Cowboy Strong

by Stacy Finz

  For a long while they didn’t talk, letting the sounds of the creek fill the silence. In those quiet moments he wondered about Danny Clay. Hadn’t Clay ever told her she was irresistible?

  Sawyer wanted to ask, but resisted. They were having a moment. A weird moment, but he didn’t want to disrupt their tentative cease-fire. Why was a whole other story. One that he was going to put on the back burner while he enjoyed the sun, the creek, and the pretty woman sitting beside him. Even if she was a natural-born disaster.

  Chapter 6

  In the middle of the week, Gina got so stir-crazy she decided to take a field trip. If she wore a thin disguise—the shades and floppy hat—and stayed in her car no one would recognize her. And it was such a pretty day. Too hot to stay inside when she could enjoy the comfort of her BMW’s top-of-the-line automatic climate control.

  She set out with no particular place in mind other than State Highway 49. Once there, she’d planned to go north and let the highway take her wherever it led. But like the first time she’d tried this nearly a week ago, she got lost on a back road where verdant pastures dotted with cattle and sheep stretched out like a never-ending roll of outdoor carpet. Instead of pulling over and setting her GPS, she decided to follow the road to the end of the line. It had to lead somewhere. And who knows, maybe if she kept going she’d find civilization?

  In the meantime, her surroundings didn’t suck. Gina, born and raised in Los Angeles, had never considered herself a country girl. But the landscape appealed to her. In fact, she could look at it all day as long as she was within walking distance of a Peet’s Coffee and a Whole Foods. So that pretty much ruled out Mill County.

  Take lots of pictures, she told herself. When she got home, she’d blow them up to poster size and hang them in her office. While she was at it, she’d take a couple of shots of Sawyer too. Just for the view.

  She wasn’t ready to forgive him for forcing her to live in a cabin that was better suited as a meth house than a real home. But he was nice to look at and had been a good ear when she’d needed one.

  Nothing she’d told him by the creek side had been classified. Most of it had been spilled across the pages of her bestselling memoir. Still, it had been nice to confide to someone real, not a faceless fan. And his reaction had been perfect. Not pitying or patronizing…but sweet.

  You have a good face, Gina…I’d take your face over Angelina Jolie’s any day.

  The words gave her goose bumps. She replayed them in her head a few times and her chest gave a little kick. The weight that had been clamped to her chest these last weeks began to lift.

  Then the phone rang and that tightness clutched her again. She glanced down at the caller ID. Robin, her agent.

  Gina answered on Bluetooth. “What now?”

  “Candace filed for divorce two hours ago. She just put out a statement.”

  “Oh God. What does it say?”

  “The usual. ‘After much thought and careful consideration, we remain business partners and friends. Please respect our privacy at this difficult time.’ So on and so on.”

  “Nothing about me in the statement, then?” Gina held her breath.

  “No, but I suggest you stay off social media and the internet for a while. It’s gotten pretty ugly.”

  Gotten? By Gina’s estimation it had been ugly the day that stupid picture surfaced.

  “Candace’s fans are upset about the breakup and are understandably lashing out at you,” Robin continued.

  Gina exhaled and tried to steady her hands on the steering wheel. “What’s going on with FoodFlicks? Do I still have a show?”

  “I wish I knew. No one at the network is returning my calls. I could bluster, say that we’ll take the show to a lifestyle or DIY channel, but it would be an empty threat. My messages at both networks have also gone unanswered. Let’s be honest here: You’re toxic right now, Gina. I don’t even think I could get you on Celebrity Big Brother at this point.”

  Celebrity Big Brother? Is that what her life had been reduced to? She felt like vomiting. “What do we do now, Robin?”

  “We wait it out, let Wendy Dalton work her magic, and hope for the best.” There was a long pause and Gina knew more was coming.

  “Just say what you have to say,” she told Robin.

  Robin cleared her throat. “I would be derelict in my duties as your agent…as your friend…to sugarcoat this. Your television career as we know it may be over. Timing is everything in this industry and this thing with the Clays has really disrupted the clock. I’ve got another call. Let’s talk next week.”

  Gina pulled over to the side of the road and rested her head against the windshield. Suddenly the day didn’t seem quite so sunny. Without her show…well, she didn’t know who she was without it. And it propelled everything else. The Gina DeRose brand, the merchandise, the endorsement work, her entire company.

  At least she wouldn’t go broke. Her father had made sure she’d inherited well and she’d always been good with money, making sound investments. But her whole identity was wrapped up in the celebrity of Gina DeRose. Maybe it was superficial, but it was who she was. It’s how she’d reinvented herself into someone who mattered.

  She took a couple of deep breaths and got back on the road. No sense wallowing in something she couldn’t fix. And being a control freak, that’s what really galled her. Her hands were tied.

  Fifteen minutes later, she found herself in town. Not Dry Creek. But the buildings looked similar. Nineteenth century, if she had to guess. Probably built sometime around the Gold Rush. A sign on one of the businesses told her she was in Grass Valley. She’d never heard of it, but Sawyer had mentioned something about a kitchen store here.

  Drivers inched their way up the main drag, searching for parking. Pedestrians jammed the sidewalks, window-shopping at a collection of boutiques and galleries. And what did you know? Restaurants and cafés lined the streets.

  The town was definitely larger than Dry Creek and from the looks of the crowd—mostly families, carrying shopping bags—a major tourist draw.

  She drove in search of the kitchen store and found it on her second pass down Mill Street. It was a large shop, judging by the two plate glass windows decorated with clever kitchen displays. Finally, she found a parking lot off Mill and squeezed into one of the spaces and questioned the wisdom of going inside.

  Laney from the coffee shop had recognized her instantly in her sunglasses and hat. Who’s to say anyone else wouldn’t? At the same time, she really wanted to shop. Sawyer had a well-stocked kitchen when it came to pots and pans, but he didn’t have much in the way of baking supplies and she only had two warped cake pans she’d found in the cabin. She’d love to get a few pie dishes, a tart pan, and parchment paper.

  It was impulsive, but she decided to risk it. Before leaving her car, she adjusted her hat in the visor mirror and hiked up the street to the store. It was surprisingly well stocked and even carried ChefAid mixers, food processors, and coffee makers. It was also packed with shoppers, which made her nervous about being discovered. As it turned out, the throngs of people made it easier to hide in plain view.

  The store was three stories high. The basement featured a demo kitchen for cooking classes. The ground floor focused on gadgets, cookbooks, wine, olive oils, and cheeses. And the third level had small appliances and dishware, including the Gina DeRose brand.

  Before she knew it, an hour had passed and her hand basket was full. On her way to the checkout counter, she realized her only method of payment was plastic. Her name was on every credit card she owned.

  Shit.

  She rifled through her wallet and managed to scrape thirty-eight dollars together. It wasn’t enough to pay for everything in her basket. She did some quick calculations and could only afford the pie dish and a tart pan.

  She considered finding a teller machine, but every minute she was out in pu
blic she risked being recognized. Living like this was getting old. Fast. But it was better than the alternative of having the paparazzi up her ass.

  She paid for her supplies and got back in her car, deciding that her adventure for the day was over. Maybe she’d try to bake a pie in the oven from hell or visit Aubrey and Charlie at their shop. It was strange not having meetings to attend or a show to tape, or a public appearance to make. She should be out-of-her-mind bored, but oddly she wasn’t. Last night, she’d spent time on her laptop, looking up recipes for inspiration. She’d even read a book from beginning to end, lying on her new sofa.

  It was a new experience having enough hours in the day for leisure time. And it was depressing as hell. It would be one thing if she didn’t have the weight of her entire portfolio resting on her shoulders. Then maybe she could actually enjoy relaxing. But she was constantly on edge, waiting for the next surprise attack.

  As she pulled up to her cabin, she saw Sawyer’s Range Rover across the creek, parked at Cash and Aubrey’s house. She felt a tickle in her stomach and blamed it on indigestion. Inside the cabin, she unpacked her two purchases and sorted through her pantry to see if she had the required ingredients to make a pie. On one of her walks to Charlie and Aubrey’s barn, she’d noticed a wild blackberry bush near the creek, brimming with fruit.

  She changed into a pair of jeans and tennis shoes. The tick warning had scared the bejesus out of her. All she needed was Lyme disease to cap off the shit storm that had become her life.

  It had cooled considerably since the first time she’d left the house. According to her phone, the temperature was a balmy ninety degrees. But if she walked in the shade it wasn’t too bad. The day was so clear she could see the mountain peaks of the Sierra. Maybe all the way to Nevada.

  She’d done a cookbook signing in Tahoe a few years back. Other than that, though, she’d never spent much time in this part of California. Except for promotional junkets and the obligatory trip to New York for the annual James Beard Awards, she rarely left LA. And even then, it was a series of airports and hotels.

  She found the berry bush, which was thick as a forest, covered in plump, ripe fruit. Gina plucked one off an overgrown vine and popped it in her mouth. It was a tasty blend of sweet and tart. Perfect for pies.

  While her culinary focus had always been on savory dishes, she was a fine baker. She was also a fine eater of her baked goods. When the pie was done, she’d bring it to Sawyer. It would look better on him than on her. But not before she had a taste of her labor.

  She filled her pie dish with berries, wishing she’d brought a bigger container. There was enough fruit to bake dozens of desserts. If things got any more dire, she might just open a bakery and give Laney a run for her money.

  Sawyer’s Range Rover pulled up alongside her and his passenger window slid down. “What are you doing?”

  “Picking berries. I assumed it was okay.” They were just going to waste, feeding the birds and rotting on the bush.

  He shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

  She wanted to ask him where he’d been yesterday when she’d borrowed his kitchen to make a cassoulet, but bit her tongue. Perhaps he’d been trying to avoid her. She didn’t fool herself that their creek-side truce had suddenly made them BFFs.

  “Did you eat any of that cassoulet I left in your refrigerator?” she asked instead.

  “I had three helpings. Hope you didn’t have other plans for it,” he said, but didn’t seem terribly concerned that she might’ve.

  “Nope, just testing recipes.”

  He shut off his engine and leaned across the seat. “How come you never take anything home?”

  “The mice and rats.” As far as she could tell the cabin was rodent-free, but she liked reminding him that he was a cad for dumping her there.

  “They don’t eat much.” Both sides of his mouth hitched up. “Just be careful of the bears and mountain lions. You go out today?”

  Aha, he was keeping tabs on her comings and goings? Don’t be delusional, she told herself. He just happened to notice that her car was gone while he was at Cash’s. “To that kitchen store you told me about.”

  He rubbed his hands over his scruff. Apparently, he no longer shaved. “That wise?”

  “Probably not, but I needed a few things and it was a nice store.”

  He didn’t say anything, just seemed to study her for a few minutes. “Well, I better get home.”

  “You mind if I use your oven to bake a pie?” She knew she was becoming an imposition but asked anyway. Why? She didn’t know. She’d been perfectly prepared to bake in the cabin. The walls were closing in her, that’s why.

  “Uh…I guess.” He didn’t sound thrilled about it, so she decided to do it just to antagonize him.

  “Great. I just have to go home and grab my ingredients and the new pie dish I bought. See you in a little while.”

  She rushed to the cabin and gathered up her supplies, including her freshly picked berries. Despite the danger of facing more negativity on the World Wide Web, she opened her laptop to research crusts. The best ones were made with lard and she didn’t have any, or even Crisco. She could do all-butter, but it tended to make the crust puffier than she liked. Cream cheese, though, made a fantastic substitute for Crisco. And she had a package she’d bought to smear on the crappy frozen bagels she’d gotten at the Dry Creek Market.

  She did a Google search for Rose Levy Beranbaum’s cream cheese–to–butter ratio. As far as Gina was concerned, Beranbaum’s Pie and Pastry Bible was the definitive manual on crust or anything having to do with pie.

  When she was a girl, cooking in her parents’ Beverly Hills kitchen, she had attempted to make every recipe in the book. Sadie had complained that it was making her fat and demanded that Gina stop. Until her mother had issued the no-more-baking edict, Gina had gotten two-thirds through the tome, which was thicker than the Old and New Testament combined.

  She searched for the recipe, trying to stay focused and not peek at the day’s news or YouTube videos of the late-night shows, or TMZ. How she loathed TMZ. It took all her willpower not to take a quick look at her fan email, which would just be masochistic. Unfortunately, though, she was one of those people who slowed down to look at car accidents. The pull to search her name was like a magnetic force.

  Nope, not going to do it.

  Yet, she deliberated when it came time to power down. Then her phone rang and she was saved by the bell.

  Bye-bye internet.

  She slammed down the top of her laptop, rushed across the room, and searched her purse. Her phone had sunk to the bottom and she had to swim through the flotsam to pluck it out.

  “Hello,” she answered, afraid she had already missed the call. “Hello?”

  “Gina, it’s Danny.”

  Chapter 7

  Sawyer reached into the overhead storage bin and pulled out his carry-on. It had only been a four-hour flight from Albuquerque to Sacramento, but his legs were happy to be standing again. The seats in economy were too damn cramped for someone six-two.

  He handed down a second bag to a middle-aged woman who’d sat in the seat next to him. She had not been subtle in her attempts to set him up with her daughter. Sawyer had pretended to be interested but his mind was on other things.

  It had been his second trip to New Mexico in search of answers about Angie. He’d gone Friday on a whim, convinced that if he dug deeper, talked to more people, he’d get somewhere this time.

  Yet, he had more questions now than when he’d started.

  His source, the cagey woman he’d originally spoken with, was even more tight-lipped than she’d been the first time. Though she had let it slip that Angie had left the commune—commune being a fancy way of saying cult—to do humanitarian work overseas. When he tried to pinpoint her on where overseas, she said she didn’t know.

  He wasn’t buy
ing it. But that’s all he had. So it pretty much left him with the entire world to search.

  The heat hit him as soon as he stepped outside to catch a shuttle to the overnight lot. It had been cooler in Santa Fe, or maybe just drier. He’d only been gone two days, but was anxious to get home. Sleep in his own bed.

  He turned on his phone and scrolled through his emails and messages. Nothing that couldn’t wait until he got to the ranch. Traffic was manageable this late in the evening and he hoped to make good time.

  Wishful thinking. What should’ve been an hour drive turned into two. A big rig jackknifed on the freeway, leaving a backup miles long. By the time he pulled through the ranch gate, he was in a foul mood.

  And it only got worse when he found a little BMW parked in front of his garage doors.

  “At least have the freaking decency not to block me from getting in,” he muttered under his breath and left his Range Rover in the driveway.

  Sawyer slung the strap of his go bag over his shoulder and went inside. Something smelled good, like fresh-baked bread.

  “You’re here.” He unceremoniously dumped his bag on the floor.

  “Hungry?” She looked up from something she was reading on his kitchen counter. It appeared to be his mail.

  He swiped the pile of bills and assorted other paperwork off the counter, shoved them in a drawer, and grunted under his breath.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. Sit down and I’ll make you something.”

  It was the least she could do after constantly invading his space. Ever since they’d had their moment on the creek bank, he’d been avoiding her, even leaving his house when he knew she was coming over to use his kitchen.

  But in all honesty, seeing her again…shit. He liked it. He liked having her in his kitchen again.

  “Let me change first,” he said. Between the stuffy plane and the heat, he’d have to scrape his shirt off like wallpaper. On his way to the bedroom, he adjusted the air-conditioner to sixty-five.

  He emptied his pockets and dropped his loose change, phone, and wallet on his dresser. In the bathroom, he stripped, washed up, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. On his way back to the kitchen, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand.