style="font-size:15px;"> His brain, ever resourceful, rushed in to remind him it had been two years and seven months since his last failed attempt at a relationship. Pretty much the textbook definition of hard up.
Didn’t matter. She wasn’t welcome here. And after he humored Minnie at dinner, he’d make sure she left his property and never, ever came back. He grabbed his favorite shirt. Frays be damned.
His resolve set, he shoved his feet into his house moccasins and threw his door open.
And almost walked right into Minnie Red Horse.
“What?” he asked, so startled by the small woman that he actually jumped back.
He didn’t jump far enough, though. Minnie reached up and poked him in the chest. “You listen to me, young man. You will be nice and polite tonight.”
Immediately, he went on the defensive. “Oh, it’s my fault she doesn’t know it’s winter out here?”
“I am ashamed to think that you left her out there in the wind, J.R. I thought that you knew better than to treat a guest like that.”
He felt the hackles on the back of his neck go up. Minnie had already busted out the big, shame-based guns. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t work—he hated to disappoint Minnie in any way. But, he was a reformed actor. Lying used to be his entire life. So he slapped on a stern look and glared at Minnie. “She’s not a guest. She’s a trespasser, Minnie. And if I recall correctly, you’re the one who shot at the last trespasser.”
That had been the nail in the coffin of his last failed relationship. He’d been trying to decide if he loved Donna or not when he’d invited her to spend the night at the ranch. Things had been going fine until he took her up to his room. There, she’d taken one look at James Robert Bradley’s Oscar, his photos, his life—and everything had changed. All she had talked about was how he was really famous, and why on earth hadn’t he told her, and this was so amazing, that she was here with him. Except she hadn’t been. She’d thought she was with James Robert. In the space of a minute, she’d forgotten that J.R. had even existed.
He’d broken up with her a few weeks later, and then, like clockwork, a few weeks after that, a man with an expensive camera had come snooping around. J.R. had been in the barn with Hoss when they’d heard the crunch of tires. J.R. had wanted to go out and confront the stranger, but Hoss had held him back. Rifle in hand, Minnie had been the one to claim that she’d never heard of anyone named Bradley, and if she saw that man again, she’d shoot him. Then she’d put a few bullets a few feet from the man, and that had been the end of that.
“That man was a parasite,” Minnie said. “This is different. She’s not like that.”
“How would you know? She’s here for James Robert. She wants something, Minnie. She’ll ruin everything we’ve got, everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
Minnie rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. Call it woman’s intuition, or my Indian senses, my maternal instincts—whatever floats your boat. That woman is not a threat to you or any of us.” She jabbed a finger back into J.R.’s chest. “And I expect you to be a gentleman. Do I make myself clear?”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Minnie. You’re not my—” Before the immature retort was all the way out, J.R. bit it back. Not soon enough, though.
A pained shadow crossed over Minnie’s face, which made J.R. feel like the biggest jerk in the world. The fact was, Minnie had offered to adopt him a few years after they’d settled into the ranch. Oh, not the legal, court-based adoption—J.R. was a grown man—but she’d asked him if he wanted to be adopted into her family through the Lakota tribe. The fact was, she’d always been more of a mother to him than his own flesh-and-blood mother had ever been. The Red Horse family was his family. That was all there was to it.
J.R. had said no. He’d claimed he wasn’t comfortable being a white man in an American Indian tribe, which was true. He knew that if word got out that James Robert Bradley had been adopted into a Lakota tribe, the storm of gossip would hurt everyone, not just him. And he couldn’t hurt Minnie or Hoss.
Any more than he had. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “It’s just …”
Minnie patted his arm. “It’s okay. You’re a little … spooked.”
“Yeah.” Not that he’d want Hoss to know that, but Minnie and all of her womanly, Indian-y intuition already understood, so denying it was pointless. The woman downstairs had spooked him.
“Despite that, I expect both of my boys to be nice and polite.” Her gaze flicked down over his frayed collar. “Respectable, even.”
That was how fights with Minnie went. J.R. was the boss, but she was the mother. Forgiveness was quick and easy, not the dance of death it had been with Norma Bradley.
“I’m not taking the part. Whatever she wants, I’m not doing it.”
“Did I say anything about that? No, I did not. All I said was that you were going to be a gentleman to our guest.”
“Not my guest.”
“Our visitor, then.” Minnie looked like she wanted to poke him again, but she didn’t. “Do it for me, J.R. Do you know how long it’s been since we had a visitor out here? Months, that’s how long. I want to talk to someone besides you two knuckleheads, and if it’s a woman who’s got the latest gossip? All the better.”
J.R. sighed. Minnie had a huge weak spot for gossip. She subscribed to all the tabloids, read TMZ every day and probably knew more about the goings-on in the entertainment industry than he did. “One meal. Humor me. And don’t worry, I wasn’t going to ask her to stay, despite the fact that it’s late and the winds are terrible.”
He ignored the unveiled attempt at guilt. She was right. He owed her, and if that meant pretending they were having a girls-night-in for dinner, well, he’d suck it up. “That’s good.”
“I got her a room at Lloyd’s.” With that semidefiant statement, Minnie turned on her heel and headed back to her kitchen domain. “Dinner’s in fifteen,” she called back, loud enough that Hoss could hear her in his room.
Great, just great, J.R. thought as he hung his favorite shirt back up and pulled the green flannel Minnie had gotten him for Christmas off the hanger. Somehow, he knew that forty miles wasn’t enough space between him and the woman from Hollywood.
A few minutes later, he headed down to the kitchen. Minnie was checking on something in the oven. “Tell her dinner’s ready,” she said without looking at him.
She was punishing him, pure and simple. Bad enough that he deserved it, but still.
J.R. headed down to his chair at the far end of the room. All he could see of the stranger was her golden hair peeking out from above the chair’s back. The color was the kind of blond that spoke of sun-swept days at the beach, but he’d put money on it being fake.
Aw, hell. She was asleep. Slouched way down in the chair, Minnie’s buffalo robe falling off her shoulders—her mouth open enough to make her look completely kissable. J.R. swallowed that observation back, but it wasn’t easy. Her now-bootless legs were stretched out before her, and the patterned tights seemed to go on forever. Lord. Despite a second attempt at swallowing, his mouth
