What a Man Needs. Patricia Thayer

Reynolds sat in the back of the room with her sister, Kelly. Cynthia, too, was excited by Dr. Richie’s talk. At thirty-five, she’d seen the changes in her body and she was aware of every extra pound. Not to mention that the camera picked up every tiny line on her face. In Hollywood, it was youth and beauty that stayed on top.

      Her sister leaned toward her and whispered, “Do you really believe this homeopathic mumbo-jumbo?”

      Kelly, two years younger, had a fresh, natural look. She had gone into law and made a name for herself here in Portland.

      “I don’t have a choice,” Cynthia admitted.

      Her sister smiled. “Then buy a truckload of this NoWait stuff.”

      “I only need a little behind my ears.”

      “Then do it and let’s go hit the nightlife. I need to see a man about a horse.”

       One

       P atrick Tanner walked into Morgan’s Pub and squinted to adjust to the dim light. The room had a long oak bar on one side, and several booths on the other. The sound of clinking glasses and laughter was muffled by the loud music coming from the jukebox.

      The place was already crowded with Friday-night customers.

      Patrick continued to look around. There were several women who returned an I’m-interested look, but he didn’t reciprocate. Not tonight. His youngest sister, Nora, had called and said she needed to see him. And anyone who knew Patrick knew his family came first, even if he had to drive forty miles from the ranch into Portland.

      A long, thirsty drive, he thought as he walked to the bar and sat down on the stool. The burly bartender was wiping his hands on a towel when he came up to him. “What’ll it be?”

      “A beer. Whatever’s on tap.”

      The man nodded, then took a mug from the shelf, tilted it under the spout and pulled the lever. Once the golden liquid had filled the glass to the brim, he set it down on the bar. “Enjoy.”

      “Thanks, I will.” Patrick gripped the handle and took a long swallow. He didn’t drink often, but a beer once in a while didn’t hurt. He would never let alcohol consume his life. He’d never be like his father. Never.

      Patrick pushed aside the bitter thoughts and glanced at his watch. Nora should have been here by now. He was reaching for his cell phone when the door opened and two women walked in. A blonde and a redhead, both unfamiliar, walked toward an empty table, both tall and beautiful enough to turn just about every man’s head in the room. Patrick usually preferred blondes, but this time the redhead drew all his attention. She had striking features, large dark eyes, a wide, kissable mouth….

      He changed his focus to her attire, a blue-green blouse and a pair of jeans that encased long, slender legs. When she turned around and his gaze dropped to her shapely bottom, Patrick took a long drink of his cold beer. Oh, boy, he’d been spending too much time on the ranch.

      Cynthia Reynolds had wanted to argue with Kelly when she’d suggested coming to Morgan’s Pub, and now, seeing the good-looking man at the bar, she was glad she hadn’t.

      Cynthia guessed his age at about thirty-five. He was a little rough around the edges with shaggy dark blond hair that hadn’t seen a stylist in a long time. He wore a chambray shirt and a pair of jeans, faded and soft from wear, and a brown belt that circled his slim waist. Cyndi found she was daydreaming about how she would pop open each snap on his shirt….

      She quickly pushed aside the thought. What was wrong with her? He wasn’t even her usual type.

      But when his gaze met hers, she couldn’t seem to turn away. Those piercing eyes held her prisoner as a slow smile emphasized his already sensual mouth, and her breath suddenly locked in her lungs.

      “See anything that interests you?” Kelly’s voice broke through her reverie.

      Cynthia hated that her sister could always read her so easily. Maybe that was the reason Kelly was such a good lawyer. She was not only beautiful, with her dazzling brown eyes and golden hair, but she’d also got the brains of the family.

      “Maybe, but I’m not going to do anything about it.”

      The waitress came by for their drink order. Once it was given, their conversation started up again. “And what’s wrong with having a little fun?” Kelly asked. “You can’t work all the time. Besides, so far, no one has recognized you.”

      Cynthia was glad that people weren’t asking for her autograph. She didn’t want to be front cover in the tabloids, whether she did anything crazy or not.

      “Maybe because I’m old news and I haven’t actually been in a box-office hit in three years.” Back then Cynthia Reynolds had had to turn movie scripts away.

      “And that’s going to change.”

      “Please don’t tell me you set me up with a guy.”

      “No, I wouldn’t do that.” Kelly brushed back her shoulder-length hair and glanced around the bar. “I’m looking for my assistant, Nora. She’s going to help us with your problem.”

      “My problem? What problem?”

      Kelly’s eyes narrowed in disdain. “The problem you’ve had since you were six years old. Your fear of horses.”

      “What does that have to do with anything?”

      “You’ve got to overcome that fear if you want to land the best movie role that’s come down the pike in years.”

      Cynthia sighed. “You’ve been talking to Bernie.”

      Bernie Schwartz, her agent for the last fifteen years—and a veritable tiger when it came to the business. For the past two months, Bernie had been bugging her about this project.

      “Is this about the Western, Cheyenne?” Cynthia asked.

      “Of course it is,” Kelly said as the waitress returned with their drinks. “From what I hear, you’re perfect for the female lead.”

      Cynthia frowned. “They’re looking for someone under thirty.”

      “So, you can pass for thirty,” Kelly said convincingly.

      Plus five years, Cynthia said to herself. “Not in close-ups.” She glanced toward the bar again. The man was still watching her. He nodded to her, then took a drink from his glass. Cynthia found herself lifting her own drink and nodding back, a flush heating her cheeks. What had gotten into her? She didn’t flirt with strange men. But there was something about this cowboy that got her blood pumping. And that hadn’t happened for a long time.

      “It’s so not fair,” Kelly said, “especially when you know that the male lead will probably be at least thirty-five. That’s discrimination. Just say the word and I’ll—”

      “No! That won’t help my situation,” Cynthia insisted. “It’s bad enough that lately my phone hasn’t exactly been ringing off the hook for roles. I’m sure a lawyer screaming discrimination will silence it totally.”

      Kelly had a successful practice as a divorce lawyer in Portland and she had always fought for the underdog. “Then how about a more subtle approach?”

      Cynthia was having trouble concentrating. Her cowboy at the bar was too distracting. “And just what would that be?”

      “You learn how to ride a horse and go after this role.” She raised a hand. “And before you get all worked up, just hear me out. Nora has assured me that you can overcome your fear if you have the right teacher.”

      Cynthia’s attention strayed to the bar again as a tingle ran through her. She wouldn’t mind if this man taught her a few things.

      “Cyndi, are you hearing anything I’m saying?”

      “Sure I am. You think I should learn to ride.”