VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON
CHRISTIE RIDGWAY
With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet
CONTENTS
With a Stetson and a Smile
VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
The Bridesmaid’s Bet
CHRISTIE RIDGWAY
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON
With a Stetson and a Smile
“Don’t kiss me, Quinn.”
“Okay, I won’t.” He lowered his head.
“You are.” Jo was quivering. “You’re going to kiss me.”
When his mouth found hers, she didn’t think at all. She sure did feel, though—cool lips that quickly warmed against hers and shaped themselves into the soul of temptation in no time, a tongue that told her exactly what Quinn would be doing if they didn’t have two layers of denim between their significant body parts. She liked everything about this kiss, even the mud that squished between them as he eased his chest down to press against her breasts.
The only thing she didn’t like was that he stopped kissing her.
“More,” she whispered.
Dear Reader,
I’m so excited about being in the launch month for Harlequin Duets that I feel like cracking a bottle of champagne over the spine of the book. Actually, considering the Western flavor of my story, I’d better substitute a long-necked beer for the champagne.
By now it’s no secret that I find cowboys…appealing. God bless ’em, these guys don’t see the logic in wearing baggy jeans. I’m fascinated by men born to the saddle as well as city slickers who finally let the cowboy inside them come out to play. Quinn Monroe fits into the second category. He also fits into a pair of jeans like you wouldn’t believe.
Maybe because I also started life as an Easterner, I relate to Quinn’s culture shock when he makes the transition from Manhattan to Montana. I was ten when my family moved to Arizona, and I still remember the jolt of trading cozy landscapes for majestic vistas. But I acclimated fast, and now I feel hemmed in if I can’t see at least fifty miles in all directions.
Fortunately, within that fifty-mile radius, I can always spot a goodly number of lean-hipped, broad-shouldered, square-jawed cowboys to serve as role models for the heroes in my books. Out here in Arizona a gal doesn’t have to try very hard to locate a Stetson and a smile. And that works for me.
Enjoy!
Vicki Lewis Thompson
For my sister Karen Santa Maria, and our first-ever horseback ride many moons ago at the River Road Stable.
Not quite home on the range
1
A SNAKE was loose in the cab.
Quinn swerved around a horse-drawn carriage parked in front of Tavern on the Green, whipped over to the curb and slammed on the brakes. He was out of the door and halfway across the street before he knew it. After several deep breaths, he finally worked up the courage to edge toward the car and jerk open the back door. Then he crept around to the passenger side and quickly opened both curbside doors.
He hated snakes. Come to think of it, he wasn’t fond of lizards, either. One of the things he liked best about Manhattan was the absence of reptiles. If he’d known his fare was carrying snakes in that shoe box he wouldn’t have picked him up. But the guy hadn’t announced he was making a donation to the Central Park Zoo until they were almost there.
Quinn figured he’d been set up. It was too much of a coincidence that on the very day he’d accepted the challenge of driving one of Murray’s cabs he’d be transporting snakes. Murray was convinced Wall Street had made Quinn too soft to handle a day driving cab, and it would be just like Murray to stack the deck and guarantee he’d win the bet.
Once Quinn had found out about the snakes, he’d almost gotten in a wreck twice on the way to the zoo. At last he’d let the guy off at the zoo entrance and pulled away with a huge sigh of relief. Then he’d looked down to find beady eyes staring at him from under the front seat. An escapee.
“Taxi!”
Quinn didn’t turn around. He wasn’t taking anybody anywhere until he got that snake out. The woman would have to find another cab.
“Taxi!”
Quinn realized she was coming over and turned to fend her off. “Sorry, I’m not…” He forgot what else he’d planned to say as he stared. Ogled. Lusted. Murray, always politically incorrect, would call her a babe. Tucked into a white silk shirt and red velvet jeans, with a red Stetson perched on glossy brown curls, she certainly produced a politically incorrect response in Quinn.
She adjusted her load of packages, which caused her silk blouse to shift and reveal a bit of cleavage. “I must get to the airport immediately.”
“Airport?” Quinn struggled with the sad news that this fantasy cowgirl was leaving town.
“JFK. I’m in a hurry.” She started toward the cab.
Watching her walk in those tight jeans and high-heeled boots was a treat. He also had a thing for long, curly brown hair after seeing Pretty Woman at an impressionable age. Taking this lady to the airport would be the highlight of his day—if it weren’t for the reptile problem.
Quinn hated choices like this. The snake or the lady. “Uh, I’d better warn you about something. There’s a snake in the cab.”
She swung around. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who keeps his pet boa constrictor near him at all times.”
“No. My last fare left a snake. That’s why I have all the doors open. I was trying—”
“Poisonous?”
Oh, God. He hadn’t even thought about that. “How can you tell?”
“Folding fangs.” She freed one hand and folded two fingers into her palm. Then she flicked them out, curving them to look like fangs. “They do that. Did this snake do that?”
“No.” And if it had he would have fainted.
“Then let’s go. On the way I’ll coax him out for you.”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary.”
“You look a little pale. You’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”
“Me? Afraid of snakes? Nah. Not me.” Quinn couldn’t believe she could be so cool about the idea of a snake in the cab. She hadn’t even asked what size it was. “I’m actually worried about the poor snake. He must be scared to death.”
“I’m sure he is. Look, I really have to go. If I miss my flight my sperm will spoil.”
Quinn almost swallowed his tongue. “Excuse me?” His voice broke like a sixteen-year-old’s.
She rearranged her bundles and lifted a small cooler, the kind that could hold a six-pack. “Horse sperm.”
Finally it dawned on Quinn that she, too, was part of this elaborate practical joke. “Okay, okay. You guys had your fun. First the snakes and now the horse sperm, just to throw old Quinn a curve. Murray’s creative, I’ll give him that. I’ll bet that cooler contains the beer you’re going to share with Murray while you celebrate winning the bet.”
She looked confused. �
��Who’s Murray?”
“Let me refresh your memory.” He folded his arms and rocked on his heels. Now that he’d figured out what was going on he felt much better. “Murray’s the guy you’re in cahoots with, the one who owns the cab company, the guy who grew up next door to me in the Bronx, the guy who until today was my best friend, the guy I’m going to strangle once this shift is over.”
“I don’t know any Murray.”
“Oh, sure. What did you two do, follow me from the zoo? You’ve probably been following me ever since I picked up the guy with the snakes, who was also a plant. Am I getting warm?” He smiled. Yes, he was in control of the situation now.
She stared at him and shook her head. “You’re a crazy man, and I probably shouldn’t trust myself to a crazy man. But the thing is, I always have trouble getting a cab in this city. Now that I’ve captured one, I’m not letting it go, even if it is driven by a guy who’s missing a few rails from his corral. I have horse sperm that must get to Montana today, so I’m going to ask you again, very nicely, if we can get into your little cab and drive to that big place outside of town where they keep all the airplanes. Can you do that for me?”
Quinn sighed. “Murray sure knows how to pick ’em. You’re very good. Okay, kiddo. If you can stand a ride with a snake, I can stand it.” He gestured toward the cab. “After you, ma’am.”
“Thank goodness.” She walked forward, put her packages in the back seat and closed the door. Then she climbed in the front.
Quinn closed the street-side back door and paused before he got in the cab. He really didn’t want to climb in there with that snake, but he didn’t want Murray to get the upper hand, either. Besides, if Murray was behind all this, the snake was harmless. And maybe it had already slithered out. He rested his hands on the roof of the cab and leaned down to peer inside. “It’s customary for the fare to sit in the back.”
“I’ve never liked that custom,” she said. “It seems downright unfriendly. Out west we—”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right. You’re from the wild and woolly west. Central Park West, most likely.”
“Listen, could you continue weaving your fantasies while we drive? I’m running out of time to chat.”
Quinn surveyed the floor in the front. “Did you, uh, notice the snake by any chance?”
“No, but if I sit up here I can protect you better.”
That did it. Damned if he’d let this woman insinuate that he was a wuss. He slid into the seat with all the confidence he could muster. “A little snake doesn’t bother me. I just wouldn’t want you to be startled.”
“I’ve faced timber rattlers with bodies as thick as your forearm.”
Quinn laughed as he started the car. “That’s a good line. Next you’ll be telling me about the grizzly bear who lives in the hills up above your ranch.”
“Actually there are two.”
“Oh, I’ll bet there are.” Quinn pulled into traffic, noticing as he did that she filled the cab with a nice fragrance.
“So what name are you going by for this caper?”
“The name I always go by. My own. Jo Fletcher.”
“Short for Josephine?” Quinn didn’t believe for a minute that was her name, but he decided to play along and see what sort of whopper she and Murray had dreamed up. It also took his mind off the snake.
“Well, yes. After my great-aunt Josephine. Which is why she left me the ranch, I guess. Well, that and the fact I’m the only member of the family who knows diddly about horses.”
“You and Murray must have stayed up nights concocting this story. I’m impressed. Ticked off, but impressed. The guy will do anything to win a bet.”
“I don’t know anybody named Murray and I certainly don’t know anything about a bet.”
Quinn gave her a superior smile. “Right.”
She cocked her head and looked at him strangely. “Did anybody ever tell you that you look exactly like Brian Hastings, the movie star? Even the smile.”
“Only a couple of million people.”
“Ah. So you get that a lot.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sick of it, which is probably why Murray asked you to bring it up, just to needle me.”
“I don’t know Murray. But if you’re sensitive about the Brian Hastings thing, we can drop the subject. It’s just that you really do look like him.”
He swerved around a delivery van. The job took reflexes he hadn’t used in years, and he liked knowing they were still there. “But I’m taller than Hastings. You can’t tell that on the screen because they use camera angles to make him look tall, and he stands on a box if he has a tall costar.”
“I’d heard that he was on the short side. So what? People are too hung up on how tall a guy is. Being taller doesn’t make you a better man.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You sort of did, Quinn.”
“Aha!” He thought he had her this time. His name had popped right out of that luscious red mouth of hers. “How do you explain the fact that you know my name? Wiggle out of that little slip, if you can.” He liked the mental picture of Jo wiggling. At least Murray had provided a beautiful woman as part of the joke. Quinn wondered if she was dating anybody.
“You told me your name.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too. You said, ‘just trying to throw old Quinn a curve.”’
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I loved Brian Hastings in The Drifter. Did you see that?”
“Nope. I pretty much don’t go to his movies. I pretty much boycott them, as a matter of fact.” Two kids in purple hair jaywalked in front of him, and he gave them the horn. Except for the box of snakes, he’d had fun today. More fun than he’d been having recently planning investment strategies, to be honest.
“But why don’t you go to Hastings’ movies?” Jo asked.
“He’s a good actor, and now he’s into directing. I think he’s very talented.”
Quinn recognized that tone of adulation. “Meaning you think he’s sexy.”
“Well, yes, I do. What, are you jealous because women find him sexy? Is that why you don’t go to his movies?”
“No, I’m not jealous.” It was more as if the guy had usurped his identity.
“Then why boycott his movies?”
“Think about it. I show up at a Brian Hastings movie looking like Brian Hastings. I’ve had women throw themselves into my arms, rip off pieces of my clothing, follow me for blocks.”
“Poor baby.”
“You think it would be fun, don’t you?” He pulled over to let a fire engine roar past, siren screaming. “It’s not fun. And besides that, they’re not after me, Quinn Monroe, investment banker. They’re after Brian Hastings, Hollywood star. So it means nothing.”
“Investment banker? You must not be very good at it if you have to drive cab on the side.”
Quinn glanced at her. She acted as if she had no idea he’d agreed to drive cab for one day on a dare. She just sat there gazing at him with an innocent look in those big brown eyes that would be hard to fake. For the first time he wondered if she was legit. “Either you’re an incredible actress or you’re telling the truth about this ranch in Montana.”
“I can’t act my way out of a paper bag.”
“Would you be willing to show me your driver’s license?”
“No, I would not.”
He nodded, smiling. “Just as I thought. Your driver’s license isn’t from Montana, is it? I’ll bet your name isn’t even Josephine Fletcher.”
“All right! I’ll show you the damned license.” She unzipped her purse and pulled out her wallet. “But you have to promise not to laugh at my picture. I look like an escaped convict.” She flipped the wallet open and held it up.
He stopped at a red light and glanced at the license. Josephine Fletcher stared at him from the picture, unsmiling, grim, even, but still beautiful. The license had been issued by the Montana Department of Transportation.
JO WATCHED amazement sp
read over Quinn’s face as he glanced from her to the license and back again. He really was a cutie, with his laser-blue eyes and movie-star looks. She flipped the wallet closed and stuffed it in her purse. “Is that proof enough, or would you like to see my maxed-out Visa card, too?”
“If you’re really Jo Fletcher, then I guess you have horse sperm in that cooler.”
“Of course I do! Do you think I’d make up a thing like that?”
“If you were part of Murray’s big plan, you would.”
“But I’m not.” They crossed the Queensboro Bridge, linking Manhattan with Long Island, and Jo glanced at the skyline. She might never fly here again, which was why she’d stocked up on extra souvenirs for Emmy Lou. No use crying over it now, though. She turned to Quinn. “Since I’ve proven I’m not part of some intricate plot, would you kindly tell me who this Murray person is?”
“My best friend since the second grade and the owner of a fleet of cabs. He’s convinced I’ve turned into a stuffed shirt who couldn’t handle a day in one of his cabs, so finally I bet him I could. When the guy showed up with a shoe box full of snakes I wondered if Murray had somehow engineered that. A cooler full of horse sperm was so outrageous I decided you were also in on the campaign to rattle me and make me lose the bet.”
“I see.” Jo had caught a glimpse of the little snake twice. It was just a harmless garter snake, but she’d suspected from the beginning of this adventure that snakes sent Quinn into a panic. She’d decided to try to catch the snake with a minimum of fuss so he wouldn’t wreck the cab. Then she’d suggest they let it go in one of the open fields near the airport.
With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet Page 1