With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Jo leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling. “So, Quinn, are you ready to extend your visit a few days? I think we’re having pot roast tomorrow night.”

  Logic warned him to use caution. She was a little too eager. But his libido reacted to that sparkle in her eyes in a very primitive fashion. And he did love a good pot roast. “I think it could be arranged.”

  “What about your job?” Emmy Lou asked.

  “I can keep in touch by phone. With the help of Erin, my secretary, I can probably take care of anything critical from here.” Quinn began to anticipate what it might be like living in the same house with Jo, or more appropriately, sleeping in the same house with Jo.

  “Great,” Jo said. “Because I have the most amazing idea. As long as you’re going to be here, what if you told everybody you were Brian Hastings?”

  Quinn groaned and buried his face in his hands as his fantasies dissolved. There it was. The catch.

  Emmy Lou clapped her hands together. “Josephine, you’re brilliant.”

  Quinn took his hands away from his eyes and leaned toward Jo. Damn, but she was beautiful. And treacherous. He lowered his voice. “But you see, I’m not Brian Hastings.”

  “You could fool them. You fooled Emmy Lou. And if everyone around here thought Brian Hastings was visiting my ranch, I could hold off the bank a while longer.”

  With a sigh of deep regret he leaned back in his chair. Like too many of the women he’d known, she was only interested in him because he looked like a famous movie star. “And then what happens when Hastings never shows up? You’re in the same fix as before.”

  “But by the end of the summer I’ll have some money, and I can make a partial payment. I need to keep the bank at bay until then.”

  “There may be other ways around this. It’s possible I could arrange for a line of credit from—”

  “No!” She held up her hand like a traffic cop. “I don’t want anyone else getting involved in my financial problems. If I go down, I’ll go down alone.”

  “That’s very noble but totally unnecessary. Jo, this is what I do for a living. I don’t know why I didn’t suggest consulting with you about it before, during the cab ride.”

  “Consulting?” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure you don’t do that for free, Quinn.”

  “Not normally. But we could work something out.”

  “I’d rather struggle along on my own. If you’d just agree to be Brian Hastings for a week, that’s all I ask.”

  “All?” Quinn stared at her. “The guy’s a movie star and a director, so he knows the Hollywood scene inside and out. Besides that he’s a worldwide sex symbol. Do you realize how intimidating that would be for an ordinary guy like me?”

  “Nonsense,” Emmy Lou said. “You can do the sex symbol part with both hands tied behind your back. Just give the ladies that killer grin, throw in a wink or two, and they’ll drop like flies.”

  Maybe, Quinn thought, but he knew that when women found out for sure he wasn’t really Brian Hastings they had a tendency to turn nasty, and he’d be in constant fear they’d find out. Besides that, he was sick of never being evaluated on his own merits, and he wanted no part of this scheme, no matter how nice it would be to spend time with Jo. As far as he was concerned, this wasn’t the way to handle her money problems, either. It was only a Band-Aid when she needed a tourniquet.

  “As for the movie lingo, we can fake that,” Jo said.

  “Emmy Lou has seen every interview that Brian Hastings ever gave—Barbara Walters, Larry King, Oprah Winfrey. She can coach you on the show biz angle.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Sorry. The whole idea goes against the grain. I’ve hated being mistaken for Hastings, and I sure as hell don’t want to deliberately bring that kind of chaos down on my head. Listen, Jo, don’t reject my financial advice out of hand. I might be exactly who you need. I could—”

  “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have no guarantee I’ll come out of this with the ranch intact. I don’t want to risk your good name.”

  “You won’t ruin my good name, and even if you did, I’d rather involve myself that way than pawn myself off as some two-bit version of Hastings.”

  “You’re not giving yourself credit. You’d be at least a four-bit version,” Emmy Lou said.

  “That’s what you think.” The more closely Quinn evaluated this stunt, the more impossible it sounded. “He’s not only a Hollywood insider, he’s a cowboy. I can’t ride, I can’t rope, and if you put boots and spurs on me I’d probably trip and fall down before I walked two feet into the local saloon. Let me do what I do best, which is manipulate money.”

  Jo looked sad but determined. “I can’t let you get involved with my messy finances, Quinn. I just can’t.”

  “And I have no interest in masquerading as Brian Hastings.”

  “Then I guess that’s that,” Jo said. “But you’re welcome to stay.”

  He hated like hell to turn her down, but he could see that a few days at the Bar None would be a nightmare as people continued to mistake him for Hastings. He pushed back his chair. “Thanks, but I’d better leave first thing in the morning. In the rush of coming out here to deliver Sir Lust-a-Lot’s last legacy I forgot about your Brian Hastings connection. Chances are everyone would react the way Emmy Lou did. I’d rather not put myself through that.”

  Jo nodded. “I understand. Emmy Lou, would you please show Quinn his room? I need to go out and check on Betsy and Clarise before bedtime.”

  “Come along, Quinn.”

  Under Emmy Lou’s reproving glance, Quinn felt like a misbehaving schoolboy. He silently followed her up the stairs.

  “I don’t think it would kill you to do what Jo’s asking,” she said in a very schoolmarmish tone.

  “That’s because you’ve never been surrounded by a hoard of women who wanted to rip your clothes off.”

  Emmy Lou sniffed as she continued up the stairs. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Why, I thought you were Brian Hastings up until recently, and I never once considered ripping your clothes off. All I wanted was a button from your shirt.”

  “See? It starts with the buttons. What harm’s in that? Then we run out of buttons, so somebody wants a sleeve. Then somebody wants my belt. Then it’s strip city. It only takes one person to start it off, and before I realize it I’m surrounded. I try to tell them they have the wrong guy, but do they listen? Not when they’re in their Brian Hastings crazed mode. There are at least twenty women walking around this world with a button or a sleeve or a back pocket of my pants, and all of them think their souvenirs came from Brian Hastings.”

  “And I suppose this all happened in New York?”

  Quinn followed her down the hall. “That’s where I live.”

  Emmy Lou stopped in front of a doorway and turned to him. “Well, there you go. It’s the too-many-rats-in-a-cage theory. They start eating their young or stripping their celebrities, whatever is handy. Out here we have room to stretch out. We’re not so snappish.”

  “You just admitted you wanted one of my buttons!”

  “Well, not now! Who wants the button off the shirt of an investment banker?”

  Quinn was irritated. He couldn’t decide which was worse, the loss of privacy when he was mistaken for Hastings or the blow to his ego when women finally accepted that he was only Quinn Monroe, investment banker. “I don’t understand what women want with those trophies, anyway. Do they mount that button and shine a spotlight on it? Do they frame that piece of sleeve? Do they arrange my back pocket in a vase on the coffee table? I don’t get it.”

  Emmy Lou cleared her throat and glanced at the ceiling. “Some might sew the button on a piece of velvet and embroider the person’s name under it and frame it. If that someone really had a button from Brian Hastings’ shirt, that is.”

  “Like you, for instance? I suppose your wall is full of framed buttons.”

  “No, it isn’t. We don’t get many celebrities out this way. And it was jus
t dumb luck that Georgina Mason was in the ice cream parlor when Robert Redford came in. She claims he gave her the button, but it would be like her to pop it right off his shirt when he wasn’t looking.”

  Quinn couldn’t help smiling. “That’d be hard to do.”

  “Not for Georgina. She’s the sneaky type. And she’s such a showoff—has that framed button over the fireplace, where the whole world can see it.” Emmy Lou gestured toward the doorway. “So here’s your room, Benedict Arnold.”

  “Emmy Lou, nobody would believe me after the first five minutes! In New York it’s different, because there are no horses for me to fall off of or cows for me not to rope.”

  “Cattle. Brian Hastings wouldn’t say cows.”

  “That’s my point!”

  “We could teach you. Jo and I could whip you into shape in no time.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t relish the sound of that.”

  “Okay. Be a coward. Bathroom’s across the hall. If you were staying I’d hunt you up a change of clothes down at the bunkhouse, but I guess that won’t be necessary.”

  Quinn vowed he wouldn’t be baited into saying something he’d deeply regret. “Why couldn’t you just take one of my buttons and claim it came from Brian Hastings’ shirt?”

  Emmy Lou looked shocked. “Because it would be dishonest!”

  “Dishonest? You and Jo want to tell the entire town of Ugly Bug that I’m Brian Hastings, and you’re worried about fudging on a button?”

  Emmy Lou clucked her tongue in disapproval. “It’s not worth lying just to spite Georgina Mason. But I’d lie from now until doomsday to save the Bar None for Jo.” Her pointed stare indicated that she thought he should have the same missionary zeal. “Why, I—” She paused and cocked her head. “Somebody’s downstairs with Jo.”

  Quinn heard the voices, too. Jo was talking to a guy, and from the sound of her voice, she wasn’t too happy about the conversation.

  “It’s that Dick!” Emmy Lou said, almost spitting out the words.

  “Would that be a first name or a description?”

  Emmy Lou’s eyes twinkled at him. “I do like you, Quinn.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “Dick Cassidy is Jo’s ex. One of the worst things she ever did was marry him, and one of the best was to divorce him. All he wanted, besides the obvious, was access to Ugly Bug Creek so he could water his cattle.”

  Quinn didn’t like thinking about some guy enjoying the obvious with Jo. “The creek the town’s named after is on this ranch?”

  “Yep. At least the best stretch of it, and none of it runs across the Cassidy ranch next door. He put her through hell during the divorce proceedings while he tried to hang on to that water. We can’t prove it, but we think Dick had something to do with so many of the cattle dying last winter. I think he was stealing the hay she put out for them. Besides that, he might have made off with some money, but Jo’s not the best bookkeeper in the world, so she’s not sure.”

  Quinn’s protective instincts surged to the fore. He tried to tamp them down, knowing they’d get him into trouble. “So why did she even let him in the door?”

  “Oh, he always has some good reason he has to be let in. Last time, he came to report a break in her fence line, which I think he created. The time before that, his truck had broken down on the main road. The code of the west says you help out your neighbors, so Jo helped him. I say he’s finding excuses to nose around and see how bad Jo’s hurting. He’s already offered her a lowball figure for the ranch.”

  Quinn glanced through the door into his bedroom, taking note of sturdy oak furniture and what looked like a hand-made quilt on the bed. “Okay, you’ve shown me where I’m sleeping.” As the voices downstairs rose in volume, he glanced at Emmy Lou. “What do you say to a cup of coffee before I turn in?”

  Emmy Lou beamed in approval. “I’d say that’s a great idea.” She led the way downstairs.

  As they approached the kitchen, Quinn could make out the conversation much better.

  “That section of fence was fine yesterday,” Jo said, an edge to her voice. “Somebody’s cutting that wire.”

  “Now who would do a thing like that? You think I want your bull trampling my cook’s garden?”

  “If it means I have to pay restitution for your specially ordered designer veggie plants, yeah, I think you’d love to have my bull running around in your cook’s garden!”

  Give him hell, Jo, Quinn thought. He stepped into the kitchen behind Emmy Lou, but the five-foot-something housekeeper didn’t block his view of the proceedings. Dick Cassidy faced the door, while Jo stood rigidly with her back to it. Cassidy had soft, fleshy features that might have been cute when he was a kid and would look ridiculously juvenile in another ten years. Quinn hated him on sight.

  Cassidy’s reaction to Quinn was exactly the opposite, however. His eyes widened, and he broke into a goofy grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a sly one, Jo.”

  Jo turned toward the door and caught sight of Quinn and Emmy Lou standing there. Then she glanced at Dick. “It’s not what you think. This is—”

  “As if you have to introduce the guy.” Dick pushed past her and stuck out his hand. “Dick Cassidy. I live on the neighboring ranch. I’d like you to come over and take a look. You might even like it better than the Bar None. The buildings are newer, and we’ve been able to keep up with painting and such better than Jo has. Well, you have to excuse her. A woman alone can’t be expected to stay on top of everything.”

  “I like the rustic look.” Quinn even hated Cassidy’s handshake, which felt clammy.

  “Then we can sand some of that paint off!” Cassidy said. “You name it, and we’ll do it.”

  “Dick, let me explain,” Jo said. “I know what you think, but this is—”

  “Brian Hastings, of course.” Dick pumped his hand.

  “I’ve seen all your movies. Damn good flicks, if you ask me.”

  Quinn had about three seconds to decide whether he could live with himself if he allowed this sorry excuse for a man to continue to ride roughshod over Jo. He decided in two. “That’s good to hear,” he said. “Which one did you like the best?”

  4

  JO HAD NEVER felt so much like hugging a man in her life. Thank God for Dick, jerk that he was. Apparently his appearance had tipped the scales in her favor and made Quinn decide to help her.

  “It’d be real hard to pick a favorite movie,” Dick said.

  “Which one did you like the best?”

  “Couldn’t say. Never see my own films.”

  Emmy Lou hovered nearby. “Except for the daily rushes, of course. I’m sure you see those.”

  “Well, yeah.” Quinn gestured vaguely. “The daily rushes and sometimes the weekly rushes, but I don’t bother with the monthly rushes.”

  Dick stared at him. “Monthly rushes?”

  “Hollywood!” Jo threw up her hands. “Who can keep up with the funny little terms they use? Hey, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I crossed two time zones twice today and I’ve had no sleep for twenty-four hours, so if you don’t mind, I think I’ll turn in.” She glanced at Quinn. “Brian? You look pretty bushed, yourself. I’m sure you’ll find the guest bed comfy.”

  Dick’s jaw dropped. “He’s staying here?” He turned to Quinn. “But where are the rest of your people? Your what d’ya call it…entourage?”

  Quinn flexed his shoulders and looked bored. “I sent ’em off to Bimini, told ’em to relax, catch some rays. I need to be here alone, get in character.”

  “Wow. I never knew you guys were so dedicated. That’s impressive, Brian. Is it okay if I call you Brian? You can call me Dick.”

  “I sure will, Dick.”

  “How many Oscars have you won, anyway?”

  “You know, Dick, it’s easy to lose track of things like that, after the first few.” Quinn glanced quickly at Emmy Lou, who discreetly held up three fingers. “Three.”

  “Dick, I hate to be rude.” Jo l
inked her arm through Quinn’s. “But Brian’s so polite he’d stay here answering your questions all night, when he really needs to get some sleep. I’ve appointed myself as his personal watchdog, to make sure he takes care of himself. Stars become so involved in their art that they sometimes neglect the essentials, like food and sleep.”

  She loved watching Dick try to hide his jealousy. He hated seeing her getting cozy with this movie star, but he also wanted to suck up to that same movie star. Jo hadn’t counted on this little perk when she’d created her plan. It was a nice bonus.

  The warmth of Quinn’s body next to hers was a pleasant extra, too. She had an idea she’d enjoy working with him. He had lots to learn about being a Hollywood cowboy, and teaching him promised to be fun.

  “Then I guess I’ll be going,” Dick said with obvious reluctance. He started toward the entry hall but paused.

  “Listen, I know people probably ask you this all the time, but seeing as how we’re neighbors, in a manner of speaking, I was wondering if there’d be a part in this movie for me? I ride and rope real good.”

  Quinn took his time giving Dick the once-over. Jo caught Emmy Lou’s glance and had to turn away and bite her lip to keep from laughing.

  Finally Quinn nodded. “There might be,” he said.

  “Hey, that would be great. I really—”

  “If…” Quinn said, and paused dramatically.

  “If?”

  “If you lose some of that flab. You’re soft in the middle, Dick. Can’t have that. I suggest lifting weights, an exercise bike, maybe a little jogging.”

  “Jogging? An exercise bike? Cowboys don’t jog, and they sure as hell don’t ride no exercise bike!”

  Quinn shrugged. “Up to you. I’m just throwing out suggestions as to how you can become more acceptable for the role. You can do it or not.”

  Dick sighed. “Hell, I’ll do it. I just hope none of my men see me. I’ll be the laughingstock of the county. When will you start shooting?”