Hurrying forward, I make my way back to the party and waste no time getting to work. I start shooting, wondering when Roarke will reappear, but he doesn’t. I try to be pleased about this—I am pleased—but damn him, there’s a clawing sensation in my chest, right where my heart he’d once shattered beats a little too rapidly.
…
A good forty-five minutes later, Roarke is nowhere to be seen, and I’m shooting the banners for today’s event when Jessica appears beside me. “We’re about to head down to the field.” She hands me a badge. “They added an extra level of security. Make sure your team is wearing these.” She hands me three more badges. “I have extras, and if I see them before you do, I’ll make sure they have them as well.”
“Okay, thanks.” My brows furrow. “Is there a security alert of some sort?”
“Jason returning to baseball has the press going a little nuts. I’m sure you know he’s a private person.”
I nod. “Yes, he always was,” I agree, and it’s ridiculously comforting to recognize at least one person from my past as the person I knew then and now, but then I never knew Roarke. I only knew his public persona. “And I get it. It’s a personality trait but a necessity in his high-profile lifestyle.”
She squeezes my arm. “We know you get it. That’s why we’re both feeling lucky that you’re back and available to help us with these projects.”
I open my mouth, about to ask about the plural nature of that statement, assuming she means today and the Christmas event, but I never get the chance to clarify because someone calls Jessica’s name. She lifts a hand. “I need to find Roarke. You know him, right?”
“Yes,” I say tightly, wondering why I can’t escape that man tonight. “We grew up together.”
“Of course, you did. That was a stupid question. Can you help me find him and get him to the field? Jason needs him, and I’m being pulled in a million directions right now.”
“Happy to help,” I say, and I am. I just need to get past this Roarke thing, and perhaps exposure is the best way to desensitize myself where he’s concerned.
“Thank you for helping.” Her eyes light up. “I can’t wait to talk about the camp’s holiday event. Text me if you find Roarke before me, will you? And I’ll do the same.”
“You bet,” I say, and already she’s swooping in to embrace me with a quick hug before she fades away into the crowd.
I press my hand to my face. Good Lord, I just promised to go hunt down Roarke, the very man I justified running from less than an hour ago, but that wasn’t exactly a mature move. Desensitizing is my new strategy. The control is mine. I own my emotions. I own how I allow them, and him, to affect me.
Settling my camera across my chest, I start weaving through the crowd, and it’s fully five minutes before I break through a cluster of a half dozen people to spy Roarke, but he’s not alone. There are not one but two stunning women, one blonde and one brunette, both angling in his direction, to ensure he’s suffocated with the view of their boobs. Their very big, perfect boobs that make my what-I-sometimes-feel-are-pretty-decent boobs look like a chalkboard with two thumbtacks. There you have it. Just another reason I’m not with this man. He can’t even ignore me with one other woman anymore. It’s two.
I grab my phone from my front pocket and text Jessica: I got him.
Great, she replies. Tell him to hurry and come with you. I have Mike, Liz, Kate, and Mary. You might want to grab a jacket. It’s chilly. It’s finally starting to feel like the holidays!
It’s sixty outside and that’s chilly? Not that L.A. was much better. I sigh and stick my phone back inside my purse as yet another woman joins the entourage Roarke is forming. Of course, he’s all tall, dark, and a Horse Wrangler, so what did I expect? He’s good-looking and charming, always has been. The guy every guy wants to hate but can’t because he’s so damn nice and lives to save needy animals. Right. Saver of animals. Breaker of hearts. I might break his toe with my heels if I were wearing them. But fear not, all those with miserable exes, Fashion Week in New York City, and a creepy B-list actor did remind me of the value of a well-placed knee. Wisdom I might have to share with Roarke and soon.
Empowered by this thought, I close the space between him and me, stepping to the open spot in front of him. A flicker of surprise touches his handsome face, and when our eyes lock, the collision of the past with the present is a wicked hard jolt. A jolt that fades into white space as the room, the people, fall away, except for him, my ex-fiancé. My ex–best friend. My ex-everything. I revolt against the memories assailing me and open my mouth, which is never a good idea.
“I’m supposed to take you down to the field,” I say flatly, and then that open mouth speaks for itself, “but clearly you have escorts who can help you better than my camera and I ever can. Jason is waiting on you.” I turn and start walking, my heart racing despite my desire to remain unaffected by that man and his women.
I am unaffected. Screw him and his horse-wrangling, womanizing self. I looked him in the eyes. I handled him and me. Perhaps the comment about his escorts wasn’t perfect, but it’s done. We’ve been done for a long time. Nothing about a few bathroom and boob-infested meetings changes this at all.
Exiting to the hallway, I head down the stairwell I’d been directed to take to reach the field, letting the heavy door slam behind me, slamming a mental door on Roarke as I go, visualizing, as a yoga instructor told me some years back. In hindsight, though, if I’d gone to more than one class, maybe I wouldn’t hear the door above open and assume it to be Roarke. Yoga was just too much posing when I’d rather be behind a lens, letting someone else pose for me.
“Hannah, wait.”
At the sound of Roarke’s voice behind me, I don’t freeze. I’ve decided to desensitize. I’ve decided to face him, and us, and take control, when up to this point, I’ve done the opposite. “It happened. It’s been years. I don’t need you to talk me off some cliff I’m not on. We both have lived lives outside of each other.”
“We lived a lot longer in a world where we were together.”
“We were friends. Everything else was fast and over.”
“We still are friends,” he says.
Friends. I can’t be his friend. Friends are people you trust. I don’t trust Roarke. “Jason’s waiting on us.”
He walks down a few steps, and I could back away, but that wouldn’t be taking control. That would be giving him control. And so, this time, I don’t run. I stand my ground and let him approach. I let him because that says you don’t scare me, while every encounter since my return with this man has said the opposite.
It seems like a smart move until he’s standing right in front of me, towering over me, which would be easy to do no matter what, considering he’s six foot two and I’m five foot two. He’s also close, so very close that the scent of him rushes through my senses, stirring hate and lust, and I don’t even know what to do with those things. “What are we doing right now, Roarke? What are you doing?” And why am I not turning and leaving?
“Those women up there ambushed me. I don’t know them. I don’t want to know them.”
“You don’t owe me an explanation. I’m not yours. You’re not mine.”
“There’s a lot about that statement I could argue with.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” I say. “There’s nothing about that statement that can be argued.”
“You’re wrong,” he assures me. “You know it. I know it.”
The door from below opens, and Jessica shouts, “Roarke, we need you now! You, too, Hannah.”
At the sound of Jessica’s voice, Roarke grimaces, and this conversation is over. She steps to our sides and looks between us, her eyes narrowing with a keen appraisal. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and I mean it. I look at her and add, “Being home is good.” I look at Roarke. “I’m not leaving this
time.”
His brown eyes narrow, and where they are normally warm, now they burn with something I don’t understand, but then, I never understood this man. I just thought I did. “Good,” he says. “This is where you belong.”
“Yes, it is,” Jessica says, and just when I’m feeling in control, really in control, she adds, “This is really rather kismet. Jason and Roarke, the baseball whisperer and the Horse Wrangler, together for one camp, with you back to help us find its full potential. Let’s get to it.”
The floor falls out from underneath me. Jason and Roarke are doing this together? As in, I’m coordinating the festival for Jason and Roarke?
“Hannah,” Jessica continues, “can you get some shots of Jason and Roarke together and alone after the announcement for promotional material?”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m not presently suffocating in a big bubble of Roarke overload. “Yes, of course.”
She laughs. “Great, and I’d say shoot Roarke first with his horses before they have time to create a new poop mound on the field, but I think getting some shots of him riding right here on the baseball field could be amazing. We’ll need to do that last after the field is cleared.”
In other words, I’m working overtime, alone with Roarke.
Chapter Four
Hannah…
It’s not long before the field is filled with famous personalities, with Jason and Roarke in the center of it all. And the horses. Roarke has four magnificent stallions with him, their coats glistening with beauty. And as angry as I am with him, even I can admit there is something magical about that man and his horses. I send my team to the outer edges of the field, capturing the crowd and the panoramic views. I take the field, the close-ups, and do so despite my reservations about how close this places me to Roarke. He doesn’t get to push me into the shadows. I shoot the horses and resist my desire to touch them and talk to them. They’re in a crowd, and I don’t know their temperaments, but shooting them takes me home again, back to the ranch, back to that summer with Roarke.
Jessica begins testing a mic at the podium setup in the center of the field, and one of the horses is not pleased. I’m close, and I know what fidgeting like that means. “Roarke!” I shout, backing up, but he’s already there, pulling me behind him as he soothes the beast.
“Easy, Mr. Rogers.”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t still feeling the sting of his touch, and “sting” is a loosely chosen word. It doesn’t sting. It’s more like a tingling warmth that has spread up my arm and across my chest and might now be climbing my neck. The horse jumps in the air, and my God, Roarke gets close, too close for comfort. I shake myself and pull my camera into position, trying to stave off my fear for him by way of staying busy. The camera becomes my outlet, and with it, the shots are incredible. Roarke works the horse, and Mr. Rogers settles down. Two men who I assume work for Roarke rush forward, feed Mr. Rogers a carrot, and then lead him toward an exit. The crowd erupts in cheers. I lower my camera, and Roarke isn’t looking at his admirers. He’s focused on me, quickly closing the space between us, and then his hands are on my shoulders. “Are you okay?”
No, I’m burning alive with your hands on me, I think, but what I say is, “Outside of you scaring me? Screw this Horse Wrangler junk, Roarke. You got too close. He could have killed you with one kick.”
“You of all people know I know how to handle a horse.”
“I know a lot of things about you, Roarke,” I say, and I can’t stop the crack of a whip in my voice. “Too much.”
His hands fall away, his jaw sets hard. “Not as much as you think.” He steps around me and walks toward the podium. Clapping erupts again, and I rotate to watch him raise his hand to acknowledge the crowd, my camera automatically lifting, the shots coming fast and furious, but even so, his words stay with me: Not as much as you think. Asshole. I get that. I found that out. I thought he was the greatest man I’d ever known. That’s what young love does to you. It makes you stupid and romantic. I’m not that girl anymore.
Jessica tries the microphone again but not without checking with Jason first. Once he waves her onward, she announces Jason, who joins her, now wearing his team jersey. “Welcome, everyone. I can’t wait to talk about a very special kids camp, and who knew Mr. Rogers—that’s the horse—would have allowed me to show you why this is so special?” He motions to Roarke, and Roarke joins him. “Did you see how calm this man was, how cool? Well, let me tell you, those are the batters who every pitcher, myself included, hates to face. Those are the pitchers who batters fear. Together, Roarke and I are going to teach these kids how to focus, how to stay calm, how to embrace the moment instead of fearing it. Skills that reach beyond the baseball field. And yes, we’ll have some animals on board to help, with supervision, of course.” He pats Roarke’s arm. “This man is more than the Horse Wrangler. He’s an amazing vet, with a zoo of animals the kids can enjoy.”
My mind travels through a history of witnessing that man save animals, and it’s one of the things I always loved about him. It’s one of the things that made him seem too good to be as bad as he was to me. I shake off that thought, and for the next two hours, I follow the event and take photographs, checking in with my team and staying busy. There are occasional brushes with Roarke, but for the most part, we keep our distance. Until we can’t.
The crowd begins to dissipate, and Jessica catches up with me. “Do you need any shots of the group together?”
“I got plenty,” I say. “I got some incredible action shots outside with Jason and Roarke.”
“Let’s get Roarke and the horse and then game-plan on what you need for Jason. We need to get the horses off the field.” She waves at Roarke. “Roarke!”
Roarke looks up from a conversation he’s having with a man I don’t know and waves back before saying something to the stranger and heading this direction. “What’s up?” he asks, joining us, and while I can feel his eyes on me, I stay focused on Jessica.
“We need to get some shots of you riding and training the horses. I’m about to clear the field for you and Hannah. I’m going to let you two talk it out while I handle the clearing.”
Roarke gives her an incline of his chin, and she squeezes my arm before hurrying away. Roarke shifts his stance to give me his full attention. Now I have to look at him, and the impact is pretty much like a wrecking ball. This man’s stare slams into me, and I can barely catch my breath. “I’m all yours, Hannah,” he says softly.
It’s the wrong thing to say to me. “For now,” I reply and motion to the horses. “I need you riding whatever pretty thing over there you want to ride.”
He grimaces. “Hannah—”
“Don’t say whatever you want to say,” I warn. “It will piss me off, and I’m not as gently pissed off as I was back in the day when you initially pissed me off. Go ride, Roarke.”
He doesn’t go do anything. He just stands there, staring at me. I think he’s going to speak. I want him to speak. I want him to yell and give me a reason to yell, but that’s a safe fantasy because that’s not Roarke. Roarke is Mr. Cool and Calm. That’s who he is, and clearly, that hasn’t changed since I left. I used to like that about him. I used to think it spoke of a man in control, a man who couldn’t have his buttons pushed by anyone. Now, it’s irritating. I want him to react. I shouldn’t, but I do, and I tell myself that’s called being human. It’s also called looking for self-worth in a man, and that’s a problem. And if he stands here one more second, I’m going to say something we both might regret.
Almost as if he read my mind, he turns on his heels, and I ready my camera, which may or may not have the lens land on his butt. I may or may not notice through said lens that said butt still looks perfect in jeans. Okay, I do, but it’s a fashion thing, from the fashion industry now inbred in me. I must assess how clothing looks and fits. The butt, and the man attached to that butt, stops beside a b
lack stallion with a gorgeous mane. He reaches up and strokes the stallion’s neck, all long and luxuriously, something he does in the intro to his videos, not that I watched more than a couple here or there. I wonder how many women—not me, of course—have seen that intro and thought about him stroking them. At least they weren’t stupid enough to let him actually do it, like I did.
He climbs onto the horse’s back, and I fire away with the camera, but not without a pinch in my chest at the memories of my youth that man on a horse delivers. God. This isn’t home. Dallas isn’t home, but this man, he is home. He was a part of my life from birth until I left for L.A. Shoving aside such thoughts, I race forward and lift my hand, motioning with my finger for him to ride. He waits on me, and when I’m close enough to run with him, he begins a trot—that’s how easily we’re in sync. We begin what is a game of him performing with the horse and me following along, lines, circles, prances, and poses, until I send him on a fast run away from me to return. Once he loops back, I step directly in his path, gobbling up every moment with my camera. I don’t even realize how in his path I am until, suddenly, he and the horse are right in front of me, but I don’t get run over.
The horse, at the man’s direction, bows in front of me, bringing Roarke eye level with me. I’m standing there with two magnificent beasts in front of me. My eyes meet Roarke’s, and I see the message in the depths of those brown eyes that I know so well. This is the apology I wouldn’t listen to earlier. The problem is that I can forgive, but I can’t forget.
Chapter Five
Hannah…
I’m still captured in Roarke’s stare and in the spellbinding moment of him on that horse, kneeling in front of me, a prince before his princess. I was, but I’m not now, and I can’t ever be again. I share another look with Roarke, understanding what he wants. This is a piece of our past. This is a routine I helped him with, so I give in because the horse worked so hard to give me this moment. I bow to him now and stroke his nose. He neighs and stands at the same moment I do.
Tangled Up in Christmas Page 3