Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson
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brightened. “So Amelia really is in labor?”
“Yes, since early this morning. Quinn took her to the hospital in Lubbock right before dawn.”
“So what are you doing? Waiting for a phone call?”
“That’s exactly what I was doing. She wasn’t due until the first of next month, although her obstetrician didn’t seem overly concerned. Still, I can’t help worrying about it, though.”
“I can understand that.”
“She was under a great deal of stress early on, and those reporters made her life miserable. I can’t help thinking that might have brought on early labor.
“But now they’re outside again, ready to steal her joy and happiness again. They probably plan to camp out at the ranch until the baby’s birth. Fortunately, she and Quinn managed to slip away while it was still dark, but now I’m undoubtedly stuck. I’m not sure how I’ll go about leaving without them following me.”
“Do you have the keys to that ranch pickup that’s parked behind the barn?”
“Yes, the key should be hanging on the hook near the back door.”
“Then maybe I can help. The reason I came was to bring that filly Quinn asked me to deliver. Why don’t I go outside and make a big show of getting her out of the trailer? I can saddle her and do a little trick riding in the corral that’s on the other side of the house. If the reporters are watching me, maybe you can slip out the back without them noticing you.”
“How very Annie Oakley of you.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“On the contrary. I actually think it’s quite a clever plan that just might work. And I do hope it does. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait here and try to sneak out under the cloak of darkness.”
“How very Sherlock Holmes of you.”
He laughed. “What a team we make.”
Now it was her turn to chuckle. “That’s true. But just wait and see. We’ll git ’er done, ol’ chap.”
“Apparently, we will. And those reporters won’t know we’ve been having a go at their expense. Thanks for being my partner in crime.”
“Anytime. That’s the cowboy way.” She glanced down at her scuffed boots, then back at him. “Hey. About that kiss...”
“Don’t give it another thought, Amber.”
She smiled, and the concern that had once troubled her brow eased. “Okay, then I won’t.”
He was glad that she seemed to shake it off as though it had never happened—the kiss and the reporters who’d recorded it all.
Unfortunately, he’d be thinking about it for the both of them—and not just the camera flash and the rippling effects of what that might mean. Because the memory of her taste, the feel of her in his arms, the flush on her cheeks and throat, would linger in his mind for a long, long time.
She’d jumped in to save the day, and it had worked in a surprising, blood-stirring way.
What an odd, mismatched team they made. The polo enthusiast and the cowgirl. The Brit and the Texan.
The tabloids were going to have a field day with that one.
* * *
Amber hadn’t heard a word from Jensen or anyone remotely related to the Drummonds or the Fortunes since she’d run interference for them two days ago. And while she’d hoped someone would call to give her news about Amelia, she really hadn’t expected them to. She just hoped that everything went okay—and that the baby was healthy.
Other than her scattered thoughts, it had been business as usual on the Broken R. After breakfast, she’d lined up the foreman and ranch hands on the chores that needed to be done. Then she’d checked on the broodmares and worked with Lucky Charm, a gelding who was showing a lot of promise.
It had been a productive morning. That afternoon, Gram drove into town to run some errands and to pick up groceries at the Superette, while Amber went into the office and spent the next two hours paying bills, reconciling the checkbook and catching up on some year-end bookkeeping.
She’d no more than printed off a report for the accountant when the sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention. She glanced out the window just in time to see Gram’s Ford Taurus speed into the yard and skid to stop, a swirl of dust settling around the black sedan.
The mild-mannered woman never drove over the speed limit, and to come racing home...? Why, that bordered on recklessness.
See? Elmer Murdock was a bad influence on her.
Determined to ignore the behavior and not make any more fuss about Gram’s dating habits, hoping that the excitement would run its course and fizzle out, Amber glanced down at the printout. That was, until Gram’s shrill voice called out from the kitchen.
“Amber Sue Rogers! Get on out here as fast as your little legs will carry you. What in blue blazes is this all about?”
It had been ten or more years since Gram had lit into Amber, although even then, she’d been fairly soft-spoken and mellow about it. So she was clearly worked up about something, and the angry shriek kicked Amber’s pulse rate up a notch.
So after pushing back the desk chair, Amber hurried to the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.
She found Gram standing beside the scarred oak table, holding a newspaper—or rather a tabloid— clucking her tongue and shaking her gray head.
“What’s wrong?” Amber asked.
Gram turned the paper around and flashed a front page photo of a couple kissing. Well, not just any couple. It was Amber and Jensen standing smack-dab on Quinn Drummond’s front porch.
Her heart thudded and rumbled like flat tire on a wheel that was falling off its axle.
How the heck did a national tabloid get a photo printed so quickly? Those dang reporters must have emailed it to the home office as soon as they took it, along with some cock-and-bull story to explain what they imagined they saw. Because other than the pictures they took of her riding the mare, there was nothing to report because she hadn’t said a single word to them.
“Girl,” Gram said, “you’re front-page news. It doesn’t list your name, but I know it’s you. And so will everyone else in town.”
Sure as shootin’, it was Amber, all right. And there was no mistaking the headline, either. Sir Jensen and Texas Cowgirl Caught in Royal Liplock!
“What’s this all about?” Gram asked.
“It wasn’t a real kiss, if that’s what you mean. And there’s no romance going on between us. It was just an act, a ploy to distract a tabloid reporter who was hanging around the Drummond ranch.”
“Distract him from what?”
“From learning that Amelia was in labor and that she’d been taken to the hospital.”
Amber snatched the paper and scanned the article, which didn’t appear to mention the Drummonds at all, other than to say that the Fortune Chesterfields seemed to be fixated on the “bucolic commoners in quaint Horseback Hollow.”
What a crock of bull. They made normal, down-home country folk sound like a novelty that the rich and famous would soon grow tired of.
“Did the ploy work?” Gram asked.
Amber glanced up from her reading. “In terms of taking the heat off Amelia? Yes, it appears that way.”
But now, it seemed that heat had been transferred on to Amber, who’d gotten her fifteen minutes of unwarranted and unwanted fame.
As she continued reading about how a brazen cowgirl