The Heart Won't Lie Read online

  “Pull on it!” Jack yelled.

  Michael yanked the rope. It tightened quickly, but by then it was around Jack’s knees.

  “Shi-i-i-t!” Jack went down hard.

  “Damn!” Dropping the rope, Michael ran forward. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

  Jack pushed himself onto his knees, shook his head once to clear it and grinned up at Michael. “Congratulations, greenhorn.” He leaned over and loosened the rope around his knees. “You just roped yourself a man.”

  “Yeah, but I knocked you down.” Michael extended his hand to help him up. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Effective, though.” Jack allowed Michael to pull him up. Then he dusted off the seat of his jeans. “Can’t say I’ve ever had that particular experience. Can’t say I’d want to do it again, either. But you’d want your hero to do that on purpose.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Sure you would. The hero takes the villain by surprise, waits until the rope drops to the guy’s knees and then bam!” Jack smacked his fist into his palm. “The bad guy goes down, your hero runs over, gives him a right hook to the jaw and your villain’s subdued.”

  Michael nodded. “That works. Thanks, Jack.”

  “You’re welcome. Now I’ve made my contribution to art for the day.”

  Michael coiled the rope. “How’s Bandit?”

  “Doing okay. Come on in the barn and I’ll introduce you.”

  Following Jack, Michael realized that even though this was his first full day, he was starting to feel at home around here. The scent of hay mingled with the earthy smell of horses was familiar to him now. Sure, his muscles were sore and would probably tighten up on him later. But he’d taken his first two lessons in cowboying and hadn’t done half bad.

  “This is Bandit.” Jack tucked his dark glasses into his shirt pocket, opened the stall door and walked up beside a big horse with distinct black-and-white markings, including a black circle around each eye. His right front leg was wrapped in a bandage. “Bandit, this is Michael, the tenderfoot I was telling you about.”

  “I’m happy to meet you, Bandit.”

  “Come on in,” Jack said. “He likes to be scratched on his neck, like this.” He demonstrated and stood back.

  Michael mimicked Jack and scratched Bandit’s silky neck. Maybe it was his imagination, but the horse seemed to exude power and confidence, much the way Jack did. “I take it you breed him.”

  “Yeah, we do.” Jack stroked Bandit’s nose. “He commands a high stud fee, which helps keep us in the black. So he gets the royal treatment around here.”

  “I’ll bet he would, anyway.”

  Jack smiled in acknowledgment. “He would. We all have our favorites around here, and Bandit’s mine. We’ve had some great times together over the years.”

  A moment ago Michael had been feeling a part of this environment, but that last statement told him how much of an outsider he was. He’d lived in apartments all his life, where the only animals he’d known well had been small dogs that walked down crowded sidewalks on leashes.

  Jack had spent many solitary hours riding this majestic horse over the untamed acreage of the Last Chance Ranch. Michael had written about such rides, but that wasn’t remotely the same as doing it. Now that he’d had a small taste of ranch life, he wanted to vault over the beginner stage he was currently in and take those long rides in the shadow of the Grand Tetons.

  “We should probably talk about Keri,” Jack said.

  “What about her?” Michael glanced around to see if anyone else was in the barn.

  “Don’t worry. I checked. We have some privacy. That was the main reason for getting you in here.” Jack continued to stroke Bandit’s nose. “Keri’s read everything you’ve written. Furthermore, she thinks you’re the spitting image of Jim Ford, except for the mustache.”

  Michael blew out a breath. “Damn. She’s going to figure this out. She’s too smart not to.” He debated his choices. “Can she keep a secret?”

  “I would say so. I haven’t noticed any blabbermouth tendencies.”

  “And she knows what it feels like to be embarrassed by negative publicity.”

  Jack glanced over at him. “She told you about the girl fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Man, I would’ve loved to see that. She keeps a lid on her temper most of the time around here, but I found out the hard way she’s murder in a snowball fight.”

  “I’ll bet.” Michael could picture her, cheeks pink from the cold, pelting the enemy with deadly accuracy.

  “Anyway, she must like you. She doesn’t broadcast that information much. Other than you, she’s only told me and Sarah, so far as I know.”

  “Well, I did ask her why she’d left Baltimore.”

  “She could have dodged the question or made up some bogus answer.” Jack combed Bandit’s forelock with his fingers.

  “I think she feels a kinship to me because we’re both from back east,” Michael said. “And she knows I have a similar background. I can put myself in her shoes and imagine what she’s been through.”

  Jack chuckled. “That could be true, but she also plain likes you. I haven’t seen her look at any of the hands the way she looks at you.”

  Hearing that gave him a jolt of pleasure, but he didn’t want Jack getting the wrong impression. “Just so you know, she hasn’t said or done anything inappropriate.”

  “That sounded kind of protective.” Jack’s grin flashed. “I think maybe you like her, too.”

  “Yeah, I like her, but that’s as far as it will go. I give you my word on that, Jack.”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. This is the Last Chance, not the Waldorf Astoria. You told me on the drive from the airport that you can’t seem to hook up with anyone you like.”

  “Yes, but hooking up with someone is not why I’m here.”

  “Hell, I know that! But if the opportunity presents itself, don’t be such a damned puritan, okay? Near as I can tell, poor Keri hasn’t been getting any since she arrived. Seems to me you could do each other a lot of good.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

  “Apparently I have to. Otherwise you and Keri will spend a miserable week sleeping right across the hall from each other and doing nothing about it.”

  “Probably because she respects you and doesn’t want to get fired! And I don’t want to abuse your hospitality! Those are legitimate reasons. And I’m not a damned puritan.”

  “Okay, okay. I appreciate your code of honor, but I’m giving you permission to bend it. I’m giving her permission, too, but I can’t very well talk to her, seeing as how I’m her boss and it would embarrass both of us. So I’m talking to you, sunshine. You can pass the word on to her.”

  Michael stared at him. “Pass the word on?”

  “Well, use some finesse. You’re the guy with the gigantic vocabulary, so I’m sure you can manage. But you’ll have to tell her I said it was fine so she won’t be afraid I’ll fire her.”

  “That’ll be an interesting discussion.” Michael was having a tough time imagining it. He couldn’t think of any subtle way to broach the subject.

  “You’ll figure it out. And if she’s willing, and you’ll have to be the judge of that, then cut loose a little while you’re here. Trust me, it’ll be good for you.”

  Michael nearly choked. “Are you telling me I need to get laid?”

  “You said it. I didn’t. But from the way you were whining about your situation yesterday afternoon, I’d have to answer in the affirmative. I didn’t think this trip could help you any in that department, but then I noticed Keri had that certain look in her eye, and I recalculated your chances.”

  Michael scrubbed a hand over his face. “God.”

  “I’m not, despite rumors to the
contrary. Oh, and FYI, there’s a box of condoms somewhere in that bathroom.”

  Michael decided against mentioning that he already knew about those. “Any more tips?”

  He was being sarcastic, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. “Not at the moment, but if she’s been reading all those Jim Ford books, she probably has a cowboy fantasy going on. You might want to play to that.”

  “I don’t see how I can. Once she finds out Jim Ford’s a phony, she’s liable to be disappointed in both the books and in me.”

  “Look, she knows you’re a tenderfoot, and she likes you, anyway. I’m guessing when she finds out the truth, she’ll take pity on you.”

  Michael groaned. “Oh, that sounds even better.”

  “It could be. She’s spent a year around cowboys. Ask her for pointers. Take it from ol’ Jack—women love giving pointers to a man. Then the more you act like a cowboy, the more she’ll feel proud of you and turned on at the same time. You’re in an ideal position, my friend.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with that. I think I could get squashed like a bug.”

  “Why should you? You have talent. You just managed to rope me without half trying.”

  “Oh, I was trying, Jack.”

  “See what you can do when you put your mind to it? You’re more of a cowboy than you think you are. Just follow your instincts. And for God’s sake, have fun. You take things way too seriously.”

  “I do?”

  “Yeah, and I know all about the dangers of taking life too seriously. You miss all the good stuff. Don’t do that.”

  * * *

  THE DINNER HOUR came and went without Keri having any excuse to interact with Michael. She’d set the Epsom salts and the liniment on his bathroom counter, so he had no reason to ask for her help. She had cleaned up all the dinner dishes with Mary Lou and Watkins, both from their meal in the kitchen and the one served in the dining room.

  With nothing left to do, she walked back through the house and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Michael’s bedroom door was open and she could hear him moving around in there. But she couldn’t think of any conversation she might need to have with him, so she opened her door and was halfway in when he called to her.

  “Keri?”

  The sound of his voice jump-started a familiar response of tingling heat that flowed despite her efforts to stem it. She had a thing for this guy, and apparently her hormones would dance to his tune whenever they had a chance. She turned. “Do you need something, Michael?”

  “Yes.” He stood in the doorway of his room, and his eyes, the gray-blue color of a jay’s wing, focused intently on her. “I...need to tell you something.”

  “Is there a problem with your room?” She didn’t think so, but it was her job to ask.

  “No, it’s about Jim Ford. Would you come in for a minute?”

  A minute. He didn’t have a lengthy discussion in mind. But her pulse rate jumped at the thought of crossing his threshold. “Sure.” She noticed that he hadn’t said Jim Ford’s book. He hadn’t had time to read it, anyway.

  No, he’d said Jim Ford. Her suspicion grew that for some reason he’d been asked to play the part of Jim Ford in public appearances. Maybe he was a wealthy actor she’d never heard of, although living close to New York most of her life, she knew the names of most of the famous actors on Broadway.

  Once she walked into his room, he motioned her to the only chair, a wingback upholstered in a sturdy green plaid. He sat across from her on the edge of the bed. When he moved, a slight wince and crinkling of the corners of his eyes betrayed him. He needed that soak in the tub and some liniment before he went to bed.

  But he’d given this “minute” with her priority, and she couldn’t imagine why. Being here with him was exciting, though—the most excitement she’d had all day. His clothes looked much more lived-in than they had yesterday. Jack had put him through his paces.

  No matter what he wanted to talk about, she was happy to sit and look at him. He had great shoulders, the kind a woman could take comfort from. His body was lean, but solid, too. She’d been surrounded by lean, solid male bodies for a year, but Michael’s drew her more strongly than any of the others’.

  Part of it was the combination of his clothes, which branded him a cowboy, and his accent, which reminded her of home. He was an enticing blend, which made him more exotic than any man she knew. But that wasn’t all of it. Beneath his calm exterior, she sensed an undercurrent of primitive passion.

  She’d sensed that undercurrent the minute he’d walked through the ranch house door. But until now, she hadn’t admitted it or examined why she was so drawn to him. For years she’d battled that same untamed yearning.

  Because of her polished society upbringing, she’d resisted those feelings and had blamed her Irish heritage for saddling her with inappropriate urges. Michael wasn’t Irish, at least not that she knew, but that same hidden fire flashed in his eyes. It was there, now.

  “So.” He rested his hands on his jeans-clad knees, and tension radiated from him. “About Jim Ford.”

  “If I’ve caused a problem by bringing you his book, I apologize. I don’t know why you’re here, and I may have stumbled on something I shouldn’t have. You can give me back the book, and we’ll never talk about it again.”

  His glance flicked over her, and his mouth curved into a wry smile. “I don’t think that’s going to work. You’re too intelligent, and I’ll never be able to maintain my cover.”

  “You’ve been hired to impersonate him! I knew it!”

  Humor glinted in his eyes. “That’s one way of looking at it, but—”

  “I won’t give you away, Michael. I understand what it’s like to have things you want to keep under wraps. You can trust me.”

  “I’m counting on it, because I’d rather not have anyone know I’m out in Wyoming learning how to be a cowboy.”

  “Of course. And I’ll help you in any way I can. Have you read all of Jim Ford’s books? Because I have, and I can fill you in on anything you might not know.”

  “I haven’t read them.”

  “Then you’ll really need my help, because I—”

  “I wrote them. I’m Jim Ford.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Then she said the first thing that entered her mind. “No, you’re not.”

  7

  KERI WAS SO cute in her refusal to believe him that he almost laughed, but she wouldn’t have appreciated that, so he controlled himself. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. I have the manuscripts on my laptop to prove it. My full name is Michael James Hartford, and I pulled the pseudonym Jim Ford out of that.”

  She still appeared to struggle with the information. “But Jim Ford is a cowboy. He’s an expert. I’ve used his books to learn about ranch life, and everything he writes rings true to what I’ve found here. You—pardon me for saying so, Michael—but you’re clueless!”

  “That’s a pretty accurate assessment.” He tried not to get distracted by how beautiful she looked sitting there in the wingback. She’d worn a kelly-green blouse with her jeans today, and it matched her eyes. Her hair was in a ponytail, as it had been yesterday, but that only added to her appeal because it showed that she was no hothouse flower. She was a woman who was ready to take action, whether that meant defending herself in a girl fight, striking out on her own in Wyoming or hurling snowballs for fun. She would be an uninhibited lover, and he ached to experience that.

  If Jack was right and Keri wanted him, she’d be the first woman he’d taken to bed who knew the real Michael Hartford. Every affair he’d had since he’d begun publishing the Jim Ford books had been based on a lie.

  But at the moment, she didn’t seem particularly interested in getting it on with Michael Hartford, aka Jim Ford. She looked confused and bewildered, like a kid who’d been told there’s no San
ta Claus.

  She cleared her throat. “So all the while you’ve been writing the Jim Ford books, you’ve been making it up.”

  He couldn’t keep from smiling. “That’s what fiction writers do.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I know that much! But what about your bio? It says you’re a cowboy.”

  “No, it doesn’t, not if you read it carefully. It says that I love the West and all it stands for—hard work, rugged living, honesty and straightforward dealings. It doesn’t say I’m a cowboy or even that I live on a ranch.”

  “Then you’re misleading people.”

  “I suppose you could say that, but they wouldn’t buy the fantasy if I told them the truth about my life.” This conversation wasn’t going well.

  “But you must have at least ridden a horse before.”

  “Nope. Not until Jack put me up on Destiny today.”

  “So it goes without saying that you’ve never roped a steer, shot a rifle or slept in a bunkhouse.”

  “Nope.”

  “How could you write like that, as if you’d done those things millions of times?” Her tone was more accusatory than curious. A spark of that Irish temper flared in her eyes.

  “Lots and lots of research.”

  She continued to gaze at him as if he’d recently landed in a spaceship from a faraway galaxy. She didn’t look as if she trusted him much, either. “So all this time, as I’ve been reading your books and picturing you as this accomplished cowboy, you’ve been...what?”

  “Living on Central Park West.”

  “Do your books make that much money?”

  “God, no. It’s picking up, but that’s not what pays the bills. I have a trust fund. The Hartfords are old money, and they wish to hell I’d stop writing trashy Westerns and go back to serving on the boards of prominent investment firms. It’s what the Hartfords do.”

  She nodded. “I know that story. But I still don’t understand why you didn’t take some of that mega-money, buy a ranch and live the way your characters do. You obviously love the idea of it.” She sounded impatient with him.