Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California)

by Maureen Child

  When the horse had settled down, the rider pulled the bandanna down. “Help you?” he said in the kind of voice that was anything but helpful.

  Then she saw his eyes—the liquid amber that had been one of the defining characteristics of James Robert Bradley. She’d found him. The part of her brain that was still nineteen and watching him on the big screen in the movie Hell for Leather swooned, and swooned hard. God, she’d had the biggest crush on this man a decade ago. And now she was here, actually talking to People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. Sure, that had been thirteen years ago, but those eyes were still just as dreamy. She fought the urge to ask him for his autograph. The man was intimidating the hell out of her.

  Not that she’d let him know that. The first rule of negotiating with actors was not to show weakness. Never let the other party know they held all the cards. So she sucked up what frozen courage she could and said, “James Robert Bradley?”

  A look of weariness flashed over those beautiful eyes, then he said, “Miss, I’m not interested.”

  “That’s only because you haven’t heard—”

  He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I appreciate the offer, but you can be on your way now.” He turned his mount toward one of the larger, newer barns.

  “You didn’t even listen to what I have to say!” She took off after him, her thin heels wobbling on the uneven terrain. “Your agent told me you’d—”

  “I’m going to fire him for this,” was the last thing she heard before Bradley disappeared into the barn.

  Thalia pulled up. The wind was stronger in the middle of the drive, but she didn’t think following Bradley into the barn was in her best interests. He hadn’t even listened to the offer. How was she supposed to sign him to the movie when she couldn’t even get a civil reply out of him? And if she couldn’t sign him, how was she supposed to go into the office and tell her boss without losing her job?

  She heard hoofbeats behind her, and turned to see the other rider approaching at a slow walk. “Howdy,” the cowboy said, tipping his hat. “Said no, didn’t he?”

  Maybe it was the cold, or the blown plan, or the prospect of being unemployed in less than twenty-four hours. Whatever it was, Thalia felt her throat close up. Don’t cry, she thought, because nothing was less professional than crying over a rejection. Plus, the tears would freeze to her face. “He didn’t even listen to the offer.”

  The cowboy gave her a once-over. “I’d be happy to take the part, miss, providing there’s a casting couch involved.” Then he winked.

  Was he...laughing at her? She shook her head. Maybe he was joking. She couldn’t tell. “Thanks, but I was looking for—”

  “An Oscar winner, yeah, I know. Wish I could help you, but...he’s pretty set in his ways.”

  “Hoss,” came a shout from inside the barn.

  “Boss man’s calling.” The cowboy named Hoss seemed to feel sorry for her.

  “Could I at least leave my card? In case he changes his mind?”

  “You could try, but...”

  “Hoss!” The shout was more insistent this time. Hoss tipped his hat again and headed toward the barn.

  So much for making progress. Yes, she’d found Bradley, and yes, seeing those eyes of his was probably worth the trip. Everything else? The wind was blowing away her body heat, her career and her crush. If she got in that car and drove away, she’d have nothing left. Levinson would fire her butt for failing to deliver the goods, and she’d be blacklisted. Like last time, when her affair with Levinson had blown up in her face. She couldn’t face having every professional door shut in her face a second time.

  She needed Bradley in a way that had nothing to do with his eyes and everything to do with gainful employment.

  At least the anger she currently felt was warm in nature. She’d lost contact with her toes, but she could still feel her fingers.

  The barn door through which both men had disappeared slid shut.

  This was her own fault, she realized. She was the one who had suggested Bradley for the role of Sean. She was the one who had convinced Levinson that even a recluse like Bradley wouldn’t be able to turn down the comeback role of a lifetime. She was the one who had staked her career on something that seemed so simple—getting a man to say yes.

  She was the one who had bet wrong. And now she had to pay the price.

  She marched back up to the front door, her head held high. That was the second rule of negotiations—never let them know they’ve won. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to get a business card out of her coat pocket and wedge it in the screen door. The whole time, she mentally tried to come up with some contingency plans. Maybe she’d caught Bradley at a bad time; she knew where he lived now, and she had his number. She could try again and again—as long as it took until he at least heard her out.

  Thalia remained convinced that, if he would just listen to her pitch, he’d be interested in the role. Actors, as a rule, craved public adoration, and what could be better than an Oscar-worthy movie?

  No, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Still, hypothermia was becoming a risk. She wished she could go inside and warm up her hands and feet before she tried to drive, but it didn’t look like an invitation would be forthcoming. As she turned back to the Camry, she saw the headlights of another vehicle coming down the road. Someone else meant another opportunity to plead her case, so she put on her friendliest smile and waited.

  A mud-splattered SUV rolled up, window down. Before the vehicle had even come to a stop, a woman with graying hair stuck her head out. “What are you doing outside?” she demanded.

  “I was hoping to talk to Mr. Bradley.” Thalia kept her voice positive.

  The woman gazed out at the barn. When her attention snapped back to Thalia, she looked mad enough to skin a cat. “And he left you out here? That man...” She shook her head in disgust. “Poor dear, you must be frozen. Can you wait long enough for me to pull around back and get the door open, or do you need to get in the car?”

  Thalia loved this woman more than any other person in the whole world right now, because she was going to let Thalia inside. But she didn’t want this stranger to know how cold she was—or how long she’d been stuck in this frozen purgatory. “I can wait.” Her teeth chattered.

  Without another word, the woman drove off. Thalia tried stamping her feet to keep the blood going, but it didn’t do much except send pain shooting up her legs. Just a few more seconds, she told herself.

  However, it felt like several minutes passed with no movement from either inside the house or from the barn. Should have gotten in the car, she thought. Then the front door swung open, and the older woman pulled her inside.

  “You’re frozen stiff!” she said in a clucking voice as she wrapped Thalia in what felt like a bearskin and pulled her deeper into the house. Thalia didn’t have time to take in her surroundings before she found herself plunked down in a plush leather chair. Before her was a fire burning brightly in a massive stone fireplace that took up most of a wall.

  Rubbing her hands together, she scooted forward to soak up the heat.

  “I’m Minnie Red Horse, by the way. Let’s get those boots off you. Nice boots, but not the best for winter out here.”

  “Thalia. Thorne.” That was all she could get out as her blood began to pump through her frozen extremities. When Minnie pulled the boots off, Thalia couldn’t keep the cry of pain out of her voice.

  “Poor dear. You sit there and warm up. I’ll make you some tea.” Minnie stood and pulled the mesh covers off the fireplace before she stoked the logs. The flames jumped up, and Thalia felt closer to human.

  “Thank you. So much.” She managed to look at what she was wearing. Definitely an animal skin, which kind of creeped her out, but it was warm, so she ignored whatever PETA would say about it.

  She heard Minnie
shuffling around behind her. Thalia managed to sit up enough to look around. She was at one end of a long room. Behind her was a plank table, big enough to seat six. Beyond that was an open kitchen with rustic cabinets and a lot of marble. The whole effect was like something out of Architectural Digest—and far beyond the small ranch house her grandpa had spent his whole life in.

  As big as the place seemed, it had looked much larger from the outside. Minnie had a kettle on. “Where are you from, Thalia?”

  “Los Angeles.” She tried wiggling her toes, but it still hurt, so she quit.

  “You’re a long way from home, sweetie. How long you been traveling?”

  Thalia decided she liked Minnie, above and beyond the warm fire and the tea. It’d been a long time since anyone had called her sweetie. Not since Grandpa had died. Mom was more fond of dear. “My flight left LAX at 3:30 this morning.”

  “Goodness, you made that whole trip in one day?” Minnie walked over and handed Thalia a steaming mug. “That’s quite a journey. Where are you staying tonight?”

  “Um...” She’d had a plan, but her head was fuzzy right now. “I have a room in Billings.”

  Minnie gave her a look that landed somewhere between concern and pity. “You realize that’s five hours away, and it’s already near sunset, right? That’s a long drive in the dark.”

  Thalia hadn’t realized how far away Billings was from the Bar B Ranch when she’d booked the room, and given her current state, five hours seemed like five days. How was she going to make it that far? The drive out had been hard enough, and that had been during daylight hours. Fighting that wind in the dark on strange roads was kind of a scary thought.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do.” Minnie patted her arm after Thalia took several sips of the tea. “You’re going to sit right here until you feel better, and then you’re going to have dinner. You came through Beaverhead, right?”

  Thalia nodded, trying not to snicker at the juvenile name. Minnie’s tone made it clear that dinner was nonnegotiable, but Thalia wasn’t sure she could have hopped up and bailed if she’d tried. Her toes hurt.

  “Lloyd has rooms he rents—as close as we’ve got to a motel ’round these parts.” Thalia didn’t have a clue as to what Minnie was talking about, but she was in no position to argue. She took another sip of tea, loving the way the warmth raced down her throat and spread through her stomach.

  “I’ll tell him you’ll be by later,” Minnie went on, as if Thalia was still with her. “That’s only forty minutes away. You can make that.”

  Thalia nodded again. Now that she was returning to normal, she seemed to have lost her words.

  Minnie gave her a tender smile. “I’ve got to see to dinner, but you rest up.” She stood and headed back to the kitchen area, muttering, “All the way from L.A. in one day!” and “That man...” as she went.

  Thalia settled back into the chair, still sipping the tea. She knew she needed to be game-planning dinner with Bradley, but her brain was mushy.

  She heard a door open. Men’s voices filled the space. One was grumbling about the weather, but the other—Bradley’s—said, “Minnie, what the hell is—”

  Is she still doing here. That’s what he was going to say. After all, he’d pretty much kicked her off his land, and now she was sitting in his house. He sounded none-too-happy about the whole prospect. How was she going to make it through dinner with him? She debated thanking Minnie for the tea and leaving, but then the smell of pot roast filled the air and Thalia realized that she hadn’t eaten anything since she’d grabbed a sandwich in the airport. The Denver airport—eight hours ago.

  “Now, now!” Thalia wasn’t watching the conversation—listening was bad enough—but she could imagine Minnie waggling a finger at James Robert Bradley like he was a child and she was the boss. “You boys go on and get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready by and by.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I said, go! Shoo!”

  Thalia grinned in spite of herself at the mental image that filled out that conversation. The thought of Minnie, who was on the petite side of things and probably in her late forties, scolding James Robert Bradley was nothing short of hilarious.

  She was safe, for now. Minnie was going to feed her and make sure she was warm. Thalia settled back into the comfy chair, her eyelids drooping as she watched the flames dance before her. She needed to figure out how to convince Bradley to listen to her without him throwing her out of the house. She needed a plan.

  But first, she needed to rest. Just a little bit.

  Two

  J.R. was a grown man and, as such, did not stomp and pout when he didn’t get his way. Instead, he grumbled. Loudly.

  “This is my house, by God,” he grumbled as he went up the back stairs.

  “That it is,” Hoss agreed behind him.

  Hoss was always quick to agree when the facts were incontrovertible. “I’m the boss around here,” J.R. added, more to himself than to his best friend.

  “Most days,” Hoss said with a snort.

  J.R. shot the man a dirty look over his shoulder. “Every day,” he said with more force than he needed. He was overreacting, but damn if that woman hadn’t tripped every single alarm bell in his head.

  They reached the second floor. Hoss’s room was at the far end, Minnie’s was in the middle across from two guest rooms that never saw a guest and J.R.’s was at the other.

  “She don’t look dangerous.” Hoss scratched at his throat in his lazy way, which J.R. knew was entirely deceptive.

  “Shows what you know,” J.R. replied. He knew exactly how dangerous innocent-looking people—women—from Hollywood could be. “She’s not to be trusted.”

  Damn, but he hated when Hoss gave him that look—the look that said he was being a first-class jerk. Rather than stand here in his chaps and argue the finer points of women, J.R. turned and walked—not stomped—down to his room.

  He needed a hot shower in the worst way. His face was still half-frozen from riding out to check on the cattle and buffalo. He shut his bedroom door firmly—not slamming it—and began to strip off the layers. First went the long coat, then the chaps, then the jeans and sweater, followed by the two layers of long underwear and T-shirts. Despite being bundled up like a baby, he was still cold.

  And that woman—the one sitting in his chair, in front of his fire—had shown up here in nothing but a skirt. And tights. And those boots, the ones that went almost up to her knees. “Stupid,” he muttered to himself as he cranked his shower on high. What was she thinking, wearing next to nothing when the wind chill was somewhere around minus forty degrees below? She wasn’t thinking, that’s what. Hollywood types were notoriously myopic, and there was no doubt in J.R.’s mind that she was a Hollywood type.

  The hot water rushed over him. J.R. bowed his head and let the water hit his shoulders. Against his will, his mind turned back to those boots, those tights. Those legs. Yeah, that woman clearly underestimated the force of winter in Montana. Probably thought that little coat was enough to keep her warm.

  The moment he caught himself wondering what was under that coat, J.R. slammed on the brakes. He was not some green kid, distracted by a pretty face and a great body. No matter how blue her lips had been, that didn’t make up for the fact that she’d come looking for James Robert Bradley. She wanted that name—the name J.R. had buried deep in Big Sky country eleven years ago. She wasn’t here for him.

  No one was ever here for him.

  Except Minnie and Hoss, he reminded himself. They were his friends, his family and his crew all rolled into one. They knew who he really was, and that was good enough for him.

  Warm and clean, he flipped off the water and rubbed down with the towel. He was going to fire Bernie. Hell, he should have fired the man years ago, but Bernie was his one thin link to his old life
. He got J.R. some nice voice-over work and had, up until now, kept J.R.’s whereabouts to himself.

  What had that woman dangled in front of Bernie’s greedy little eyes to make him give her directions to the ranch? She had to be good at what she did. Not good enough to dress warmly, but J.R. knew that he could expect the full-court press from her for whatever she wanted James Robert Bradley to do.

  He slid into a clean pair of jeans, making sure to put all the dirty things in the hamper. If he didn’t, he’d have to listen to Minnie go on and on about men this and men that. It was easier to pick up after himself. Plus—not that he’d tell Minnie this—he preferred things neat. Clean.

  Simple.

  J.R. went to grab a shirt and paused. His hand was on his favorite flannel, the one he’d worn so much the collar was fraying. Minnie kept threatening to make a rag of it, but so far, she’d done no such thing.

  Maybe he should put on something a little nicer. A little less tattered. He could clean up well, after all. Maybe he should...

  Was he serious? Was he actually standing in his closet, debating what to wear because some uninvited, unwanted female had barged into his house? Was he hard up or what?

  His brain, ever resourceful, rushed in to remind him it had been two years and seven months since his last failed attempt at a relationship. Pretty much the textbook definition of hard up.

  Didn’t matter. She wasn’t welcome here. And after he humored Minnie at dinner, he’d make sure she left his property and never, ever came back. He grabbed his favorite shirt. Frays be damned.

  His resolve set, he shoved his feet into his house moccasins and threw his door open.