"Brett, why are we just sitting here."
"Amber…" he murmured, sliding across the bench seat and taking her hand, "I wanted to talk to you here, in my truck. This is where it all began. This is where I first kissed you, where we spent so many hours together. I'm so damn happy you're back in my life. I need to be with you like I need to breathe."
"Brett, where is this coming from?"
"Seein' you with that madman I damn near had a heart attack, and I suddenly started thinkin' about all the years we've missed. I'm not talkin' about you, I'm talkin' about me. I had all kinds of reasons for not gettin' in touch, but standin' in that bedroom and seein' you at that lunatic's mercy, none of those reasons made any sense."
"But I'm here now."
"I know, and I thank God. I used to wonder how it would be if we found our way back to each other. If it would work, or if we'd meet and there'd be nothin' but awkwardness, but I had this feelin' in my gut that I had to make it happen. People say you can't go back, but they're wrong. We've gone back, grabbed what we had, and made it even better."
"That's how it feels to me as well. Even though you look totally different, you're the same. The way you look at me, how I feel when I'm with you, no time has passed."
"Amber, I'm sayin' all this 'cos I don't want you to leave. Will you please move in with me properly? Will you please stay?"
"Oh, my gosh, of course I will. I want to be with you too, more than I can say, but…"
"No, no, don't use the but word."
"I'll have to quit."
"Whatta you talkin' about?"
"The book. Do you still want me to write the book?"
"Write it, don't write it, I don't care, darlin'. I just want you at my side. Why are you hesitatin'?"
"I'm not. I'm thrilled, but I can't work for you and be with you. That would be weird."
"You mean 'cos I'm payin' you?"
"Exactly. I'm still happy to help you write it, but you can't pay me. I'll find something else."
"You're sure?" he asked solemnly, though he understood her reasoning.
"One-thousand percent."
Leaning in, he planted his lips on hers, devouring her mouth, his love flowing through his kiss.
"I'm so happy," she murmured as they broke apart. "I feel alive. It's like every nerve in my body is sparking."
"Me too."
"This is one of those moments we'll always remember."
"Yep, and one of many more to come. Now we have to get goin'. I'm hopin' Steve is showin' Spike how smart Catori is. If he is, I want you to see it."
Sliding back behind the wheel, he drove the aqua truck down to the barn, and hurrying out to the paddocks, he found he'd guessed right. Spike was sitting on the fence watching Steve and Catori.
"You don't wanna miss a second of this," Brett said, taking her hand as he broke into a jog.
They reached Spike just as Steve's black and white horse began cantering in a circle. Running alongside him, Steve deftly leapt on to Catori's back, then rising to his feet, he stood tall on the horse's rump.
"My gosh. That's incredible," Amber said with a gasp. "How did he do that?"
Crouching down, Steve then slid astride his horse, swung his body around and sat on him backwards. Catori didn't miss a beat, but continued his steady canter until Steve jumped off and waved his arm. The beautiful gelding came to an abrupt halt, and dropped to one knee, taking a bow.
"Fuck me," Spike muttered. "I've never seen anything like it."
"You're dead!" Steve declared.
Catori fell on his side, and walking across to him, Steve sat down beside him, lifted his head and rested it in his lap, stroking the horse's ears and neck.
"How does he make him do that?" Spike asked.
"I asked him that once," Brett replied, "and he said, I don't make him do anything. He does as I ask because he wants to."
"This is one of the best moments of my life," Spike mumbled, and sliding off the fence, he strode across the grass and knelt down beside Steve.
"That's what we're like," Amber murmured, leaning against Brett's shoulder. "Even back then when you'd instruct me to do things, you don't make me do anything. I did as you asked because I wanted to, and that hasn't changed."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Twenty-Four Hours Later
Though Robert Hoffman hated commercial flying, for short trips he tolerated the busy airports, bustling crowds and intrusive security, but standing in the packed bus that transported passengers from terminal to terminal he changed his mind.
"Last time I do this," he grunted as he stepped out. "Now where the hell is that rental car company?"
Under normal circumstances he would never have left his opulent Beverly Hills home, but Andrew's email left him no choice. Locking the expensive camera in the hotel safe had been the smart thing to do, and Robert couldn't wait to view the pictures. Finally finishing the laborious task of picking up the car, he entered the address of The White Feather Lodge into the navigator. An hour's drive to a small community off the beaten track didn't thrill him, but his annoyance gave way to an evil grin as the ribbon of white lines sailed by. Brett Preston would pay handsomely to keep the photographs from becoming public. If he didn't there would be a hefty check from the tabloids, and adding pictures to Amber's unauthorized biography would turn the book into a blockbuster hit.
"I think I'll take a private plane to go home," he muttered as he exited the highway. "Brett Preston can foot the bill."
* * * * * * * * * *
While Robert Hoffman plotted, Brett walked into The White Feather Lodge wearing a baseball cap, aviator glasses, khaki pants and an olive green, short-sleeved shirt. Steve and Spike followed, but hung back as Brett approached the counter.
"Hi," the young female clerk said, blushing a deep red. "Can I help you?"
"Hey there," Brett said warmly, immediately aware his disguise didn't fool her one bit. "I have a reservation under the name David Cameron. I believe I have a suite. Room 222."
Staring at her computer screen, she opened a drawer, retrieved a card key, placed it into a machine, then handed it to him.
"Here you are, Sir. You've already paid so I don't need anything else."
"Haven't we met?"
"At Chips. I work there part-time as well."
"Of course. I remember you, Becky," he said, glancing at her name tag. "You're a busy girl."
"I'm saving up."
"Good for you. Can you do me a favor?"
"Sure. Whatever you need."
"I'm expectin' a guest, and I told him I'd leave a key in an envelope at reception. His name is Robert Hoffman. Can you take care of that for me?"
"Of course."
"One more thing," he said, lowering his voice and removing his glasses. "He doesn't know I'm gonna be waitin', so don't say anything."
"Not a word, Mr. Preston," she replied, a fresh blush moving across her face. "I'll be here at the front until two-o'clock. You don't have to worry."
"Thanks, and give me a quick call when he's on his way up."
"Sure. No problem."
"Put this towards your savings, or treat yourself," he added, pulling a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and handing it to her.
"Mr. Preston! Uh, sorry, I should be calling you Mr. Cameron," she said hastily.
"It's okay, as long as you don't tell anyone I'm here."
"I won't. I swear. Thank you so much."
Donning his sunglasses, he chose the stairs over the elevator, and reaching the second floor he followed the numbers to the double doors at the end. Sliding the key in the lock, he pushed them open, and as they entered, Spike carried his case into the bedroom, while Steve moved quickly to the window.
"Anything interesting out there?" Brett asked, ambling over to join him.
"You can see where the fire burned up the hills," Steve said gravely. "The flames went further than I thought."
Brett heard the pain in his voice. Steve held nature in all its forms close to his heart.
"Forgive me for saying this," Steve continued, turning to face him. "Amber should be here."
"Why?"
"She is the most injured. She should have had the opportunity to face Hoffman."
"I don't know this guy, and I don't want a repeat of what happened with Andrew Stern."
"I understand."
"But you know, Steve, you're probably right. I should have figured out a way for her to do that. Shoot."
"I'll think on it."
"A bit late now, but please do. I have to speak with Spike for a second."
Striding into the bedroom, he found the biker setting up his equipment on the chest of drawers against the wall.
"This is perfect. Just enough space for my equipment and laptops."
"I have a last minute request."
"What's that?"
"I'm not even sure how to go about this, but I'll tell you what I have in mind."
Spike listened, then nodded his head.
"I can make that happen, but it's not a walk in the park. You'd be better off making Hoffman do it himself before I drop the bomb."
"Okay, then I will. Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks again for putting me up last night. I sat in the garden and stared at that totem pole for ages last night. The moon was huge. Reminded me of an adventure I once had with Caleb."
"Hey! I'm the one who's grateful. I'm glad you could stay. Uh, Spike, I don't mean to pry, but you said you only do this computer stuff for fun. Do you have another line of work?"
"Yeah, but there's an old saying: never ask a question the answer to which you may not want to hear."
"That bad?"
"Not bad exactly. Just not everyone's cup of tea."
"Now you've got me intrigued. I'm pretty open-minded. Let me guess. You run a strip joint."
"Ha, no, but I'd like to," Spike replied, grinning broadly. "I'm part-owner of an adult toy store. We specialize in kink."
"No shit."
"No shit. Does that bother you?"
"Bother me? Hell no. Give me the name of your website. I'll be your biggest customer. I wish I could visit, but I can't risk someone seein' me."
"Then come after hours. I'll make sure you get a decent discount."
"Done! I'm glad I asked," he said with a chuckle. "I'd better leave you to it. We want your machines workin' when this creep shows up."
Returning to the living room, he found Steve sitting on the couch, a slight frown creasing his brow.
"I have a suggestion."
"Great. I'm all ears."
"Amber could wait in the car. When you feel the situation is safe you can call her and give her the room number."
"Steve! Dammit. Why didn't I think of that?"
"You were too worried about protecting her."
"Yeah, you're probably right. I'm callin' her right now," he declared, pulling out his phone.
"Brett? I'm so glad to hear from you," Amber said breathlessly. "Are you in the hotel?"
"I sure am."
"I wish I was there."
"Listen, darlin', you can come and wait in the parkin' lot. When I think the time is right I'll text you the room number."
"Really? Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Thank Steve when you see him. This was his idea."
"I will, oh, and tell him Jasmine's here. We finally met and we're getting to know each other. She said she'll wait for him in the barn."
"Okay. I'll pass along the message. Bye, hon."
"Bye, and thanks again."
"Steve, Jasmine's at the ranch waitin' to see you," Brett said, ending the call. "She'll be waitin' in the barn. Steve? What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing," he replied, breaking into an odd smile. "Everything is right. She's going to say yes!"
"Steve…what are you sayin'?"
"I asked her to be my wife. I feel she's accepted."
"That's fantastic. How long has this been goin' on?"
"A very long time. I must be honest. When you took the chance and reached out to Amber, I decided to take the leap," he admitted, then taking a breath, he added. "I have faced many obstacles, fought many battles, but I have never been as nervous as I was speaking with her."
"I know what you mean! This is terrific news. Why don't you invite her to meet you here? Enjoy the afternoon together, have dinner at the restaurant and spend the night. You never take a day off. Please, let me do this for you."
"What about the horses?"
"I can bring the horses in and feed them, and Loki can stay with me. This is important. You need to do this for her, for the both of you."
"Thank you, Brett. I'll call her when we're done."
As he finished speaking, the hotel phone rang, startling them both.
"I think the show's about to go on," he muttered, grabbing the receiver. "Hello?"
"This is Becky at reception. Your visitor is on his way up."
"Thank you, Becky."
Steve darted into the bedroom and alerted Spike.
Brett stepped into the shadows of an alcove off the dining area.
Steve strode back into the room and slipped into the closet by the door.
* * * * * * * * * *
Robert had no intention of staying overnight, but when he spied the pretty young woman behind the check-in desk, temptation tickled.
"Hello, my name's Robert Hoffman. I believe you have an envelope for me."
"Yes, I do," she replied with a smile. "Here you are."
"You have excellent bone structure," he remarked, tilting his head to the side. "Have you ever thought about modeling?"
"I have no interest in show business."
"The glamor, the action, the money? None of that appeals to you?"
"No, but thank you for the compliment."
"Think about it. If you change your mind we can have a chat over dinner," he said, lowering his voice and leaning over the counter. "I'll be down shortly."
Hurrying into the elevator, he pressed the button for the second floor, and as the doors opened and he stepped out, he hurried excitedly down the hall looking for Room 222. Inserting the card key, he walked inside and looked around the room.
"Booked yourself a suite, did you, Andrew? Ah, well, no matter," he muttered, placing his case on the coffee table. "Now where is that safe?"
Brett had no preconceived notions about Robert Hoffman's appearance, but he did not expect the strange little man strutting around the hotel suite. His black thinning hair pulled back in a scrawny ponytail, an oddly shaped mustache beneath a hooked nose, and wearing tortoiseshell Harry Potter glasses, he could have been a cartoon character.
"Not sure you'll find it," Brett declared, stepping from the shadows.
Spinning around, Robert stared at him, stunned, but only for a fleeting moment before his face contorted into an angry scowl.
"What the hell are you doing here? You have no right. You'd better get out of here you—you—you overrated cowboy."
"Overrated cowboy. Wow. Original. For a minute I thought you were gonna call me an overrated singer. That would've hurt."
"You want to play tough with me. No problem," he snarled, taking off his jacket. "Bring it on."
"Challengin' a guy twice your size isn't real smart."
"You think you scare me? You don't."
"Then you are foolish," Steve remarked, stepping into the room.
"And who the fuck are you? Oh, I see. Ganging up on me now. You'd better leave. You have no right to be here."
"Mr. Hoffman, this is my room. I was the one who left the key at the front desk."
"What? Where's Andrew Stern? What's going on here, and how do you know my name?"
"Your photographer is badly injured and in a hospital bed. When you sent him into the hills across from my house to take pictures, he caused a forest fire, his car blew up, and he barely escaped with his life. Does that answer your question?" Brett asked, walking slowly towards him, Steve moving behind him from the other side. "Sit
on the couch, open your case, and take out your computer."
"I'm not doing anything you say."
"Steve?"
With lightning speed, Steve grabbed Robert's arm from behind and twisted it up his back.
"Fuck. Stop Stop."
"I could snap this twig in two-seconds. Do as you're told."
"Okay, okay."
Pushing him on to the couch, Steve towered over him as he popped the locks on his case and retrieved his computer.
"You're going to transfer one-hundred thousand dollars into an account," Brett said brusquely. "I have the numbers when you're ready."
"You're out of your fucking mind!"
"Wrong answer," Steve growled, bending over him and pressing his lips against his ear.
"Bastard. Okay, fine, give me the fucking numbers, but you'll be sorry. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
"I know exactly who I'm dealin' with," Brett retorted.
"Yeah, well I don't intimidate easy," Robert hissed. "I've been bullied my whole life, and I have a way of getting my own back, believe me."
"I'm not bullyin' you, Mr. Hoffman. I'm here to right your many wrongs. Are you ready? I'll give you the routin' number first, then the account number, and I'm gonna sit next to you to make sure you don't try to pull a fast one. One more thing. Make sure those funds come from your real estate account."
"This is such bullshit. I'll do it, but then I'm leaving."
Sitting next to him, Brett watched him carefully, and when the transfer was complete and Robert was about to turn off his computer, Brett grabbed his wrist.
"No, not yet. Watch your desktop."
"Why?"
"Just watch it," Brett exclaimed, speaking loudly so Spike heard him. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
A cartoon bomb with a burning fuse suddenly popped up on the screen.
"Stop! Stop! No!" Robert wailed, banging his fingers across his keyboard. "Make it stop!"
But his plea fell on deaf ears.
KABOOM
As the word appeared in large red letters, Robert dropped his head in his hands.
"All your data has been irretrievably erased," Brett proclaimed. "You had everything connected to the same network, so your desktop and the other computer you use as a backup has also exploded. Andrew Stern's machines have suffered the same fate."
To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3) Page 17