodeo festivities and the dance that evening, and by the end of it he had to admit Hastings was a hell of a guy. He handled crazed fans with a finesse Quinn envied, but of course he’d had plenty of practice. For the first time Quinn understood that being a star in the spotlight required boundless energy. Hastings was on the go constantly from the moment he stepped out of the limo in the middle of the rodeo arena to his late-night tour of the Bar None ranch buildings.