Fortune's June Bride (Mills & Boon Cherish) (The Fortunes of Texas: Cowboy Country, Book 6)

by Allison Leigh

  “I’ll help,” she promised even more quickly, letting go of him. She hadn’t even realized she’d grabbed him like that. But now her palms felt all warm and tingly. “You know I’m a good ranch hand. One of me is equal or better to two of someone else,” she added. “Daddy’s always telling people that. You know he is.”

  “Why is it up to you to find a replacement for this Joey fella?”

  “It isn’t,” she admitted. There was an entire production team, headed up by Phillip Dubois. And he wouldn’t care any more than Diane did which show ran in Wedding’s time slots, as long as something did. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment. “I’m helping to pay for Mama and Daddy’s cruise with the money I’m earning here,” she finally admitted.

  It was true. But it wasn’t the only reason why keeping Wild West Wedding going was so important to her.

  Somehow, she just couldn’t bring herself to admit to him that being in those four performances every day was about the only thing she looked forward to these days. It would make her sound about as piddlin’ pathetic as she’d been feeling until the role of Lila came along.

  He exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Well, hell, Aurora.”

  Relief swept through her. She very nearly grabbed him again, but managed not to. “You’ll do it, then?”

  He nodded, though he didn’t look any too happy about it. “I’ll do it for today,” he cautioned.

  “Today will do,” she said quickly. “Today will do just fine. And, uh, I meant it. About helping you out at your place. Whatever you need, I’m your girl. I can get Daddy to drop me by, or once they go on their trip, I’ll be able to use the ranch truck.”

  His eyes sharpened a little. “You don’t have your own transportation?”

  She cursed her nervous blathering. “Until I started working here, I didn’t really need my own vehicle, did I? I mean, it’s not like I do much of anything besides helping out at home.”

  Galen eyed her. Her long red hair was pinned into a knot at the back of her head. She wore a pretty white dress that left her knees bare, and a pair of brown, blue-stitched boots that reached halfway up her calves. And even though he had heard Walt McElroy extoll the prowess of his only remaining offspring when it came to ranch work, right now the only thing Galen could imagine Aurora doing was clutching a bunch of daisies in her hands, dancing through some field.

  He shook off the wholly ridiculous—and unwelcome—fancifulness.

  “You’ve got enough work over at your place,” he said gruffly. “Just consider today my contribution to your folks’ vacation. It’s been too long since they had some fun. And, you know, if you ever need a ride or something, just give a shout.” He had to come to Cowboy Country anyway, at least until Caitlyn Moore, who’d been the one to hire him, decided his job was no longer needed.

  “Thanks, Galen.” She brushed her hands down the sides of her dress in the way he was beginning to recognize as nervousness. “They’ll probably add some to your paycheck, too,” she added brightly. “Every little bit helps for that rainy day, right?”

  “Right,” he said wryly.

  He glanced around the area. There were at least fifty people lined up for the Twin Rattlers. He’d only jotted down two items for his daily report for Caitlyn. It was a huge improvement over the pages-long reports he’d started out with only a week earlier.

  Caitlyn had wanted to make the park everything that her father, Alden Moore—a huge John Wayne fan—had ever dreamed of creating, and Galen was beginning to think Caitlyn might just pull it off. Considering she’d been summarily handed the job to get the place up and running when her daddy had some health troubles, Galen had to give her a lot of credit. She’d also lassoed one of Galen’s new cousins, Brodie Fortune Hayes, along the way.

  “Everything seems to be turning up roses these days, doesn’t it?”

  Aurora’s words seemed to echo his own thoughts and before he knew it, “Want to grab that root beer?” came out of his mouth.

  She smiled. And he realized that when she did, it seemed to show all over her entire person. From her eyes that seemed even brighter a blue, to her toes, which she went up on a little. “That sounds great.”

  “You always were a good kid.” He wasn’t sure what made him say the words. Except that, maybe, he was noticing the way the sunlight was shining through her dress, outlining the slender figure underneath. “Even Mark used to say so.”

  Her smile dimmed a little. Not on her lips.

  But in her eyes.

  “That’s me,” she said in a tone he couldn’t quite read. “The good kid.” She gestured at the line of people waiting for the roller coaster as they left it behind. “Have you ridden it yet?”

  “Nah.”

  “You like roller coasters, though, don’t you?” She gave him a sideways look. “Every time the fair came through when we were kids, you and my brother were all over the thrill rides.”

  He took her arm briefly as they stepped up onto the boardwalk, continuing down Main Street. Unlike other redheads Galen knew, the only freckles on Aurora that he could see were a few spots across her nose. The rest of her seemed to be a smooth, creamy gold.

  What he could see, anyway.

  He shoved his hand into his pocket, reminding himself not to ponder too long or too well about what he couldn’t see.

  He’d never had trouble with the opposite sex, but since he had no intention of joining the passel of folks in his family taking the marriage bit between their teeth, he didn’t tend to get involved with women who were right there under their noses.

  In a small town, things got complicated in a hurry when a person did that. Wondering too hard what all delights Aurora McElroy hid beneath that pretty dress was a sure way to invite those kinds of complications.

  And he liked things just fine the way they were.

  “I don’t think I’m much of one for loop-the-loops anymore,” he said. “I’m a whole lot older than I used to be.”

  She snorted softly. “Please. You’re thirty-four. Same age—”

  “As Mark would have been,” he finished when she broke off.

  Her lips twisted. “Yes.” She fell silent for a moment, watching a little girl nearby purchase a huge yellow helium balloon from one of the street vendors. “It’s strange,” she finally said, once the girl dashed off with the balloon bobbing in the air after her, “the more I don’t want to think about him, the more I seem to dwell on him.”

  He couldn’t help himself. He slid his hand against the back of her slender neck. “I’ve got six brothers and sisters. I can’t imagine losing one of them.” Particularly in such a senseless way as getting behind the wheel of a big-ass pickup truck when he was three sheets to the wind drunk. “Maybe talking more about him will help the dwelling.”

  She exhaled loudly and shook her head as though she was shaking off a bothersome fly. “He died a long time ago.” She pointed. “Looks like the lunch rush has hit the Foaming Barrel.”

  Sure enough, a line extended from the popular concession stand and Aurora had tugged her locket watch out from inside her sundress. “I don’t think we’ve got time to wait before we need to get set for the next show. Rain check?”

  “Sure.”

  She gave him that winning, whole-body smile again and started walking back the way they’d come.

  Galen settled his hat down harder on his head and shoved his hands back into his pockets and away from...complications. Then he followed Aurora as she made her way from Main Street to the backstage area once again.

  The space around the costume trailer was considerably busier now than it had been earlier. A half dozen leggy women were sitting on top of the picnic table, looking like a rainbow, dressed as they were in their colorful ruffled saloon-girl getups. Frank—handlebar mustache already in place—was hanging over one buxom girl in particular. She looked a lot more receptive to him than Aurora had earlier.

  Galen followed Aurora into the trailer. It was now crowded not only
with the racks of clothes and props he’d already seen, but bodies in various stages of undress, as well.

  Maybe it was the hick in him, but he couldn’t help doing a double take at one young woman, only realizing belatedly that she wasn’t quite naked. The nude-colored bodysuit she wore just made her look like it as she stepped into a flaming red ruffled dress. She obviously had no problem not stepping behind the changing screen that was situated at one end of the trailer.

  He realized he was sweating a little as he reached for Rusty’s shirt and tie where he’d left them hanging, until he saw Aurora step safely behind the screen and he breathed a little easier.

  Until a moment later when her white sundress was flung up to drape over the top of the changing screen and his temperature seemed to shoot up several notches.

  He grabbed Rusty’s white hat and brushed past several bodies, clomping down the trailer steps. Out in the open, he pulled in a long breath and exchanged his T-shirt for Rusty’s button-down once again.

  “Galen Jones, I thought that was you.” One of the saloon girls had left the picnic table and was sashaying toward him in frilly peacock blue. Her hair was a pile of blond curls down the back of her head. “Serena Morris!” She patted her hand against her tightly fitted bodice, smiling widely. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember me. I’ll be crushed forever.”

  “Serena?” He squinted at her face. Then couldn’t help but laugh. “Last I saw you, you were—”

  “—nine years old and mad as hops that my folks were moving us to Missouri.” She propped her hand on her shapely hip and grinned. “You look just the same.”

  He spread his hands wryly. “And here I thought the last two and a half decades might’ve made some difference.”

  She laughed. “What can I say? A girl never forgets her first kiss. You’ll always be nine years old in my eyes.” Her humorous gaze looked past him and Galen realized Aurora had come up behind him. “You’re the new Lila,” she greeted, sticking out her hand. “I’ve been hearing what a great job you’ve been doing.”

  Aurora warily took the other woman’s hand, returning the greeting. “Aurora McElroy,” she offered, watching Galen from the corner of her eye.

  He was watching the other woman with nothing but pleasure on his face.

  “And you,” she hurriedly focused elsewhere, “are obviously in the saloon show.”

  “Serena,” the other woman offered, moving her hip up and down. “This is how the West was won,” she added, smiling mischievously. She glanced back at Galen. “Galen and I were quite the item once upon a time.”

  “Yeah. Fourth-grade time,” he drawled. His hand slipped up Aurora’s spine in a seemingly absentminded way. “Serena used to live in Horseback Hollow,” he provided. “They moved away a long time ago.”

  “Don’t remind me just how long.” Serena ran her hands down her hourglass sides. “Getting harder every year to fit into these costumes.”

  “You look spectacular,” Aurora said truthfully. The woman had enviable curves to spare.

  “Well, after two kids, I guess I can be glad I am even competing with the likes of them.” She tossed her feathered headdress in the direction of the other saloon girls. “They’re still so young they’re wet behind the ears.” She focused again on Aurora. “You’re from right here in Horseback Hollow, aren’t you?”

  Aurora nodded. She was finding it hard to think of much of anything other than the feel of Galen’s hand still resting lightly against the small of her back. “Born and raised,” she managed. “Did you move back here just to work at Cowboy Country?”

  “Transferred here from the Coaster World in St. Louis,” Serena said. “I was with the dance corps there for years. But after my divorce last year, I figured it’d be easier raising my two boys in small-town USA.” She looked back at Galen again. “We should get together. Catch up on old times.”

  Aurora could feel her jaw tightening, which was beyond ridiculous. It was none of her business who or what Galen went out with. But she also didn’t want to stand there, with his hand on her back, while he made the plans. It was too eerily reminiscent of her brief college career when she’d been with Anthony.

  So she pulled out the locket watch that had once belonged to her maternal grandmother and glanced blindly at the time before snapping the locket shut. “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” she said brightly, edging away from them. “I need to, ah, grab Frank for a minute before the show starts. Nice meeting you, Serena.”

  She barely stayed long enough to hear Serena’s “you, too” before she hurried over toward Frank Richter where he was holding court among the other saloon girls. She wanted to talk to him about as much as she wanted a spike puncturing a hole in her head, but his was the only name that had come to her mind, so she was stuck.

  She stopped next to him. “We should get moving.”

  He sent her a careless smile. “We’ve got a few minutes yet. And Cammie here was telling me all about herself.”

  Cammie giggled, looking naively thrilled by Frank’s notice.

  Aurora wanted to warn the girl—whose face looked like she still belonged in grade school despite her eye-popping bosom—not to get too excited, since she’d already had plenty of time to witness his alley-cat tendencies. But she said nothing. When she’d been as young as Cammie, she hadn’t been interested in hearing what anyone had to say about the object of her affection, either.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Galen and Serena still conversing, so she made her way over to the buckboard and fit her microphone into place where it was mostly hidden in her hair. She wasn’t donning the veil until she absolutely had to.

  She patted her hand over the black horse already in harness. “Hey, pal. Ready for another show?” The horse, imaginatively named Blackie, jerked his head a few times before shaking his mane and turning his attention back to the few weeds sprouting up in the dirt underfoot. “I know. You’ve got a tough job,” she murmured. “Running down Main Street a few times a day.” The rest of the time, the show horses for Cowboy Country spent their days in pampered comfort in air-conditioned barns located behind the lushly landscaped public picnic grounds.

  She gave him a final pat before hiking her wedding dress above her knees to work her toe onto the edge of the front wheel so she could pull herself awkwardly up onto the high wooden seat. She didn’t mind portraying a nineteenth-century Western bride, but she sure was glad she hadn’t been one for real.

  But then again, she wasn’t exactly a twenty-first-century bride, either.

  She propped the thin sole of her old-fashioned boot on the edge of the wood footrest at the front of the wagon, pulled her heavy skirt above her knees, then lifted the curls of her hairpiece off her damp neck. It was early June in Texas, and the sun was high and hot overhead. And buckboards didn’t come equipped with air-conditioning any more than they came with upholstered, padded seats and running boards to make climbing in easier.

  Eventually, she saw her cast mates start assembling and Galen finally tore himself away from Serena the chatterbox to walk with Sal the Sheriff toward their own gate.

  “You’re getting grumpy in your old age, Aurora,” she muttered under her breath, and sat up straighter, letting her dress fall back down where it belonged while she fit the brain-squeezing band of her veil around her head. The springs beneath the wood seat squeaked loudly as Frank climbed up beside her and fixed his mic into place.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Just hot.” She looked over her shoulder. Serena had returned to the rest of her dance line and the women were all standing around, adjusting the straps of their vibrant dresses and tugging at the seams running down the back of their fishnet stockings.

  She faced forward again. “You should leave Cammie alone,” she told Frank. “She looks too young for you.”

  His shoulder leaned against hers. “Then stop saying no to me every time I ask.”

  She shifted as far to the right as she could without falling
off the seat altogether. “I don’t date people I work with.” The statement was almost laughable, since she didn’t date, period.

  Over the loudspeaker, they heard their cue, which meant whatever Frank might have said in response had to go unsaid since their microphones had gone live.

  She swallowed, tilting her head back and closing her eyes as she willed away the surge of stage fright that made her feel nauseated before every single performance.

  Frank took up the reins, lightly tapping them against the wood as he clucked softly to Blackie. The horse immediately lifted his head and shook his mane again as he started forward toward their gate.

  And the next show began.

  * * *

  “And here, straight from his Academy Award–worthy stretch playing the ooh-la-la hero, Rusty, is our very own Galen—”

  Galen shoved Liam’s shoulder hard enough to push his brother—a year younger and four inches taller—right off the arm of the couch where he was propped. “Give me a break,” he growled.

  Liam laughed silently and moved around to sit properly next to his new wife, Julia, on the couch in their mama’s front parlor.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and Jeanne Marie Fortune Jones had called all her children home for a proper family meal. As if they didn’t have one damn near every weekend to begin with. If Wild West Wedding didn’t take a reprieve on Sunday afternoons so that the Sunday Go to Meeting House choir could use its stage, Galen would’ve missed out entirely on the only home-cooked meal he’d had in days.

  Julia was smiling at Galen. “I still can’t believe you’ve been playing a part at all at Cowboy Country.”

  “It’s temporary.” He pushed Christopher. “Get outta my spot, man.”

  At twenty-seven, Chris was the baby of the boys. But his days of letting Galen order him around were apparently over, judging by the dry look Galen got in return. Chris, like Liam, Jude and their little sister Stacey, had gotten hitched just that Valentine’s Day in the same big wedding. And marriage to the gorgeous Kinsley had definitely helped settle him, same as finding his footing in business with the Fortune Foundation. “Pretty sure your name’s not stitched in the upholstery now any more than it ever was.” To prove that he was staying put, Christopher propped his boot heels on the coffee table in front of his chair. “Get your own chair, brother.”