Her Forbidden Cowboy

by Charlene Sands

  “Seems that way.” He ran a hand down his face, pulling the skin taut. “I’ve never heard her so unraveled before. She may be gone a long time.”

  “I would think so. Will you find a replacement for her?”

  Zane wasn’t thinking along those lines. Not yet. He kept hearing the disbelief and pain in Mariah’s voice and understood it all too well.

  Your wife didn’t make it, Zane.

  Didn’t make what? he’d asked the doctor over and over, screaming into the phone. Then, all the way home from London, he kept thinking, hoping, praying it had been a mistake. A horrible, sick mistake. It wasn’t until he saw the desolate ruins of his once proud home in Beckon that it finally sank in Janie was gone. Forever.

  The meal was served, and as his gaze landed on the plate of saucy cheese-topped tamales, blood drained from his face, and his gut rebelled. For Jessica’s sake, he pushed his haunting memories aside. He didn’t want to ruin her meal.

  Jessica reached for him across the table, her fingertips feathering over his good hand gently, comforting him with the slightest touch. When he lifted his lids, he gazed into her knowing, sensitive eyes, and she smiled. “Let’s have them pack up this food. We’ll eat it later on.”

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “Not at all. I’m ready to go anytime you are.”

  He felt at peace suddenly, a glowing warmth usurping the dread inside his gut.

  And then it hit him. Sweet Jess. She was good for him. She understood him, perhaps better than anyone else on this earth. She was a true friend, an authentic reminder of home, and he needed her here.

  “You asked me before if I’d find a replacement for Mariah.”

  “Yes, I did. Hard shoes to fill, I would imagine.”

  “Yeah, I agree.” He looked her squarely in the eyes. “Except I’ve already found someone, and I’m looking straight at her.”

  Four

  Jessica woke to a glorious sunrise, the stream of light cutting through early morning haze and clouds in a host of color. Every morning brought something new from the view outside her bedroom window, and she was beginning to enjoy the variance from fog to haze to brilliance that took place before her eyes.

  She stretched her arms above her head, working out the kinks, not so much in her shoulders and neck, but the ones baffling her brain. Last night, Zane told her to keep an open mind and sleep on his suggestion of replacing Mariah as his personal assistant. Her mouth had dropped open, and she thought him insane for a few seconds, but then he pointed out that he wasn’t working, he had no gigs lined up, and he wasn’t doing interviews right now. Most of what she had to do was hold off the press and postpone anything pending to future dates.

  She wouldn’t go into it cold. Mariah would be in touch to give her the guidance she needed to get her through anything remotely difficult.

  “You’re an intelligent woman, Jess. I’m convinced you’d have no problem, and I’m right here to help you,” he’d said.

  Zane’s assurances last night gave her the push over the edge she’d needed this morning. Her head was clear now, and she valued the challenge and even looked forward to it. She wasn’t ready to return to Texas anyway. Zane wanted freedom from his agent and manager’s constant urging to get back on the horse. Zane wasn’t ready yet and she could understand that. He needed more time, just as she did.

  The new, bronzer Jessica no longer had freckles on her nose, thanks to a wonderful suntan that had connected those freckly dots and browned up her light skin. How many more hours could she feasibly sunbathe her day away? Staying on for a few weeks and helping Zane out would give her a new sense of purpose.

  Jessica showered and dressed quickly. Putting on a pair of khaki shorts and a loose mocha-brown blouse, she slipped her feet into flip-flops and strode toward the kitchen. There were no wickedly delicious aromas drifting from the kitchen this morning. Mrs. Lopez had yet to arrive.

  “Sonofabitch!”

  A string of Zane’s profanities carried to her ears. She grinned. Poor guy. He hated being confined.

  She ventured into his bedroom. “Zane?”

  “In here!”

  She followed the sound of his cursing. He was standing over the bathroom sink, and their eyes met in the mirror. A scowl marred his handsome face, and three blood dots covered with bits of tissue spotted his cheeks and chin. Remnants of lime-scented shaving cream covered the rest of his face. “Damn hand. It’s impossible to get a good shave.”

  “Whoops.” With her index finger, she caught a drop of blood dripping from his chin before it landed on his white ribbed tank. “Got it.”

  He peered at her in the mirror and handed her a tissue. “Thanks.”

  “Thank me later, after I shave you. We’ll see if I can’t do a better job.”

  “You?”

  “I used to lather up my dad and shave him when I was a kid.” She hoisted herself up onto the marble counter to face him and picked up his razor. “It used to be a game, but darn it, I did an excellent job. Dad was surprised. Seems I’m pretty good with one of these.”

  Doubtful eyes peered at the razor in her hand.

  “What? You don’t trust me? It’s a guarantee I’d do a better job than what I see on your face now. Or, I can drive you to the local barbershop. Since I’m going to be your new personal assistant and all.”

  The scowl left his face immediately, and her heart warmed at seeing approval in his eyes. “You’ve decided, then?”

  “Yes, I’m on the clock now. So what will it be? A shave by your PA or a drive to the barber?”

  “Try not to cut me,” he said.

  “You’ve already done a good job of that.” She handed him a towel. “Wipe your face clean. We’ll start from scratch.”

  Zane’s eyes widened.

  She chuckled at her bad choice of words. “You know what I mean.” Pressing down on the canister, she released a mound of shave cream in her hand and leaned forward to rub it over his cheeks, chin and throat.

  Zane leaned a little closer, his body braced by the counter. Her heart did a little dance in her chest. His nearness, the refreshing heady lime scent, her position sitting on the counter, touching him—suddenly she was all too aware of the intimate act she was performing on her brother-in-law.

  What on earth was she doing?

  Zane needed help and she’d rushed to his aid. But she hadn’t thought this through.

  He still towered over her, but only by a few inches now. She lifted her eyes and found him, waiting and watching her through the mirror.

  Her hand wasn’t so steady anymore.

  She couldn’t fall down on her first official act as Zane’s personal assistant, intimate as it was.

  “Okay, are you ready?”

  He kept perfectly still. “Hmm.”

  Her legs were near his hip, and she angled her body to get closer to his face. Bracing her left hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she was taken by the strong rock-hard feel of him under her fingertips. She stroked his face, and the razor met with stubble and gently scraped it away. Carefully she proceeded, gliding the razor over his skin in the smoothest strokes she could manage.

  His breath drifted her way as heat from his body radiated out, surrounding her. Cocooned in Zane’s warmth, she fought an unwelcome attraction to him by thinking of Steven, the man who’d shattered her faith. And that reminder worked. Thoughts of Steven could destroy any thrilling moment in her life. She dipped the razor into the sink and shook it off. Zane’s gaze left the mirror, and as she lifted her eyes to his, there in that moment, a sudden surprising sizzle passed between them.

  One, two, three seconds went by.

  And then he focused his attention back on the mirror, keeping a silent vigil on her reflection.

  “How are you holding up?”
she asked, breaking the quiet tension.

  “Am I bleeding?”

  Her lips hitched at his intense tone. “No.”

  “Then, I’m good.”

  Yes. Yes, he was.

  “Okay, now for your throat. Chin up, please.”

  He obeyed without quarrel. Gosh, he really did trust her. Something warm slid into her belly, and the feeling clung to her as she finished up his shave.

  “All done,” she said after another minute. “Not a nick on you, I might add.” At least one of them had come out of this unscathed.

  “I think I hear Mrs. Lopez tinkering in the kitchen now.” She handed him his razor and jumped down from the counter. “Do you want breakfast? Coffee?”

  She was partway out the door when Zane caught her arm just above the elbow. He looked gorgeous in his white ribbed tank, his face and throat shaved clean but for the last traces of shave cream. “Just a sec. I haven’t thanked you. And you don’t have to worry about breakfast for me.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. That’s not part of your job description.”

  Well, duh. She knew that. Mariah hadn’t served him his meals, but Jessica couldn’t very well tell him she’d run her mouth in order to get away from him as quickly as possible.

  “We’ll go over what I expect of you as my assistant this morning. Thanks for the shave.” He slid his hands down his smooth face, and his eyes filled with admiration. “Feels great. You’re pretty good.”

  She swallowed. Did this mean she’d have to shave him every day?

  Gosh, she really didn’t think this through thoroughly enough.

  “Thanks. Well, I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Oh, and Jess?”

  “Yeah?”

  He released her arm. “I’m glad you’ll be staying on. I do need your help. And I think you’ll enjoy it, but whenever you’re ready to head home, I’ll...understand.”

  “Thanks, Zane. I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  Four hours later, Jessica sat behind the desk in Zane’s office, satisfied she had things under control. It had been a little scary at first. What did she really know about Zane’s celebrity life? But Mariah had been acutely efficient, keeping good records and documenting things, which made it easier for Jess to slide into the role of personal assistant. She seemed to live by a detailed calendar, and Zane’s appointments, events and meetings were clearly labeled. Thank you, Mariah, for not being a slouch. In the day planner she came to regard as The Book, Mariah had jotted down phone numbers next to names and brief reminders of what needed to be said or done.

  No to the People magazine interview.

  Yes to donating twenty thousand dollars to the Children’s Hospital charity. Zane would make an appearance in the future.

  No to an appearance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show.

  And so on.

  With a little help from Zane earlier this morning, she was able to field a few phone calls and make the necessary arrangements for him. It was clear Zane was in a state of celebrity hibernation. Other than opening a new restaurant, Zane was pretty much in a deep freeze. Maybe he needed the break away from the limelight, or maybe he wasn’t through running away from his demons.

  In a sense, she was doing the same thing by being here, afraid to go home, afraid to face the pitfalls in her own life. She, too, was hiding out, so she had no right to judge him or try to fix the situation. It wasn’t any of her business. That was for sure.

  “How’re you doing?” he asked.

  She glanced up from The Book to find him standing at the office threshold, leaning on his crutches. She flashed back to shaving him this morning and the baffling emotions that followed her into breakfast. Her heart tumbled a little.

  “Good, I think.”

  He smiled. “Anything I can help you with?”

  “No, not at the moment.”

  He didn’t leave. He didn’t enter the room.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

  “Sort of.” His lips twisted back and forth. “You see, Dylan’s bugging me about this script. Fact is, I don’t know if acting is right for me. I never had an acting lesson in my life. So I want to say no to him. But...”

  She braced her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “But, just maybe it’s something you want to do?”

  He stared at her. “Hell, I don’t know, Jess. I guess I need a reason to say no.”

  “And how can I help you with that?”

  “Dylan’s got this idea that if I had someone run lines with me, I’d feel better about accepting the role. Or not. I didn’t ask Mariah, well...because she works for me and I’m not sure she would be—”

  “Honest?”

  “Objective. She tends to encourage me to try new things, so she might not be the person to ask.”

  “So you’re saying I’d have no problem telling you ‘you suck’?”

  He chuckled. “Would you?”

  “No, no problem at all.”

  His brows gathered. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “I’d have only your best interests at heart. But honestly, Zane, what do I know about acting? What if my instincts aren’t dead-on? What if I get it wrong?”

  “Bad acting is bad acting. You can tell if someone sings off-key, can’t you?”

  “Sometimes, but my ear for music isn’t as good as yours.”

  “But you’re real, Jess. You would know when something is authentic. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”

  His faith in her was a heady thing. She couldn’t deny she was flattered. And as his personal assistant, she couldn’t really tell him she didn’t want to do it.

  “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  “We read through some scenes. See if I can grasp the character.”

  “Where?”

  He pointed to the long beige leather sofa—the most comfortable place to sleep in Zane’s world. “Right here.” He hobbled into the room on his crutches and sank down, resting the crutches on the floor. “The script is behind you on the bookcase. If you could get it and bring it over...”

  “Sure.” She turned and found it quickly. “Wildflower?”

  “That’s the one. You know most of the story.”

  She did. She was there when Dylan explained the premise of the romantic mystery to both of them the other day. It was about a man who comes home to his family’s ranch after a long estrangement and finds his brother romantically involved with the woman he’d left behind. There’s a mystery surrounding their father’s death and a whole cast of characters who are implicated, including both brothers. “I think it’s a good story, Zane.”

  “Well, let’s see if I can do it justice.”

  “Sure.”

  She walked over to the couch and took a seat one cushion away from him.

  “I don’t think that’s going to work,” Zane said. “You have to sit next to me.” He waved the script in the air. “There’s only one of these.”

  “Right.” As she scooted closer to him, Zane’s eyes flicked over her legs and lingered for half a second. Oh, boy. The back of her neck prickled with heat. In a subtle move, she adjusted her position and lowered the shorts riding up her legs to midthigh. Zane didn’t seem to notice. He’d focused back on the script and was busy flipping through story pages.

  “Okay, here’s a scene we can do together. It’s where Josh and Bridget meet for the first time since his return.”

  She peered at the pages and read the lines silently. It was easy enough to follow. There were one or two sentences of description to set up the scene and action taking place. The rest was dialogue, and each character’s part was designated by a name printed in bold letters.

  “You start first,” he said, poin
ting to the top of the page. “Where Josh speaks to Bridget in front of her house.”

  “Okay, here goes.” She glanced at him and smiled.

  He didn’t smile back. He was taking this very seriously. She cleared her throat and concentrated on the lines before her. “Josh? You’re home? When did you get back? I...I didn’t know you’d come.”

  “My father is dead. You thought I wouldn’t return for his burial?”

  “No. I mean...it’s just that you’ve been gone so long.”

  “So you wrote me off?”

  A note of anger came through in Zane’s voice. It was perfect.

  “That’s not how it happened. You left me, remember? You said you couldn’t take living here anymore.”

  “I gave you a choice, Bridget. You didn’t choose me.”

  “That wasn’t a choice. You asked me to leave everything behind. My family, my friends, my job and a town I love. I don’t hate the way you do.”

  “You think I hate this place?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Once, I loved everything about this place. Including you.”

  Jessica stared at him. The way he dropped his voice to a gravelly tone and spoke his lines was so real, so genuine, it impressed the hell out of her.

  “But you’ve moved on.” Now Zane’s voice turned cold. He had a definite knack for dialogue. “With my brother.”

  They read the next three pages, bantering back and forth, learning the characters and living them. The scene was intense, and Zane held his own. He had a lot of angst inside him and found his release using the screenwriter’s words on the page.

  The scene was almost finished. Just a few more lines to go.

  “Don’t come back here, Josh,” she said, meeting Zane’s eyes. “I don’t want to see you again.”

  Zane was really into the character now. “That’s too bad, Bridget.” The depth of his emotion had her believing. “I’m back to stay.”

  “I’m going to marry your brother.”

  “Like hell you are,” Zane said fiercely, leaning toward Jessica, his face inches from hers.

  “Don’t...Josh...don’t mess with my life again.”