The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  She groaned.

  “And my language arts professor just sent another assignment.” Gabby huffed. “That man knows how to suck all the fun out of summer.” This assignment had two parts. Interview two people about their careers, and then write a paper on how their experiences could be applied to her own decisions about her future. Gabby’s mood lightened.

  She knew the perfect two people to help her out—Ashley and Wyatt.

  * * *

  THE STUNT WORKED!

  Ashley felt like celebrating.

  Instead, in her mind’s eye, she pictured how she’d position the cameras to capture the action. The wide-angle lens to summarize the robbery’s devastation and bloodshed, the midrange shot to convey the excitement of a daring galloping getaway, and the close-up to illustrate Letty’s cold determination. She’d end with a wide shot of Mike and Letty making their escape.

  “Remind me, Wyatt,” Ashley said to him as they walked from the arena to the shooting range Emily had set up. “Have you done any trick riding?”

  “No.” Wyatt’s nose was bent out of shape.

  Or was it his back? He walked like a man who’d just been through a grueling football practice. She refused to believe it was because of that one tumble. His movements had been rigid before that.

  Could he meet the physical demands of Mike Moody? Horse chases. A few fistfights. His fans expected authenticity.

  “I applaud you taking shooting lessons,” Wyatt said to Ashley when they reached the gully in the forest behind the Bucking Bull’s barn, a place where stray bullets would only go into the mountain. “It helped me look more realistic when handling firearms.”

  Ah, lip service. A sure sign that his pride was smarting from being unable to complete the gold grab. And, jeez, the bag had been heavy. Emily had put some of Mike Moody’s real gold nuggets inside.

  “For luck,” she’d told Ashley.

  “It would make our grandfathers happy,” Ashley had replied.

  Their grandfathers, Percy Clark and Harlan Monroe, along with Harlan’s twin brother, Hobart, had found the gold decades ago. But a string of bad luck and the death of Hobart had them putting the gold back. They’d left behind clues and a gold coin in Gertie’s possession to prove the trail was real. And just a few months ago, the Monroes and Clarks had joined forces to find it again.

  Ashley raised her rifle, a Sharps that was a replica appropriate to the time period of Mike Moody. She took aim and fired.

  “Bull’s-eye,” Emily said, grinning.

  “I should have known,” Wyatt murmured, a trace of reluctant admiration in his tone.

  Ashley took a moment to imagine her character hidden in the trees next to the dirt stage road. Circumstances and mistakes would have made Letty desperate for money but perhaps still hesitant to kill. How would she show these conflicted feelings from beneath a burlap sack with hand-cut eyeholes? Perhaps with a physical display of nerves. The wiping of sweaty palms on the man’s suit she wore. The subtle readjustment of tense shoulders. The belabored breathing, raspy to indicate her dry mouth.

  Ashley took aim again. Fired again.

  “Bull’s-eye,” Emily crowed.

  “You know how to ride. You know how to shoot.” Wyatt crossed his arms over his chest, clearly unsettled. “What else do you know how to do?”

  She liked Wyatt stripped of his cocky poise. She could more easily imagine him as Mike Moody, the man who let his sister dictate an increasingly dark path. “Are you still recovering from stunts you did on your last film?”

  Ashley wasn’t just concerned as one actor to another, as one person to another. She had to quell her instinct to nurture and think like a movie producer. Was he taking pain meds? And if so, was he managing them responsibly? In short, was he going to be a reliable cast member a year from now?

  She hated that she had to judge him. But that was the hard-core truth of directors and producers. They had to hire and fire people. They had to care and sometimes give people the hard truth when it was warranted.

  It was just... She wanted Wyatt to be well, physically and emotionally. She’d spent much of the morning with him. To her, he was no longer film icon Wyatt Halford. He was a man with aches and pains and prickly opinions.

  “Wyatt?” Ashley glanced at him because he hadn’t answered her.

  “No. Comment.”

  But he’d have to disclose any health concerns if he were to participate in her production. Her contracts and insurance teams would demand it.

  “Do you want to take a turn?” Ashley took aim for a third shot. She steadied her breathing and thought of Grandpa Harlan. He’d built not one empire but many. And he’d taken twelve grandchildren on adventures without any other adults. If he could do all that, she could juggle the roles of actress, director and producer. The toughest task would be convincing the people in the film industry that she could do it all.

  “Bull’s-eye!” Em was Ashley’s strongest proponent.

  “Yes, I want to take a turn.” Wyatt rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. “But first, answer a question. Who are you and what have you done with the real Ashley Monroe? Is she the pregnant one sitting back at the inn?”

  “That’s more than one question,” Emily pointed out.

  Ashley fired again, hitting the second circle. She chalked it up to her being unable to control her laughter. Wyatt was beginning to see her beyond the Hollywood facade. If she could change his opinion of her, it gave her hope for the rest of her peers.

  And then her laughter died away. She couldn’t say the same for her insight into him. Again, there was that niggle of doubt—was he up to the role of Mike Moody? Could he believably portray an emotionally vulnerable tailor who was going blind?

  “She’s not going to answer any of my questions.” Wyatt scuffed his boot in the dirt. “I’m on to you, Ms. Monroe. Give me a turn with that rifle.”

  Ashley took pity on him. She even praised his shooting skill because he never missed a bull’s-eye.

  But she didn’t answer a question. Not a one.

  * * *

  “YOU GUYS WANT some lemonade?” Gabby greeted Ashley and Wyatt upon their return from the Bucking Bull with a tray of iced drinks. “You look thirsty.” And incredibly dirty, especially Wyatt, as if he’d been rolling on the ground. “I poured you each a glass when I saw you drive up.”

  Wyatt eyed the tray of icy drinks she carried to the coffee table. “Does every guest receive the gold-star treatment?”

  “Only guests who are also friends,” Gabby said, taking her computer from the coffee table and putting it in her lap. She gestured toward the fireplace and its mammoth hearth. “Dad told me it was the original cooking kitchen. Big enough to roast a pig on a spit. Sit. Drink. Take a moment to help a summer school student.”

  “I sense an agenda.” Ashley paused a few feet away to check her phone. “But that’s an easy guess, because Gabby always has something going on.”

  She did indeed.

  Wyatt raised his eyebrows instead of asking Gabby to explain.

  That look made Gabby feel weak because, yes, folks, the best-looking film star, ever, was staring at her. “I have to interview two people for my language arts homework. It would be so cool to interview you two.”

  Ashley and Wyatt exchanged glances.

  Ashley shrugged. “Is my mother around?” She tucked her phone in her back pocket, took a glass of lemonade and sat on one end of the hearth.

  “She’s upstairs napping. Why?”

  “Because actors usually bounce interview proposals off their managers.” Wyatt took a glass and sat on the other end of the hearth from Ashley.

  So much for sneaking in a picture of the two of them sitting together. Gabby wanted to thunk her head. She should have sat on the hearth and let them take the couch. But that didn’t address her confusion. “I don’t understand w
hy you need to ask Grandma Gen.”

  “Interviews need to be on brand, basically published where our fans can access it, and the interviewee needs to agree to terms.” Wyatt sipped his lemonade and looked toward Ashley, as if waiting for her cue.

  Cue to what? Adults were so complicated.

  Pay attention, Gabby!

  Yikes, that was her dad’s voice in her head. “This is my homework. It’s not going anywhere. And what did you mean by...terms?”

  “Terms are subjects that are off-limits.” Ashley took off her cap and wiped her forehead with the icy glass.

  “Like Laurel and her babies,” Wyatt said, tipping his cowboy hat back.

  “Oops. It’s not that kind of interview.” Gabby was relieved, because for a while there it seemed like they were going to drink her lemonade and not do the interview. “I should have explained. These are questions that are supposed to help me think about what I want to be when I grow up. The first question is, when did you know you wanted to be an actor?”

  “Oh, I didn’t really aspire to be an actor,” Ashley said quickly. “I enjoyed reenacting movie scenes because it made Laurel laugh. Since my dad was a studio head, he’d slot me in as an extra. I think I was Kid Number Four on a Playground once. Oh, and Kid Crying at a Birthday Party. Stuff like that. And then suddenly, I was in a sitcom and had a career.”

  Wyatt angled his body toward Ashley. “Your parents didn’t give you a choice?”

  “You’ve met my mother, right?” Ashley shifted toward him.

  Oh, man. Gabby wished they were sitting closer together, because when they looked at each other, it was like watching a movie where two people looked at each other and you just knew they were going to get married at the end.

  Gabby forced herself to pay attention, because Ashley was still talking and she was supposed to type up her interview notes.

  “My mother never asked me if I was happy,” she said. “How about you? How did you become a superstar?”

  “I didn’t dream of being an actor early on either.” Wyatt spared Gabby a smile that was just a smile one friend gave to another, but he was so beautiful it kind of made Gabby’s heart melt a little. “People told my mom I was cute enough to be on camera and she believed them. She and my sisters naively took me to auditions where kids were being prepped to be actors. And me? I just did whatever they asked and often got the role. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

  He and Ashley stared at each other as if thinking what Gabby was thinking—they were more alike than they seemed. But that wasn’t what Gabby was supposed to be thinking. She was supposed to be “analyzing” their comments. “So, you sort of fell into acting because you were good at it?”

  Wyatt raised his glass of lemonade but held the glass in front of his mouth as if he’d just thought of something he had to say. “Or because we just looked good on camera.” He took a drink.

  “What was your first steady job?” Gabby frowned. “These questions aren’t written for actors.”

  “Maybe you could ask what was our biggest break?” Ashley supplied helpfully. “I played a darling little sister on a television show. I laughed on cue. I cried on cue. And they wrote plots where I got into all kinds of trouble. And when that show finished, I had my own show playing an average girl with an unusual set of friends. And, of course, we got into all kinds of trouble. But we worked everything out before the credits rolled.”

  “And so begins the legend of America’s Sweetheart,” Wyatt murmured, staring into his lemonade.

  Gabby was glad she could type without looking at the keys—thanks to Dad and another online course—because she could watch them and enter her notes at the same time. “Wyatt, what about you?”

  “After several commercials and clothing ads, my big break came playing the younger brother in one of those streetcar-racing, crime-solving films.”

  “Is that really a genre?” Ashley asked sternly.

  Wyatt shook his finger at her, inching closer. “Almost all streetcar-racing movies have an element of crime in them.”

  “They are classified as action films.” Ashley shook her head, but somehow, she managed to move closer to Wyatt.

  They were no longer miles away on that hearth. And they were smiling at each other.

  “Anyway...” Wyatt shrugged, which was supercute and made Gabby want to reach for her phone to take a picture. “My character died in a fiery crash in the climax, so I didn’t get picked up for a role in the next half-dozen films in the franchise, but I was such a fan favorite that the producers cast me in a teenage tearjerker film.”

  Ashley scoffed. “You very wisely did not call that movie a romance. It was a modern take on Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy, since you both died at the end.”

  “I’m sensing a theme,” Gabby said, and then blurted, “Oh, my gosh! You have to play Mike Moody. He dies at the end.”

  “Kismet.” Ashley laughed. “Or in Wyatt’s case, a tendency toward tragedies.”

  “Oh, we’re going to have words, Monroe.” Wyatt shifted over toward Ashley on the hearth.

  “Bring it, Halford.” Ashley helped him close the distance.

  “Before you rumble, can I ask one more question? Or take a picture and then ask a question?” Gabby didn’t wait for permission for the picture. “I get extra credit if I submit a photo.” Too bad she couldn’t also post it to her fan site. But Wyatt would know immediately it came from her. “Why do you stay in your career?”

  “For the money,” Wyatt said, at the same time that Ashley said, “For the challenge.”

  There was a moment of silence, where the pair frowned at each other.

  And then footsteps rang out on the porch as Wyatt said, “I was kidding.”

  But Gabby didn’t believe it, and neither did Ashley. She rolled her eyes.

  “I was kidding,” Wyatt said again. “I love that every character I play offers me the opportunity to spread my wings.”

  “You’re referring to your stunts now.” Ashley finished her lemonade and stood.

  Mackenzie burst through the door. “Mail, Gabby.” She put it on the check-in counter. “More RSVPs for the wedding.” And then she ran back out. Mack ran the general store, gas station and post office. She was always running around.

  “More RSVPs?” Ashley went to the desk and tore into an envelope. “I hope these are regrets, since we’ve already planned out the number of chairs and entrées. Hold up. Jess Watanabe? Who invited him?”

  Gabby set her laptop in its usual spot on the desk. “That would be Grandma Gen.” Who was right. Gabby was no good at keeping secrets.

  “Jess Watanabe is a director.” Wyatt joined them, picking up another RSVP. “I’m up for a role with him. He’s coming?”

  “Apparently.” Ashley shook her head. “Here’s one from Tom Conners. He’s a casting director for some of the biggest names in Hollywood. I’ve read for him a few times but never... Well, never mind.” She fixed Gabby with a hard stare. “When did these invitations go out?”

  “I can’t remember?” Because if she told them last week, Grandma Gen wouldn’t be happy.

  The handful of RSVPs were more of the same. More Hollywood movers and shakers. And they were all coming.

  “I need to call my agent.” Wyatt headed toward the stairs. “Hey, Gabby, send me a copy of that picture you took just now.” He rattled off his number.

  Gabby nearly fainted. I have Wyatt Halford’s telephone number.

  “I need to wake my mother.” Ashley looked ticked off. But she didn’t move. She just stared at the RSVPs. “What is she up to?”

  Gabby gathered them up. “I’ll put these somewhere safe and tell Cam to expect a dozen more guests.”

  “Somewhere safe?” Ashley said slowly.

  “What? You want me to show these to my dad and Laurel?”

  * * *

  “WAKE
UP, MOTHER.”

  Ashley stood over the bed. She knew Mom had heard her come in. The Lodgepole Inn’s floors creaked and the doors didn’t fit right in the jambs.

  “Let me exit from my yoga trance as peacefully as I went in.” Mom did some deep breathing exercises.

  Ashley breathed deeply, too. She picked up Mom’s empty tea mug and sniffed. Mom was spiking her tea, all right. Now Ashley breathed deeply to keep from shaking her mother awake.

  “I feel so refreshed.” Her mother sat up and turned to hang her legs over the edge of the bed, smoothing her navy dress. She hadn’t given up a single fashion statement to mountain living. “How has your day been? You look overheated and like someone dusted you with dirt.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Ashley said through gritted teeth, wanting to be calm. “But you’ve been busy, too. You sent out some last-minute invitations to Laurel’s wedding.”

  “Yes, I did.” At least she wasn’t denying it. “The mother of the bride is entitled to invite guests.”

  “And did you also jot a little note on the invitation?” Anger thrummed in Ashley’s veins. “Something like Wyatt Halford will be Ashley’s wedding date?”

  “You know, I worry about what will happen to you when I retire from my role as your manager, but I shouldn’t.” She ran her fingers through her short hair, giving it a good fluffing. “You know exactly how to play the game. That’s exactly what I did.”

  “But it’s not what I’d do. This is no game. It’s Laurel’s wedding. It should be a small ceremony with family and close friends. It shouldn’t be a networking event.”

  “Oh, come on.” Mom stood, and by some miracle, there were no wrinkles in her dress. “I listen to your struggles every day. You can’t get the best in the business to take your calls, much less sign on to work with you. Well, I’m bringing them here for a face-to-face meeting.”

  “At Laurel’s wedding? No. You need to call these people up and tell them they’re uninvited.”

  “I could never do such a thing. It would ruin your reputation almost as much as the news that Wyatt and Laurel are having babies together.” She slipped into her black pumps and then slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.