Counterfeit Cowboy

by Gail MacMillan

  “Really?” She looked over at him, green eyes wide with surprise and emotion. “Jordan, that’s crazy…and the most romantic thing ever. Except, maybe…”

  “Except maybe what? Something your fiancé did or does or…”

  “Come on, Jordan.” She gave him a withering look.

  “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Mind if I help myself to coffee?”

  He stood and headed for the counter.

  “What I was going to say was it was the most romantic thing except for a picnic on a beach and being serenaded in the moonlight.”

  He swung back, but before he could catch her expression, she was on her feet and heading out the door. “Quiche in the oven,” she called back.

  Damn! So that night on the beach had meant something special to her, too. Now she was throwing it all away for security with a guy she might love but wasn’t in love with…that kiss had told him that much. But it was what she wanted, so he’d be better to leave it alone.

  He went to the counter and yanked the coffeepot from its machine. Hot brew splashed down the front of his shirt, and he yelped and pulled it off so fast the buttons popped. He was rubbing his chest with its dry parts when the screen door opened. Glancing up he expected to see Shelby returning, and a warm wash of pleasure that had nothing to do with hot coffee began in his belly.

  “Aw, nice!” Andy Crowell’s anger greeted him.

  The farmer stood inside the door, glaring at him. “You must have the morals of a tomcat, Brooks.” He started across the kitchen, hands balling into fists. “Hooking up with my lady right after our engagement party. Bastard!” He was aiming a fist at Jordan’s jaw when Shelby burst into the kitchen and grabbed his arm.

  “Andy, no! It’s not what you think! Jordan had a bit too much to drink and he slept in the guest room.”

  “Come on, Shelby. Tell me another one.” His face was still a mask of outrage, but he allowed her to pull his arm down and back him off a couple of steps. “This guy does some stupid stunt, riding in on our engagement party on a white horse, and as soon as I’m out of the way he lands himself in your bed. He hasn’t even got the decency to get the hell out of here afterwards. Instead I find him parading himself around your kitchen, half naked…”

  “Okay, okay.” Shelby released him and stepped back. “If that’s what you think, if that’s how little you trust me, maybe we should call the whole thing off.” She began to work the ring from her third finger.

  “Hell, no, Shel, that’s not…” He moved about agitatedly. “You know it’s not what I want. I trust you, I really do. It’s just that this guy, this Mr. Superstar, that I discovered after the fact spent the summer with you, shows up last night when I’m thinking it didn’t matter, that it was really me you wanted all along. And this morning I find him bare-chested in your kitchen, bold as brass, after spending the night.”

  “So…” Shelby fingered the ring. “What is it, Andy? Do you believe me or not?”

  He looked from her to Jordan and back again. “Yeah, yes, I trust you. Damn it, I love you, girl.” He swung on Jordan. “But I’ll be obliged if you pull on some clothes and get the hell out of here.”

  “Fine.” Jordan shoved his arms into his coffee-wet shirt and headed for the door. “Thanks for bringing my truck and trailer down from the road, Doctor. I’ll get it back to the rental agency right away.”

  His left hand on the screen door, he paused. Finally, he turned back to Andy and extended his right. “Congratulations, Crowell. I wish you both the best. But if I ever hear you haven’t been treating her right, I’ll be back…and that’s a promise.”

  The other man hesitated, then accepted his offer. “Fair enough,” he said gruffly. “But you won’t need to come back...ever.”

  Jordan took one last look at Shelby, saw a mixture of emotions he couldn’t understand mirrored in her face, then turned and went out to his rented truck. The rotten, empty sensation in his gut made him feel like some kind of cardboard cutout…a genuine counterfeit cowboy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Andy Crowell went to the door and watched as Jordan drove away.

  “Well, that’s that.” He turned and strode back across the room to pour a cup of coffee.

  “Yes, it certainly is.” Shelby leaned back against a counter and drew a deep breath.

  “What? I hope you aren’t having second thoughts about letting him go? Hell, Shelby.” His dark eyes narrowed and she saw his fingers clutching the cup tighten their grip.

  “Not about us.” She went to sit at the table. Her knees felt weak and shaky. “But he is Travis’s employer. I don’t want to do anything to hurt that relationship.”

  “Travis is a big boy.” He sat down opposite her and stretched long jean-clad legs out under the table. “If he’s any good and that rhinestone cowboy feels he can make money off him, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Jordan isn’t like that.” A burst of defensiveness gushed over her. “He’s only in the music business to help the boys in his band. He’s…”

  “Yeah, yeah, he’s a super saint. Come on, Shelby, what kind of guy shows up at another man’s engagement party and tries to steal the girl?”

  “He didn’t know about the party. I never got a chance to tell Travis.”

  “Didn’t get a chance, or didn’t want to in case he told Mr. Wonderful about it?”

  The sound of an approaching vehicle gave her an out from further discussion.

  “My first patient, Andy. We’ll have to talk later.”

  She stood and headed for her clinic.

  Once inside, she paused before unlocking the door for her patient and leaned her forehead against its edge. How she’d get through the day she didn’t know. The man she was in love with—the man she would always be in love with—had left forever. Her life stretched out in front of her, empty and lonely.

  ****

  Shelby couldn’t sleep. Tossing and turning, she couldn’t get Jordan Brooks out of her mind. She’d promised to marry her friend and neighbor, and yet that other man, the man she truly loved, haunted her and would always, she feared, haunt her. Visions of what might have been with Jordan flitted across her troubled mind…images of them sharing a life together on the farm, of their children, grandchildren. Happily ever after. She drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. Right. There would be no such thing for her.

  Andy Crowell was a good man, a reliable man, someone she’d known most of her life. And life wasn’t a fairy tale. So why was she letting ridiculous romantic images clutter up her mind? She was doing the right thing. She would be shoring up her uncle’s beloved farm. But would he approve of her method?

  The thought hit her like a bullet. Her uncle and aunt had been romantics. They’d been in love all their lives, had had the happiness to prove it. Would they want anything less for her? Was the farm more important than any other consideration?

  She got out of bed, wrapped her robe around her, stuffed her feet into her slippers, and went to the window. A new moon was rising above the barn and fields. Stars dotted the black velvet of the sky. Down in the barn Fancy whinnied softly, contentedly. She, Doctor Shelby Masters, loved this place, could not imagine herself being truly happy anywhere else. And Jordan had been happy here.

  She knew so little about him. She had to know more. He’d said he was from Prince Edward Island. How many people named Brooks lived there? He’d asked Michelle to sign that autograph “To Ellen.” She went to her computer and found Canada 411. Shortly she’d found the name. Herbert and Ellen Brooks, 102 Rural Route 11, Prince Edward Island.

  ****

  Autumn in New Brunswick is a beautiful time of year. The forests are a mix of the gold, red, and orange of maples and birches contrasted against the dark green backdrop of pine, spruce, cedar, and fir. It was all lost on Shelby as she drove her truck toward Prince Edward Island’s Confederation Bridge that linked the province to the mainland.

  Crazy. This is utterly crazy. What am I doing?

  S
he pulled to the side of the road. When traffic thinned, she’d make a U-turn and head back to her farm.

  But for the next ten minutes it didn’t. By that time, she knew she had to continue. She had to connect with Jordan Brooks again even if it was only seeing where he’d grown up.

  Three hours later, she eased to a halt on a wharf where a single fishing boat rode at anchor. Nearly a dozen more stood in slips along the shore.

  “Hello.” She hailed the dock’s only occupant, a bent man in rubber boots and a mackinaw, as she got out of the dusty truck. It was one of those crisp, clear fall afternoons with only the slightest breeze rippling the water of Northumberland Strait.

  “ ’Afternoon.” He turned to her, a grin crinkling his leathery, nut-brown face. “Sorry. No lobsters. Season’s closed. I’m just waitin’ here for a fella to pull my boat out of the water.”

  “I’m not looking for lobsters.” She went to join him. “I’m on my way to Cavendish. Am I on the right road?”

  “Sure are, but most of the stuff out there is closed down for the winter. You should have come in the summer. Lots of great lobster suppers around here then.”

  “I should have. Oh, well.” She struggled to make her query sound casual. “Maybe I’ll drop in to see friends of friends who are supposed to live along this road. Do you happen to know where I’d find Herb and Ellen Brooks’ farm?”

  “Now, there you’re in luck.” He turned and waved an arm. “About a mile down that way. You can’t miss it. Has a big sign, Brooks Farm, at the gate. You know Herb and Ellen?” He squinted at her in the midafternoon sunlight glinting off the water, and she recognized the country curiosity about strangers, common in rural areas like this and her own.

  She felt at home.

  “No, but we have a mutual friend. Thanks for your help.” Sensing more questions coming, she climbed back in her truck, waved to the man, and reversed off the wharf.

  ****

  She braked to a halt in front of the sign that announced the Brooks farm. The gate to which it was nailed yawned open. Apparently visitors were welcome. She shifted back into drive and headed down the lane through a tunnel of golden-leaved birches.

  At its end was a big white clapboard farmhouse so similar to her own her breath caught in her throat. The major difference was that no clinic jutted out from its side. Down in a field behind it, a long shed with lobster traps piled against its side stood in relatively the same place as her barn and arena.

  Seeing a man rubbing a rag over a gleaming blue tractor beside it, she bypassed the house, with its long line of laundry swaying in the breeze, and headed to join him.

  “ ’Afternoon,” he said pausing and turning to face her, a smile crinkling his face as she swung out of her truck. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  Oh, God, there’s no mistaking those twinkling blue eyes, the broad shoulders, that heart-melting grin. Herb Brooks, you’re as obvious as your son.

  “Sure is.” She smiled.

  What am I doing here? What reason am I going to give?

  “Nice piece of equipment.” Stalling, she looked at the tractor.

  “My son gave it to me.” Pride filled his tone and expression. “He’s a good boy.” The last came out softly, emotionally. “Now,” he cleared his throat and looked over at her. “What can I do for you?” There it was, in full force. Jordan’s easygoing affability.

  “I was on my way to Cavendish, but I’ve been told most of its tourist attractions are closed for the season.” No, no, I can’t lie to this nice man.

  She sucked in a deep breath and began again. “No, that’s not true. Mr. Brooks, I presume?”

  “That’s right.”

  Damn! Now he’s looking at me with full-blown curiosity. He’ll think I’m some kind of crazy groupie…but here goes.

  “I’m a friend of your son Jordan. He stayed at my horse farm on Chaleur Bay this past summer, taking riding lessons for his upcoming movie. Jordan and I became…friends.”

  “Good lord, you’re Shelby…Dr. Shelby Masters!” He stepped forward to grasp her hand in a quick, firm grip that seemed to radiate the warmth of summer sunshine. “Well, well! At last we get to meet the Shelby we’ve heard so much about. Come up to the house. Ellen will be tickled pink.”

  He put an arm about her shoulders and propelled her toward the back door of the farmhouse.

  ****

  “Shelby.” Petite, pretty Ellen Brooks held both Shelby’s hands in hers and smiled. “What a wonderful surprise! Take off your jacket. Sit down.” She released her to indicate the chairs surrounding the big pine table in the center of the warm, sunny kitchen. “I’ve got scones in the oven and a fresh pot of coffee brewing. You arrived just in time for our afternoon break.”

  Still overwhelmed by the warmth of their welcome and their knowledge of her, Shelby obeyed, draping her faux suede jacket over the back of a chair. A woodstove in a far corner gave off a comforting warmth in the sundrenched room.

  “This place was built by my great-great-grandfather.” Herb Brooks pulled off his mackinaw and sat down. “Been in the family ever since.”

  “It’s lovely.” Shelby glanced around the gleaming room, where pine cupboards and finish details maintained the nineteenth-century ambience, right down to a cozy couch in one corner near the woodstove. Shining appliances, granite countertops, and a ceramic floor offered modern convenience.

  “Thank you.” Ellen Brooks pulled a pan of golden scones from the oven of the electric range. “You’re just exactly what Jordan needs…a girl who can appreciate what he really is.”

  “Now the big question.” Herb Brooks’ eyes twinkled as he looked over at her. “When are you going to make an honest man of our boy?”

  “Oh, Herb, just look!” Ellen Brooks had caught the glint of Shelby’s ring as she raised her hand in the sunlight. “It must be soon. Wonderful, wonderful!” She paused with the coffeepot in her hand, a delighted smile lighting up her face.

  “I’m sorry.” Shelby felt a gush of shame. Why didn’t I remove the damn thing before I came here? “The ring didn’t come from Jordan.”

  “Then…someone else?” Ellen Brooks stared at it winking in the sunlight.

  “Yes. Jordan and I…our worlds are too far apart. I’m engaged to my neighbor. Jordan is devoted to the boys in his band, and…”

  “Yes, Jordan’s devoted to the boys in his band,” Ellen Brooks said softly, her words barely above a whisper.

  “I think we’d better tell Shelby the whole story.” Herb Brooks paused and drew in a breath. “Jordan had a younger brother, Kevin. He died in a high-speed car chase with police. All three young lads involved had been drinking and using drugs. The car was stolen. Jordan vowed then and there to do all he could to prevent anything like that from happening to other kids.”

  There was a silence when the farmer finished. The clock on a shelf above the woodstove ticked. The farmer stared into space. His wife fingered the handle of the coffeepot, her gaze focused blankly on it.

  “I’m so sorry.” Shelby’s words were barely above a whisper. “I had no idea…”

  “Kevin left us something precious.” Ellen Brooks blinked back tears and smiled a rainbow over at Shelby. “His girlfriend, we discovered, was pregnant. She was only seventeen, far too young to be a mother. She wanted to get on with her life, so our eldest son Dave and his wife Lisa adopted Kevin’s little boy.”

  “Dave and Lisa have a small house about a mile down the road.” Herb Brooks took up the story. “He works the farm and fishery with me. When I retire, we’ll switch houses. He’ll become the fifth generation to run the business. Maybe little Jody will be the sixth.”

  “I’m sure he will.” A respectful silence followed. Then Shelby stood. “I really have to be going. Probably I shouldn’t have come, but I felt I had to know more about Jordan, more about…”

  “Shelby.” Ellen Brooks rounded the table and caught her by the hand that wore Andy’s diamond. “Are you sure about this?” She indicated th
e ring. “I mean, if you were really sure, if you really loved this man, you wouldn’t have taken the time and trouble to come here, to meet Jordan’s parents, to learn more about him.”

  “Now, Ellen, don’t go interfering.” Herb Brooks looked down into his coffee cup, frowning. “Shelby’s a smart young woman. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Do you, dear?” Ellen Brooks looked into Shelby’s face with such intensity Shelby wanted to wriggle like a guilty child. She knew—this lovely, kind woman knew she loved Jordan, not Andy.

  The ring winked again, and she came back to her senses. She and Jordan had no future together. She and Andy Crowell did. Get sensible, Shelby.

  Gently, she freed her hand and turned away.

  “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  ****

  The beautiful afternoon had vanished into a dull overcast. The sky held that ominous grey-white color that meant snow wasn’t far off as she left the Centennial Bridge and headed north. She pushed the old truck to the top of the speed limit and hoped she’d get home before it started.

  Her visit to Jordan’s family home had only made things worse. Now she understood the man better, knew he could be happy on a farm in New Brunswick, but more importantly she understood his dedication to his band. She couldn’t expect him to abandon what he saw as a way to help other young men and keep them from suffering his brother’s fate.

  As she drove through a small town in the darkening late afternoon, a streetlight blinked on and made the diamond on her finger flash. A wave of nausea wafted over her. How could she marry a man she wasn’t in love with, simply to cement their businesses? It was medieval.

  Please, please, give me a sign, any sign, just so long as it shows me what I should do.

  In an effort to relieve her roiling feelings, she snapped on the radio. The station was playing a Jordan Brooks tune. Was this the sign? Hardly, when most of the country music stations in North America were constantly playing his tunes.