Crazy for Cowboy (17 page)

That was probably the truth, she thought. And that’s what she was after. The truth.

Sure, she could have confronted him with everything she’d learned—his real name, his real occupation—but what would that accomplish? If Brandon didn’t confess his deception, willingly and of his own volition, how could she ever fully trust him?

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t prod him a little.

“Comfy?” she asked.

“Not exactly.”

She twisted around to look at him. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Oh, yeah,” he whispered in a deep, raspy voice.

Emily knew exactly what kind of pain he was talking about. She felt it too. His body was pressed close against hers, sending her hormones into overdrive. Lusting after a man who required medical attention wasn’t very classy. Not to mention, unprofessional. She snapped the reins. “So, what are you doing here today?”

“Me? Riding a horse.”

“Do you usually wear makeup to ride? Or is there something you want to tell me?”

She felt him shift his weight. “Did you see all the big lights over by the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they’re filming a movie.”

“And you’re in it?”

His answer was barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Emily felt a flicker of hope. All he needed was a bit more coaxing. “Is that a hobby of yours? Appearing in movies?”

“Nope. First time.”

She let the pause between them stretch. Surely he would clarify. But, as the silence dragged on, she realized he wasn’t going to say anything more. She’d given him the opportunity to fess up about being an actor and he hadn’t taken it.

Or was there another reason why he’d stopped talking? Emily thought back to his last set of answers. There’d been a definite strain in Brandon’s voice. He was probably feeling the effects of his injury. She decided to hold off further questions until later.

They made it past the steep hill when Emily looked up to see a familiar face, coming toward them. “Sam!”

“What happened? Houston okay?”

She was so used to thinking of him as Brandon, that it took her a moment to place the other name.

“I’m fine,” the male at her back answered.

“He fell down the ravine, Sam. He’s gonna need stitches.”

“Sutures,” Brandon corrected.

Emily glanced over at Sam. His full attention was on the man sitting behind her. Deep etch-marks lined his face as he eyed Brandon’s bloody pant leg.

“Ya sure yur okay, son?”

“Yeah, Sam. I don’t think it’s as bad as it looks.”

She’d never seen the old cowboy so concerned. And she’d never heard him call anyone son.

Sam had lost his own boy to cancer decades before.
Son
wasn’t a tag that he threw around. He must have thought highly of Brandon to call him by it. But then Sam didn’t know—couldn’t know—that the fellow he’d just called by that familiar endearment had pulled the wool over his eyes. What would the old man think when he learned that the guy’s entire persona was a lie, that he wasn’t Houston Saveloy at all?

She’d given Brandon the chance to come clean but he hadn’t taken it. Maybe her own trust, like Sam’s, had been completely misplaced. Maybe the actor was simply incapable of telling the truth.

She pulled herself out of her brooding, hit with a sudden notion. If Brandon was a novice rider, how would he have met Sam in the first place? Had he come to the old cowboy to learn how to handle a horse?

It was the only explanation that made sense. If true, Sam must have known who Brandon was from the beginning...and still thought enough of him to call him son. It was probably the best recommendation he could have given.

* * *

To Brandon, seeing the top of the Wainwright Hotel in the distance heralded his salvation. Between the pain and the mid-morning heat, he was starting to feel woozy. He hung onto Emily, willing himself to stay upright.

He tried to think of something else—how much milk he had left in the fridge, the number of sweaters he had in his closet, the last ten movies he’d seen with Liam—anything to keep his mind off his leg.

“Let’s get you down from there, son.”

Brandon looked up to find himself in front of one of the horse trailers he’d seen earlier, and beside him stood Sam, lifting a pair of skinny arms out toward him. The picture was ludicrous. The crusty old guy was reaching up to catch him as though he were a child. Brandon figured he had about thirty pounds on Sam. If he let himself go, he’d probably crush the ol’ fella.

Fortunately, at that moment, Robbie came running up to lend a hand. With the two men guiding him down, Brandon was able to reach terra firma once again. Gently, they eased him into a sitting position on the grass. Brandon was on the verge of laughing at the vision the two macho cowboys presented, hovering over him like a pair of Florence Nightingales.

“I’ll bring my truck around,” Emily announced, adjusting his bandage. “You wait here.”

Brandon glanced down to see the area stained with blood. He quickly looked away. “No problem,” he answered, gritting his teeth against a wave of nausea.

After a couple of deep breaths, the sensation passed. He raised his head, taking in the sight of his three nurses. Other than the concerned trio before him, there was a general lack of people about. “Where is everyone?”

“Lunch break,” Robbie informed him, tilting his hat back. “Everyone’s in the mess tent. Should I call for an ambulance?”

“No. The hospital is just up the street. I’ll drive him there myself.” Emily grabbed her bag and addressed Robbie again. “Do you need to fill out an accident report?”

The redhead muttered an expletive, excused himself, then hurried away, Emily on his heels.

“How ‘r ya doin’, son?” Sam asked when they were alone.

“I’m hanging in.”

The older man gave him a light pat on the arm. “Nice trick.”

“Huh?”

“Gettin’ hurt. Women love t’ fuss over a guy. Good move.”

“Sam, I didn’t do this on purpose,” Brandon protested. “It was an accident.”

“Even better,” Sam said, and gave him a toothless grin.

The sound of a vehicle approaching stopped their conversation. Emily brought her truck alongside them. She ran to the passenger’s side and opened the door. With Sam’s help, Brandon managed to get in without jarring his injured leg.

“I’m going to get blood all over your upholstery.

Emily clicked her tongue. “Typical male. You’re bleeding to death and all you can think about is the truck.”

“I’m not bleeding to death.”

“No, you’re not. But we do need to get you to a hospital.” Emily grabbed the seatbelt buckle and pulled it across him. The scent of her was distracting, drawing his thoughts away from any discomfort he was feeling. Then he saw her expression, tight with worry. “When did you last have a tetanus shot?”

“I don’t know. Are you always this romantic?” he asked, trying to make her smile.

“Stop being a smart ass, or you’ll be walking to the hospital.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He felt her hands on his shoulders, gently pushing him back in the seat. “Rest now,” she told him.

Brandon was happy to oblige. Thankfully, he leaned back and let himself sag.

“You want to come, Sam?” he heard her ask.

“No, no,” Sam answered. Brandon opened his eyes in time to catch the old guy’s sly grin. “I’m sure yull do jus’ fine without me.”

Brandon kept his eyes closed through most of the drive to the hospital. Opening them made the world spin. He’d already fallen asleep on Emily, passing out on her was not at all suave. At some point, she slipped a bottle of water into his hand and told him to drink it slowly.

The stifling heat escaped from the cab as the air conditioner blasted coolness around him. Before they’d left the grounds of Heritage Park, he was beginning to feel better, wondering if the trip to the hospital was even necessary. But he was hardly in a position to argue with Emily’s judgment. After all, she was the one with the medical background, and it did feel good to have a woman fawn over him. In fact, when Emily was the woman, it felt terrific.

“I’m glad you’re still speaking to me,” he murmured.

“Why do you say that?”

“You know, falling asleep the other night...”

“Oh…not a problem.”

But...
That was the next word Brandon expected from Emily’s lips, followed by a short and cutting remark about how she wasn’t interested in dating narcoleptic men. Or ones that were accident-prone. When the backlash didn’t come, he rambled on.

“I was pretty tired,” he said, feeling the need to justify himself.

“Been busy?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“With what?”

“I’ve been doing split shifts at the res...” Brandon’s eyes popped open.

“Yes?”

What was he going to say? How could he finish that last syllable?
I’ve been doing split shifts at the reservoir? The reservation? The restroom?
Some of the queasiness he’d experienced earlier returned.

“I was at the res...taur...ant.”

“The restaurant? You mean, where I met you?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Really? Do you go there a lot?” Emily dragged her tongue across her lips, leaving them glistening and incredibly kissable.

“Yeah. I...” Oh, hell. He was in worse shape than he’d first thought. He couldn’t even think straight. Maybe he was delirious. But he knew that wasn’t the reason his mouth suddenly had a mind of its own. And it wasn’t lust either.

Well, not entirely.

Nope. The reason was simple. He was tired of it. Tired of lying. He felt rotten every time a new fib came out of his mouth. How could he have a relationship with Emily when she thought he was someone else? He took a breath and pressed forward. “I...work there.”

“At Eduardo’s?” She grinned. “That makes so much sense.”

Brandon waited for the penny to drop, for Emily to wonder why a cowboy was working at a restaurant. “I don’t own it or anything,” he explained, heading off her next question.

“No, no. I didn’t assume you did.”

“I’m...just a...waiter.”

She nodded and kept driving. Her expression hardly changed. If anything, her smile got bigger.

“What’s with the grin? You got a thing for waiters?”

“I’ve got a thing for one of them, apparently,” she said, reaching over to touch his cheek.

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“That I wait tables?”

“Should it?”

“Well. … it’s not exactly the world’s noblest profession. Not like being a vet.”

“What’s the difference? I help animals; you help people. You take their orders. You bring them food, one of the basic necessities of life.”

Brandon blinked. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Are you ashamed of what you do?”

“No. Not at all. The job has worked out well for me. I like the other employees, the hours are flexible, I meet all kinds of people, and I make great tips. Most important, it’s helped me support myself and my family.”

“Your sister and nephew?”

“Right.”

“Sounds like the perfect job to me.”

“Hardly perfect. If I had my way, I’d be doing something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like ac...” He’d done it again—opened his mouth before thinking. Now what was he going to say?
Academia? Accounting? Accordion playing?
He cringed, waiting for the sky to fall. “Ac...ting.”

“I could totally see you doing that.”

Brandon almost dumped the contents of his water bottle onto his lap. “Really?”

“You knew that Shakespeare play inside out and backwards. And you have a wonderful speaking voice. I read an interview with Elizabeth Taylor once. She said just listening to Richard Burton would get her all hot and bothered.”

Brandon laughed. “And you think I have that kinda power over women?”

She looked at him. Her own voice flowed rich and thick like molasses. “Oh, yeah.”

He wasn’t sure if the temperature had risen or if his personal thermostat had gone wonky. He pondered the alternatives while Emily made a left hand turn into the hospital. “What about you? Would you consider dating a guy who was an actor?”

“It really doesn’t matter to me what a man does for a living, as long as he’s passionate about it.”

“You mean that?”

“Most definitely. Did you always want to be an actor?”

“To be honest, I can’t remember doing anything else.” He reached up with his free hand and wiped his forehead. “I was always making up skits in elementary school, then asking the teacher if I could perform them for the class.”

“A playwright, too?”

“Hardly,” he said with a chuckle. “Most of my sketches involved chase scenes. They ended up with me running around the classroom.”

“Despite your recent injury, I can picture that.”

“The kids seemed to enjoy it. I don’t think the teacher was too impressed, though.”

“Then you started acting around town?”

“Yeah, I was packing to go to Vancouver when...”

“When your father died?” Emily asked, her words hushed.

“Yeah.” What was the matter with him? The fall must have loosened his heart as well as his tongue. For a moment, he felt the sting of tears at the back of his throat. He coughed, clearing the sensation away. “Everything changed. Suddenly, I understood how important my family was to me. I couldn’t walk away.”

“You did the right thing.”

“I’ve never been sure about that.”

“How so?”

“Sometimes, I think I picked the easy out.” He looked out the window, speaking into the passing traffic. “Moving to Vancouver was scary. A part of me has always wondered if I used my family as an excuse to avoid going. Choosing them meant I didn’t have to test my talent. I didn’t have to prove myself. For a long time after my father’s death, I didn’t perform at all. I’ve always wondered if I was afraid I’d find out I wasn’t good enough.”

He felt her hand on his. “But you got a part in this movie. You must be good enough.”

He sighed and shifted his position. “There are a lot of variables in the profession—looks, timing—things that have nothing to do with talent. Maybe this role is a fluke.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but she’d never seen him perform so her words of reassurance, though soothing, meant nothing. She shifted the truck into park and turned off the ignition. “I’ll get a wheelchair.”