Texas Heartthrob

by Jean Brashear

  But now that money represented what little self-respect she had left.

  Since he wouldn’t tell her, she fumbled in her billfold and extracted what she’d calculated, rounded up to the next even dollar for her pride and shoved the bills at him.

  “I don’t want your money,” he said, all humor fled.

  “And I don’t want your help.” She grabbed her bags.

  Then she ran.

  Liam stood out on the weathered porch and watched her go, her gait jerky and stiff. What the hell was that about?

  Behind him, the proprietor spoke. “Forget about her. Raina Donovan was always too high on herself.”

  The woman Liam had seen was anything but conceited. Tall but rail-thin, short black hair looking as though she’d whacked it herself without benefit of a mirror, she’d seemed nothing as much as defeated, barely clinging to raveling threads of pride.

  He opened his mouth to ask about her, then shut it abruptly. Given how much he hated having his own life laid bare to the world, why would he invade her privacy? And hadn’t he just seen the results of his interference in Kelly’s life? What made him think he could help this woman?

  Besides, she’d made it clear his assistance wasn’t wanted.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “You got anyplace to eat in this town? A café of some sort?”

  The old man shook his head. “Folks around here fix their own food. We’re not some tourist trap. We leave that to places like Asheville or Boone. We’re workin’ people.” He nodded toward his shelves. “Got some jerky there. Made it myself.”

  Liam had grown up hunting and fishing. He’d survived many a trip with his dad or brothers on deer jerky and spring water. “Don’t mind if I do.”

  But first he asked for and used the facilities, rusty, cracked and water-stained though they were. Returning, he followed the grizzled proprietor’s nod to wooden shelves with peeling paint that must date back to Eisenhower, grabbed several sticks of jerky, then foraged for peanuts and some of those cheese crackers he hadn’t had in ages. Two—make that three—Hershey bars and a soft drink for good measure.

  His personal trainer, Chuck, who wanted Liam to live on water and zero carbs, would have a coronary if he could see this. It would be worse, in Chuck’s eyes, than the Mexican food habit Liam refused to give up.

  With multiple close-up love scenes to film in six weeks, he shouldn’t be eating like this.

  On the other hand, face it, his muscles were as ripped as humanly possible without steroids, something he refused to consider.

  One junk-food binge wouldn’t kill him, and right now, he didn’t give a hoot. He’d pay later, if needed. One thing about him that could compare with any of his brothers was his work ethic. He played hard, but he worked harder.

  Arms full of his booty, Liam scanned the tiny store reeking of mildew and tobacco and time.

  “That it?” the old man asked, bushy eyebrows aloft at the size of Liam’s bundle.

  He’d probably made the guy’s take for the whole day. Liam grinned, the tension of the previous encounter fading. “I think so.”

  “Where you from?”

  Liam considered his cliff-top mansion in Malibu, his expensive apartment he’d left just two days ago. Neither was home. “Texas.”

  The old man nodded. “Thought so. Accent’s hard to miss.”

  Liam, who’d put in a lot of hours to ditch his Texas drawl at the beginning of his career, was unaccountably proud now. “You can take the boy out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of the boy.”

  “Hmmph.” The old man finished ringing up his purchases on the oldest cash register Liam had ever seen, tarnished but ornate, probably worth a mint to a Beverly Hills designer.

  Liam fished out the necessary bills and waited for his change.

  “Don’t need a bag this time, do you?”

  Skinflint. Liam recalled the decrepit paper bags used for the woman’s groceries. Then he remembered the frugality of people back home who’d been raised in severe poverty. This was Appalachia, he reminded himself. Beautiful but filled with pockets of some of the deepest poverty in the country.

  He’d lived off the fat of the land too long. “Sure,” he said. “No problem.” He turned to go, then reversed himself. “You have a good day, now.”

  “Hmmph.” The old man’s severe features might have softened, but it was hard to tell.

  Liam nudged the screen door open with his shoulder and grinned to himself, filing away the man’s speech patterns and mannerisms, the way he held his body with one shoulder a little higher, the hitch to his gait. The world was full of interesting characters, and someday, when he’d grown enough as an actor that no one cared about his looks, he might get to play a codger just like this one.

  Another half mile down this road, then she would begin the long climb to Gran’s cabin. She still couldn’t think of it as hers. For the past two days, she’d tiptoed around as though Gran would walk through the door at any minute, fresh from taking one of her potions or salves to a neighbor.

  But the mountain’s wisewoman would never share those healing treasures again. Herbs still hung from the ceiling in bundles, and the chest carved with Gran’s own designs held seeds and leaves and powders Raina wished were more familiar.

  Gran had tried to teach her, and as a child, Raina had listened, hung on every word.

  But time had changed all that, and too many memories were only feather-light dust in the corners of Raina’s mind. She thought she could spot ginseng, goldenseal and sassafras. Sarsaparilla, used to purify the blood, also helpful with infections and burns. Many of them, however, stirred no recognition in her.

  Her arms ached from the weight of the bags, but she didn’t dare loosen her grip. Noah reused his grocery sacks until they were in shreds, requiring the local people to return one for every bag he grudgingly gave out.

  He’d remembered her. She’d known the odds of that were good, hadn’t she? Mountain people possessed long memories. A century ago was as real as today. Who your people were was something you never escaped.

  Or in her case, she was the one who’d probably been a millstone around Gran’s neck. And Mama…

  It didn’t bear thinking. Mama would just drink until she didn’t remember, anyway.

  As her head spun from lack of food, Raina focused harder on the ground before her. Mama wasn’t her problem anymore; the new husband Raina had never met had itchy feet, and they were currently in Nashville—or was it Knoxville? She couldn’t recall.

  Didn’t care. Mama had seldom emerged from her haze to notice Raina, and Raina had long ago learned not to let it matter. Being ignored was easier to prepare for; the whiplash of love and neglect wore her out. When her mother was on, she could seduce Raina into believing that the days of oblivion, the nights of weeping and clinging would never return.

  But they always did. To expect anything of an alcoholic was a slow death; in rehab, Raina had heard, again and again, that her mother’s behavior wasn’t her fault, that trust was the first casualty for children of alcoholics. That the cycle of trying to fix the parent and taking the blame for failing to accomplish it was an old story, repeated millions of times every day all over the world.

  But Raina had failed at much more than fixing her mother the drunk. She’d miscarried two babies. She’d failed to be the perfect wife she’d promised to the man who’d been her ticket out of these mountains. Then, just as she’d almost found the courage to leave a loveless marriage, she’d finally been granted a miracle. Her chance to make her life count by delivering a child, a little girl who wasn’t the boy her husband had wanted but was perfect in Raina’s eyes. Beautiful and good and—

  Raina stumbled on a stone.

  Dead.

  Raina’s head spun, black dots dancing before her eyes.

  She blinked several times, forcing herself to remember the dainty fingers, the tiny toes. The perfect shell of the ear into which Raina had whispered her love and the secrets Gran had passe
d down.

  Her angel, Elise. Dead because of her—

  Swift and sharp as a steel blade, agony struck. It would never be over. Seven years, and the wound would never stop bleeding until Raina herself was dead—

  Black dots shifted. Grew.

  Raina tried to catch herself. Find safe ground.

  She couldn’t. The bags slid from arms gone weak.

  Raina fell into the darkness that was always there.

  Waiting to claim her.

  Driving back down the road toward the Blue Ridge Parkway, Liam tried his first bite of the old man’s jerky. Not bad. Not as good as what Dad made, but—

  His gaze narrowed. What was that on the side of the road? It looked like—

  Then he blinked. A body. A person—

  Her. The faded blue shirt was unmistakable. And the bags of groceries spilled on the ground around her.

  Liam jammed on the brakes and was out of the door in a flash, racing to cover the distance between them. Oh, man. She’d seemed ill; he’d seen her walking instead of driving. He should have ignored what she said and given her a ride. He should have—

  Please. Let her be okay. Don’t let another woman die because I didn’t—

  He fell to his knees beside her, scrambling to find a pulse.

  And dropped his head in gratitude.

  Alive. Pulse steady.

  Liam stripped off the flannel shirt over his T-shirt and placed it on the ground beside her, then eased her over to her back on top of the fabric. She had smudges on her face and more on her arms that he hadn’t noticed at the store, and her clothes showed evidence of hard work, so it made no sense to worry about her lying in the dirt.

  Though tall, she was so delicately formed. Not an ounce of fat on her, all sinew and bruised shadows and lines of strain. Life hadn’t been good to this woman in a long time, if ever.

  Raina Donovan was always too high on herself.

  The old man was dead wrong. This woman showed no trace of anything but hard luck.

  He felt her arms and legs for fractures, her head for lumps, but she didn’t seem injured. He gripped her shoulder and shook her gently. “Hey, there,” he said. “Ms. Donovan. Raina. Can you wake up?”

  He saw movement behind her lids, then a slight flutter of her thick black lashes. A hard knot inside his chest eased further. “That’s right, Sleeping Beauty. Wake up. Tell me how you feel.”

  She moaned softly, and Liam cupped one hand against her cheek. Her milk-pale skin and black hair would have told him of her Celtic forebears even if the old man hadn’t given her last name. “Open your eyes, Raina. Come back and talk to me,” he cajoled.

  Slowly, her lashes lifted. In that first moment when she hadn’t fully awakened, her eyes held no marks of life’s battering. They were a stunning blue that made him think of the morning sky in West Texas, day-bright with promise and possibilities.

  “Hey,” he said. “How do you feel?”

  In a flash, she tensed and made to rise.

  Liam held her shoulder. “Not yet. Get your bearings and tell me if anything hurts.” He relaxed his grip to banish any worry she might have about his intent.

  She seized the opportunity and rolled to her side, then leaped to her feet in a swift, if wobbly, movement.

  But once on her feet, she swayed.

  Liam was there immediately, steadying her.

  “No—” She stepped back. Faltered. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need—”

  “You don’t know what you need.” Liam grasped her shoulders, afraid she would fall again. “Just give yourself a minute to settle. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “I—” She scanned around her at the groceries spilled over hard ground, some landing in the foliage creeping into the roadbed. She whirled and started to lean down. Pain escaped from her in a hiss.

  “I’ll get them. You sit and figure out if I should take you to a hospital.” He nudged her shoulders down.

  She shook him off. “I’m fine. And the closest hospital is over an hour from here.”

  Liam cursed beneath his breath. “Hey, I’m just a regular guy with no agenda. I don’t want your food or your money or your body. I’m only trying to help.”

  She didn’t act mollified. “I’m not hurt. I can pick up my own groceries. Don’t delay your trip on my account.”

  Liam ground his teeth and stayed silent. He began gathering the supplies scattered hither and yon. A pitiful sample: dried beans, rice, corn—

  She brushed past him, snatching the items from his hands.

  He felt almost childish, holding on to one sack of beans. “When’s the last time you ate?”

  “None of your business,” she snapped, bending to retrieve onions and potatoes. She opened one of the bags, shoved the vegetables inside, then lifted the bag.

  Everything cascaded to the ground through the hole in the bottom. She stopped, shoulders bowed in defeat.

  But in only seconds, she straightened, then began picking the groceries up all over again.

  “Listen to me—” Liam barked, turning her toward him. He drew a chocolate bar from the pocket of the shirt on the ground. “You’re running on empty. I won’t lay a finger on your groceries if you’ll just sit down and eat this. Rest a minute.”

  She eyed the fifty-cent chocolate bar as if he’d presented her with Godiva. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, a plea in her gaze.

  “Why the hell not?” Liam shouted, then exhaled loudly, running his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’ve got some plastic bags in the car, I think. Just let me get them while you eat this bar. You’re pale and shaky, and you’re not going to make it much farther. There’s no price attached to this chocolate. Hell, I’ve got two more bars, and you can have everything else I just bought if you’ll only let me be certain I’m not driving off and leaving you to faint again.”

  “I don’t faint,” she said.

  “Well, you sure did a good imitation of it.” He shoved the bar into her pocket and stalked off to his car. “That thing better be at least half gone by the time I get back over here,” he said over his shoulder. “I want to make it to Asheville tonight, and I’m not going until I’m sure you’re okay.” He resisted the urge to turn and watch to see what she did.

  Instead, he leaned into his car and gathered every scrap of food he could find. He stashed her money and two crisp hundred-dollar bills inside one candy bar wrapper, hoping she wouldn’t find them until after he’d left.

  And emerged from the car, only to see her disappearing into the trees.

  With her groceries bundled into his shirt.

  Liam just stood there for a minute, wondering why bother. He didn’t need the grief and could replace the shirt.

  Then he swore like a sailor, locked his car and took off after her.

  Chapter Two

  Keeping up with her wasn’t that hard. Liam had the sense that only pure will kept her going up the steep incline. Twice she stumbled and barely stayed upright. It was all Liam could do not to close the distance between them, swing her into his arms and carry her the rest of the way to wherever the devil she was heading.

  Only two things stopped him: the sure knowledge that she was using all her strength and might hurt herself trying to escape him—

  And the fact that, all his workouts aside, he was feeling the combined effects of the altitude and the sharp angle of her path. His physique might be in superb condition for the camera’s unforgiving eye, but when he got back, he was increasing his cardio workouts drastically. His daily two-mile run wasn’t enough for what the dense undergrowth and steep ascent required.

  He could pick her up and carry her, sure. No problem—on flat ground or the gentle L.A. hills. But in these ancient mountains, he just might embarrass himself.

  He had no idea how she kept putting one foot in front of the other, or how much longer he could stand to watch her struggle, despite the potential for humiliating himself.

  Just then, she stumble
d again. This time, she fell to her knees and remained there, head bent and shoulders hunched.

  Liam was beside her in seconds.

  She whirled. “No—”

  Liam held out his palms. “I only want to help you.”

  “Stay away from me—” Scrambling backward to escape him, she slipped on the wet leaves.

  Liam grabbed her arm and stopped her slide.

  She fought him then, a virago using nails and feet and teeth—

  “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you—” He renewed his efforts to prevent her from injuring herself or him—or sending them both careening down the treacherous slope. “Ow—stop it—” Finally, he wrestled her to the ground beneath him, using his weight to anchor her torso and legs while trapping her clawing hands at shoulder height.

  She went still, gasping for air, her eyes wild. “Please—” She squeezed her lids shut as though waiting for the worst.

  Adrenaline surged through him, echoed by blind fury that she could think—

  Liam dropped his head and grimaced. Who would believe this? His brothers would be laughing themselves silly that the lover of the silver screen had a woman so terrified and desperate to avoid him.

  His mother, all five-foot-two of her, would blister his ears, and his dad, who had always taught him that women were the finest example of God’s grace on earth, would be ashamed of him.

  He raised his head to try again to make her understand—

  Oh, man. Tears he instinctively knew she’d die before willingly shedding leaked from her tightly closed lids.

  He leaped away like a scalded cat.

  “I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to harm you. I only—”

  She rolled, albeit much slower than before, and began, once again, gathering up the makeshift knapsack.

  He bit back a curse. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her who he was, to point out that he could have his pick of women and certainly wasn’t reduced to attacking some skinny wraith he’d never take a second glance at—

  But she seemed so miserable and stretched to her limits that he held his silence. His ego—bruised as it might be by her reaction to him—didn’t need the boost, whereas she looked as if she had lost all right to ego long ago. He wished he knew the reason.