With a Stetson and a Smile & The Bridesmaid’s Bet Read online

  “Heels down! Back straight! Grab some mane! That’s it!”

  That sounds like Fred. Jo threw back the covers and hurried to the window. Her breath fogged the glass, and she rubbed a clear place to look through.

  Sure enough, Fred had somebody up on Hyper, and from the way the rider was bouncing around Jo knew who it had to be. God, what had she done?

  As she pulled on her jeans, she hopped one-legged to the window to see if Quinn was still aboard Hyper. Trust Fred to give him the acid test, just like he had with the whiskey. And in the rain, no less. Everything was slippery in the rain, including saddles.

  Still buttoning her shirt, she took the stairs at a rapid clip.

  Emmy Lou was in the kitchen frying bacon. “Fred came to get Quinn at five-thirty,” she called as Jo headed for the door.

  “Why the hell didn’t Quinn tell Fred to get lost?” Jo clamped her hat on her head and grabbed a yellow slicker from a peg by the door.

  “I think he wants to be your knight in shining armor,” Emmy Lou said.

  “I don’t know what to do with one of those,” Jo said.

  “I never had one before.”

  Emmy Lou came to the door. “You were on the right track last night in the barn.”

  Jo shook her head. “That would completely louse up the plan.”

  “Then maybe you need a new plan.”

  Jo flung open the door. “Can’t think about that now. I have to go save Quinn before Fred breaks every bone in his gorgeous body.”

  She ran toward the corral, splashing through puddles along the way, but she wasn’t in time. As she arrived, Hyper slid to an abrupt halt, haunches down, and Quinn popped right out of the saddle. The corral was a sea of mud, so there was no question he’d land in it. Fortunately it was butt-first instead of headfirst.

  Jo stormed up to Fred, who was leaning against the top rail, the brim of his hat creating a mini waterfall in front of his face. He didn’t turn. “Mornin’, Jo.”

  Jo would never publicly chastize anyone who worked for her, but it took an effort for her to keep her voice down so Quinn couldn’t hear her. “It’s raining, Fred. A real trash mover.”

  “I did notice that.”

  Jo nodded. “Okay. I guess we’ll move on to my next point. Quinn’s riding Hyper.”

  “I noticed that, too.”

  “Why is he riding Hyper, Fred?”

  “That was the horse he wanted.”

  “Of course he did!” Jo heard herself getting loud and lowered her voice. “That’s the horse everybody wants, because he’s beautiful. I’ll bet you didn’t tell him that horse is a spoiled brat, did you?”

  “’Scuse me a minute, Jo.” Fred made a megaphone of his hands. “Your hat’s over yonder!” he called to Quinn.

  “Grip harder with your thighs next time.”

  “I don’t want there to be a next time,” Jo said.

  Fred turned to her at last, a challenge in his gray eyes.

  “Wanna take over?”

  “No, I want you to take it easy on him! At this rate he’ll end up in the hospital, which is not fair considering he’s only doing this as a favor to me.”

  “I don’t think he’ll end up in the hospital.”

  “No? I’ve already seen him take one tumble. The next one could be—”

  “He’s hit the mud four times already.” Fred sounded proud of the fact.

  “Four?”

  “Whoops. Make that five.”

  Jo whipped around to take stock of the newest disaster. What she saw made her go cold. Quinn lay facedown in the muck. “God, Fred, you’ve killed him.” Jo ducked through the rails of the corral and ran toward Quinn. “Are you okay? Please be okay!” She crouched beside him. At least he seemed to be breathing. “Quinn! Speak to me!”

  Slowly he rolled to his back and glanced at her, his face grimy with mud. He grinned. “Well, damn. I thought I’d have this riding thing figured out before breakfast. It may take a little longer than that.”

  “Don’t move.” Jo wiped a glob of mud from his chin with a trembling hand. If he was really hurt she’d never forgive herself. “You may have a concussion. A broken back. Broken neck. Broken ribs.”

  “Nah. Besides, I can’t just lie here. The way the rain’s coming down, I’ll drown.”

  Jo leaned closer, her conscience kicking her six ways to Sunday. “You don’t have to do this,” she said in an undertone. “I’ll tell Fred I’ve changed my mind about having you impersonate Hastings. Go get cleaned up, have Emmy Lou’s famous ranch breakfast and drive out of here.”

  His blue gaze, usually so easygoing, slowly took on the look of tempered steel. “Nope. Can’t do it.”

  “Why not? Surely you’re not trying to prove something to Fred. I could have throttled you last night with that stupid posturing about the whiskey.”

  Quinn smiled and eased to a sitting position. “It did taste a lot like the muck in this corral.” He turned his face away and spit.

  “Go back to New York, Quinn. Please.”

  He looked at her. “You don’t want me around anymore?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then I’m staying.” He jerked a thumb at Hyper. “Is it true that horse slept in your bed?”

  So Fred had explained that she was the one who had spoiled Hyper. “He was tiny. Premature, and an orphan. So cute and lonesome. Fred told me I’d be sorry.”

  Quinn gave her a sly grin. “You said I was cute, and I’m feeling kinda lonesome.”

  She tried to ignore the leap in her pulse rate. “I don’t make those mistakes anymore. You see how Hyper turned out.” She stood. “Come on, I’ll help you up, and we’ll go inside.”

  He ignored her outstretched hand and got to his feet by himself. “I told you I’d do this, and I’ll do it.”

  She noticed him wince and caught his arm. “You were never supposed to learn to become a real cowboy! I thought you could pick up a few things and fake it.”

  He leaned down and retrieved his muddy hat, obviously a loan from Benny. The mud-spattered jeans and shirt looked like Benny’s, too, and the worn boots. Mud-spattered or clean, Benny had never looked so good in these clothes. Quinn might be a lousy rider, but he was born to dress in snug jeans and broad-shouldered Western shirts.

  He settled the hat on his head and glanced at her. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. Faking it isn’t my style.” He tipped his hat. “Excuse me, ma’am.” There was a definite drawl in his voice. “I need to go catch your spoiled-rotten horse.”

  As he ambled away, Jo stared at him with her mouth open. “What’s with the drawl? You’re from New York! New Yorkers don’t drawl.”

  Quinn laughed. “I bit my tongue on that last go-round. Drawling feels better than talking fast.”

  “And where’d you get that bowlegged walk? That’s not your normal walk, either.”

  He kept going, headed for the dark bay standing in a corner of the corral. “I always wondered why cowboys walk this way. After banging around in that saddle a few times, I get it.”

  “Quinn, stop this!”

  He kept walking.

  Jo stalked to Fred. “We have to make him quit.”

  “Now, Jo, have you ever known a cowboy you could talk out of something once he’s set his mind to it?”

  “Read my lips—he’s not a cowboy.”

  Fred shrugged. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I thought he shouldn’t ride this morning on account of the rain. But he wanted to.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. He just asked if rain would be bad for the horse.”

  “But you should have talked him out of riding Hyper.”

  “I tried. He said if he could ride Hyper he’d know he’d really learned how to ride. Said he’d keep at it until he could stay on. And look at that. Damned if he don’t have old Hyper figured out.”

  Jo gazed across the corral. Hyper started out with his usual crow hops, but Quinn gripped with his thighs and held on. Jo c
ould tell that he was gripping with his thighs because of the way the wet denim moved. Not that she was looking at his thighs on purpose. And she was definitely not looking at the spot between his thighs, the place that had taken so much punishment from the saddle this morning. He’d probably appreciate an ice pack for that area. She cringed as Quinn’s butt came partially off the saddle and slammed down again.

  But, God, he had a great butt. And he was keeping it mostly in the saddle this time. He dug his heels into Hyper’s ribs, and the gelding took off at a lope. Quinn’s hat flew off, and for a second Jo thought Quinn would tumble into the mud again, but he corrected his position by using those spectacular thigh muscles.

  As Hyper and Quinn rounded the curve of the corral, Quinn let out a whoop. “Coming through,” he yelled. “I still can’t steer worth a damn!”

  Jo scrambled through the fence barely ahead of the thundering hooves.

  “Yee-haw!” Quinn shouted as Hyper made another circuit, flinging mud everywhere.

  Jo turned to stare at Fred. “Yee-haw?”

  “We’ll work on that,” Fred said. “He probably thinks that’s what you’re supposed to say at a time like this. Can’t expect him to get everything right at first. He’s from New York.”

  Jo gazed at Quinn sailing around the corral in the rain, a big old grin on his face. “Let me get this straight. This whole circus this morning was Quinn’s idea, not yours?”

  “I’ve seen how you look at him, Jo. I wouldn’t deliberately do the boy wrong.”

  Jo pulled her slicker closer around her. “I don’t look at him any certain way.”

  “Okay. Whatever you say. And he don’t look at you no certain way, either. I’m an old coot and I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Jo sighed. “You sound like Emmy Lou.”

  “Well, she’s an old lady, just like I’m an old coot. Our eyesight’s no good, and besides, we can’t remember what it’s like to have them feelings, so don’t pay us no mind.”

  Jo had a sudden flash of insight. She began putting together isolated incidents and finally decided she had a case. “Fred, are you sweet on Emmy Lou?”

  The part of Fred’s cheeks not covered with his bushy gray beard grew red. “Now what makes you say a darn fool thing like that? Emmy Lou and me have been working on this ranch together for years, been giving each other hell for years, too. We’ve known each other too long, and we’re too danged sensible for such goings-on.”

  Jo grinned. “I’ll be damned. You are sweet on her. Does she know?”

  “She don’t know because there’s nothing to it!” Fred turned abruptly and made a megaphone of his hands again.

  “Hey, Quinn, how about finding the brake on that nag? I need me some breakfast!”

  “You go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “You will not be fine. Don’t go getting cocky on me. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re on a runaway horse. Hyper’s got the bit in his teeth, and if you weren’t in this here corral, he’d be taking you on a trip to the high country, and you wouldn’t have any say about it at all.”

  “I’ll bet I could stop this horse whenever I want.”

  Fred exchanged a glance with Jo and sighed. “Ain’t that just like any other cowboy in the world? A little success, and he gets to bragging on himself.”

  “Fred, he’s not a cowboy.”

  “He sure as hell acts like one.” He raised his voice.

  “Let’s see this control you’ve got over that horse, cowboy. And don’t go jerking the reins and hurting his mouth. Go easy.”

  “Okay.” Quinn started pulling as he rounded the curve coming toward Jo and Fred. Nothing happened. He frowned and pulled harder.

  Fred folded his arms. “We’re waiting on you, cowboy. Try yelling whoa.”

  Quinn put more muscle into it. “Whoa!” he yelled. When Hyper still didn’t respond, he leaned back on the reins. “Dammit, stop!”

  “I’ll get him not to say dammit, stop when I mention the yee-haw,” Fred said.

  “Good idea. Look out, here he—”

  Hyper slid to a stop right in front of Jo and Fred, spraying mud all over them.

  “—comes,” Jo finished, holding out her arms and surveying her yellow slicker, now polka-dotted with mud. At least her clothes were protected by the slicker. Fred would have to start over before he appeared at the ranch house.

  “Wow. Just like a New York street sweeper.” Quinn sat in the saddle staring at them. “Sorry about that.”

  Jo glanced at him and saw the sparkle of mischief in his blue eyes. “Funny, but you don’t look sorry,” she said.

  “Oh, but I am.” He leaned on the saddle horn and grinned at her.

  Amazing, Jo thought. At this moment every obnoxious, sexy, devilish inch of him screamed out cowboy. But he wasn’t quite cowboy enough to know he should keep his feet in the stirrups until he was ready to dismount.

  Taking note of that, Jo slipped through the rails of the corral. “Let me help you get off that beast.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.” He patted the horse’s neck. “Me and Hyper, we’re getting along fine. You have to know how to deal with him. He just needs a firm hand.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. What was I thinking? Thanks for telling me.” She hoped Hyper remembered the trick she’d taught him when he was still a colt. She grabbed his reins and gave a soft, low whistle.

  On cue Hyper reared, and Quinn slid neatly down the horse’s rump into the mud.

  “It’s a good idea to keep your feet in the stirrups when you’re sitting in the saddle,” she said with a sweet-as-pie grin. “You never know what might happen if you don’t.” She led Hyper out the gate Fred held open.

  “Good job,” Fred said, smiling in approval as he took the reins from her. “I’ll walk him a little and give him a rubdown.” He glanced at Quinn, who still sat in the mud as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d ended up there after his grand finish. “Come on down to the bunkhouse for a shower before breakfast, cowboy,” he said. “You’re not fit to sit at Emmy Lou’s table looking like that.” He walked Hyper toward the barn.

  Quinn continued to sit in the mud with the rain pouring down on him.

  Jo stood by the open gate. “Are you coming out?”

  “You did that on purpose,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice.

  “Somebody had to. You were getting way too big for your britches.” She stepped a little closer, hoping her little maneuver hadn’t been too rough on him. “Are you okay?”

  “What if I’m not?”

  Instantly she regretted her impulsiveness. She hurried toward him. “Oh, Quinn, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to prick a hole in your pride before it got out of control.” Anxiety twisted in her stomach. “Can you stand?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Dammit, why had she allowed herself that moment of revenge? “Where do you hurt?”

  His head drooped. “All over. I don’t think there’s a single inch of me that doesn’t hurt.”

  “Oh, Quinn.” She dropped to her knees in the mud beside him and put her hand on his mud-caked shoulder. “Did you twist your ankle? Is that why you’re afraid to stand up? What can I do?”

  His head lifted slowly. She had the space of a heartbeat to see the wicked gleam in his eyes before he grabbed her and wrestled her to the mud. She shrieked and fought, but he unsnapped her slicker and started smearing mud down the front of her shirt.

  “Stop that! I’ll kill you, Quinn Monroe!”

  “Devil woman,” he said, laughing as he rolled with her in the muck. “How dare you make that horse rear? You turned him into a regular water slide.”

  “How dare you tell me how to handle him? Let me up!”

  He pinned her to the ooze and proceeded to rub mud all over her. “Not until you’re as covered with this goo as I am. Dump me in the dirt, will you?”

  “You were getting too cocky!” Her breathing became labored as she struggled to free herself. Or maybe it w
as the other sensation, the one of having his hands all over her, that was causing her to gasp for breath.

  “I deserved to be cocky.” His chest heaved as he gulped in air. “I got up at the crack of dawn and busted my butt, literally, on that spoiled horse of yours. And, by God, I rode him.”

  “I think it was more like he took you for a ride!” She continued to squirm away from his touch, but her heart wasn’t in it. In fact, the squish of the mud was beginning to feel sort of good. And she was feeling a bit warm and oozy inside as well as outside.

  “That horse knew who was boss.” His hand grazed her breast as if by accident. “I was in control the entire time.”

  “Were not.”

  “Was, too.” He grabbed her wrists and held them as he rolled on top of her.

  Surely she hadn’t meant to make a cradle of her hips. Surely he hadn’t meant to ease himself between her thighs. Surely neither of them had intended to end up in the perfect position for her to discover that he was fully aroused.

  “Were not,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

  “Was, too.” His eyes darkened as his gaze searched hers. “Jo…”

  Her heart beat like a rabbit’s. “Don’t kiss me, Quinn.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” He lowered his head.

  “You are.” She was quivering. “You’re going to kiss me.”

  “No. Brian Hastings is going to kiss you. Think Brian Hastings.”

  When his mouth found hers, she didn’t think at all. She sure did feel, though—cool lips that quickly warmed against hers and shaped themselves into the soul of temptation in no time, a tongue that told her exactly what Quinn would be doing if they didn’t have two layers of denim between their significant body parts. She liked everything about this kiss, even the mud that squished between them as he eased his chest to press against her breasts.

  The only thing she didn’t like was that he stopped kissing her.

  “More,” she whispered, keeping her eyes firmly closed.

  “Can’t.”

  “Can so.”

  “If I kiss you some more, I’m liable to unzip your jeans and start getting serious about this maneuver.”

  Reluctantly she opened her eyes. At least he looked as frustrated as she felt. “Oh, Quinn, what are we going to do?”