Enchanted by the Rodeo Queen--A Clean Romance

by Melinda Curtis

  “It wasn’t a date.” Em sat on the bench in the foyer and tugged off her fancy pink boots. She wished she could shed her foul mood as easily. “I watched Bo eat breakfast and then he left.”

  “And then you had breakfast with Jonah, I bet.” Gertie chuckled, examining her stitches. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

  Emily went into her room, which was just off the foyer. “We had an agreement,” she called back, before realizing she didn’t want to admit to her grandmother what their deal had been. “But that’s over now.” She changed into a pair of stained blue jeans and a T-shirt from the tractor supply store in Ketchum and crumpled her date clothes in her dirty-laundry basket. She stared at her trophies.

  Dreams. Once upon a time, she’d had many. But none of her dreams had ever involved taking a big chance. Not like Jonah, who was challenging his reputation and his self-image. He wasn’t just moving forward, he was switching tracks. And despite the obstacles in his way, he wasn’t giving up. He was reaching for more.

  Em took down the trophy she’d won when she was crowned rodeo queen, wiping away the dust Jonah had missed.

  Gertie appeared in the doorway, leaning on her cane. “I remember the day you won that. We were all so proud.”

  Em returned the prize to the shelf. “When I won these trophies, I felt they were worth more than the cost of their parts. Like they meant something important and lasting.” She grimaced. “You know, Kyle used to laugh at me when he caught me staring at these.” He’d known the truth—that wood and plastic trophies meant nothing long-term. Just look at how unimpressed Jonah had been.

  “Your brother was a good man,” Gertie said solemnly. “But that didn’t mean he could resist teasing his little sister every once in a while. Don’t make light of awards earned for being good at your profession.”

  Emily waved that aside. “Kyle was a good cowboy with big dreams for this place.” She felt his presence surround them. “And he was an excellent rancher.”

  “He knew it, too.” Gertie shifted her feet and stared about the room, as if she, too, sensed Kyle was near. “But pride drives us to make choices we regret later. Dangerous choices.” She frowned. “He shouldn’t have gone looking for that gold alone.”

  “Kyle liked to do things his own way.” Em dug in her drawer for a pair of socks.

  “As do you.” Gertie executed a careful turn. “He and that horse of his had swagger, but they could back it up most times. His pride didn’t make me love him any less, same as your itch to find a place you belong doesn’t change my love for you.”

  Emily followed Gertie to the foyer where she slid into her work boots while her grandmother returned to her chair and her knitting.

  “That Jonah Monroe has swagger,” Gertie said slyly, flipping open her music box. “Why don’t you swallow your pride and ask him out?”

  “Uh... Because he lives in California? Because he wears sneakers and city jeans?” Em stomped her heels in her boots.

  “Because he’s skinnier than you?”

  “No.” Yes. “I’m comfortable with my body. We’re different, that’s all. And when he’s done writing this script we’ll live in different states.” Plus, he had drive. He’d keep reaching for loftier dreams. While she wanted to settle for a ranch and family of her own. How small he must think her.

  “You can’t pull one over on me.” Gertie slid a pair of readers on her nose and stared at Emily over the rim. “People aren’t like the molded couple you see on top of a wedding cake. Not real people. Look at me. I’m short. Your grandfather was tall. You’re built sturdy. Davey has one hand. No one is going to love us any less because of our physical differences.”

  It wasn’t her body image that had doused her in reality at the Bent Nickel. It was her drive. Or lack thereof. “I’m going to the barn now.” Emily opened the front door.

  “Because you disagree that opposites attract?”

  “Nope.” She was attracted to Jonah, yet they were as different as could be. Em stepped onto the porch. “Because I’ve got equipment to mend and animals to train.”

  She knew her place. It was time to stop dreaming.

  * * *

  JONAH SHOULD BE WRITING.

  Instead, he’d spent an hour since breakfast at the Bent Nickel searching online. But he hadn’t been able to identify who Letty was, which was too bad since conditions were perfect to write. The Clark boys were still in town. Whatever Franny and Emily were doing around the ranch wasn’t loud. Bo was down at the lake camp, presumably framing. There was peace in the bunkhouse. All that was missing was a connection to the mysterious Letty.

  Rather than waste time not writing, Jonah faced his laptop and opened the document containing the script about Emily’s search for love. Like the romance he’d written last year about Bo and Aria, he wouldn’t try to sell this one. Romance and rom-coms weren’t going to gain his father’s respect or advance his career in the right direction.

  A few hours later and he had four scenes roughed out. The flexing of writing muscles gave him a boost of confidence.

  He shut down his laptop, planning to make lunch, but wound up staring at Aria’s watercolor of him on the fridge.

  “There’s a man who doesn’t look like a romance hero,” he muttered, turning the portrait over. He set about making a tuna sandwich.

  A truck pulled into the ranch yard. Tina hopped out carrying a stuffed backpack. She hurried over to the arena.

  It was safe money to assume Emily was at the arena, too.

  The sun was out and the birds were singing. It was a good time to take a break and mingle with humanity. Jonah finished the last bite of his sandwich, grabbed his blue baseball cap and headed toward the arena.

  Emily and Tina sat in the bleachers.

  “What are the arguments animal activists present against the rodeo?” Em asked.

  That sounded as dry and boring as day-old toast. There was no reason his heart should beat faster upon hearing them. No cause for his mouth to curl in a grin at the sight of Em’s brown hair dancing in the breeze. What was going on here? Jonah’s steps slowed.

  Bo walked up the driveway toward him, a welcome interruption.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Bodilicious,” Jonah said, still thinking of Emily. “Rough day at work?” he added when Bo scowled.

  “Call me bodilicious again and you’ll be having a rough day.” Bo came to a stop near Jonah, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his arm. “This isn’t a social call. I need a drill press.”

  “I have no idea what that means.” Thankfully.

  “It drills uniform holes in wood.” Bo glanced toward the arena and then back to Jonah. “Let me clarify. It drills uniform holes in wood, which are useful when you’re building a stair or porch railing with round dowels.”

  “That makes complete and total sense.” Jonah filed that information away for use in a script someday. “Where do you plan to get one of these press drills?”

  “Drill press,” Bo corrected. “Shane said Franny had one in the equipment shed. I’m supposed to meet him here.”

  “Shane’s going to show you this piece of equipment?” Shane? The former CEO? Jonah scoffed.

  The two men stared at each other for a moment and then chuckled.

  “Yeah.” Bo slapped Jonah affectionately on the back. “It’s almost as unbelievable as you knowing what a drill press is and where it’d be stored.”

  Shane pulled up in a new black SUV. “Oh, Jonah. You have the entire town guessing who Letty is.”

  “If only someone knew for sure.” Bo grinned. “They could put Jonah out of his misery.”

  Shane checked his cell phone. “I think it’s great that people are talking about her.”

  “You would,” Jonah and Bo said at the same time. They high-fived.

  The part of Jonah that had been tentative around Bo
the past month had relaxed. The episode with Aria had been forgiven and forgotten.

  Jonah glanced over at the rodeo queen and her protégé. They were walking through the arena, kicking up dust.

  “Buzz like this can be replicated for the film,” Shane continued as if his cousins hadn’t made a joke at his expense. He led them toward the equipment shed.

  “You might need to have a film filmed first.” Bo gave Jonah a sly look, tossing him the conversational ball.

  Which Jonah would have taken if he had something worth sharing that he’d written.

  Shane stopped, turned and frowned. “Do I want to know how that script is coming?”

  Jonah shook his head. “Here’s the thing about a plot not coming together. It’s like having a mystery ingredient you need to add to a cake to give it flavor, but you don’t know which flavor or how much flavor is too much or too little.” Which seemed to justify his interest in Emily, the bestest cake-maker in the world.

  “You don’t even eat cake. Keep in mind the town’s relying on you,” Shane grumbled, opening the shed. “Okay. Where is this thing? Franny said it was tall.” He peered around the ATV.

  “Step aside. I’m the drill press expert.” Bo pushed past Shane and Jonah, poking around the various boxes, plastic bins and oddly shaped surprises under canvas covers. “Seriously, step back in case I disturb a rat or something.”

  Shane arched a brow at Jonah, who shrugged. If there was a critter in the shed, he hadn’t seen one the other day when Em had hugged him.

  Bo found the drill press, which was about the height of two microwaves stacked on top of each other. He carried it to Shane’s SUV for transporting to the lake camp.

  “Faster, Tina.” Emily’s voice drifted to Jonah. “You only have ninety seconds to get through your routine.”

  What routine? “That’s our cue...” Jonah nodded toward the arena. “We must investigate.”

  The three Monroe men walked over to the arena.

  Tina was riding Davey’s mustang. She guided him in ever-tightening circles, pulled him to a halt and then backed him up about ten feet. “I never thought about practicing on other people’s horses. How was that?”

  “You’re ten seconds too long.” Emily mashed her hat firmly on her head as if preparing for a faster ride, not that she was on horseback.

  “Good thing I won’t be competing on Yoda.” Tina dismounted. “He’s a plodder. Which horse do you want me to ride next?”

  “Razzy.” Emily led her own horse into the ring and then brought Yoda out, tying his reins to a rail. “Don’t ever blame your performance on your horse. This is a test of your skill. A good cowboy can ride anything.”

  “Are you a good cowboy?” Jonah teased Bo.

  “I’m a Texan.” Bo put his hands on his hips. “Nobody would call me a cowboy. I don’t have professional skills on horseback. I just get by.”

  Was it wrong to be glad Bo had just unchecked an important box on Emily’s romantic wish list? Jonah grinned.

  “Bo’s no wrangler. Remember when he tried to ride a bull?” Shane found this exceedingly funny.

  “Near-death experiences aren’t humorous,” Emily chastised, without looking away from her charge.

  Jonah tended to agree. Bo had been thrown and gotten the wind knocked out of him. He was lucky he hadn’t been trampled.

  Tina mounted Razzy and rode him faster than she’d ridden Yoda.

  Jonah tried to watch but his gaze kept drifting to Emily.

  “You didn’t get him to change leads on that last turn.” Emily stood on a railing on the opposite side of the arena, as far from Jonah and Bo as she could get.

  Tina sat up straighter in the saddle. “I forgot.”

  Em tsked. “You can’t forget. The competition will be here before you know it.”

  “I know.” Tina brought Razzy to a stop. “Let me start again.”

  The pair did better that time. Coming in on time and without Emily pointing out any mistakes.

  The Monroe men applauded. Even if he didn’t understand the rodeo queen competition, Jonah was happy for Emily that her student had done well.

  “Don’t let their applause go to your head,” Emily told Tina. “If you assume you’re going to win, you’ll lose. You have to earn everything. Because your horsemanship is worth the majority of possible points, the winner of the riding competition usually takes the crown.”

  Tina nodded.

  Shane and Bo left, making the drive to the camp. Jonah headed back to the bunkhouse, one phrase Emily had said sticking in his head.

  If you assume...

  If Mike Moody assumed anything, he’d be dead. To be a successful desperado, he had to be methodical and detail-oriented. He had to be focused.

  EXTERIOR. THE STAGE ROAD. Mike picks wildflowers for Letty.

  Jonah groaned. Increasingly, his attraction to Emily was becoming tangled with his storytelling voice.

  This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WHAT? NO ICE CREAM?” Jonah joined Em at the firepit that night. He gave her a curt nod and claimed his usual webbed chair. By the weight of his sigh, he still hadn’t figured out who Letty was.

  “I had a yen for muffins,” Em told him. She’d baked chocolate chip mini-muffins after dinner. Em held one out to him. She’d brought a few out with her.

  “No, thanks.”

  The wind ruffled Em’s hair, the same way his rejection of her cooking riled her inside. “Are you sure? They’re good for what ails you.”

  “Do I look like I’m ailing?” Jonah didn’t look at Emily when he said it.

  “Yep.” Emily smiled. In the scheme of things, she’d had a good day. Productive around the ranch. Successful with Tina and competition training.

  The owl that lived in the pine north of the house hooted.

  Sure, there’d been her breakfast fail with Bo. And yes, there’d been a moment when she’d allowed loneliness to latch onto the idea of Jonah as the compromised answer to her falling star wishes. But she’d talked herself out of it. Why wouldn’t she? Emily thought Arabians were a beautiful, smart breed. Didn’t mean she had to have one. She could appreciate Jonah’s wit and pretty eyes without trying to make him into her dream man.

  “Is baking your hobby?” Jonah continued to pout in his chair, sinking into his jacket.

  “Sort of. What’s your hobby? Spin class?” Emily broke off a small piece of muffin and popped it into her mouth.

  “My hobby is script writing.”

  Emily swallowed. “You can’t have a hobby that’s the same thing as your job.” She brushed muffin crumbs from her lap. “That’d be like me saying my hobby is ranching.”

  “That’s my pillow,” Charlie yelled from inside the house. “Mom!”

  “Are you saying I can’t have a hobby in the same field as my work?” And there it was—the playful glint in Jonah’s eyes that had been missing when she’d opened the door this morning.

  “Correct, sir.” Emily shook her head, trying to shake off the attraction, as well. “For years, my grandmother’s hobby has been knitting. She used to knit everyone a scarf or mittens or a sweater for Christmas.” Of course, their family was so big she’d start in January.

  “Has been?” Jonah’s brow wrinkled. “I see her knitting all the time.”

  “Yep.” Em nodded. “Your sister Laurel said she’d buy some of her knitted goods to sell at the Mercantile. My grandmother no longer has a hobby. She knits for profit.”

  “Mom! Charlie used my toothbrush.” Davey sounded mortified.

  “On accident,” Charlie shouted back.

  “On purpose,” Davey countered.

  She and Jonah exchanged glances and laughed. Soon, their laughter died out, but their gazes remained fixed on each other.

  He wasn’t as p
retty as Bo, but he was easy on the eyes. The eggs were mesmerized.

  Jonah broke the connection and stroked his goatee. “I see your point about hobbies and work, and the separation of feelings.”

  She hadn’t mentioned feelings at all. “Have you ever sold a script you wrote in your spare time?”

  He hesitated.

  “You have!” Emily pounced. “You’re trying to deny it, but you have.”

  “I haven’t,” Jonah said in a surprisingly firm voice, staring at the crackling fire. “But I’ve considered it.”

  Emily angled toward him, drawing her knee up on the armrest, waiting for him to say more.

  After a moment, he did. “I write stories when I’m stressed.”

  “Really?” Such a small revelation. But it said a lot about him. And the way he said it—like a blurted confession—made her think he didn’t tell many people about his habit.

  Jonah nodded. “I don’t just pluck an idea from the sky and run with it. I write stories that are more personal.”

  Emily picked a chunk of muffin with a melted layer of chocolate chips. “There’s personal, like buddies going on a fishing trip. And then there’s personal, like your failed engagement to Aria.” She took a bite of the muffin crown and let the chocolate melt in her mouth, waiting to see if he’d be offended by her probe, wondering if it would be better if he was. There was danger in this fireside intimacy, peril to a heart on the lookout for love.

  “All writing is personal,” he said, answering nothing. He knew it, too. Jonah’s eyes flashed with a tease. “I can’t remember how old I was when I started writing. I know there was a smart remark made by me and a punishment involved. And then I was scribbling the scene in my math notebook. I’ve been scribbling ever since.”

  “Ah. Your hobby is to right wrongs. On paper.” She liked that.

  “And to flex my writing muscles.” He squirmed a little at her sharp glance. “Or to vent. As the older brother of a budding superstar, you can imagine how boring it was to be dragged around like one of Ashley’s entourage.” For all that sounded like torture for a kid, he looked rather pleased with himself. “I wasn’t always the most well-behaved child on the set.”