The Littlest Cowgirls--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  “Actually, she claims she thinks we’d make a great power couple. And given the number of acceptance RSVPs we received, other people in Hollywood like the idea.” Ashley heaved a sigh, but it was a corny, overdramatic one. “If people only knew the truth about the two of us. For example, I resent you for trash-talking my film knowledge, and you resent me for being a better horseman. We could never be a power couple. We’re too different.”

  Wyatt chuckled. Hadn’t she listened during Gabby’s interview today? Or taken note of their conversation just now. They were fundamentally more alike than they were different.

  “Hey, Ashley!” Gabby leaned over the railing and waved. “We’re waiting on you to start the games.”

  “Duty calls.” Ashley hurried up the path.

  Wyatt lingered, checking out the crowd. Ashley was an intriguing woman. Not perfect, as Gabby had so staunchly told him. But she was determined to reach for her dreams and not afraid to try new things to get there.

  “You’re lagging, Wyatt,” Gabby said, still leaning on the railing. She wore a pink dress and white Keds and was ignoring the view of the valley, which was as good as the one from Wyatt’s room. “Come on. I’ll give you the nickel tour. As you can tell, the clinic is a glorified log cabin.” She led him inside. “Small kitchen, small living space and two small exam areas. That ladder goes up to a loft for sleeping.”

  Pink balloons, pink streamers and colorful flower bouquets hung from the walls and porch rails. There were gifts stacked on what looked like a small dining table, making Wyatt wonder which one was from Ashley. And there were people mingling, swapping stories, sneaking glances at Wyatt and taking turns fawning over Laurel, who sat in a chair in a corner, simultaneously looking happy and uncomfortable with all the attention.

  Ashley and a brunette with glasses organized the women into a circle and began explaining a game. Emily joined the circle, as did the woman who ran the general store and several others of different ages.

  “Laurel’s doctor is here. She’s the blonde with the nerd glasses handing Laurel a glass of water. Our last doctor used to be a sports surgeon. But he moved to California.” Gabby took Wyatt’s picture with her phone. “And that’s the nickel tour.”

  Wyatt placed a hand on her shoulder. “I thought you were going to stop treating me like a celebrity.”

  She shrugged and said, “I’m the official baby-shower photographer. It’s my job to take everyone’s picture so the twins can look back on this someday.” Gabby hiked her thumb at the refreshments table. “You should get some punch and cookies. The games might take a while.”

  He headed toward the table, checking out the assortment of frosted cookies—storks carrying pink swaddled babies, pink baby rattles, pink baby buggies—and cupcakes—pink or white. The punch was pink. The plates and napkins were pink. All in all, it was a smothering amount of pink.

  Or it might have been, if it hadn’t made him think of his mother and how much she loved to dress his sisters in the color. “Because it’s so cheerful,” she’d said when Natalie wanted to go Goth at the mature age of eleven. His mother had been the upbeat counterweight to his father’s downbeat persona.

  “In case you didn’t know, it’s a girl.” Mitch appeared next to Wyatt and handed him a bottle of beer. “Times two.”

  “You’ve been through this before.” Wyatt gestured toward Gabby.

  She noticed them standing together and took their picture.

  Wyatt felt like he stood on a precipice staring down into that big black hole Ashley had been splashing around in earlier. Someday, Laurel might have to explain why there were two fathers at her children’s baby shower. Or not. It was his choice.

  Do the right thing. He couldn’t get his mother’s words out of his head.

  “My ex-wife’s baby shower looked very similar,” Mitch was saying. “But thankfully they make more than just pink clothes nowadays. And even if girls do want pink, I’ve recently discovered that my daughter is very capable when it comes to ordering her clothes online. Beats taking her to the department store. I just have to look at what she’s put in her basket and approve or delete.”

  Should Wyatt decide to be involved, he’d need to settle on an amount for child support to help feed and clothe his children. And then Mitch would approve or delete the things they’d need. A disconcerting thought.

  Wyatt looked away. Two baby quilts hung on the wall. One with dramatic black, teal and sand patterned material, and one with bright purple, teal and a soft white patterned material.

  Mitch followed the direction of his gaze. “Laurel made those with Odette. Laurel has a slight aversion to pink.”

  “That used to be Ashley’s signature color,” Wyatt said absently.

  “A point you might avoid in conversation with Laurel or Ashley.” Mitch pointed out a slight older woman who stood next to Genevieve, staring at the agent’s high heels with a perplexed look on her face. “That’s Odette. She and Laurel run the Mercantile together. They sell local handmade goods.”

  “And paintings,” a woman said, before taking a cookie and returning to Ashley’s circle.

  “Can’t forget your paintings, Flip.” Mitch took a drink of beer. “The brunette with the glasses is Sophie Monroe Roosevelt. She runs a store in what used to be the Fur Trading Post. Now it’s a shop full of oddities and collectibles Harlan Monroe had stored up here in various buildings around town. It’s the shop with the front end of an Edsel in the entrance.”

  “Across from the inn?”

  Mitch nodded and gestured toward a thin old man who wore a baggy pink Hawaiian shirt and blue slacks. “That’s our maintenance man, Roy. The town is incorporated with an unusual ownership situation. Anyway, Roy found a cabin full of antique sports equipment last week. Golf clubs. Lacrosse sticks. Old football uniforms. The week before it was steamer trunks and antique lockboxes, the kind they kept gold in on stagecoaches. Personally, I think it’s trash, but Sophie finds buyers.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Wyatt looked closely at Mitch, searching for traces of his previous bitterness. “And more importantly, why are you being nice to me?”

  “You should know the kind of community Laurel wants to raise the girls in. We help and support each other.” He raised his beer bottle and then lowered it again without taking a sip. “I probably owe you an apology for the way I reacted the first day you were here. I take my future vows to love, honor and protect Laurel very seriously.”

  “Huh.” Wyatt smiled as an idea took shape. “Community.”

  “You find that funny?” Some of the animosity that Mitch had just apologized for crept into his tone.

  “As a temporary member of your community, I find this the opportune moment to ask for your help moving something into my room.”

  “You two look like you need a referee.” Ashley slipped in between them. “Sophie’s going to run the last game.”

  “That’s my cue to mingle.” Mitch left them alone.

  Ashley shifted, maneuvering them around into a space where they could see the room and those out on the porch, but they were out of the way of traffic to the refreshments. She drew her cell phone out of her dress pocket.

  Wyatt lowered her hand. “Whatever messages you have, they won’t be as important as being present for Laurel’s shower.”

  Ashley hesitated and then tucked the phone back into her pocket. “You’re right.”

  “Wyatt Halford.” Roy, the old man in the pink Hawaiian shirt, joined them. “As I live and breathe. I heard you were in town. Let me feel your biceps.” Roy gave Wyatt’s muscles a squeeze. “I wasn’t sure if they made your muscles bigger in the editing room. You never know about technology nowadays.”

  Wyatt put his free arm around Ashley’s waist and kept smiling. Gabby snapped their picture.

  “Impressive. You’re the real deal, Wyatt Halford,” Roy said before movin
g on.

  “Wyatt...” Ashley leaned closer, angling her face toward his and keeping her voice low. “Don’t tell me you regularly get groped like a piece of fruit in the grocery store.”

  He shrugged. “You know how it is. When you’re famous, strangers think they’re your closest friend.”

  “I do know.” Ashley’s eyes gazed at him compassionately. And then she flashed him a grin, putting a bit of distance between them. “But this... This is definitely rom-com material.”

  “Oh, don’t start with the movie references.” Wyatt groaned.

  “Come on.” Ashley nudged him with her elbow. “A couple at a party filled with unusual characters? Next thing you know, we’ll be—”

  “Do you wear sweater-vests, young man?” Odette appeared in front of Wyatt with a ball of black yarn in one hand. She pulled out a length and wrapped it around Wyatt’s waist, as if she was hugging him. “I’m going to make you a sweater-vest. You look like you could pull it off. And once I make one for you, they’ll sell like hotcakes in the Mercantile.”

  Gabby snapped another picture. And then Odette moved on.

  Wyatt prided himself that his smile never wavered. “This isn’t a rom-com, Ash. Or a misfit film.” He guessed that genre was where Ashley was going next.

  “Are you sure?” Ashley smiled but it wasn’t a smile for him. She gazed out over the gathering.

  “How much would it cost to license your image?” Mackenzie, the brunette who ran the general store and had delivered the inn’s mail today, ambled by next, looking Wyatt up and down. “I can see your face above a caption on a T-shirt, like, Ian Bradford approves of Second Chance. You should, too. Well, that was bad, but you get the idea.”

  He did. “If you take a picture of me, you own the intellectual property.” Wyatt stared down at Ashley, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with her. “But I wouldn’t use the name of a fictional character created by someone else. Ever.”

  “Great advice.” Mack snapped a picture. “Thanks.” She moved on to the punch bowl.

  “Are we there yet?” Wyatt asked softly. “Because I have no idea what genre of film we’re in.”

  “Close. Laurel’s opening gifts.” Ashley nodded toward the corner where her sister sat. “And then we’ll clean up while you escort people safely up and down the path.”

  “What people?”

  “Just my mother.” Ashley opened a nearby cupboard, empty other than a half-full flask of vodka and a woman’s small purse. “I saw her spike her punch. We’re lucky she didn’t spike everyone’s.” She closed the cupboard.

  From the patio, Genevieve laughed a little too loud and tilted back on her thin heels.

  “She’d have hysterics if she heard this, but I think she’s having a midlife crisis.” Ashley’s brow clouded with concern. “She thinks none of us notice she’s spiking her tea.”

  “I saw her making tea this morning.” And he’d thought it odd that Genevieve had been walking around in public in her nightgown with a facial mask on. “That explains a lot.” His arm curled around Ashley’s waist. It felt so natural to draw her close, to have her gaze into his eyes. So natural to...

  “A double stroller! And it comes with car seats and a bassinet.” Laurel punched the air. “Thank you, Ashley and Wyatt. Thank you so much.”

  “I spent a lot of time picking that out,” Wyatt teased Ashley, earning a grin.

  “You’re very thoughtful, not to mention generous,” Ashley teased.

  Wyatt craned his neck to get a good look at the stroller. Or rather the big box it came in. “I hope that’s no assembly required.” It was a humongous box. And a fancy stroller. More like a Transformers toy in all its iterations than what Wyatt expected of something to move kids from one place to another.

  “Of course it requires assembly,” Ashley said, as if it was no big deal. In Wyatt’s experience, nothing was ever as easy to put together as it seemed. “It came from Sweden, and with all the accessories, it requires its own storage closet. I had to order it months ago just to make sure it arrived on time.”

  Months ago? Ashley had known about this months ago?

  Wyatt stiffened.

  Of course she had. He just hadn’t thought through that fact. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about Laurel and the babies sooner?”

  “Laurel and Mom wanted to talk to you back in February, but you’d already left the country.” Ashley patted his arm as if in apology. “You have good people around you. They wouldn’t let Mom have access to your personal information. And Mom wasn’t going to tell just anyone. But Laurel wanted you to know the truth before the babies came, so it was up to Shane to track you down.”

  “Shane.” It always came back to that guy.

  She glanced up at him and then reached up to smooth a worry line on his forehead. “Why? Did you think we planned to wait until the last minute?”

  “No matter how I answer that question, you won’t like it.”

  “True.” She inched away from him.

  Or she tried to, as if she was lost in thought about work and needed space. Wyatt brought her close once more. His attraction to her was far from convenient. At the moment, he didn’t care. Holding Ashley in his arms was the simplest, clearest thing about his time in Second Chance.

  Finally, all the gifts had been opened. Laurel thanked everyone for coming. Outside, the sun had set, bathing the valley in a warm glow. On the porch, Genevieve drained her punch glass and headed inside.

  “Here we go.” Ashley drew Wyatt forward. “Mom, the party’s over. Can you make sure Wyatt finds his way back to the inn?”

  “Smart,” Wyatt murmured.

  Her mother glanced toward the cupboard where the flask was located. “I need to get my purse. A woman should never be without her purse in case she gets fired and kicked out of her hotel room on the same day.”

  “Mom,” Ashley warned.

  She stalked away.

  A few minutes later, Wyatt held Genevieve’s arm as they walked down the steep dirt path to the road. His cell phone’s flashlight app lit the way. Others headed the other direction or straight down to cross the road to vehicles parked in front of the diner. Their laughter filled the crisp night air.

  “I don’t know why you couldn’t find your way back.” Genevieve smelled like a distillery. “That hotel of ours rises from the earth like a brontosaurus.”

  “It’s easy to get turned around in a new place.” He slowed to help her step over a rock jutting out of the ground. “You always seem so sure-footed, though.”

  “Are you talking metaphorically, Mr. Halford?” Genevieve’s tones were as formal as her regal movements. “If so, I have always had the gift of vision when it comes to career guidance. If not, my mother used to make me wear heels and walk with a book balanced on my head.”

  There was no sense beating around the bush with her. “What are your intentions toward me, Genevieve?”

  She let out an uncharacteristic shout of laughter. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I think you do.” He anchored her through a particularly steep patch in the path. “Ashley wants me here to protect Laurel. My agent wants me to stay here to protect my career. But you... I’m not certain if you want to ruin me or box me into a corner with Ashley and take credit for the greatest acting duo of all time.”

  “You’re overselling your talent, Mr. Halford.”

  Now that they were away from the others, he could make out the effect of alcohol. The slurring of her words. The dampness of her palms.

  “I’ve seen one or two of your films,” she added.

  He would bet she’d seen them all. “You know what I mean. I’ve seen the additions you made to the guest list.” When he’d told Brandon, his agent had begged to attend. “Why?”

  “Because you get it.” She stopped in the trail and took mincing steps so that she could
look up at him, so close behind her. But it was too dark to make out her expression, and he wasn’t going to blind her by shining a light in her face. “You understand the Hollywood game. And Ashley is pushing me away. She needs someone to watch out for her, no matter what you decide about my granddaughters. You’ll always have this shared experience to bind you. And that tie—”

  “I’m not interested in finding a wife.” The statement burst out of him on instinct, like yanking back a finger that had been shocked. Yes, he felt he knew Ashley on several levels, but that was different than the love one should have to commit to a serious relationship.

  “I’m not trying to convince you to find a wife.” Genevieve turned carefully away as if realizing there was nothing to gain by staring at him in the shadows. “But you could create a mutually beneficial understanding between yourself and Ashley. Watch over her as if she were a sister.”

  What he felt for Ashley...

  He didn’t want to put a name to it, but it was nothing like what he felt for his sisters.

  He wanted no part of Genevieve’s scheme and said so.

  A deep grumble filled the air.

  Genevieve teetered and clutched at Wyatt’s arm. “What was that?”

  Wyatt glanced around, aided by the flashlight feature on his phone. It hadn’t been a truck rumble. It was more like...

  Branches snapped. Something snuffled in the darkness.

  Bear.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose.

  More snuffling and branch snapping. His phone’s flashlight only illuminated a few feet into the woods. He hustled down the path, practically lifting Ashley’s mother into his arms, making his horse-bitten shoulder bruise ache. Whatever was out there was interested in them. The pace of the noises increased, accented by a grunt.

  Wyatt did a quick mental inventory. He had no food. Were bears attracted to alcohol? Because Ashley’s mother did have that air about her. There was another possibility. “Genevieve, did you put any cookies in your bag?” Could any fit with that flask of hers in there?