Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Quinn had joined in the laughter following Benny’s remark, but under cover of the joking that followed, he’d checked out Jo’s pink cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. He decided she didn’t hate the idea, no matter how embarrassed she was.
He didn’t hate the idea, either, which was amazing. As the child of divorced parents, he was wary of the whole marriage and fatherhood thing. He’d promised himself he’d live with a woman for a long time before he even proposed, and as for kids, he hadn’t thought he wanted any.
Yet watching Jo serve as one of the midwives for her mare, he’d had some very unfamiliar yearnings.
Murray had two kids, and he’d raved about the delivery room scene.
Quinn hadn’t been able to relate... until now.
Maybe it was the sugar in the apple pie still affecting his brain, but he’d found himself wondering what it would be like to be a proud father at the moment of birth.
He’d probably imagined Jo in the role of the mother because she was handy.
“Stand back, everybody,” Fred said. “She’s going to get that little fella on his feet.”
“No way.” Quinn surveyed the colt’s spindly legs and couldn’t picture it. “I don’t think he has the engineering for it yet.”
“He has to,” Jo said. “It’s the only way he can nurse.”
“He’s not up to it, I tell you.” Quinn grew agitated as the mare hauled herself to her feet. “Make her lie down and drag him to the right spot.”
Jo walked to the stall door and stood near Quinn. “You can’t interrupt nature like that,” she said gently. “In the wild, a horse’s survival depends on getting upright as soon as possible. This has been going on for centuries.”
“Well, I don’t like it.” Quinn folded his arms across the top of the stall door and frowned as the mare started pushing the colt with her nose. “She’s expecting too much, too soon.”
“She’s acting on instinct,” Jo said.
“She’s pushy, is what she is.” Quinn breathed in the sweet scent of Jo’s hair.
It looked as mussed and tangled as it had in the bedroom.
She probably hadn’t bothered to comb it in her rush to get to the barn.
When she shifted her weight, tendrils of it brushed his bare forearm.
If he moved his hand a fraction, he’d be able to wind a lock around his finger.
But he didn’t want such a tame experience. He wanted to grab handfuls of her hair and let the rich silkiness flow between his fingers. He wanted to comb her hair over her naked breasts so that she looked like a brunette version of Lady Godiva. He wanted—
“See? He’s up.”
“I’ll be damned.” To Quinn’s astonishment, while he’d been fantasizing about a sensuous experience with Jo’s hair, the colt had somehow balanced itself on those four matchstick legs and was sucking vigorously on his mother’s teat.
“He’s going to fall, I tell you. You should prop something under him. A stepladder would probably work.”
Emmy Lou walked over and patted Quinn’s arm. “Relax. These folks know what they’re doing. We’ve had lots of foals born on the Bar None, and not a one of them ever needed to be propped up with a stepladder. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll bring us some coffee.”
Benny turned from his inspection of the colt. “And chocolate chip cookies?”
“Of course. What would foaling be without a batch of my chocolate chip cookies? Before we came down here I took them out of the freezer.”
“Good thing.” Quinn grinned at her. “I can’t stand a foaling without chocolate chip cookies, myself.”
Emmy Lou gazed at him and sighed. “Are you sure you’re not Brian Hastings?”
“Matter of fact, I am. Until somebody blows the whistle on me.”
“That reminds me.” Jo turned to Fred and Benny. “I need to let you two in on what’s happening. In spite of what you might think, this man is not Brian Hastings.”
Fred stuck a plug of tobacco under his lip. “Who’s Brian Hastings?”
Quinn smiled. He’d found a friend.
Benny pointed to Quinn. “He is.”
“No, he’s not,” Jo said.
“Makes no never mind to me.” Fred put his can of tobacco in his back pocket. “He can be Donald Duck for all I care. A man’s name’s not important. It’s how he conducts himself.”
Jo glanced at Quinn. “Fred doesn’t go to the movies, and he hates TV.”
“I gathered,”
She turned to Benny and Fred. “Remember when that guy came by the ranch last fall looking for a place to shoot a movie?”
Benny looked blank.
Fred scratched his beard and finally shook his head. “Guess he didn’t make no impression on me.”
“He was an advance man for Brian Hastings, who is the top box office draw in the country.”
Fred spit tobacco juice into a can. “Whoop-de-doo.”
Quinn was liking this guy more every minute.
“The thing is,” Jo continued, “I told Mr. Doobie at the bank that Brian Hastings definitely would use the ranch, and we’d be able to make a big payment on our loan soon, so he gave me an extension. Only Brian Hastings hasn’t ever come here.”
“But he did,” Benny said. “We were all in your bed together.”
Fred almost swallowed his chaw. “What did you say?”
“Benny, this is not Brian Hastings. He just looks a lot like him.” She glanced quickly at Fred, who had developed a dangerous gleam in his eye. “Now don’t look like that, Fred. This very nice man is Quinn Monroe, from New York.”
“I don’t give a damn where he’s from. He’d better stay the hell out of your bed. Benny, you and me need to have a talk. You ain’t ever been to the big city, and these city slickers got some tricky ways about them. You gotta be on your guard.”
Judging from Fred’s expression, Quinn was afraid he’d just lost his new best friend. And if he valued his life, he’d shelve his fantasies about Jo. “I was only trying to save her,” he said.
“Yes, that’s true,” Jo said. “He saw Benny coming into my room tonight, and he didn’t know it was about Clarise. He thought Benny was Dick, up to no good. So he tackled him, and we all ended up rolling around on my bed until Emmy Lou arrived with the shotgun.”
Fred glared at Quinn. “Likely story.”
Quinn tried to salvage Fred’s goodwill. “Would you believe I’ve agreed to impersonate this Brian Hastings character so the bank will get off Jo’s back?”
Fred pointed a gnarled finger at Jo. “Don’t you be getting too grateful, Josephine Sarah. You see what gratitude got you with a Dick Cassidy type.”
Benny jumped into the conversation and pointed at Quinn. “But he’s not a Dick,” he said brightly.
Fred scowled at Benny. “Go up to the house and help Emmy Lou bring the coffee and cookies down.”
“Okay.” Benny opened the stall door, and Quinn stood aside to let him out. Benny peered at Quinn. “Who are you, anyway?”
“Benny, I’m losing track of that myself.”
Benny nodded as if he understood the problem completely and sauntered out of the barn.
Jo turned to Fred. “I haven’t wanted to worry you, but we’re not in good financial shape.”
“I could figure that out on my own. If I coulda done more riding this winter I mighta been able to catch Cassidy doing some of his dirty work. We shouldn’ta lost all them cattle.
But the only way to catch him would be sneak up on horseback.
The truck makes too much noise, and that’s all I was using this past winter. ”
“I tried to catch him,” Jo said. “Never could. But that’s water over the dam. Right now, Quinn is my best hope. If Mr. Doobie believes Quinn is Brian Hastings, then he won’t heckle me for money. If I could get Doobie signed up as an extra in the movie, he might not ever heckle me again.”
“So I’ll sign him up,” Quinn said.
Fred held up his hand. “Wait a minute. You’re not a movie star or director or nothin’, but you’re gonna sign Doobie up for a movie?”
Quinn shrugged. “Sometimes movies don’t get made. The money dries up. I don’t know much about it, but I figure a lot can go wrong when you’re trying to raise millions of dollars to make a picture.”
Fred’s eyes widened. “Millions?” He turned to Jo. “If this Hastings really rented the ranch, how much would you get?”
“I don’t know. The important thing is that Doobie doesn’t know, either. He’s willing to let my note ride until after the movie’s shot.”
“But Hastings never came back.” Fred shifted his wad of tobacco to his check. “There might never be a movie.”
“I know, but Quinn’s agreed to buy me some time. So for the next few days, if anybody asks if Brian Hastings is staying on the Bar None, say yes.”
“I can do that, but this may be way too complicated for Benny to figure out.”
Jo nodded. “I realize that now, but I can’t lie to Benny. If I’d told him Quinn was a movie star and Benny found out later it wasn’t true, I’d feel awful.”
Fred patted her shoulder. “Yeah, we all feel that way about Benny. I’ll see if I can explain it to him.”
“Oh, and Fred, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yeah?”
“The real Brian Hastings is a cowboy star. He knows how to ride and rope and everything. Quinn’s the greenest greenhorn you’ll ever run across.”
Quinn stood up straighter. “Hey, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I’m telling you, Fred, he doesn’t have the foggiest idea about that stuff. He doesn’t even have the right clothes. I’d like to turn him over to you for...” She smiled at Quinn. “For cowboy school, I guess you’d call it.”
Quinn’s stomach felt as if he’d eaten cement, and he didn’t trust the gleam of relish that flashed in Fred’s eyes. Didn’t trust it one bit. Fred looked Quinn up and down like he might be sizing him for a coffin.
Finally the big man spoke. “I think he’ll fit into Benny’s duds. As for the rest—” He grinned, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Leave him to me.”
A shiver of dread ran down Quinn’s spine.
“Now if you’ll keep an eye on Clarise, I’m gonna head down to the bunkhouse and get my whiskey.”
“Could you bring an extra glass?” Quinn asked. He had a feeling he needed some fortification.
Fred smiled again. “Real cowboys don’t need no glass,” he said. “They drink straight from the bottle.”