Counterfeit Cowboy (4 page)

He held out a hand.

Surprised, Shelby hesitated.
Is this an act or can he be so unassuming that he doesn’t think we’ll know who he is?

“Shelby Masters.” She brought herself out of it and accepted his offer. “And this is my brother Travis.”

“Travis.” He turned next to her awestruck sibling and again extended a hand.

“Mr. Brooks.” Travis gulped out the acknowledgement.

“Jordan.” He again quirked that amazing grin before turning to stride back toward his bus.

“Hey, Matt, get out here. We need your expertise,” he shouted.

“Man!” Travis recovered his power of speech. “Jordan Brooks’ band helping us change a tire! Who’d have thought!”

Passing motorists, seeing the logo on the side of the bus, began pulling over. The driver jumped out and waved them on.

“Everything’s fine, folks. Nothing to see. Keep moving,” he shouted. A balding fifty-something with a burgeoning paunch, he exuded an authority that brooked no refusal.
Retired cop
, Shelby labeled him.

“This is Matt, my lead guitar and one of the best mechanics Bayshore High School ever graduated.” Jordan was back with a young man about Travis’s age by his side. “Matt, this is Shelby Masters and her brother Travis.”

“Pleased to meet you, miss, Travis.” Matt broke into a smile that made him look like just another big kid. “Let’s take a gander at your trailer.” He squatted beside the wheel.

“We’ll have to unload.” Travis was coming out of his hero-worship trance. “We can’t jack it up with three horses inside.”

“Right.” Matt stood. “Let’s get to it.”

Travis lowered the tailgate.

“Whoa!” Jordan backed away from the horses’ shifting hindquarters. “They’re big ones, aren’t they?”

“Average for western pleasure.” Shelby started up the ramp. “Come on, Travis. The sooner we get these guys out of here, the sooner Matt can help us with the wheel.”

****

Ten minutes later Shelby waited in the shade of roadside trees with the horses while Travis, Matt, and other members of Jordan’s group worked over the trailer. The bus driver had remained beside the band’s vehicle, waving curious traffic on their way. Watching, the superstar stood to one side.

“No need to help, Jordan,” she heard Matt say as the young band member rubbed his hands on the thighs of his scrubby jeans. “Take a break. You’ve been up most of the night.”

“Looks like you guys have everything under control.” He stepped back. “I’ll join the lady.” He jerked his head in Shelby’s direction.

“I can tell when I’m not needed,” he grinned as he came to stand beside her. “I have a thermos of really good coffee in the bus. How about you and I share it? Your brother said you were driving when that tire blew. Must have been a nerve rattler. Maybe a bit of caffeine before you hit the road again wouldn’t hurt. It’s the only thing I’ve got to offer, I’m afraid.”

“Sure, okay, thanks.” She forced a smile and nodded.

“Wait here.” He turned and jogged off in the direction of the bus. Even dressed in that baggy outfit, Jordan Brooks exuded a sexiness she couldn’t deny.

Stop it. Just stop it. He’s only a counterfeit cowboy. And not a very convincing one, in that getup.

She sank down on the grass to wait for him.

“Hope you can take it black.” He returned with a large thermos and two Styrofoam cups. “No cream or sugar available.”

“That’ll do just fine.” Shelby took one of the cups and held it up to be filled. He twisted the top from the thermos and obliged.

“Ah!” He sat down beside her, knees bent, elbows resting on them, cup cradled in his hands, and squinted over at her, amazing blue eyes twinkling. “Fire door lady, right?”

“So it
was
you behind those sunglasses. Travis said it was, but I couldn’t imagine what a superstar would be doing wandering around behind a bunch of barns at seven a.m.”

“I had to grab a breath of fresh air. Sometimes, I swear, we go for days without being outdoors in daylight.”

“Still, the money must be good.” She slanted him a sideways glance and caught the jerking smirk that threw up his head.

“Yes, well, you got that right.” He squinted up into a shaft of sunlight piercing through the trees. “What about you? Are horses your livelihood or do you have other irons in the fire?”

“I’m a vet. I run my practice from the horse farm my brother and I operate.” She felt herself relaxing. He seemed a regular guy, no pretensions attached.

“You must be one busy lady.” Blue eyes looked deep into green with a sincerity of interest.

“I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do.” She pulled her gaze from his and tried to focus on the coffee she swirled in her cup. “Just like you.”

“I guess.” He breathed out the words.

“Sounds as if being a country-western superstar wasn’t
your
dream.” She glanced over at him.

“It just sort of happened.” He canted his head and gave her a resigned grin. “One night I was performing with my band at a high school dance, and the next morning we had an agent and were signing a deal with a Nashville producer.”

“Ann Wise lets no grass grow under her stilettos.”

“You know Annie?” Astonishment mirrored in his words.

“She came to see me last night. She wanted me to teach you to ride.”

“That’s typical Annie.” He shook his head ruefully. “She never tells me what she’s up to until it’s a done deal.” He swung to face her. “I take it you refused. Otherwise I’d be on my way to your place to learn to sit a horse.”

“I don’t have the time or desire to turn my farm into the exclusive riding school of a single pupil.”

“I detect a distinct note of bitterness in those words, ma’am. I’d bet there’s more to it than that. Something personal, maybe? Maybe you don’t think I could be trusted to live in close proximity to a pretty lady like yourself?” A corner of his mouth quirked up, sapphire eyes twinkled, and something inside Dr. Shelby Masters stirred…again.
Damn!

“Don’t flatter yourself!” she snapped, startling herself with her reaction.

Way to go, Shelby. Be nasty to your good Samaritan.

“Sorry.” He turned his gaze to stare across the highway, rubbing the Styrofoam cup between his palms. “That sounded like inflated ego. Hope I’m not starting to believe Annie’s publicity.”

“No,
I’m
sorry. You and your band stopped to help us. I had no right to speak to you like that. It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Hey, you guys!” Travis hailed them. “Trailer’s fixed. We’re ready to roll. Shel, you can start loading the horses.”

“Thanks, Mr. Brooks.” She stood, handed him her empty coffee cup, and brushed the back of her jeans. “We really appreciate your help. If we can ever do anything for you…”

“Anything but riding lessons?” He gathered up the thermos and cups.

“Anything but riding lessons.” She untied Fancy and started to lead the mare past him.

“I think we should discuss Annie’s offer in a little more detail. Our meeting twice in the same day could be serendipitous.”

“I don’t believe in fate, Mr. Brooks.” She paused in front of him.

“Not a drop of the fanciful in you?”

“Not a drop. Come on, Fancy.”

“But you have a horse called Fancy.” He followed her.

“So?” She stopped again and faced him.

“I’d call that fanciful, wouldn’t you?” He was grinning, teasing her.

“Excuse me. We have to be getting back on the road.” She started to brush past him, but he caught her by the arm. Fancy, startled by the sudden movement, threw up her head and half-reared.

“Hey!” Jordan staggered back, arms flying up, spewing coffee and cups into the air.

“Easy, girl, easy.” Shelby brought the startled animal under control and rubbed her nose.

“Gave me a bit of a start.” Jordan brushed coffee from his T-shirt.

“I can see it did.” Shelby rounded on him. “That’s exactly why I don’t plan to waste my time making a counterfeit cowboy look like the real thing.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re no more a cowboy than a dancing monkey, but you’ve got people coast to coast believing you are. I’m not about to help you promote a phony image. Come on, Fancy.”

She clucked to the mare and led her past the man she’d silenced.

“You guys!” The bus driver yelled at the group standing back admiring their work on the trailer. “Get your sorry asses on the bus! Excuse my language, miss, but we’re late. Jordan, that means you, too. We’ve got to roll!”

Chapter Three

Jordan Brooks climbed back aboard the bus and took his seat behind the driver. Dr. Shelby Masters’ opinion annoyed him. He’d never told anyone he was a cowboy. He glanced down at his shorts and T-shirt. Did he look like a cowboy?

Apparently she was one of those people who disdained country music, one of those individuals too rigid to relax and let the tunes do them some good. Sure, it wasn’t Mozart or Brahms or any of the other classical composers he’d studied in university, but it made people laugh and dance and sing along and sometimes even cry a much-needed release. It was part of North American culture, it was folk art, and anyone too narrow-minded to accept it for what it was…

But she was an eyeful with her hair scraped back into a ponytail. The soft chestnut curls escaping from it had framed her cheeks and forehead like something out of a Jane Austen creation. Her face, too, could have come straight out of a romantic novel. Beautiful and heart-shaped, it had a complexion that would have done any cover girl proud, and all without makeup, he suspected. And the shabby jeans and sweatshirt didn’t hide the fact that she had one terrific figure. Physically, Dr. Shelby Masters definitely was a woman to catch a man’s interest. It was her attitude that sullied all of the above. When she looked at him, her long-lashed emerald eyes mirrored contempt. And that wasn’t fair.

He leaned back in the seat and began to sing an old country hit, something about someone not knowing him but not liking him.

“New tune for the show, Jordan?” Jessie, his fiddle player, paused beside him. He was the last of the group to get back on the bus.

“No, an old one…from before you were born. Now why don’t you try to get some rest? Big show again tonight.”

“Okay, boss.” Jessie headed off down the aisle.

The bus lurched as they started off. Up ahead Jordan could see Shelby’s rig moving to the top of the speed limit
. Anxious to get home, wherever that might be.

Trying to ignore the cacophony coming from the rear of the bus where his band had gathered, he let his head drop back against the seat and closed his eyes. He’d like to be going home. Home to decent meals, clean clothes, and nights that ended before two a.m.

“Nice-looking lady.” Bus driver Joe Farrah adjusted his bottom on his seat and glanced at Jordan via the mirror over his head.

“Yeah, nice-looking.”

“Too bad we have to keep moving. You haven’t had a date in a dog’s age. Come to think of it, neither have I. Haven’t seen Lili since the last time I got home to Yarmouth, and that was four months ago.”

“Maybe you should just marry the lady. Two years of months between dates can wear any woman’s patience thin.”

“Yeah, as if she’s ready to give up her job at the rehab centre to go traipsing around the country with a bunch of gypsies like us.”

“You never know what a woman will do for love until you ask, Joe.”

“Look who’s talking! Mister didn’t-even-make-a-move on the sharpest, best-looking lady we’ve encountered in a dog’s age.”

“I don’t think that particular lady would be in the market to spend any time with someone she called a counterfeit cowboy, Joe. Anyhow, it’s a good thing the set-up guys are ahead of us with the tractor trailer. Stopping back there made us late, but they’ll have most of the equipment on stage and ready when we get there. Damn, we’re like a traveling circus with all the stuff we have to cart around. It used to be so simple.”

“Hey, Jordan.” Twenty-year-old Matt came forward to drop into the seat across from him. “One hot lady, right? A bit old for me, but not for a geezer like you.”

“You’re forgetting…I’m the single father of four. Not a lot of women are ready to take that on.” He opened one eye to look over the mechanic-turned-lead-guitar-and-backup-singer.

“Okay, enough said.” The lanky tire-changer stood and braced against the bus’s sway.

“Get some sleep, Matt.” He closed his eye again. “We’ll be arriving late for our next gig. We’ll need to move fast.”

“Sure.” He lurched toward the back of the bus. “But sounds as if I’m not the one that needs some shuteye.”

Jordan heaved a sigh. What was wrong with him, bitching at the kids? They’d been behaving in his custody and working hard at their careers in the music industry. Hopefully in a year or two he’d find someone to take over his position as singer, someone Annie Wise would accept as his substitute, someone good enough to keep the band up in the ratings. And he could finally go home.

Yeah, right
.

Someone who could replace the poster boy Jordan Brooks had become. Annie had made him into the guy every man wanted to
emulate, every woman fell in love with. She’d created him as surely as if she’d molded him out of clay, added a bit of talent, and then breathed life into her handiwork.

He ran his hand through the light brown hair that curled below his ears. Too long and far too phony. Once upon a time it had been black and cropped short.

And all that working out at any gym they stopped long enough to frequent? He’d been happy with the muscles gained by pulling lobster traps, harvesting potatoes, and cutting wood for his parents. He thought about those too-tight jeans and custom-made shirts, the thousand-dollar cowboy boots and five-hundred-dollar Stetsons. Hell, he
was
a counterfeit cowboy.

“Hey, Jordan, you’ve got to hear this,” Jessie hailed. The band of four had assembled near the back, around Paul, who played keyboard. “Paulie’s got another one…hit, that is.”

Jordan stretched stiff shoulders and heaved himself out of the seat. A gifted composer, Paul had a sensitivity level that rivaled a fingernail on a sunburn. Wouldn’t do to ignore him.

“Let’s have it, boy.” He sat down opposite the rail-thin twenty-year-old.