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

  “Certainly not!” Doobie looked offended at the very idea. “Well, then, I guess our mission is accomplished, Eloise. Come along.”

  Eloise didn’t move. She stood gazing at Quinn, a dreamy smile on her face. “Save me a dance,” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She sighed and clasped her hands together. “I’ll be counting the hours.”

  Doobie snorted and took his wife’s arm. “Don’t make such a big deal out of it, Eloise. It’s just a dance.”

  “Just a dance? Just a dance? I think not, Cuthbert.” She kept her gaze fastened on Quinn as her husband dragged her to the entry hall. “Why, dancing with Brian Hastings is more important than winning best garden of the year, more important than giving birth to our darling Primrose, more important than our wedding night. Which reminds me. I know you think you’re a great—”

  “Thanks for the coffee!” Doobie called as he hustled his wife out the door.

  After they left Jo grinned at him. “You’ve done it again. First Dick, and now that weasel Doobie. Thanks, Quinn.”

  “I loved it, Eloise’s tush fetish and all.” Emmy Lou gathered coffee cups.

  “Don’t remind me about that part,” Quinn said.

  “Oh, she’s harmless,” Emmy Lou said. “But he’s not. Can you believe he had the nerve to say you were like a daughter to him? Just last week when you asked for an extension on your loan he said you might as well sell out and go back east, where you belong. Quinn, you were magnificent.” She smiled at him. “Brian Hastings couldn’t have done it better. Well, he might not have spouted all that nonsense about electrical outlets, but otherwise, good job.” She left the room carrying the tray.

  “Doobie really said that to you last week?” Quinn wished he’d been a little rougher on the guy.

  “Well, to be fair, I am pretty far behind on my payments.”

  “Listen, Jo, I—”

  “Nope.” She held up both hands. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. Forget I said anything.”

  Quinn gazed at her. “If you say so.” Quinn longed to get his hands on her books. Okay, he’d rather get his hands on her, but she’d put the skids on that program. But if he could look over her accounts and have her explain the ranching business to him, he knew he could help.

  “Don’t you need to call your office?”

  “Guess I do.”

  “While you’re doing that, I’ll go down to the barn and check on Clarise and Stud-muffin. See you in a little while, then.”

  “Right.” Quinn noticed she hadn’t suggested he use her office phone, probably because she didn’t want him in there, period. So he made his call on the phone in the hallway.

  As he was hanging up, Jo came in and hooked her slicker on a peg by the door.

  “Everything okay at the barn?” he asked.

  “Great.” She looked damp, pink and very kissable.

  “How’s your office?”

  “No problems. What’s next on the schedule?”

  Jo shook her damp hair. “It’s still raining. I called the vet before breakfast, and she can’t come out to inseminate Lullabelle and Missy until tomorrow.” She looked at Quinn. “We’re sort of at loose ends today.”

  “What do you usually do when it rains like this?”

  “Oh, paperwork in my office.”

  Exactly, he thought. “Jo, don’t be so damned stubborn. Let’s go into your office and you can give me a rundown on your financial situation.”

  “Nope, nope, nope.”

  Emmy Lou appeared in the doorway with a tape in her hand. “Here’s Rogue’s Revenge anytime you want to take a peek. I have some others, but it sounded like this was the one you were interested in.”

  “Hey, we can watch that!” Jo seized the opportunity.

  “You really should see one of your—I mean, Brian’s—movies and get an idea of his personal style before you show up at the rodeo and dance on Saturday.”

  He couldn’t argue with her reasoning. And he’d be dumb to turn down a chance to sit on the sofa with her and watch a movie. “Okay. We can do that.”

  She walked into the living room and opened the oak cabinet that housed the television set. “Sit down, sit down. You’re about to be able to see yourself without hordes of screaming women interfering with your viewing enjoyment.”

  “I can hardly wait.” He wouldn’t mind one particular woman interfering, he thought as he sat on the sofa.

  After shoving the tape into the VCR, she picked up the remote and started toward the sofa.

  Okay, he thought, wondering how close she’d sit.

  At the last minute she veered toward a wing chair. “Maybe I’ll sit over here, for good measure.”

  “Hey, Emmy Lou’s right in the kitchen. What could happen?”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She sat on the sofa, but put a good three feet between them.

  The movie started, and Quinn had to admit it was eerie how much Hastings looked like him, except that he seemed completely at home in a Western setting. “He’s a good rider.”

  “You’ll be fine with a little more practice. If all you do is attend that rodeo and dance, you might not ever have to demonstrate your riding to anyone.”

  He looked at her. “You mean I tortured my privates for nothing?”

  She glanced at his crotch, and her cheeks grew pink. Then she looked at the television screen. “Watch the movie, Quinn.”

  He’d rather watch her, but he dutifully turned his head toward the TV.

  Emmy Lou appeared in the doorway pulling on a rain-coat. “The pot roast’s in the oven, and I have to run into town for a few groceries.”

  Jo grabbed the remote and hit the pause button. “Want some company?”

  “No, thanks. I’m taking the truck and I need the space for the bags. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Quinn’s heart began to pound. A couple of hours. He glanced at Jo.

  She got up and moved to the chair. “Just to be on the safe side,” she said.

  Quinn didn’t think there was any safe side to this situation.

  8

  ON HER WAY to the chair, Jo glanced out the window and saw Fred climb in the truck with Emmy Lou. So that’s what Emmy Lou had in mind, Jo thought with a smile.

  “What’s going on out there?” Quinn asked.

  “Emmy Lou’s taking Fred to town.”

  “No wonder she didn’t want you along.”

  “Yeah.” Still smiling, Jo sat in the chair and punched the remote to restart the movie.

  “But Benny’s still around?”

  “Oh, sure, and he’s great with the horses, if you were worried about Clarise and Stud-muffin being alone down there. And if Betsy goes into labor, I’m sure he’ll come up and get us.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “Now watch the movie, Quinn.” Her pulse wouldn’t settle down. She didn’t think for a minute that he was worried about who was watching Clarise and Stud-muffin or whether Benny would alert them when Betsy went into labor. He wanted to know exactly how alone they were and how much temptation lay before him.

  She wasn’t about to explain that although Betsy was due any day, she showed absolutely no signs of going into labor. Benny wasn’t the type to pop into the house for no reason, and Jo was sure Fred had told him to stay in the barn and keep an eye on the new baby. The chances of Benny showing up before lunch were practically nonexistent. She knew how alone they were, and it made watching the movie very difficult.

  “I don’t sound exactly like Hastings,” Quinn said after a while.

  “No, you sound better.” Whoops. She hadn’t meant to say it like that.

  “What do you mean, better?”

  Now she’d done it. “I happen to like a deeper voice on a guy, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” He sounded pleased with her answer.

  “I don’t think it’s a problem that your voice is a little deeper than his. Nobody’s mentioned your voice being different. In fact,
they’re all so gaga they don’t notice anything different. They’re prepared to believe you’re him.”

  “I guess so.”

  But Jo could already tell big differences, and the advantage was in Quinn’s favor. His eyes were a deeper blue, and his mouth had a more sensuous curve to the lower lip. And she liked Quinn’s hands better. The fingers were longer, the back of his hand broader. Of course that was probably because Quinn was taller, bigger all over. And then she wondered if he was bigger all over. Her mouth grew moist.

  The movie was quickly approaching the famous scene in the mining shack, the one that had made Eloise Doobie break her promise that she wouldn’t look at another man’s naked parts. The heroine, played by superstar Cheryl Ramsey, had already taken refuge in the shack while a terrible storm raged. She was conveniently in the process of taking off her wet clothes by candlelight while sitting on a cot.

  “He’s going to show up, isn’t he?” Quinn said.

  “Yep.” Jo was becoming embarrassingly aroused being in the same room with Quinn during this sexy movie. She was so glad she wasn’t a man. The poor guys couldn’t hide their sexual interest at all.

  “We’re getting down to it, aren’t we?”

  “Yep.” She didn’t dare look at Quinn to find out if his sexual interest was beginning to show, but she’d bet it was. She could hear him breathing, and he kept shifting on the seat cushions. She wondered if getting an erection was painful after the punishment of his morning ride. “Are you okay?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Um, are you…uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah.” His voice was dry. “Any suggestions?”

  “I could get another ice pack for your—”

  “No, thanks.”

  Jo tried to concentrate on the movie instead of the state of Quinn’s private parts. Cheryl Ramsey was quite beautiful and quite naked. Jo really didn’t like Quinn looking at her, but it couldn’t be helped.

  Brian Hastings opened the door of the shack. The woman glanced up. The look that passed between the two of them made Jo quiver. Then, without saying a word, Hastings unbuttoned his shirt.

  Jo remembered thinking he looked pretty damned good when she first saw the scene, but that was before she’d been treated to Quinn Monroe in his briefs last night. Still, watching Hastings peel off his shirt and reach for the buckle of his belt reminded her of the joy of watching a well-put-together man undress. Quinn had been right about Dick’s physique—he was soft in the middle.

  She gripped the remote as Hastings, standing partially in shadow with his back to the camera, took off his jeans and his underwear in one movement. No wonder the Ugly Bug Garden Club closed out their meeting with this scene, she thought, her gaze riveted to the screen. But she’d wager that Quinn’s behind looked even better than this.

  Hastings walked over to Cheryl and sank to his knees before her. That simple, knightly gesture was the sort of thing that had made Brian Hastings number one at the box office, in Jo’s estimation. She held her breath as Hastings kissed Cheryl—her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Jo’s breasts felt tight and feverish.

  As the music swelled, Hastings guided Cheryl to the cot, and the soft light illuminated their bodies as he moved over her.

  Jo moaned softly and gripped the remote.

  The scene froze in place.

  “Did you mean to do that?” Quinn’s voice was strained.

  “No!” Jo glanced at the remote and punched it, but her hand was shaking so much she kept missing the play button.

  “Fast forward through that scene, dammit,” Quinn ordered tightly.

  “I’m trying!” She stood and pointed the remote at the VCR while she stabbed at the buttons with trembling fingers.

  “I’ll do it.” Quinn half rose from his seat and made a grab for the remote in her hand.

  “I’ve got it!” She backed up and stumbled. The remote flew out of her hand and plopped between the cushions of the sofa.

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Breathing hard, Quinn dropped to one knee and started fumbling for the remote.

  “I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Jo sat on the sofa and shoved her hand in the space.

  He pushed her hand aside. “Get out of there and let me. This cushion is the deepest—” The VCR clicked and whirred.

  “You must have hit something. I think it’s rewinding!”

  “We’re sure as hell not going to see that again!”

  “Whoops, now it’s going forward. Whoops—”

  “Move your tush so I can reach under here and—damn, but leather is slippery. You paused the tape on purpose just when they were doing it, didn’t you? You’re just like those garden club ladies.”

  “No, I swear! It was an accident!”

  “Quit jiggling around. Okay, I’ve got it.” He leaned forward, and his cheek bumped her breast.

  “Oh.” She couldn’t help it. She was on fire.

  Quinn went very still. Slowly he lifted his head and looked into her eyes while the movie rewound behind him.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.

  “How?” She drifted closer to him as if pulled by an invisible string.

  “Like you want me to rip your clothes off.”

  “Oh.” She was breathing hard. “Okay, I won’t.” She closed her eyes.

  “Dammit, that’s worse. Open your eyes.”

  She did as he asked.

  He groaned. “No help there.”

  As her gaze shifted to his sensuous mouth, she couldn’t seem to help the downward tilt of her head, bringing her closer and closer. “It’s because of the movie. We’re just worked up because of the—”

  “Speak for yourself.” He cupped the back of her head and kissed her.

  But she couldn’t speak for herself when he kissed her like that. She couldn’t even think for herself with her heart pounding so loud. Vaguely she heard a click and whirr as the movie surged to fast forward again. Quinn must have abandoned the remote, leaving it to fend for itself. As if she cared.

  A girl couldn’t be worried about remote controls when being kissed by a man who knew how to use his tongue the way Quinn did. When he started unbuttoning her blouse she let him do it. She even helped with a button or two. When he fumbled with the front catch of her bra she pushed his hand away and unhooked it herself.

  After all, a man who could kiss like that would know what to do when presented with a woman’s aching, needy breasts.

  Quinn knew.

  Jo arched her back and moaned as he showed her the full extent of his knowledge. After stroking her for several delicious moments, he slid up on the sofa and leaned her back over the armrest. She’d never been caressed so fully or with such murmured appreciation. She barely noticed as the movie switched from rewind to fast forward with every abandoned movement she made. She began to respond in other ways, becoming very moist at the point where the denim seam of her jeans started to pinch. The tender spot cried out for his attention.

  He was panting by the time he kissed his way back to her mouth. He plunged his tongue in deep, letting her know what he wanted, and then slowly drew back. “I’m in agony,” he said, gasping. “We need a decision, here. Either unzip my jeans or button your blouse.”

  She cradled her face in his hands. “I’m in agony, too.”

  His smile looked strained. “Yeah, but you weren’t bouncing on a horse for an hour this morning.”

  “Oh! Poor Quinn.”

  “Poor Quinn is right.” He slid his hands under her bottom and fit his erection tight against her. “I’m being tortured here, Jo.”

  “Oh, Quinn.” She pressed closer.

  He pushed back with a groan. With a whirr and click the VCR reversed direction.

  She rocked against him and closed her eyes. Whirr, click. “I don’t know if—”

  “I know I’ll be permanently impaired in another minute. God, Jo.” He shoved harder. Another click from the remote was followed by a loud snap and a frantic spinning noise f
rom the VCR.

  Quinn turned his head toward the television. “What the hell?”

  Jo stared at the snow on the screen. “I think we killed the movie.”

  “We didn’t touch it!”

  “But we bounced on the remote, Quinn. We pushed its little buttons, back and forth, back and forth, until snap! It came apart.”

  He gazed at her. “You are certainly pushing mine back and forth, back and forth, Josephine, and I am definitely ready to come apart.”

  She didn’t let many people call her that, but she had a feeling Quinn had become one of the select few. “I’m getting scared, Quinn. This has the potential to be bigger than both of us.”

  “That’s what the bulge in my jeans feels like.”

  “Do you want some ice?”

  “No.” He looked at her with frank admiration. “I want you. I want to take off your jeans, undo mine and finish what we started.”

  Her heart hammered as she pictured them doing exactly that. “I want you, too. So I guess there’s only one solution.”

  His hand went to the buckle of his belt. “Live for today and to hell with tomorrow?” he suggested hopefully.

  “No. I’ll tell Dick and Mr. Doobie that you’re not really Brian Hastings. I’ll say we were playing a practical joke and they should forget the whole thing.”

  He sighed and took his hand away from his belt buckle. “Nope. Absolutely not. Those two would never let you forget it. Doobie would probably foreclose on this ranch immediately, and Dick would snap it up so he could have Ugly Bug Creek.” Looking very much in pain, he eased slowly to the end of the couch.

  “Quinn, I’m sorry.” She pulled her blouse together, not wanting to make his condition worse. Or hers. But his sounded more critical.

  “No, you’re right,” he said. “It’s either tell everybody the truth or stop fooling around.” He sat on the end of couch and rested her booted feet on his knees. “Be careful with your feet. One of these pointed toes in the wrong place would probably kill me.”

  “Maybe I could find you some sweats. That would give you more room.”