The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  “You’re losing much-needed beauty sleep over this passion project of yours,” Mom said, without removing her hydrating sleep mask.

  “Producers don’t need beauty sleep.”

  “You say that now. Wait three more years until you’re thirty. You’ll sing a different tune.”

  “Will I?” She’d rather be happy in her own skin and with her own choices.

  And she had to make sure Laurel had a chance to do the same.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MORNINGS WERE ASHLEY’S busiest time of the day.

  When most people were still asleep, she could get a ton done.

  Two mornings after Wyatt Halford came to Second Chance, Ashley unlocked the Bent Nickel Diner at 5:00 a.m., carrying a stack of folders and her laptop. She had her comfy sweats on, her hair in a braid, a baseball cap on her head and a metal water bottle dangling from her finger.

  Cousin Camden turned on the kitchen lights just as Ashley turned on the dining room lights. He’d given her a key, because she couldn’t work in the cramped room at the inn she and her mother shared. It was a toss-up as to who showed up in the diner first—Ashley or Cam. Today, it was a draw.

  “Morning. Hot water for tea coming right up.” Cam plugged in the electric kettle as Ashley took her seat in a booth near the back. And then Cam went about his morning kitchen prep, leaving her alone.

  She checked her social-media groups first. The production team on her longest-running television show was excited about a spin-off Ashley was in the process of pitching to a streaming network. Her cast mates from her last rom-com film checked in from the sets of their latest jobs. Her favorite hair and makeup team posted pictures from a historical film they were working on. All those ringlets. Ashley had hair envy. Not to mention, she hoped to hire them for her film if she could knock their price down. Seeing everyone safe and well gave her just the boost she needed to seize the day.

  A jogger moved past the window, catching her eye. It was Wyatt. Sweat dripped from his hair and darkened his shirt. He spotted her inside and came to a full stop.

  Oh. My. Word.

  Her heart raced when their eyes met.

  She swallowed, trying to find some detachment. Maybe if she regarded him more the way a producer would and less like a woman.

  That’s it. Her pulse settled as she looked at him with a more critical eye.

  He was magnetic, not just because he was gorgeous and muscular, but because his dark gaze was intelligent and intense. It was why the camera loved him. Ashley took a moment to drink in the art that was Wyatt, because art had to be appreciated, even if said masterpiece was hardheaded and was rumored to hold a grudge. Even if for one brief moment, she allowed herself to mourn the fact that he wasn’t committed to her...film, that was.

  Cam set a mug of hot water in front of her, along with a tea bag.

  “Thanks.” She’d needed a reminder that it was time to work. There’d be enough time to address Wyatt complications later in the day.

  While her tea steeped, Ashley opened the file Laurel had emailed her with wardrobe sketches for the film. Ashley was playing the role of Mike’s sister Letty. She wanted the dresses Letty wore in the beginning of the story to reflect the sharpness of her character, the cunning she hid beneath her pretty curls and innocent smile.

  She could see Letty walking through the wagon train’s staging area before it left on its westward journey, admiring the possessions of her fellow travelers and charming the wagon master into teaching her how to fire his Sharps rifle.

  Wyatt sat down across from Ashley and waved to Cam. “Water, please.” He was a sweaty mess. “I think I slept two days straight. I needed it after the push to finish filming and the time it took to get here. I’m assuming someone would have told me if Laurel had given birth.”

  “No babies yet. Can you toss him a towel, Cam?” Ashley barely looked up from her screen, but she was 100 percent aware of Wyatt. The way his chest heaved. The way he rearranged his limbs in the booth. The way her brain wanted to focus on him, rather than her work.

  Jerk, her brain said.

  Not so fast, her body said.

  “You’re up early, Ashley. Did you already get your workout in?” Wyatt eased back into the seat.

  “I don’t work out. I walk.”

  Keep those eyes glued to the screen, girl.

  Impossible.

  She lifted her gaze. She needn’t have looked. The artwork hadn’t changed. Its impact on her hadn’t changed.

  “It’s always work first for Ash. I’m Cam, by the way.” Her cousin set a large glass of ice water and a hand towel in front of Wyatt. “If they had a treadmill at the inn, she wouldn’t have to hike around Second Chance every afternoon.”

  “I actually like breathtaking views,” Ashley said, still staring at Wyatt. Not all eye-popping vistas were outdoors.

  Girl.

  Ashley frowned. She couldn’t afford to be swept away by Wyatt’s devastating looks and happier mood. Where was cranky Wyatt?

  “You hike around the valley with bears about?” Wyatt raised his glass to Ashley in a mock toast. “I take it you don’t have a deathly fear of the beasts. I lost my assistant to arkoudaphobia.” He lowered his glass and his voice. “That’s a deathly fear of bears, even the friendly panda. I looked it up.”

  “Ash knows no fear.” Cam winked at her, possibly remembering the time she’d run screaming when he’d held a lizard in her face during a childhood camping trip with their grandpa Harlan.

  “I don’t carry any food when I walk,” Ashley told Wyatt, trying to ignore her cousin. “And I tend to stay in the meadow.” Which so far had been bear-free.

  “Hey, superstar.” Cam tapped the table near Wyatt. “Just FYI. We’re not open yet.”

  “But you’re serving Ash.” Wyatt drank more water.

  Ashley sighed. “I come here early to work in peace.” Instead, she was going to have to assemble her defenses and disassemble Wyatt’s. “I don’t order breakfast until the diner is officially open for business. And in return Cam leaves me alone.” Hint, hint.

  “Sorry. I forgot.” Cam headed toward the kitchen. “I’m supposed to be the silent prima donna chef, not the chatty diner cook.”

  Wyatt wiped the sweat from his face and hair, waiting until Cam was in the kitchen to speak. “About this situation we find ourselves in...”

  Ashley closed her laptop, almost grateful for another legitimate excuse to look at all that gorgeousness. “Let’s cut to the chase. Do you accept the idea that the girls are yours? Do you want to be a father?”

  “Maybe?” Wyatt winced. For the first time that morning, he seemed deflated. “But that’s not the issue, is it?”

  “Isn’t it? Let’s say they are yours. If you want to be an involved dad, there is visitation and child support to be arranged. The entertainment reporters will have questions and search for surface-level dirt, but we can get out ahead of them before your name goes in the public record on the babies’ birth certificates. Because you know you can’t keep this a secret. Someone is going to see your name while processing the babies’ paperwork and see dollar signs and leak that to the press.” Had she laid that on too thick? “But if you don’t want to be a father, you can take care of that with a simple signature. There will be nothing to link you to the girls but DNA. There will be no scandal. No speed bump put in front of our careers.” It was what Ashley, her mother and Mitch wanted.

  “You think I should sign.” How quickly Wyatt became closed off. “For the good of both of us.”

  “I didn’t say that. I stand behind what’s good for my sister.” But her conscience wouldn’t let her forget Laurel’s indecision regarding Wyatt’s parental role. He deserved the choice to be involved or not. “Those babies my sister is carrying... Their well-being and happiness should be more important than our acting careers.”

 
Wyatt’s expression gave nothing away. He glanced up at a yellowed, framed photograph of a prospector and his mule. “My agent thinks I should sign.” His statement alone indicated he was considering fatherhood.

  Dang it.

  Ashley tugged at the neck of her T-shirt. “You know... I don’t always do what my agent says.”

  Wyatt returned his gaze to hers and raised his eyebrows. He obviously knew her mother’s reputation.

  “It’s a fairly recent development.” Ashley didn’t add that she planned on firing her mother after Laurel’s wedding. She needed an agent who shared her vision for the future. And, of course, she needed to work up the nerve to let Mom go. “Seeing as how it sounds like you’re not going to give up your rights—”

  “Not just yet, no.”

  “—you need to be my date for the baby shower this evening.” Where guests would have the opportunity to snap his photo.

  “I’m not the baby-shower type.” Wyatt regained some of his deprecating attitude. “Nor did I bring a gift.”

  “You can mooch off mine.”

  Wyatt scowled. It was becoming clear that he wasn’t going to be agreeable, even if it was good for him.

  He’s not right for the role of Mike Moody.

  It was a niggle of a thought, just a feeling, really. And because of what was at stake for her—funding, distribution, word of mouth—Ashley squashed it. She wasn’t going to openly pursue Wyatt, but she wouldn’t turn him down outright if he wanted the role.

  “And how, exactly, does the dating ruse help the situation?” He wiped at his damp hair with the towel, distressing his trademark cowlick.

  “The ruse offers an explanation as to why you’re around Laurel and the babies when they arrive.” Which could be any day now. Twins were notorious for coming early and Laurel was about thirty weeks along.

  “An explanation will only be necessary if people find out I’m here.” He grimaced. “Which they will, if, let’s say, pictures were to circulate.”

  Was he suspicious about Operation Snaparazzi? Since he’d been recovering from filming and jet lag, the town’s amateur photographers had been standing down, awaiting Gabby’s signal.

  “I can’t very well institute a no-photo policy at my sister’s baby shower.” Ashley schooled her expression to mimic a slightly harried school secretary, one reluctantly charged with upholding the rules. “This isn’t a closed movie set. And you are the world-famous Wyatt Halford. People are bound to take pictures with you.” And post them, complete with the hashtags #SecondChance, #OldWestFestival, #WyattHalford and #AshleyMonroeMovie. “Look at it this way. Our dating gives you a chance to think about what you want to do next. Being a parent comes with a lot of responsibility. You don’t want to let your kids down.”

  “Parenthood.” Wyatt looked flummoxed, as if he truly didn’t know what to do. “My own parents... My mom was great, but sick a lot. And my father was...not the greatest. But he was responsible. Brought home a paycheck every two weeks and was around some of the time.”

  Saying a father was around some of the time wasn’t high praise. Ashley felt sorry for him.

  “I know something of factory-defective parents.” Ashley had two. “And I understand a little of your dilemma. Acting isn’t a nine-to-five, home-every-night job.”

  He nodded.

  It was odd how between catching sight of Wyatt jogging and talking through his options in this crisis, he’d become less of an icon and more of a person. But she was being too fair, too wishy-washy, like Laurel. She needed to be more like her mother and maneuver him the way that was best for her sister.

  Ashley’s phone sat on the table. A message popped up.

  He leaned forward. “Checking in with your friends. That’s nice.”

  Nice? The word was Ashley’s hot button.

  Ashley Monroe is so nice. Not: Ashley Monroe is so talented.

  Grrr. “It’s not nice, Wyatt. It’s what you do when you care. And in this business, all aspects of this business, people can get beaten down by just about everything. Sometimes, you need just one person to listen and validate you.” Best leave it at that before she dumped more emotion in his lap. Ashley opened her computer. “Sorry. I need to get through some work stuff before seven.”

  Wyatt shifted in his seat, twisting his back as if his muscles needed stretching. “Reviewing that precious script of yours? What’s the working title?”

  “The Ballad of Mike Moody. And I’m not reading it this morning. I’m reviewing wardrobe designs Laurel created. She’s very talented.” She tapped the pile of folders on the table next to her. “Lots to do.” That was his invitation to leave.

  Instead, Wyatt took the top file folder and began flipping through it.

  He’s not Mike Moody.

  Wyatt was too bold for the tailor turned stagecoach robber. Too in-your-face. It was Letty who ran the gang, not Mike. Wyatt’s ego wouldn’t let him play a believable second fiddle. It would come through on the screen, clearer than that cowlick.

  His dark gaze pivoted to her, tinged with disbelief that stung sharper than the “nice” label. “This is a list of film support companies. Lighting. Sound. Craft services. And you were talking with Zeke about horses for the movie. Are you acting and producing this film?”

  “You don’t have to sound surprised,” she said evenly, trying not to snap. Was it so far-fetched that she’d produce a movie? “You may have heard I’m starting my own production company.”

  “I hadn’t. So, it’s to be a comedic western?” Wyatt tossed her folder back on the pile. “Or a romantic saga?”

  “Not a comedy. Not a romance.” It galled her that he’d have that impression. Not that the entire world wouldn’t have the same expectation. Rom-coms and lighthearted romance made up Ashley’s adult acting credits. Drama? No one would expect it in her wheelhouse. And that was why she had to come out of her shell and sell the idea. “It’s a western.” Ashley busied herself with her tea bag. “The good westerns—the classics—fire on all cylinders around the key themes of justice and the struggle of surviving in the frontier. It’s the reason people love the genre.” She loved filmography and would have studied it in college if her career or her mother had allowed her time to attend.

  “The former child star wants to take on a would-be classic.” Wyatt arched in his seat the way Laurel did when her back bothered her. “This probably wasn’t the best time to ignore the advice of your momager. I’m assuming she disapproves.”

  “Yes.” And so did he. It was all there in his sharp little barbs. Didn’t he know that her father ran Monroe Studios? Didn’t he know she’d directed TV episodes of her series when she was sixteen? And had executive produced episodes when she was nineteen? But more important, didn’t he think she was capable of navigating her own career?

  I am more than a Hollywood cliché.

  The affirmation did nothing to calm the frustration thrumming through her veins. But it was a reminder to don her battle armor and her strongest, most impenetrable weapon—her acting talent.

  Drawing a breath, Ashley drummed her fingers on her laptop and regarded Wyatt with a veneer of calm that felt as thin as crumbling salt around the rim of a margarita glass. “Mike Moody and his sister came from Philadelphia. He was a tailor and hoping to settle in San Francisco, but he was unsuited for the hardships encountered on a wagon train. He and his sister were accused of stealing. They were kicked out of the wagon train and settled in Second Chance.”

  “You’ll be playing the part of the sister.” Wyatt grinned. “So, you’re looking for a leading man who can play the gentle tailor who morphs into a cold-blooded killer.”

  She didn’t tell him his guess was close, but wrong. “Whoever plays Mike and Letty Moody must be able to handle the hallmarks of the genre—horse chases—”

  “Check.” He finger-checked an air box.

  “—and gun
fights.”

  “Check. Check.” He continued to make light of her project.

  I will not grit my teeth. I will not grit my teeth. “And be able to portray both the expectations of the character’s facade and drop subtle clues in their performance as to their true nature.” Mike’s onset of blindness and resulting meltdown. Letty’s unbridled greed, and her belief that life owed her more than she’d been given.

  “Check, check, check. Too bad you can’t afford me.” Wyatt sipped his water. “If you’re looking for atmosphere, I saw the town’s historic blacksmith shop down the road. You might add a horseshoeing scene.”

  He had no idea how important that smithy was to the story. Blacksmith Jeb Clark would fall hard for Letty, but ultimately his love would lead to her bloody demise.

  Ashley filled her lungs with air and stayed in character as the Ashley Monroe no one could rattle.

  Her phone vibrated. A text came in from Emily Clark at the Bucking Bull Ranch.

  Wyatt leaned forward, irritating in his interest in her private correspondence.

  Still up for riding and shooting this morning?

  He lifted that dark gaze to hers, and for the first time, it was filled with mischief. “I am.”

  “You weren’t invited.” But her heart beat faster at the thought of him coming along. Not because she was interested in him romantically, but because if he joined her, he might soften up about taking the role of Mike Moody.

  And like clockwork, just the thought of Wyatt playing the role activated that niggle of doubt. Her grandfather had made several fortunes by following his instincts. Might just as well get this gut feeling out on the table now. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you’d be miscast in the role of Mike Moody.”

  Just saying it out loud brought her tremendous relief. She grinned. Not as Ashley Monroe, America’s Sweetheart, but as Ash Monroe, confident, soon-to-be accomplished producer. And later, a respected director.

  “Nice try, but reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.” Wyatt drained his water glass and stood, not as smoothly as she might have thought. His muscles must be stiffening after his run. “You’ll take me riding and shooting this morning to foster this impression that we’re dating.” He sauntered out of the diner as if he was the Mike Moody of legend.