by Susan Crosby
“There,” she said, pointing.
All he saw was the Red Rock Motor Inn. “The motel?”
She nodded.
“Look, I—”
“I’m not propositioning you,” she interrupted. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d check in, then I’ll use the room. I don’t want to go back to my hotel yet. I still have some thinking to do. Would they know you here?”
He pulled into the parking lot. “By name. Some folks, anyway.”
“If you pay cash, could you use an alias?”
“Don’t see why not.”
She reached into her pocket.
“I’ll get it,” he said and opened the car door before she could protest. The woman fascinated him. What was the big deal she needed to think about? Why had she intentionally kissed him for a photographer? She had a squeaky-clean image, yet was defying it now.
He registered, climbed back into the car and drove around to the back side of the complex, parking by the assigned room. “You’re registered as John Wayne,” he said, slanting her a look.
She laughed, a little shaky, but still a laugh. “Thanks.”
He walked her to the door, unlocked it, found the light switch. “Not what you’re used to,” he said as she walked past him.
“It’ll do.” She held out her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you helping me out. I feel horrible that you have to find your way back to your truck.”
He put the car key and room key in her hand, his fingers brushing her skin, cold to the touch now. He could’ve left her without too much problem, knowing she’d be on his ranch the next day. But the fact was, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d taken the room next to hers for the night. “Couldn’t let the Duke down, could I?”
She smiled. “The Code of the West is alive and well.”
“And we’re proud to say so.” He tipped his hat. “Good night, then, Miss McShane.” He got about six steps away when she called his name.
“It’s Maggie,” she said. “Call me Maggie.”
“Your given name Margaret?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Would you…like to come in for a bit?” she asked.
He hesitated, not because he didn’t want to go inside, but because he wondered what she wanted. Someone to listen? Someone to watch TV with? She didn’t strike him as a person who spent a lot of time by herself. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it. Maybe she was scared to be alone.
And maybe he was just too tempted by her. His body still hummed from the dance and the kiss.
“You’ll be safe here,” he said finally. He waited until she shut the door then went to the next room, opening the door quietly, creeping in. He didn’t turn on the television, didn’t make a sound, just propped himself against some pillows on the bed and read the brochures from the desktop.
The walls were thin. He heard her television come on, then go off again shortly. He heard her move around the room. Television on again. Off. She must not have bothered taking off her boots because he could hear her pace. Finally a new sound—crying. Then she told herself to stop it, and she did. No more sobs.
Vulnerable. He wouldn’t have put that word to her if he hadn’t seen it for himself.
She paced again. And the crying started again. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He went outside and tapped on her door. “It’s Tony,” he said quietly.
The curtain moved. He put himself in a position where she could see him. Then the door opened.
“Couldn’t you get a ride?” she asked.
He could see she was giving it her all to appear calm and composed. But for all her acting abilities, the look she gave him was anything but.
“Didn’t try. I wasn’t comfortable with leaving you here alone. Took the room next door. I could hear you—pacing. Figured, you know, maybe you might want to talk.”
She opened the door wider and stepped back, extending her invitation a second time, silently.
He took off his hat and went into the room, heard the door shut and the lock slide into place, then the chain being fastened. He tossed his hat onto the bed, a typical motel queen-size with a muted-stripes bedspread that had seen better days. Sterile room, usual odors of cleaning products and stale fabrics. He’d spent plenty of nights in ones just like this or worse. He’d bet she hadn’t.
He faced her. She hadn’t moved. And where her composure had failed when she’d answered the door, it was back now. She was a damn fine actress, he decided, to be able to make her face a blank like that. What was going on in her head? Why was he there?
“How can I help you?” he asked.
She tossed back her hair a little, bringing her chin up a notch. “I want to sleep with you.”
A stampede started in his midsection then branched out. He tried for as little expression as she had. “For the sake of clarification, ‘sleeping’ with me means?”
“More than actually sleeping in the same bed.”
“You want to have sex?”
“Yes.”
More questions came to mind. In particular, Why me? And, What about your famous fiancé?
Their kiss in the saloon reverberated in his head, made its way down his body. Who was he to pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity? The kind of guy who realized that maybe she didn’t mean what she was saying, he thought.
But then she started to pull the snaps on her shirt apart. He stopped her, his hand covering both of hers, his fingers pressed to her warm, cushiony chest.
“Some reason why you’re in such an all-fired-up hurry?” he asked.
“Yes.” She yanked her shirt open, revealing a lacy red bra cupping not-girl-next-door breasts.
Usually he took his time to do things right. Less chance of regrets that way. And somehow he had a feeling that regrets were going to come fast and furious if he followed through. No way was he going to do this, even though it had been a while since he’d enjoyed a roll in the hay. But this woman had been occupying his thoughts for several days and nights, pretty much since he saw her walk onto his ranch a few days ago, and the moment she touched her lips to his, pressed herself against him, he was lost.
Her kisses seared him, her touch sent him soaring. He lost his ability to think clearly. They wasted no time in undressing and getting skin to skin on the bed. She was wild and demanding and giving. He barely managed to say, “Birth control?”
“On the pill,” she managed back.
And then he was inside her and she was arching and digging her fingers into him and making flattering sounds of pleasure, and then of satisfaction. A moment later, he did, too.
He eased to his side, taking her along. After a minute he realized she was crying. Again.
He didn’t ask her why, and she didn’t say.
Tony’s internal alarm clock woke him before dawn. He reached for Maggie, but his hand landed on a piece of paper instead of a warm, curvy body. He held the paper toward the window, where the outside light offered minimal illumination.
One word, printed as if in a rush: Thanks.
It should’ve made him happy, since he wasn’t much for mornings-after, either, but it only annoyed him.
He rolled off the bed and snagged his cell phone out of his jeans pocket, then called his foreman, Butch Kelly.
“I need a ride,” Tony said.
“Where are you?”
Tony could hear the rustle of clothing as Butch dressed. “Red Rock Motor Inn. Know where it is?”
“Spent my high-school graduation night there. Fond memories. So, where’s your truck?”
“Elsewhere.”
A beat passed then, “Okay. I’m on my way.”
Tony hung up and finished dressing. It was hard to believe she’d left without him hearing her go. He wondered how long ago she’d taken off. Sometime after three, because that was when they’d made love a second time.
He waited for Butch in front of the motel, his irritation increasing with each passing vehicle. Her note burned a hole in his shirt pocket. She co
uld’ve said goodbye, at least. People who sleep together deserve that much.
She obviously didn’t deserve her driven-snow reputation—supposedly she was engaged to that Hollywood beefcake. She sure hadn’t acted engaged last night. In fact, she’d seemed like a woman who hadn’t been made love to in a long time. He wondered about that, and about her morals, sleeping with him like she had.
But, hell, who was he to spout morals? He’d had his share of affairs, some that never should’ve happened.
He tucked his hands in his pockets, and hunched against the cool morning, remembering. She was amazing in bed. He wouldn’t mind repeating the experience, not at all. Yeah, why not have some good times together while she was in town? They’d be private about it. He didn’t want or need media attention, and she would need secrecy from her fiancé. Could be tricky, though.
Where the hell was Butch, anyway?
He blew out a long breath, digging for the patience he was known for. It was probably just karma catching up with him, payback for the times in his youth he’d done the same thing, left a woman without saying goodbye, before he’d wised up and gotten civil about such things.
A Lucky Hand Ranch pickup pulled up to the curb. “Took you long enough,” Tony muttered as he climbed in, not feeling charitable, too much on his mind.
Butch shoved a to-go cup at him. Coffee, hot and black. “So, shoot me. Figured you’d need this, so I made a stop.”
They were the same age, had done the rodeo circuit together for years. Butch’s knees were worse than Tony’s, although Tony had broken more bones. “Okay. You’re forgiven,” Tony said.
Butch grinned. “So, can I ask what you were doin’ at the motel?”
Tony gave him a long look as he sipped his coffee. His cell rang. He checked to see who it was. “Pretty early, Mom, even for you,” he said after he opened the phone.
Sue-Ellen Young laughed. “I’ve already baked two pies and checked my e-mail. Nice picture of you, by the way, on celebrityscoop.com, kissing Maggie McShane.”
And so it began, Tony thought. But how would it end?
Chapter Three
Maggie’s stomach lurched as she focused on the computer screen being shoved close to her face.
“Tell me this is a look-alike,” Leesa almost screamed. She’d stomped into Maggie’s hotel suite a minute ago, holding up her laptop. “One of those fake celebrities. Tell me that.”
Embarrassed by her behavior, Maggie picked up her purse and headed toward the door. “It’s not a look-alike.”
“How did this happen? When did it happen?”
“Last night. Are you ready to go? You know I don’t like being late to the set. Dino’s got the car waiting.” When she’d gotten back to her hotel room around 4:00 a.m. she’d had to memorize the day’s lines, meaning she’d had little sleep, only the two hours between the first and second time she and Tony had made love. Her makeup artist was going to get after her for the bags under her eyes.
“How can you be so blasé about this? You’re engaged! You were caught kissing a local cowboy at a bar!” She grabbed script pages and a couple other items off the table.
“Cattleman.”
Leesa stopped in her tracks. “What?”
“He’s a cattleman. He says there’s a difference.” It was costing Maggie to act unconcerned by the online-gossip site’s photo, but she had to. Until she came up with a plan, she had to seem as if she knew what she was doing. Appearances were everything. She didn’t want to compound stupidity with idiocy.
“I don’t get it,” Leesa said, exasperated. “Last night Scott was here. You asked for privacy for the whole night, just the two of you. What happened?”
They stepped onto the landing. Maggie put a hand on her friend’s arm. “The less you know, the better. For your sake, not mine, okay? You’re just going to have to trust me. I want you to be able to say it was a big surprise to you, too, and mean it.”
Leesa clamped her mouth hard for a minute, then said, “So, the rumors about Scott were true.”
“What rumors?”
“That he and Gennifer were messing around.”
So. Even Leesa had known. “Had you planned to tell me?” Maggie asked, hurt making her throat burn.
“They were only rumors. I’d been trying to get them confirmed, but no luck. I wouldn’t have let you marry him without telling you, Mags. Did you know already? Did you call it off?”
Dino pulled up in the car and got out. Maggie couldn’t tell from his expression if he knew about the photo, but he didn’t hold out his hand for her to pass him her engagement ring as he always did, which told her enough.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Just super.”
“You know, if you don’t trust me, you should fire me.”
She jerked back. “I trust you.”
“I wouldn’t have let anyone get a picture, and I don’t pass judgment. You shouldn’t leave me behind.”
“I had to.” She couldn’t tell him any more than that. Not yet.
“I’ll keep your secrets until the day I die, Maggie.”
She felt about a foot tall. How many people had she disappointed or hurt with her impulsive actions?
“Thank you, Dino. I do know that.” She climbed into the car and said to Leesa, “Let’s run lines.”
Leesa huffed but pulled out the pages.
At the location, Maggie went straight into hair and makeup. She’d barely settled into the chair when Mac Iverson came in. “Give us a few minutes,” the director said to the two women working on her, then he leaned against the counter and gave her the eye. “So. You’re big news today.”
She assumed that meant her photo was everywhere now. Her manager and publicist would already be fielding calls from the various media entertainment-news shows, and magazines, too. Leesa would be fielding calls from her manager and publicist, and any others who had her phone number.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said to Mac. She never brought controversy to a film. Mac wouldn’t work with her if she did. He was old-school, running a close-knit, familylike atmosphere, but demanding and getting the best work out of everyone. They’d worked together six times. There were good reasons for that.
“I met Tony Young for the first time last year when we were scouting locations,” Mac said. “I wanted realism, not a studio set. At the time he was living in the old homestead we’re shooting in, but his new house was almost ready. He agreed to hold off on remodeling the old place for his foreman until after we filmed, appreciating what I promised to bring to the movie—an honest portrayal of a cattleman’s life, not the romanticized version of most fiction. He’s a decent, hardworking, self-made man. He shouldn’t have to deal with the kind of media attention he’s bound to get now.”
Maggie felt like a child being chewed out by her favorite teacher, except…shouldn’t Tony take some of blame? She hadn’t acted alone. “I know.”
“Have you and Scott broken your engagement?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Good. That’s good. And is Mr. Young in the picture now?”
Maggie realized right then what she needed to do, how she needed to resolve the situation. She had to talk to Tony first, however. “Can I just say that I’ll issue a statement later today and leave it at that for the moment?”
“Is this going to interfere with my production?”
“I’m trying not to let it, Mac. I’m sorry that it’s considered newsworthy.”
“Yeah, well, if you weren’t such a Goody Two-shoes…” He smiled then and pushed himself from the counter. “Wonder what the clever headline writers will do with America’s Sweetheart now.”
“If it makes them stop using that awful nickname, it might all be worth it. It’s been pretty hard to live up to, you know.”
“Not while your grandparents were alive.”
She finally smiled. “True. They did keep me on the straight and narrow, whether I wanted to be or not.”
“She’s here,” she said into the phone. “Hang on.” Leesa held out the phone to her. “It’s Garnet.”
Garnet Halvorsen had been Maggie’s publicist for ten years, ever since Maggie lured her away from a big studio. She should’ve been the first call Maggie had made once she’d seen the photograph.
“I’ll call her later,” Maggie said. She kept walking, her dresser coming into the trailer behind her with the outfit for the morning’s shoot.
“But—”
“La-ter.”
Maggie heard Leesa try to soothe Garnet, who seemed to be yelling. Maggie signaled to her assistant to end the call, which she did. “Let it go to voice mail for now, please, Leesa.”
A few minutes later someone knocked, saying they were ready for her. Maggie put an arm around Leesa’s shoulders. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Maggie wanted to believe her own words, but it really depended on Tony. “I need you to get in touch with Tony Young and ask him to meet me at seven o’clock tonight at the hotel. And apologize to him in advance for all the stalkers he’ll have today.”
“I don’t mind making that call, Mags, but don’t you think it should come from you? That any apology should come from you?”
Without a doubt. But since he would have questions that she’d rather answer in person, she hoped he would agree to come. Needed him to come. Her reputation depended on it, although he owed her nothing.
“Please just make the call.” Maggie opened the trailer door, her stomach full of hot lead, especially about Tony’s life being turned upside down, but she put on her game face and headed out to the set.
The tone now was completely different from previous days. She always got along with everyone, but she’d never been involved in a scandal before, and no one seemed to know what to say or how to act, except that cameraman Pete came up, allegedly to give her some change from the fifty dollars she’d given the bartender, then whispered to her that he could call Scott and tell him that it had all been innocent between Maggie and the cowboy.