Ride Rough

by Tessa Layne

  Jeanine and Cecilia looked at each other, a beat passed, then they burst into giggles. "Lordy, did you see the look on his face? Wait until I tell Weston about this."

  Cecilia glanced at Izzie who was still staring at the door, a puzzled expression on her face. "I smell a rat," Izzie said with a shake of her head.

  "Snake," Jeanine added with more giggles.

  Cecilia peeled off her mask and tossed it in the empty grocery bag. "C'mon, it's time for abtastic." Although twenty-five minutes into the movie, Cecilia still couldn't focus and didn't offer more than a few noncommittal expressions when Jeanine stopped the action to discuss the finer points of the abs on the screen.

  "I'm more interested in their eyes," Izzie pointed out. "It's been bugging me the whole movie. Who do Trace McBride's eyes remind you of?" Cecilia and Jeanine shared a look of confusion. "I can't believe you don't see it. I can't believe I didn't see it before. I think I've watched every one of Trace McBride's movies at least three times. Look." Izzie jumped off the couch and used her hands to cover up the actor's face, so that only his eyes showed. "Now can you see it?"

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Icy fingers raced up Cecilia's spine. "It's just a coincidence, Iz. That's all." But it wasn't. Foreboding settled in her stomach.

  Izzie shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean Trace McBride's hair is blond, but those eyes. They could be related."

  "You don't think her Trace," Jeanine pointed to Cecilia, "is that Trace?" She pointed to the T.V., mouth curving up. "Wouldn't that be the story of the century? Girl reporter falls for superhero. Oh my gosh, you're like a real-life Lois Lane and Trace is Clark Kent."

  Cecilia scoffed, growing more anxious by the second. "Hardly."

  Jeanine cocked her head, eying the frozen image critically. "If I squint-"

  "Exactly. If you squint. My Trace doesn't look anything like that Trace."

  Izzie wrinkled her nose. "I'm not so sure. Wasn't there a big blow-up with Trace McBride last spring? Like he got fired or something? There were politicians involved."

  Cecilia rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Last spring I was still working my story." She'd never disclosed the nature of her story to her girlfriends - loose lips sink ships and all that.

  "Here it is," exclaimed Jeanine, waving her phone. "Dated April 1st. This isn't an April Fool's McAbs fans." Jeanine pressed the phone against her collarbone, covering a laugh. "Did you know his fans call him McAbs? O.M.G."

  "What else does it say?" prodded Izzie, emptying the last of the wine into her glass.

  "It seems that our favorite surfer boy and one of Hollywood's most eligible had a little too much fun skinny dipping in the pool the other night with producer Senator Whelan's wife. While PZX is still waiting for confirmation, rumors indicate that McBride has been fired from the set."

  Cecilia cringed. "Eww. That is so not my Trace."

  "Right? I mean, if you had any doubts about the man, just compare. But on the other hand... look at his eyes." Jeanine expanded the picture. "There's something about his expression... I swear I've seen it in our Trace."

  Cecilia's stomach roiled, heart thumping in her throat. "Hold on. I know how we can find out." She bolted up, running out of the living room and taking the stairs by two. She paused at her bedroom door, refusing to look at the sheets still wrinkled from their early morning sexcapade. She looked at the small portrait of the Holy Family that her grandmother had given her before she had departed on her global adventure. "Please don't be true," she muttered over and over as she hurried to her dresser, then fished out a small USB drive from where she'd left it in the jewelry box. Tomorrow she'd be sharing the contents with Marissa using a secure drop service. The frozen frame downstairs had jarred her memory. She covered her mouth, dragging in a breath that was more panicked sob. She swallowed and squared her shoulders. This was just to prove they were all imagining things.

  Grabbing her laptop, she rushed back downstairs. Jeanine and Izzy crowded in next to her on the couch as she turned on her computer and plugged in the USB. "Okay, so what you're about to see is confidential. Not like Prairie confidential. Like super confidential."

  Jeanine turned sober. "We never saw it."

  "Iz?"

  She nodded, brows furrowed.

  "You'll read about this soon enough, but the story I worked on most of last year had to do with an escort service in Chicago." Izzie's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "I received a tip from a source. And after working the lead for months, I'm pretty sure that the escort service, in addition to keeping a list of extremely high profile clients like Trace McBride and some that I'm sure were involved with the Russian mob, was involved with trafficking. Or at least looked the other way when minors were involved." Even saying it now, made her nauseous. She could never disclose to her friends how close she was to the source - scheduling clients, managing intake... even going on a date for Bonita in a pinch. She'd taken all the precautions - different name, wigs, voice, contacts. At the time, it had felt exciting and dangerous, and a little like she was a real-life Trixie Beldon. Now, it just felt awful, knowing what could have happened.

  Her girlfriends gasped, eyes full of disbelief. "Don't worry, I... took precautions. My source never met me face to face, and I used a burner phone for all our contacts. My name might be on the byline, but my source is safe." As safe as she could be working for someone like Bonita. Cecilia still wasn't sure if the young woman who was her primary source had managed to disengage or not. It was too dangerous to find out.

  Jeanine pressed her shoulder against Cecilia's. "Wow, you're a modern-day Nellie Bly."

  "Here it is." It had taken her a minute to go through the long list of photos she'd named by who was in them. She clicked on a file and a picture of Bonita, Trace McBride, Emerson Scott- a Hollywood mover and shaker connected to McBride, and a young blond girl.

  Izzie inhaled sharply. "Holy shit, Ceece. She looks like a kid."

  "I know. She never did admit her age. I don't know if she's a minor, but she's definitely not twenty."

  "Eww." Izzie wrinkled her nose, then peered at the photo. "I don't know... the Trace in the photo screams California surfer dude. Our Trace... doesn't."

  "Doesn't he?" Cecilia challenged, slipping into investigative journalist mode, where she felt honor bound to poke holes in every angle until there were no holes left to poke. "He's only been wearing Wranglers since Lexi Grace's wedding."

  "And his truck still has California plates," Jeanine pointed out.

  Cecilia tapped a finger to the top of her lip. "Has Weston mentioned anything at all about Trace?"

  She shook her head. "Sorry. Weston's a vault."

  Cecilia puffed out a breath. "Okay, let's do some playing." Cecilia opened Photoshop and dragged in the picture, cropping out everything but Trace McBride. She started by making his hair brown, then she erased the floppy lock of hair that cut across his forehead. The air became charged. Trying not to let her eyes focus, Cecilia took a stipple brush and slowly filled in along McBride's jawline.

  Izzie hissed out a breath. "Oh, no."

  It couldn't be. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She was simply imagining things. She turned to Izzie, whose eyes were wide with shock, then to Jeanine, who looked the same. "There has to be a reasonable explanation," Jeanine said. "Lemme text Weston."

  There was no reasonable explanation, her brain screamed as her heart began to shatter in slow motion. All the little incongruences that she'd ignored in favor of her libido fell perfectly into place. The moments when her questions had been met with looks of fear. The one-off comments like news outlets are always looking for the next scoop. Only someone who had a fractious relationship with the press would have that opinion. You're a good writer, Cecilia. I may have only read the first page, but I can tell. Sure, he could tell. How many scripts did he read in a given month? "Weston knows, doesn't he?" Her voice was low and fierce.

  Jeanine nodded. "I'm so sorry, hon. He had us all snowed."

  "But
why?" asked Izzie. "I don't understand."

  A bitter laugh exploded from Cecilia. "Because he was undercover. Gathering information for a part in the same way I gathered information for my story. Only we accidentally got caught up in each other's research."

  Izzie laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I don't think it changes the way he feels about you though. I mean, he did just buy you a car."

  "I agree," Jeanine added. "He looks at you like you walk on air. You can't fake that."

  "Does he look at me like that?" she waved toward the T.V. "Because that's damn fine acting."

  Regardless of the explanation, Trace Walker was without a doubt Trace McBride, and she'd been an utter fool.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "One more round?" Trace asked, racking the balls. He could get used to this life, the occasional weekends of rodeoing with his friends - and he definitely considered Robbie and Jax to be his friends now - missing Cecilia and looking forward to seeing her again.

  Jax poured out the remaining contents of the pitcher between the three pint glasses on the high top next to the pool table. On the other side of the table was a small dance floor where half a dozen couples swayed to the jukebox.

  Robbie slapped a twenty on the edge of the table. "Twenty says you bury the eight-ball on the break."

  Trace chuckled. He'd already done it twice this evening.

  "Third time's a charm," said Jax adding his own twenty to the table.

  "Forty says I don't."

  "Ooh big gambler," Robbie teased. "This why I don't see you at the Sinclaires' poker nights?"

  "No, not really my thing," answered Trace, tensing.

  "Seems like it would be, with Sterling being your cousin, and all."

  In that moment, he hated that he'd pressured Sterling to go along with his story. It was coming back to haunt him in untold ways. "Yeah, but most of those guys are married, and I can only take so much talk about poopy diapers."

  Jax chortled. "True, that. Okay, quit stalling, Walker, break."

  Trace chalked the cue, and bent, casting a quick glance at the two men standing on either side of the table arms crossed. A nervous shudder ran down his spine - like someone had just walked on his grave. Sunday. This all ended Sunday. He'd come clean to Cecilia and his friends, and ask they keep his presence in Prairie confidential. Hell, if K.C. Starr could retire to Prairie without the paps crawling all over like flies on shit, maybe he could too. "So I've been thinking," he broke and stood, watching the balls scatter across the table. The eight ball bounced off the bumper and slowed to a stop in the middle of the table. He grinned, pocketing first Robbie's then Jax's twenty. "I saw there's some acreage north of town for sale - about fifty acres?"

  Jax and Robbie looked at each other. "That must be the old Watson place that got parceled off," said Jax.

  "If you're thinking about ranching, you'll need a lot more than fifty acres," added Robbie.

  Trace shook his head. "Nah. More interested in investing in Jax's roughstock."

  Jax's eyes went wide as a slow smile spread across his face. "Since when?"

  "Since you mentioned something about a month ago. And I've been thinking I'm ready for a new venture, and Prairie feels more like home these days than California, so why not?"

  Robbie and Jax exchanged a curious look. "There are worse places to be," agreed Robbie.

  "I've got significant capital to invest, but I'm willing to be a silent partner."

  Jax let out a whoop and pulled Trace in for a hug, thumping him on the back. "I swear, you won't regret it. Boyd's Bulls and Broncs will become the industry standard for roughstock. Just give me five years."

  "I wonder what Cecilia will think of this development," pointed out Robbie with a sly smile.

  Trace wondered, too. He knew enough to let her stew over the SUV for a few days. She'd be fine when he got home, and then... well, baby steps. "You know how she is. A hard sell, every step of the way."

  "I don't envy you, man. She's been that way as long as I can remember." Robbie drained the last of his beer. "But I'll tell you this... the guy that sticks it out, is gonna be one lucky son of a gun. Izzie's never had a better friend." He grinned. "And you seem like you like a bit of trouble."

  He guessed he did. And he couldn't imagine his life without Cecilia. If he had to wait, well, he was a stubborn man. He'd wear her down with patience. "Tab's on me tonight, guys."

  The ride back to the hotel was filled with easy banter, mostly about Robbie's attempts at getting the cute barback to come out and take a turn on the dance floor. "Way to strike out again, Romeo," Jaxon had teased.

  "She was too young for you anyway," added Trace as they pulled into the parking lot. "You don't wanna be a creeper."

  "Don't have to worry about that. The next time you see Tony ask him who Robbie talks about in his sleep at the fire station."

  "I don't talk in my sleep," Robbie growled.

  "Like hell you don't," Jax cackled. "Listen." He pulled up something on his phone that was punctuated with snoring and Robbie's voice distinctly saying A.J. "Who's A.J.?"

  "No one," he mumbled, reaching for the radio.

  "Anyone up for a final round?" Jax asked as they passed the hotel bar.

  "I'm good. You guys close it down." Trace said with a wave, heading for the elevator. "Catch you guys in the morning." More than anything, he wanted to call Cecilia. But a phone call wouldn't resolve their issues. They needed a heart-to-heart, then full-on fucking. Inside his room, he tossed his phone on the table then made a beeline for the shower. He turned on the water then stepped into the spray. Portia had texted earlier that there was an offer on his place. Take it, he'd texted back. He didn't care what the offer was. It didn't matter - he'd made up his mind. He'd always had a knack for figuring things out as he went and he was going to do that again. Working the ranch for four months had changed him. He guessed that's why so many veterans successfully went through the program. There was something about hard physical labor in the outdoors, that forced a person to look inward and wrestle with their bullshit. Same with riding a bull. Those animals smelled a man lying to himself a mile away. He'd miss the adrenaline of being on set, but nothing said he couldn't do a movie every year or two. Maybe Cecilia would come with him. He leaned into that fantasy while he cleaned up, until he registered pounding at his door. "Hang on," he hollered. He rinsed off the rest of the soap and threw a towel around his hips. Momentary panic shot through him. What if something had happened to Cecilia? He opened the door to Robbie's thunderous face, Jax's right behind.

  Before he could ask, Robbie had pushed in and pinned him against the wall. "What the fuck is going on?" He growled. "What fucking game are you playing at... McBride?" he sneered, arm pressing painfully into his collarbone.

  McBride? Jesusfucktits, how had they found out? Someone had spilled the beans. Portia? Ophelia? Who else knew where he was? His stomach dropped like a stone. Had Emerson leaked? Or worse, Travis or Sterling? He shut his eyes, trying to gather his wits. "I can explain. Can I explain?"

  "You wanna explain why you've been lying to us for the last four months? Go right ahead," Robbie ground out.

  Jax kicked shut the door and leaned back against it, arms folded.

  "Who told you?" Trace asked.

  "Izzie."

  Shit. "I swear, I was gonna tell Cecilia on Sunday when I got home."

  "Looks like you're a little too late," Jax answered with a dry laugh.

  "Who knows?"

  "How the fuck do I know?" Robbie shouted. "Why don't you start worrying about how your girlfriend is going to react instead of worrying about doing damage control? This is going to send CiCi over the edge."

  "So Tony's probably gonna make good on his promise to beat the shit out of me?" he asked with a wry smile.

  "If there's anything left when I'm done, yeah."

  "Can I come clean?"

  "I don't see as you have a choice," called Jax from his spot at the door.

  "Come i
n and sit down, I'm not gonna bolt, and I'm not gonna call security either."

  Jax's jaw set, but he came into the room and dropped into the chair by the desk. Trace took a seat on the edge of the bed. Robbie remained standing.

  "Okay. So I'm going to operate under the assumption that you probably don't follow my career in the tabloids."

  Robbie grunted.

  "So..." Trace swallowed, then puffed his cheeks and blew out a heavy breath. "I've been a fuck-up most of my adult life. All of it, really. Without giving you the blow by blow, the instafame and wealth went to my head, and I didn't have another adult in my life to help me make the adjustment. I blew the first half of my fortune on women, booze, and a fuckton of illegal shit. When I turned thirty, I cleaned up a bit and hired an investor to take care of what I did have. But it wasn't until a big scandal that cost me a job I enjoyed, that shit started to be different. Getting sacked cost me everything. You can google that shit if you want. I was pretty much blackballed overnight. One of my only friends in California, Portia Taylor, knows Jason Case. And a few years ago, in a sober moment, I came out to Prairie for your charity Vets & Pros baseball tournament."

  "I remember that," said Robbie. "You look a lot different, now."

  "I call it the ranch life diet. I should take it to California and make a cool mil."

  His friends remained awkwardly silent at his feeble attempt to joke.

  "Okay, joking, sorry. So Portia helped me get out here on the condition I work as one of the guys for six months to a year, and once things died down in Hollywood, maybe I could find a plum movie part and make a come back."

  "In a year," Jax reiterated.

  Trace nodded. "I didn't expect I'd come like it - the ranching, the bull riding - all of it. No one was more surprised than me. And, well, Cecilia. I didn't bank on Cecilia."

  Robbie snorted. "No one banks on her." He held out his hands when Trace growled at him. "Don't get your hackles up. I'm not saying that to be offensive. I just meant no one should underestimate her."

  Trace scraped a hand over his beard. "I need to drive home. I have to explain to her."