The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  “Wyatt would have turned you down in South America.” Shane’s furrow deepened to a frown. “And then we wouldn’t get any buzz from people wondering what he’s doing out here.”

  “Okay. I agree with your handling of buzz in principle,” Ashley allowed. “However, Operation Snaparazzi goes too far. Not only is it invasive of Wyatt’s privacy, it’s deceitful. I’m, uh...trying to change my tactics in that regard.”

  “No Snaparazzi?” Gabby drooped, pulling at a string in the hem of her teal sundress. “That’s the best part. Other than Wyatt Halford being here, that is.” She was the operation lookout, the spy who’d alert Shane when Wyatt and Ashley were together.

  “Someone’s got to post pictures of Wyatt to social media,” Shane pointed out. “And it can’t come from a Monroe. I’m not including Gabby. She can post, even though she’ll be an official Monroe family member after the wedding.”

  “Sweet.” The preteen glowed. “No more practically a Monroe.”

  “I want to go on record as saying this is a bad idea,” Ashley said. “Imagine if Wyatt found out that on top of Laurel pretending to be me six months ago, that now I’m positioning him for photo opportunities.”

  But since there was a snowball’s chance that it might work, Ashley was willing to let Shane give it a try.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

  Gabby nearly fell off the stool at the front desk.

  Jeremy had come silently down the Lodgepole Inn’s stairs and was trying to peek over her shoulder at her laptop screen.

  She banged it shut. “I’m doing my homework.” That was a lie. She was sending a private message to Shane about there being no sign of Wyatt. But she gamely tried to sell her cover. “My dad enrolled me in college prep courses this summer. Weren’t you upstairs? I didn’t hear you come down.”

  Gabby glanced over to her soon-to-be-grandma Gen, who sat on the couch and held a magazine up in front of her face as if she had no interest in their conversation.

  Jeremy didn’t turn to see who she was looking at. “When you checked us in, I noticed how you walked silently up the stairs and down the hall. I retraced your steps.” Wyatt’s assistant was dressed in pressed khakis, loafers and a red polo shirt with the collar turned up. He had blond hair with dark roots that was flipped up in front like an ocean wave about to crash on top of his head. He was just as foreign to her as the Monroes had been when they’d first arrived last January. And ew. He smiled at her as if they were good buddies.

  Had he forgotten what a jerk he’d been to her when he’d arrived?

  Should she? He’d tipped her and he probably knew what Wyatt was doing. It was her top secret job to find out what that was.

  Still undecided, Gabby leaned over to glance up the stairs. “Is Wyatt coming down soon?” If he was, there’d be no need to suck up to Jeremy.

  “He’s resting, trying to get adjusted to this time zone.” Jeremy’s smile was faker than his blond hair color. “I bet you know everything that goes on here.”

  “She does.” Grandma Gen set down her copy of the Hollywood Reporter and turned to face Jeremy from her position in the corner of the couch in front of the fireplace. She smiled at Jeremy, but it wasn’t a smile meant to warm anybody’s heart. “Can I help you, Jeremy?”

  Jeremy straightened up the way Gabby did when Dad suspected she was surfing the internet when she was supposed to be studying. “I was just wondering where to get a good cup of coffee.”

  “The Bent Nickel Diner,” Gen said coolly.

  “Let me rephrase.” Jeremy cleared his throat. “Where can I get a soy latte?”

  “The Bent Nickel Diner,” Gen repeated.

  Jeremy hesitated. “And what about—”

  “The Bent Nickel Diner,” Grandma Gen said a third time without even waiting to hear what the question was.

  Gabby suppressed a giggle.

  Gen stood in one smooth motion, as if she’d been born in high heels. “As Mr. Halford’s assistant, you need to know two things. If you go out this door and turn right, you can find the only services that matter in town—the grocery store, gas pumps and the diner.”

  Jeremy nodded. “And the second thing?”

  Gen passed a hand through the air in Gabby’s direction. “This young lady is going to be my granddaughter.”

  Gabby waited for Jeremy to ask what that meant, since she had no clue.

  He must have known what Gen meant, because he nodded and went out the door, turned right and went down the porch stairs, out of sight.

  “What was that for?” Gabby asked Gen. “If you were trying to protect me, don’t bother. I’ve been dealing with Monroes for months without your help.”

  Grandma Gen walked over to Gabby and laid her soft palm on Gabby’s cheek. Her breath smelled like harsh-tasting mouthwash, not the minty kind. “Protecting my family is what I do.”

  “Don’t you think he was just trying to be friendly?”

  “No.” Gen tsked. “He was trying to milk you for information. I know his kind.”

  “His kind?”

  She nodded. “Yes. What information do you have that he’s not supposed to know?”

  Like all her Monroe secrets? “Um...” Gabby hedged. “You mean like the Snaparazzi?”

  “Yes. And what else?” Grandma Gen made a “gimme more” gesture with her hand.

  “I know about Mike Moody’s gold.”

  “And...”

  “I know who you invited to the wedding.” People who hadn’t been on Dad and Laurel’s guest list. Gen had slipped in some envelopes to stuff with invitations, which had been Gabby’s job. And Grandma Gen had sent out more invitations last week when Wyatt Halford confirmed he was coming.

  Gen straightened. “I’m impressed. But you can’t tell Jeremy any of those things. They’ll be our secrets. Yours and mine. Try to keep them that way, okay?”

  Gabby nodded, pleased with this new partnership, yet she worried.

  Could she keep these secrets any better than the one about Wyatt becoming a dad?

  * * *

  ASHLEY SAT WITH Jonah at a rear booth in the Bent Nickel Diner, eating lunch.

  On a call earlier, she’d come to a tentative agreement with a director of photography. It was time to celebrate. She was enjoying a strawberry-and-walnut salad, while Jonah picked at a plate of steamed vegetables. They were reviewing a tricky emotional scene Jonah had written, a pivotal moment between Mike Moody’s sister Letty and her love interest, the town blacksmith, Jeb Clark.

  “We’ve got to expand this moment that Letty faces.” Ashley found a plump section of strawberry hiding in her lettuce. “Jeb offers the traditional life—love, home, children. But although Letty loves him, she feels an equal, if not stronger, pull from the riches that robbery offers her.”

  “A classic struggle between the safe path and the unpredictable road to potential wealth.” Jonah nodded.

  In that respect, Ashley felt as if she was wrestling with the same struggle—stay the course as an actress earning a paycheck, or take a chance as a producer gambling her own money and future on a dream.

  Jeremy entered the diner and glanced slowly around the room, taking stock.

  Ashley evaluated the Bent Nickel as if through Jeremy’s eyes, from the perspective of a personal assistant to a megastar. Jeremy was probably thinking the Bent Nickel was a classic roadside dive—green-pleather-and-chrome bar stools at the lunch counter, booths flanking either side, checkerboard linoleum flooring. He’d be wondering if the food would be a pleasant surprise—if Cam was cooking, it was—or if the menu was going to make pleasing his boss more difficult—no doubt, it was.

  Predictably, Jeremy turned up his nose. But before he could turn to go, Roy burst through the door behind him. The elderly town maintenance man wore threadbare blue coveralls and a black baseball cap.
According to Shane, he’d been preparing several abandoned cabins for rental, which she was grateful for since housing would be vital to her film production.

  “She’s back,” Roy said breathlessly.

  Several patrons turned at his words.

  “Great opening line,” Jonah murmured. And then he said louder to Roy, “Who’s back?”

  “That Mama Grizzly.” Roy pushed Jeremy out of the way to reach their table. “She comes down the mountain every summer.”

  Behind the counter, Ivy, the proprietor of the Bent Nickel, gasped. “She pushed my huge trash bin into the river last year while she tried to get it open.”

  “That she-devil,” Jonah murmured, catching Ashley’s eye, trying to make her laugh.

  Ashley refused to take the bait.

  Roy nodded. “She broke into a car parked by the highway two years ago just to reach an open bag of potato chips.”

  “Barbecued?” Jonah gave Roy an innocent look.

  “Salt and vinegar.” Roy didn’t miss a beat.

  The smile on Jonah’s face grew to misbehaving levels.

  “Remember the year she ransacked my kitchen.” This from an older man at the lunch counter. “I left my windows open when I drove to the store for milk. When I returned, she’d torn out my window and the door on the fridge.”

  Jonah leaned toward Ashley. “Maybe we should write a bear encounter in the script.”

  Ashley shook her head. The script was already long.

  “And then there was that IRS woman who came to visit Egbert.” Roy removed his cap and held it over his heart, as if honoring her passing. “He warned her about wearing fruit-scented lotion during grizzly season.”

  There was a moment of silence, making Ashley wonder what had happened to the poor woman.

  “Can I help you?” Ivy asked Jeremy, who still stood near the door. His eyes were wide and his stance uncertain. “Bathrooms are in the back.”

  “I’m looking for a soy latte.” Wyatt’s assistant’s voice shook. “And a black coffee.”

  “I’m sorry. Our latte machine is broken.” Ivy pointed over her shoulder to her fiancé, Ashley’s cousin Cam. He had the unit open and was poking around inside.

  “Look!” Roy charged toward the front plate-glass windows. “There she is!”

  Jeremy spun. He gasped. He gasped louder than anyone.

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  WYATT WAS JUST finishing his yoga floor work to strengthen and stretch his back when Jeremy burst back into the room.

  “There’s wildlife here.” Jeremy backed against the closed door, as if the wildlife was on the other side.

  “It is the mountains.” Wyatt got to his feet with only minimal joint pops and cracks. “We saw moose.”

  “There are bears.” Jeremy tugged at his polo collar. “Grizzlies.”

  “Not in this room.” Wyatt glanced outside. The only wildlife he saw were butterflies.

  “I’m talking about out there,” Jeremy whispered, as if there was a bear in the hallway and he was afraid it might hear him.

  “Calm down.” Wyatt suppressed a smile. “What’s wrong? Wildlife doesn’t faze you. You just spent four months with me in the jungle.”

  “We only saw monkeys and parrots.” Jeremy held up a finger. “And we went back to the hotel every night, where I could get you your morning coffee and my soy latte. My one indulgence.”

  Wyatt scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “There were no bears in South America.” Jeremy’s gaze swept the floor. “I’m deathly afraid of bears.”

  “Deathly.” Not just plain afraid. His assistant was deathly afraid of bears.

  Jeremy’s frightened gaze landed on Wyatt. “That bear is as big as a Volkswagen. And it walked through town as if it owned the place. No fear whatsoever.”

  Wyatt searched for the right thing to say. He patted Jeremy awkwardly on the shoulder. “That must have been...scary.” Scarier than being sent down in a dark basement to find a working landline?

  Oh, yeah. Ashley’s horror-movie example came to mind.

  Oh, no. Do not laugh.

  Wyatt tried to hold on to a too-brief flashback of Ashley’s kiss. Tried and failed.

  “You think this is funny.” Jeremy knocked the back of his head against the door. “There are bears in town and...” He swallowed in an obvious attempt to regain his composure. “Do you know all the irons are checked out downstairs? And the one latte machine in Second Chance is broken? I can’t work in these conditions.”

  “These conditions?” His good humor faded. They had beds, electricity and running water. “You mean no irons, no lattes, and...bears?”

  “Yes.” Jeremy bolted for his bags, which had yet to be unpacked. “I need a bear-free vacation. I’ve worked for you for a year and I’ve never taken one. And I need one. Now.”

  “By all means.” Wyatt stood back, clearing the path to the exit. “I’ll let you know when I’ll be returning to LA. Can you make it back on your own?” He had to ask because just then Jeremy didn’t look as if he’d make it out the front door.

  Jeremy sniffed. “They may have stolen our spark plugs, but I’m sure they’ll help me find a ride to the Boise airport.” In no time, he was banging his way out the door, down the hall and on his way to vacation.

  Leaving Wyatt with a room all to himself, which, all things considered, was a relief.

  Jeremy didn’t know Wyatt’s back regimen was anything more than part of his regular strength and conditioning program. Wyatt’s back pain was currently chronic, but with a few days’ rest and the right care, he hoped he’d be fine. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t lift things, like a suitcase or a mattress, as long as he practiced good form.

  At least, that was what he told himself as he moved Jeremy’s mattress and box spring against the wall, and broke down the wooden antique bed frame to make room for his inversion machine.

  Now he just had to find a way to get the heavy equipment out of the SUV and upstairs.

  No pep talk was going to convince him he could do that alone.

  * * *

  INSOMNIA WAS A movie producer’s best friend.

  Or at least, Ashley’s. She couldn’t seem to shut her brain off and go to sleep.

  In the kitchen alcove downstairs, Ashley turned on the electric kettle and then searched through the tea options for something calming with only the hall light for guidance.

  A figure appeared in the shadowy doorway.

  Ashley’s heart scaled up her throat.

  “Wyatt.” She swallowed it back down. “You scared me half to death.”

  “Your scream got that message across.” He wore black basketball shorts and a Los Angeles Clippers jersey. His dark hair was mussed and his gaze more alert than it should be at midnight, although he seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him. After all, he’d jumped.

  “I didn’t scream.” Did she? She tore into a package of chamomile.

  The door to Laurel and Mitch’s apartment flew open. Mitch stepped out, surveying the pair, short dark hair mussed. “Who screamed?”

  “Do I look like a screamer?” Wyatt demanded.

  “You do,” Mitch said, without taking time to think about it. “If you’re having trouble sleeping, might I suggest reading and signing those paternity papers? I could get them for you.”

  Wyatt’s jaw worked, but he only said stiffly, “No, thanks.”

  “You’ll have to review them sometime.” Mitch closed the door, leaving them alone.

  Alone with the sexiest man alive.

  The very air between them felt thick. Why couldn’t his being stubborn hinder his magnetism?

  Focus. And not on the sexy.

  She’d start with his clothing. Thankfully, he was wearing some. A Clippers
jersey, in fact. And snap. Ashley was wearing a Lakers tank.

  She held her shirt out, glancing down at it. “This must be where we agree to disagree.”

  “About?” Wyatt rubbed a hand over his hair, teasing that cowlick.

  “Basketball. Screaming. Your involvement with my nieces.” She should hold meetings in the middle of the night more often. Exhaustion made her much sharper.

  “I didn’t get Laurel pregnant,” Wyatt said wearily.

  “Why do I feel as if this is a murder mystery and I’m the unlikely detective interviewing my prime suspect?” Ashley tossed the tea bag into a mug and poured hot water over it.

  “Have you been spiking your tea?” Wyatt pointed to the trash and a small, empty bottle of vodka. Coincidentally, it was a brand of vodka her mother favored.

  Ashley regrouped. “Do you have an alibi for the night my nieces were conceived?”

  He scowled at her.

  She decided to scowl right back. “This isn’t a case of ‘he said, she said.’ Laurel is willing to take whatever test you want to prove her case. But honestly, Wyatt... Are you trying to say my sister might have slept with someone else but wants to pin it on you?” Ashley attempted to laugh. “Laurel loves Mitch. She could have bypassed the public repercussions of a one-night stand without ever telling you and put Mitch’s name on the twins’ birth certificates. It would have been easier all around. But Laurel doesn’t like to lie.”

  “Except when she’s pretending to be you.”

  It wasn’t rage that welled up inside Ashley at his retort. It was guilt. And shame. And tongue-sealing self-reproach. Because of Ashley, Laurel’s character was being questioned. Laurel’s character was the epicenter of Wyatt’s doubt. Ashley could argue until she was blue in the face. It would do no good. She was going to have to come at Wyatt another way.

  And since she didn’t know what that argument was, she could only reply with a flat “Good night.”

  She trudged up the stairs, leaving Wyatt in the kitchenette. When she was in her room, she inched her way along the wall to her side of the bed she shared with her mother to set down her tea.