“How many horses can you work each day, Travis?” she asked her brother. “What’s the maximum you can train?”
“Giving each an hour, six maybe seven.” He glanced over at her. “I have to allow time for feeding, cleaning, grooming, and the like.”
“I know. I also know I’m working you way too hard, but hopefully it will only be for a couple more months. Not even that long if we find Black.” She tried to sound optimistic.
“Sure.” The word reeked of defeat.
“Hey, look, I’m really sorry.” Shelby stopped the old truck before pulling out onto the highway. “I know this schedule leaves hardly any time for your music. But I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Don’t sweat it, Shel.” He threw one of his heart-melting, crooked grins her way. “We’re not about to let Uncle Jack’s dream die. A little extra work will just harden up the muscles that drive the ladies crazy, right?” He flexed an arm.
“Have I told you lately you’re terrific?” She grinned back. Returning her attention to her driving, she shifted gears and got truck and trailer on the road home.
****
As they lumbered down the Trans Canada, Travis slipped a CD into the stereo. A few seconds later, Jordan Brooks’ sexy tenor voice filled the cab.
“Do you have to play that guy?” Shelby snapped, then as quickly softened her tone. “Sorry, Travis. Play whatever you like.”
“I can’t understand what you have against Jordan Brooks.” He turned down the volume. “What’s he done to get you so cranked against him?”
“He’s a counterfeit cowboy. He gyrates around a stage in skin-tight jeans, professionally faded shirt, and fancy boots that have never once stepped in manure. He’s pretending he’s a cowboy when he can’t ride a carousel.” Damn, now I’m taking expressions from that Wise woman’s vocabulary. “Real cowboys lead tough, hard lives. They fight the weather and big, strong, uncooperative animals every day of their lives and don’t get paid a tenth of what that phony does. They’re real men doing real jobs, not some actor with painted-on pants and a salon coiffure.”
“But what Jordan does is a real job, Shel.” Travis tapped his boots and fingertips in time to the tune. “He gives people a good time. We all need that once in a while…even you, if you’d admit it. And—” He looked over at her, eyes narrowing. “How do you know he can’t ride? Maybe he’s as good as us or better.”
“Just a guess.” Telling her brother about Ann Wise’s offer and that she’d given it a pass would be tantamount to kicking him in the teeth.
“Yeah, well, don’t go making assumptions. Like I said, you don’t know the man.”
“All right, all right. Why don’t you lie back and try to get some sleep. It’s a five-hour drive home, and I’ll be expecting you to take over half of it.”
“Sure.” Travis stretched his long legs out in front of him as best he could, leaned back against the seat, and tilted his baseball cap over his eyes.
Chapter Two
Shelby leaned forward and turned off the Jordan Brooks CD. Her brother was asleep, looking like an exhausted child with his handsome, young face at rest. She smiled as she returned her attention to the road. It was well past his time to take over the driving, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to wake him. He worked so hard for so little reward. He at least deserved his rest. And even that counterfeit cowboy’s music when he was awake to enjoy it. Right now he wasn’t, and she had no intention of listening to it on her own.
She was drifting back into doing mental finances when the truck suddenly jolted, bumped, and ricocheted. Grappling with the steering wheel, her heart leaped into panic mode. Dear God, what’s wrong, what’s happening?
“What’s wrong, Shel?” Travis bolted upright. His hand shot out to clutch the dashboard.
“Blown tire or broken axle.” She grated the guess between clenched teeth.
“Ah, man!”
Battling the big rig, her heart hammering against her ribs, Shelby fought the wheel and prayed. The sheer weight of truck and trailer could be enough to send them flipping off the highway and into the ditch if she lost control.
Easy, take it easy. You can do it. Slow, slow, slow…
She headed for the breakdown lane, the truck and trailer slowly decelerating. Shelby let out a hiccupping breath. We’re going to make it, thank you, God, we’re going to make it.
When she got the vehicle fully out of traffic and eased to a stop, she gulped, closed her eyes, and dropped her forehead onto the top of the steering wheel.
“It’s okay, Shel.” Travis put a hand on her shoulder. “You did just fine. I’ll take a look and see what happened.” He opened his door and jumped to the ground.
As he disappeared toward the rear of the rig, she remained behind the wheel, struggling to regain her nerve and suppress the trembling that threatened to overcome her hands and body.
“It’s only a flat, Shel.” Travis was back, his hands on her door. “But it’s on the trailer. We’ll have to unload the horses to fix it. Lucky we’re in a wooded area. We can tie them in the trees.”
“Yes, lucky.” The two words reeked of weariness and defeat.
“Ah, come on, Sis. No one was hurt, and the horses are fine. It’s just a little delay.”
He was looking in at her, his expression full of optimism she felt sure he was far from feeling. Bless the kid.
“Okay, okay.” She opened her door and climbed out. “Let’s get to it.”
****
Travis was lowering the tailgate when they saw a bus approaching.
“Damn, it’s Jordan Brooks and his crowd!” Travis waved his cap as the vehicle roared past them. “Hey, Jordan,” he yelled.
The bus’s tail lights turned red, its signals flashing a right-hand pullover. It eased onto the side of the road twenty yards beyond Travis and Shelby. The door opened and Jordan Brooks, wearing baggy shorts, a faded T-shirt, and scuffed running shoes, swung to the ground.
“Oh, man!” Travis breathed. “I wasn’t flagging them down. I didn’t mean…”
“Need some help, folks?” The singer strode toward them, a grin plastered across his handsome face.
“No, thanks, we’re okay.” Shelby heard herself replying. “It’s just a flat.”
“Ah-ha.” He paused beside her to frown down at the blown tire. He was taller than she’d thought, his shoulders broader and his face even better-looking close up, undisguised by sunglasses and cap. “One of my guys has a mechanic’s license. He’ll be happy to help. By the way, I’m Jordan Brooks.”
He held out a hand.
Surprised, Shelby hesitated. Is this an act or can he be so unassuming that he doesn’t think we’ll know who he is?
“Shelby Masters.” She brought herself out of it and accepted his offer. “And this is my brother Travis.”
“Travis.” He turned next to her awestruck sibling and again extended a hand.
“Mr. Brooks.” Travis gulped out the acknowledgement.
“Jordan.” He again quirked that amazing grin before turning to stride back toward his bus.
“Hey, Matt, get out here. We need your expertise,” he shouted.
“Man!” Travis recovered his power of speech. “Jordan Brooks’ band helping us change a tire! Who’d have thought!”
Passing motorists, seeing the logo on the side of the bus, began pulling over. The driver jumped out and waved them on.
“Everything’s fine, folks. Nothing to see. Keep moving,” he shouted. A balding fifty-something with a burgeoning paunch, he exuded an authority that brooked no refusal. Retired cop, Shelby labeled him.
“This is Matt, my lead guitar and one of the best mechanics Bayshore High School ever graduated.” Jordan was back with a young man about Travis’s age by his side. “Matt, this is Shelby Masters and her brother Travis.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss, Travis.” Matt broke into a smile that made him look like just another big kid. “Let’s take a gander at your trailer.” He squa
tted beside the wheel.
“We’ll have to unload.” Travis was coming out of his hero-worship trance. “We can’t jack it up with three horses inside.”
“Right.” Matt stood. “Let’s get to it.”
Travis lowered the tailgate.
“Whoa!” Jordan backed away from the horses’ shifting hindquarters. “They’re big ones, aren’t they?”
“Average for western pleasure.” Shelby started up the ramp. “Come on, Travis. The sooner we get these guys out of here, the sooner Matt can help us with the wheel.”
****
Ten minutes later Shelby waited in the shade of roadside trees with the horses while Travis, Matt, and other members of Jordan’s group worked over the trailer. The bus driver had remained beside the band’s vehicle, waving curious traffic on their way. Watching, the superstar stood to one side.
“No need to help, Jordan,” she heard Matt say as the young band member rubbed his hands on the thighs of his scrubby jeans. “Take a break. You’ve been up most of the night.”
“Looks like you guys have everything under control.” He stepped back. “I’ll join the lady.” He jerked his head in Shelby’s direction.
“I can tell when I’m not needed,” he grinned as he came to stand beside her. “I have a thermos of really good coffee in the bus. How about you and I share it? Your brother said you were driving when that tire blew. Must have been a nerve rattler. Maybe a bit of caffeine before you hit the road again wouldn’t hurt. It’s the only thing I’ve got to offer, I’m afraid.”
“Sure, okay, thanks.” She forced a smile and nodded.
“Wait here.” He turned and jogged off in the direction of the bus. Even dressed in that baggy outfit, Jordan Brooks exuded a sexiness she couldn’t deny.
Stop it. Just stop it. He’s only a counterfeit cowboy. And not a very convincing one, in that getup.
She sank down on the grass to wait for him.
“Hope you can take it black.” He returned with a large thermos and two Styrofoam cups. “No cream or sugar available.”
“That’ll do just fine.” Shelby took one of the cups and held it up to be filled. He twisted the top from the thermos and obliged.
“Ah!” He sat down beside her, knees bent, elbows resting on them, cup cradled in his hands, and squinted over at her, amazing blue eyes twinkling. “Fire door lady, right?”
“So it was you behind those sunglasses. Travis said it was, but I couldn’t imagine what a superstar would be doing wandering around behind a bunch of barns at seven a.m.”
“I had to grab a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, I swear, we go for days without being outdoors in daylight.”
“Still, the money must be good.” She slanted him a sideways glance and caught the jerking smirk that threw up his head.
“Yes, well, you got that right.” He squinted up into a shaft of sunlight piercing through the trees. “What about you? Are horses your livelihood or do you have other irons in the fire?”
“I’m a vet. I run my practice from the horse farm my brother and I operate.” She felt herself relaxing. He seemed a regular guy, no pretensions attached.
“You must be one busy lady.” Blue eyes looked deep into green with a sincerity of interest.
“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do.” She pulled her gaze from his and tried to focus on the coffee she swirled in her cup. “Just like you.”
“I guess.” He breathed out the words.
“Sounds as if being a country-western superstar wasn’t your dream.” She glanced over at him.
“It just sort of happened.” He canted his head and gave her a resigned grin. “One night I was performing with my band at a high school dance, and the next morning we had an agent and were signing a deal with a Nashville producer.”
“Ann Wise lets no grass grow under her stilettos.”
“You know Annie?” Astonishment mirrored in his words.
“She came to see me last night. She wanted me to teach you to ride.”
“That’s typical Annie.” He shook his head ruefully. “She never tells me what she’s up to until it’s a done deal.” He swung to face her. “I take it you refused. Otherwise I’d be on my way to your place to learn to sit a horse.”
“I don’t have the time or desire to turn my farm into the exclusive riding school of a single pupil.”
“I detect a distinct note of bitterness in those words, ma’am. I’d bet there’s more to it than that. Something personal, maybe? Maybe you don’t think I could be trusted to live in close proximity to a pretty lady like yourself?” A corner of his mouth quirked up, sapphire eyes twinkled, and something inside Dr. Shelby Masters stirred…again. Damn!
“Don’t flatter yourself!” she snapped, startling herself with her reaction.
Way to go, Shelby. Be nasty to your good Samaritan.
“Sorry.” He turned his gaze to stare across the highway, rubbing the Styrofoam cup between his palms. “That sounded like inflated ego. Hope I’m not starting to believe Annie’s publicity.”
“No, I’m sorry. You and your band stopped to help us. I had no right to speak to you like that. It’s just that…”
“What?”
“Hey, you guys!” Travis hailed them. “Trailer’s fixed. We’re ready to roll. Shel, you can start loading the horses.”
“Thanks, Mr. Brooks.” She stood, handed him her empty coffee cup, and brushed the back of her jeans. “We really appreciate your help. If we can ever do anything for you…”
“Anything but riding lessons?” He gathered up the thermos and cups.
“Anything but riding lessons.” She untied Fancy and started to lead the mare past him.
“I think we should discuss Annie’s offer in a little more detail. Our meeting twice in the same day could be serendipitous.”
“I don’t believe in fate, Mr. Brooks.” She paused in front of him.
“Not a drop of the fanciful in you?”
“Not a drop. Come on, Fancy.”
“But you have a horse called Fancy.” He followed her.
“So?” She stopped again and faced him.
“I’d call that fanciful, wouldn’t you?” He was grinning, teasing her.
“Excuse me. We have to be getting back on the road.” She started to brush past him, but he caught her by the arm. Fancy, startled by the sudden movement, threw up her head and half-reared.
“Hey!” Jordan staggered back, arms flying up, spewing coffee and cups into the air.
“Easy, girl, easy.” Shelby brought the startled animal under control and rubbed her nose.
“Gave me a bit of a start.” Jordan brushed coffee from his T-shirt.
“I can see it did.” Shelby rounded on him. “That’s exactly why I don’t plan to waste my time making a counterfeit cowboy look like the real thing.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You’re no more a cowboy than a dancing monkey, but you’ve got people coast to coast believing you are. I’m not about to help you promote a phony image. Come on, Fancy.”
She clucked to the mare and led her past the man she’d silenced.
“You guys!” The bus driver yelled at the group standing back admiring their work on the trailer. “Get your sorry asses on the bus! Excuse my language, miss, but we’re late. Jordan, that means you, too. We’ve got to roll!”
Chapter Three
Jordan Brooks climbed back aboard the bus and took his seat behind the driver. Dr. Shelby Masters’ opinion annoyed him. He’d never told anyone he was a cowboy. He glanced down at his shorts and T-shirt. Did he look like a cowboy?
Apparently she was one of those people who disdained country music, one of those individuals too rigid to relax and let the tunes do them some good. Sure, it wasn’t Mozart or Brahms or any of the other classical composers he’d studied in university, but it made people laugh and dance and sing along and sometimes even cry a much-needed release. It was part of North American culture, it was folk art, and anyone too narr
ow-minded to accept it for what it was…
But she was an eyeful with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. The soft chestnut curls escaping from it had framed her cheeks and forehead like something out of a Jane Austen creation. Her face, too, could have come straight out of a romantic novel. Beautiful and heart-shaped, it had a complexion that would have done any cover girl proud, and all without makeup, he suspected. And the shabby jeans and sweatshirt didn’t hide the fact that she had one terrific figure. Physically, Dr. Shelby Masters definitely was a woman to catch a man’s interest. It was her attitude that sullied all of the above. When she looked at him, her long-lashed emerald eyes mirrored contempt. And that wasn’t fair.
He leaned back in the seat and began to sing an old country hit, something about someone not knowing him but not liking him.
“New tune for the show, Jordan?” Jessie, his fiddle player, paused beside him. He was the last of the group to get back on the bus.
“No, an old one…from before you were born. Now why don’t you try to get some rest? Big show again tonight.”
“Okay, boss.” Jessie headed off down the aisle.
The bus lurched as they started off. Up ahead Jordan could see Shelby’s rig moving to the top of the speed limit. Anxious to get home, wherever that might be.
Trying to ignore the cacophony coming from the rear of the bus where his band had gathered, he let his head drop back against the seat and closed his eyes. He’d like to be going home. Home to decent meals, clean clothes, and nights that ended before two a.m.
“Nice-looking lady.” Bus driver Joe Farrah adjusted his bottom on his seat and glanced at Jordan via the mirror over his head.
“Yeah, nice-looking.”
“Too bad we have to keep moving. You haven’t had a date in a dog’s age. Come to think of it, neither have I. Haven’t seen Lili since the last time I got home to Yarmouth, and that was four months ago.”
Counterfeit Cowboy Page 3