Instead, he glanced around where they were standing on a side street of Cowboy Country, USA, the Western-style theme park where just last week—in a moment of apparent insanity—he had agreed to be an “authenticity consultant.” And where, just a few weeks prior to that, one of the “Wild West” fortune-tellers had told him he would soon be hitched.
He’d laughed it off then as nonsense for two simple reasons. One, he didn’t believe in fortune-tellers, and two, he’d reached the age of thirty-four without once entertaining the idea of marrying someone.
So he looked back at Aurora and adjusted his hat. “You’re dressed for the part,” he allowed. “I’ll give you that.”
In fact, she looked downright pretty. All dolled up in an old-fashioned-looking dress with beads and lace hanging off her slender shoulders and her eyes made up to look even bigger than they already were.
She gave him a look that ought to have scorched his toes. “Of course I’m dressed for the part.” Her hands spread a little wider. “Wild West Wedding!” She raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for some response. “The…noon…show,” she elaborated at his blank look.
She twitched her skirt, drawing his attention. It was some sort of filmy, lacy thing about the same color as the doily his mom had had forever sitting underneath a vase in the front parlor of the house he and his four brothers and two sisters had grown up in. Sorta white. Sorta beige.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Galen.” Aurora sounded exasperated. “The noon show! I’m playing Lila, the Wild West bride. But I just found out my groom, Rusty, was hauled off a little while ago to see Doc Shoemaker, because he went and fell off his horse.” She shook her head. “Lord save me from city boys who think they know everything about a horse just because they’ve watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
Comprehension finally dawned. Maybe it would have more quickly if Galen hadn’t gotten distracted thinking about that fool fortune-teller business.
“Wild West Wedding,” he repeated. “That’s the show you put on at the center of the park.”
“Yes.” Looking relieved that he’d finally gotten a clue, she lifted her other hand and shoved a dog-eared script at him. “It’ll take ten minutes of your time, Galen. Please.”
“I’m no good at playacting.”
“How do you know? Have you ever tried?” She stepped closer and her shoulder brushed against his ribs as she flipped open the pages, seeming to take his compliance as a foregone conclusion. “It’s not complicated. I’m Lila. You’ll be Rusty.” Her slender finger jabbed at the words on the page. “There’s not really much time for you to memorize before we need to start, but the premise is simple. Lila and Rusty are in love. Frank, the villain, is determined to have Lila for himself, but what he really wants even more is the deed to her daddy’s ranch so his railroad can go through.”
“Original,” Galen drawled.
“It’s a ten-minute attraction at a Western theme park,” she countered. “Be glad it’s not Shakespeare or we really would be in trouble. Are you willing to do this or not? After all the problems we’ve had since Cowboy Country opened last month, the last thing this place needs is another canceled show. It’s bad publicity when we’re finally having a week where nothing seems to go wrong.”
The “bad” was one of the reasons for Galen’s presence. But agreeing to answer a bunch of questions about tending cattle and horses and walking around the park taking note of anything that belittled the ranching community didn’t involve filling in for somebody who probably shouldn’t have been on a horse in the first place.
“Weren’t you always in the school plays when you and Toby were kids?” His younger brother had gone to school with her. When Galen had been that age, he’d have been one of the kids sitting in the auditorium, hooting over every flubbed line. Though when he thought about it, he couldn’t recall Aurora ever flubbing hers. Even as a kid, she’d been memorable with her flaming red hair.
“If you want to walk down memory lane, we can do that later.” She grabbed his arm again and was dragging him toward the rough-hewn gate at the end of the make-believe street. “Right now, you need to get into costume.”
He grimaced, eyeing the mass of sausage curls streaming down the middle of her back. Her waist below that seemed cinched down even smaller than usual. “Just what all does that mean?”
She pulled open the gate and shot him a grin. “You’re not going to have to fit into a corset, if that’s what you’re worried about. They save that torture for the girls.” She tugged him through the gate, pushed it closed, and headed toward a trailer that was a century more modern than anything visible within the guests’ portion of Cowboy Country. Even the thrill rides were couched in Old West touches.
Aurora lifted her skirts and darted up the two metal steps, disappearing inside the trailer. “Come on. We’ve only got a half hour before we’re on.”
He went up into the trailer and found himself standing inside a miniature warehouse, crowded on all sides by racks loaded with costumes and props. He pulled a bull whip off a hook. “Ohhh-kay.”
“That’s for Outlaw Shootout,” she said. “The show’s shelved temporarily until they work out some kinks with the stunts. Here.” She whisked his black cowboy hat off his head and plopped a creamy white one in its place. “Rusty wears a white hat. Naturally.”
“Naturally,” he repeated drily, even though he was wondering what the hell had gotten into him. He hung the whip back in place.
“You need to change your shirt, too.” She shoved a hanger at him that held a rough cotton button-down. “At least Joey—he’s the guy who plays Rusty—hadn’t changed into his costume before he fell off a darn horse.” She tsked as she pulled open one drawer after another. “Being the big-budget show that we are, we’ve only got one.”
She glanced at him. “What’re you waiting for?” She waved her hand at the hanger he was still holding and turned back to the drawers she was pawing through. “You can get by with wearing your own Levi’s and boots, but that shirt’s gotta go.”
Stifling a passel of misgivings, since he’d yet to actually agree, he dumped the script on a pile of folded Mexican blankets, set the white hat on top and pulled his NASCAR T-shirt over his head.
“Ah. Success.” Aurora pushed the drawer closed and turned to him, a black string tie in her hand.
Her eyes seemed to widen a bit at the sight of his bare chest, and she dropped the tie on top of the white Stetson, then quickly turned back around to yank open another drawer while he pulled on the shirt. “It’s a little Wyatt Earp–ish, à la Tombstone,” she chattered, “but what it might lack in historic accuracy is at least recognizable for the customers. So I hope it passes muster on your authenticity scale.”
She pushed the drawer closed again without removing anything and turned back to face him. Her cheeks looked excessively pink to him. Like she wasn’t all that used to seeing a guy shirtless. “Anyway, about the, uh, the show.” She pulled the script out and muttered under her breath when the cowboy hat fell on the floor, quickly followed by a cascade of colorful woven blankets.
He crouched down to help her right the mess. “Relax, Aurora. The show’s still gonna go on. Though I seriously think you’d do better with just about anyone besides me.”
“You fit the shirt,” she said with a shrug.
He let out a wry laugh. “Well, hell, then. Guess that makes me feel real good.”
She smiled. “And soon as I saw you, I knew you wouldn’t let me—the park, I mean—down. If you weren’t already on staff, we could never get away with this, though. I’m sure there’d be insurance issues and all of that.”
They reached for the same blanket at the same time, knuckles knocking, and she snatched her hands back, straightening quickly to swipe her hands down the sides of her dress.
“Thanks.” She sounded breathless. “I’ll, uh, just wait for you outside.” She shoved open the trailer door and brushed past the guy who was coming up the steps. “Hey there
, Frank,” he heard her say. “I found us a Rusty, so we’re still on.”
“Cool.”
Blankets stacked once more, Galen straightened and stuck his hand out toward the newcomer as he came into the trailer. “Galen Jones,” he offered, and sent a silent apology to his mom for omitting the “Fortune” part that they’d all been adding to the “Jones” ever since his mom’s birth family had found her. He was trying to get used to the addition. But it still didn’t come all that naturally. Not because he was opposed to acknowledging the Fortune connection. But to him, it just all sounded sorta…fancy. Which he wasn’t.
The other man shook his hand briefly before grabbing a black hat—a whole lot cleaner and dandier-looking than Galen’s usual one—and setting it on his gleaming blond head. “Frank Richter,” he said, studying his reflection in the mirror over the drawers. “I play Frank, the dastardly villain. Nice to have the right name already for a part.” He adjusted the hat so it sat at an angle, dipping low over his right eye. “Haven’t seen you around here before. You been with Moore Entertainment for long?”
“Not all that sure I’m technically ‘with’ Moore Entertainment.” Galen didn’t need to adjust his hat. He dropped Rusty’s Stetson on his head the same way he did with his own cowboy hat every single day. Didn’t matter if it was black or white or straw. For him, the covering wasn’t a matter of costume, but nature. Same as his leather Castleton boots that he got resoled every few years. “I’m the authenticity consultant.” He felt more than a little stupid just saying the words, same way he felt using Fortune Jones as his last name when all his life, “Jones” had been plenty, and he flipped up the collar of Rusty’s shirt and started on the tie. He didn’t need a mirror for that, either. He’d worn a similar one to the Valentine’s Day wedding when three of his brothers and one of his sisters all got hitched on the same day.
The powers that be for Moore Entertainment considered him a cowboy. So he guessed that made the tie authentic enough for the theme park.
“Heard they’d hired something like that.” Frank was running some dinky comb covered with clear goop through his eyebrows, and Galen nearly stared. “You’re supposed to make sure Cowboy Country rings true.” Frank air-quoted the word and looked over his shoulder at him. They were about the same height, though Galen damn sure never once combed his eyebrows, with goop or without.
“That’s about it.” Galen finished tying the tie and flipped down the collar.
“Well, make sure your punch during today’s show doesn’t ring entirely true,” Frank said, looking back at his reflection. “I don’t need to end up with any real bruises. I’m getting new head shots done tomorrow. I’m trying to get into the Moore Dinner Theatre in Branson. Lot more exposure there than in Hicksville Horseback Hollow.” He made a face in the mirror, then pulled another, and another, stretching his face into comic proportions before he fixed on a dark handlebar mustache over his top lip. “Most any one of Moore’s other Coaster World locations would be better than here. Not surprised they’re having a hard time getting Cowboy Country off the ground in a little Texas backwater like this.” He glanced over his shoulder again. “Know what I mean?”
“Wouldn’t know,” Galen said with irony. He, for one, was glad that the company had chosen not to follow the Coaster World model like the rest of its theme parks. Horseback Hollow was special.
Any park that was going to be there needed to be special, too.
He grabbed the script and reached for the trailer door. “Seein’ how I’m one of the hicks.”
He stepped outside and spotted Aurora leaning over her old-fashioned buttoned boot that she’d propped on a picnic bench. The curls of her hair hung over her shoulder, leaving the crisscross laces on the back of her dress visible. They cinched together down the center of the lacy fabric hugging her torso, seeming to make a point of showing off the way her waist nipped in all small and female, and swelled out again over her hips.
He frowned, yanking his eyes away.
He’d always lumped Aurora in the same category as his little sisters. She’d been the kid sister of one of his best friends. Noticing anything about her waist or hips, or anything else for that matter, wasn’t something he was altogether comfortable with.
He settled his hat more squarely on his head and made some noise thumping down the metal steps, and as he’d hoped, she lowered her foot and straightened as he approached.
Her blue eyes ran over him. “I knew Rusty’s costume would fit you.” She gave a quick smile. “You don’t know how much I appreciate you doing this.”
“Don’t y’all put on this wedding show more than once a day?” The other shows he’d noticed in his week working here had repeated themselves several times a day. There was a bank robbery thing that happened out on Main Street as Aurora’s show did, a stunt show that was held at the far end of the park in the corral set in the shadows of a wooden roller coaster complete with two loop-the-loops, a saloon girl dancing show held almost hourly inside the Texas Rose restaurant, and a few others that seemed to alternate, all designed to keep the guests entertained.
Aurora was nodding. “You and I…well, Rusty and Lila get to pledge their troth four times daily.” She pulled on the thin gold chain hanging around her neck and a locket emerged from the front of her dress. He realized it was a watch when she flipped it open. “Which we’ve got to do in ten minutes.” She slid the locket back into her cleavage.
Somehow he’d missed the fact that Aurora McElroy even possessed cleavage. That time at the feed store he was certain she’d been wearing a plaid work shirt that had been big enough to fit her daddy.
He dragged his mind away from cleavages. They were fine in their place. He was even a man who enjoyed his fair share of ’em.
But not when their existence seemed to come out of the same left field as Aurora’s “I need you to marry me” had.
“Seems to me missing one show wouldn’t be the end of Cowboy Country,” he said, keeping his eyes well above her neckline.
“We get paid by the show,” Aurora said. “Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of Cowboy Country. But it cuts into the performers’ paychecks, believe me.” She gestured at the script. “Did you look through it?”
He grimaced and dutifully opened the script. Fortunately, it was easy to read. Only a few words per line, running down the center of the page. The action took up more space than the dialogue and attested to what he already knew—that the show involved stagecoaches, racing horses, and a lot of melodrama. “I guess I can manage,” he muttered.
Even a hick rancher could read a few lines of dialogue.
He scanned through the pages, easily grasping the gist. He was to escape Frank’s goons who were holding him captive and race to Aurora’s rescue with the deed to her daddy’s ranch in Rusty’s name, narrowly preventing Frank from forcing her to say “I do” in front of the preacher.
Like Aurora had said. It wasn’t Shakespeare.
It was just a ten-minute show that took place in the middle of the whole dang park since someone, in their brilliance, had recently decided the Wild West Wedding stage needed to be relocated there.
People could be eating hot dogs in the Main Street Grill, watching a demonstration over in the smithy or buying hand-dipped candles in Gus’s General Store; they’d catch the wedding.
“It’ll be fun,” Aurora promised.
He snorted softly. “Getting my teeth drilled appeals more than making an ass out of myself in front of Cowboy Country’s paying customers.”
“You’re not going to make an ass of yourself,” she assured dismissively. She reached up and adjusted his tie, then stepped back, her hands tucked behind her back. “You actually look perfect for the part.” She smiled, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “Better than Joey, even, but don’t tell him I said so.” She smiled a little impishly. “His ego is a tad delicate.”
“Well, it’s probably dented pretty good now he’s fallen off a horse. Where’d it happen? Here at the park?”
“No, thank goodness.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine the publicity we’d get about it after already having a horse stampede during the soft opening? But from what I heard, he might have sprained his ankle. And I can’t see him resuming Rusty’s role if he’s sporting a modern splint. Don’t worry,” she added quickly, seeming to recognize Galen’s alarm, “the casting department will be able to find someone to replace him. Right now, I’m concerned with getting us through today.”
“Hold on.” He closed the script and tossed it on the picnic table. “I remember something about this taking ten minutes of my time.” The authenticity-consultant business was temporary and only took up part of his day. He might not have been a real fan when the park first opened, but even a man like him could recognize that the park’s success meant success for Horseback Hollow as well.
He hated change, but he loved his hometown more. So he was willing to do his part. And the fact that Moore Entertainment was willing to pump some serious money into the town contributed to that willingness.
Nevertheless, he still had his own ranch to run, and even at the best of times, that was a 24/7 job.
“That’s all I agreed to,” he said. “Once I embarrass myself in the noon show, your—” what had she called it? “—casting department better be finding someone else in the two hours before the next show.”
“I’m sure they will,” she soothed. She slipped a tube out of some mysterious pocket hidden in the side of her skirt and ran it quickly over her lower lip, leaving it pinker than it ordinarily was and intriguingly shiny. “In the meantime, we’ve got a crowd to entertain. Okay?”
He dragged his eyes away.
What the hell was wrong with him? A corner of the McElroys’ spread had butted up next to his folks’ property his whole life. He wasn’t all that sure that his little brother Jude hadn’t dated Aurora once upon a time. Before Jude fell for Gabriella Mendoza last year, he’d changed girlfriends more often than Galen changed shirts.
“Yo, yo, yo,” Frank hailed, joining them. He dropped a proprietary arm around Aurora’s shoulders and squeezed. With his free hand, he twirled one side of his fake mustache and leered at her. “Ready to become my wifey, my dear?”
Falling for the Mom-to-Be Page 19