The crowd murmured, half in approval and half in disagreement. J.R. didn’t care. He recognized ten or so faces from his summer crew. They knew he fed them well and paid them better. A summer spot at the Bar B Ranch left a man enough to live on for the long winter. Most of the eyes he met nodded in silent agreement. No one wanted to risk their spot.
The crowd parted as he headed back to where Thalia was, her hands on her hips. “Come on,” he said, shooting a look back to Denny. The old man shook his head in disappointment. “Let me know if I owe you anything for the chairs.”
Denny waved him off.
Thalia grabbed her purse and coat and went outside with him. “What was that?” she demanded once the door of the bar was shut.
“That was me defending you?” Her sudden burst of anger caught him off guard.
“Okay, yes, and I appreciate being defended. But—” she jammed her arms in her coat and then crossed them, giving him a highly critical once-over. He was getting mighty tired of people looking at him like that “—that’s how you handle hecklers? No wonder you’re busy not hiding out here.”
When had he become the bad guy here? “Why are you mad at me? Dorsey’s the one being a jackass. I was putting him in his place. It’s not a big deal.”
“It could be, J.R. Maybe not in a bar in the middle of nowhere, but what happens when you pull that crap in the real world? What happens when someone with a camera finds you? You can’t beat down just anyone. As it is, you’re lucky you’re not being sued for assault—and how do you think that would look on a tabloid headline? Because gossip has a life of its own, you know.”
No doubt about it—he was the bad guy here. And he still didn’t understand what her problem was. Why should she care about what he did? “What is your deal? This place is my real world, and things were fine before you showed up. You’re the one who turned everyone’s head.” His words spilled out of him faster than he could figure out what he was going to say. “If you didn’t stand out so much, no one would have even noticed me.”
Despite the heavy coat—a different one than she’d had on last time—he saw her visibly bristle. “I will not apologize for existing.”
“Yeah? Well, you were going to apologize for something, so don’t act like it’s beneath you.”
She threw her hands up and all but snarled at him. “I do not have time for temper tantrums, not all the way out here. If I want ego trips and sexism, I’ll go back to Hollywood. There, at least, I can see it coming a mile off.” She turned toward her little rental car. “And,” she said, spinning on her heel, “I was going to apologize, but it’s clear you don’t need one and I’m not about to throw a punch to make my point.”
“Oh, so it’s not okay for me to keep a drunk from manhandling you, but it’s fine for you to slap me? Typical,” he muttered at her retreating back.
She didn’t retreat for long. “Excuse me?” The next thing he knew, she was bearing down on him, and the look in her eye said that punching him was still on the table. “You’re allowed to defend my honor from a drunk? You—who asked me if I was Levinson’s whore?” She put her hand flat on his chest and shoved. She packed a little more wallop than he would have given her credit for—he had to take a step back to keep his balance.
He grabbed her hand, but didn’t pull it away from his chest. Maybe those beers had hit him harder than he thought, because he was having trouble keeping up with her. She was mad at him, that he got. But what she was mad about seemed to change with every other breath that escaped her parted, reddened lips. “I never said whore. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“You didn’t have to. Your meaning was perfectly clear. Well, in case it’s not blisteringly obvious, I’m no one’s whore. Not Levinson’s, not yours. I don’t sleep with people to get the job done, so if that’s what you’re holding out for, you can keep on holding.”
What the heck was she talking about? He wasn’t angling for a roll in the sack—was that what she thought? He knew he should back away, disengage. He didn’t. “I’m supposed to believe that, after you all but throw a casting couch at Hoss?”
“That. Was. A. Joke.” Her eyes flashed in the dim neon light of the bar signs as she gave him another shove. “Or did you abandon your sense of humor in L.A. along with your life?”
They were close now, so close that he felt the warmth of her breath fan out around his face. He still had her hand pinned to his chest. For some reason, he wanted to smile. This was an argument, no doubt about it—but something about it felt real. Honest. Thalia was furious, true, but it felt good to have things out in the open. No pussyfooting around what she wanted, or who he used to be. Their differences were front and center.
“Why are you mad at me?” If they were being honest, then he was going to have to own up to his cluelessness.
“Because you don’t seem to understand how your actions—grabbing a woman and questioning her reputation, brawling in a bar—can get away from you. If you did either of those things in my world, J.R., you’d wind up on the evening news, and if you think I’m a pain in your—” she paused and swallowed. She was doing that thing again, where she blushed without seeming to acknowledge her embarrassment “—neck, then you can’t imagine how hard the paparazzi will make your life, your family’s life.”
“You being here makes it hard on me.”
Everything about her changed in the space of two heartbeats. The fire in her eyes simmered down to a warm glow. Anytime she wanted to stop looking sweet and beautiful would be great. “I know. That’s what I was going to apologize for.” Her voice was soft, inviting.
The space between them thinned, and he briefly thought she might be the one to start the kissing. She wanted to—he thought. Then the door of the bar opened, and noise—and a few bodies—poured out.
When she stepped away, he had no choice but to let her go.
Without another word, she turned back to her car. “Hey.” He jogged after her—as much as one jogged in boots, anyway. “You’re still staying at Lloyd’s, right?” Being the smallest of towns, every resident of Beaverhead probably knew the sexy out-of-towner was holed up at Lloyd’s. Including Dorsey.
She paused, her hand on the door handle. “J.R., I...” Her voice trailed off, taking whatever she was going to say with it. Then, she got in and drove off.
Six
The truck—J.R.’s truck—was still out there. It was dark, so Thalia wasn’t one hundred percent sure that it was actually him, but something told her he’d followed her back to Lloyd’s.
What the heck was she supposed to do about this? J.R. had all but accused her of stalking him—somewhat rightly—and now he was staking her out? Was this normal?
No, there was nothing normal about anything this evening. Not the part where she slapped him, not the part where he nearly strangled a guy for touching her and not the moment of blistering honesty in the parking lot. Not a normal event in the bunch.
So the better question was: Was this dangerous? She’d pushed J.R. further than she’d meant to, and every one of her attempts to negotiate with him backfired on her in one way or another. Despite how much she irritated J.R.—which she knew was a lot—and despite how much he was driving her bonkers—an almost equal amount—she didn’t think he was a physical threat to her.
* * *
She wasn’t going to be able to sleep, much less take a hot shower, knowing he was out there without knowing why. And she was not about to go back outside and ask him.
When her cell rang, she jumped so hard she almost tore down the drapery she was hiding behind. She didn’t recognize the number, but she thought it was a Montana area code. “Hello?”
“Thalia? This is Minnie Red Horse. Have you seen J.R.?”
Thalia let out a rush of air. “Yes. I went to apologize at the local bar.”
After a momentary pause, M
innie said, “Oh. Do you have any idea when he’ll be home? He’s not answering his phone, and Denny says he left with you.”
Thalia winced. They’d left at the same time, which was entirely different than leaving together. “He’s not with me now, but I could try calling him for you.” That way she could figure out if he was the one watching her window or not.
“Thank you, dear.” Minnie gave her the number and they hung up.
Thalia looked at her phone. This wasn’t about the part or the movie anymore. This felt like the point of no return. She could go one way or the other. She could call him, or she could ignore the truck outside.
She dialed. She couldn’t see any movement in the truck, but then he picked up. “Hello?”
“Are you following me?”
In response, the overhead light in the truck flipped on, and she saw J.R. in profile. “I’m not so much following you as keeping an eye on you.” He cleared his throat. “Are you up there?”
She turned on the small bedside lamp. It wasn’t a lot of light, but it was enough that he could at least see her in profile. Luckily, the flannel pajamas she’d bought at J.C. Penney didn’t lend themselves to being see-through. “Is there a difference between following me and keeping an eye on me? Because if there is, I’m not seeing it.”
“Everyone in town probably knows where you’re at, and Dog isn’t the kind of man to let something go—not until he’s sobered up.” He paused, and she wished she could see his eyes. “I’m making sure he doesn’t come back to prove his point.”
“Oh.” That was a pretty good reason. She might have conflicting feelings about J.R., but she definitely didn’t want to see that brute again. Ever.
That begged another question. “Why do you care? I mean, I’ve been nothing but trouble for you. You could hang me out to dry.”
He snorted. “I see nothing’s changed about Hollywood.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just because you trespass on my property and flirt with my best friend and attract all the wrong kinds of attention at my bar doesn’t mean I’d stand by and let anything happen to you. A real man makes sure a lady is safe.”
Part of Thalia melted. Maybe it was because she’d been hung out to dry on more than one occasion. After all, Levinson had let her take all of the fall for their failed affair, and she’d once fancied that he loved her. As incredible as it seemed now, she’d once fancied that she’d loved him. Just another example of letting her emotions get in the way of business.
This was different. Knowing—and believing—that J.R. would defend her instead of throwing her to the wolves was a gift in and of itself. That he thought of her as a lady, despite how wrong things had gone? Melt.
But as one part of her melted, another part of her wanted to throw things at him. “What is it with you? Okay, so I wasn’t invited the first time. It’s not like I cut a lock and snuck into your house. Minnie invited me back the second time. And I’m not flirting with Hoss. He’s a nice man and all, but I’m not interested in him. Ugh. It would be like kissing my brother. And I can’t help it if this town is populated with Neanderthals.”
She expected him to come back with the myriad of ways this whole thing was all her fault, but he didn’t say anything. The silence stretched between them, and she found herself wondering if he was done talking or what.
“That happen a lot?” was what he finally said, startling her.
“Which part?”
“Getting hung out to dry? Or what is it they say now? Thrown in front of the bus?”
“Thrown under the bus.” She smiled at him, not that he could see it. Who would have guessed that the man who was once the physical embodiment of cool couldn’t even handle a catchphrase?
“Yeah. That. The Hollywood I used to know was every man—and woman—for themselves. That ever happen to you?”
She exhaled, fogging up the window. Levinson had not only thrown her under the bus, but he’d backed it up over her a few times for good measure. She didn’t want to tell J.R. that. He had obviously already formed an opinion of her. He hated Levinson, and with good reason. If she told J.R. how Levinson had all but tied her to the bumper of the bus, it would destroy what little respect he had for her. “It’s Hollywood. Nothing I can’t handle.” She heard J.R. chuckle. “What?”
“I’m going to take that as a yes. How long you been there?”
She didn’t like this, not one bit. Despite the physical distance between them, it felt like he was not only digging into her past, but getting close to striking pay dirt. It made her nervous, like she was giving something up.
How long had it been since someone had asked her these basic questions? A long time. After the affair with Levinson had blown up in her face, she’d retreated into herself. People—men—didn’t ask where she was from. Was that because they were a self-absorbed lot? Or because she never gave anyone the chance to get past that first wall?
“Must be doing some hard thinking up there,” J.R. mused into the silence. “Or did you forget? Hollywood can do that, you know.”
“I’ve been there ten years. I haven’t forgotten.”
“Ah, now. And you can’t be much over...” She could only wonder what age he was going to say. “Well, I guess you went out when you were a teenager.”
She could picture the grin on his face—small, hidden beneath the beard—but at heart, the same grin that he’d had on in all those posters she’d taped up in her room when she was a teenager. Somehow, back when she’d envisioned meeting James Robert Bradley, this particular scenario never played out in her head—him making guesses on how old she was.
He’d probably keep dancing around it until she told him. This was one of the few plusses of not being an actress. Her age wasn’t an immediate disqualifier. “I turned thirty in September, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
“Hmm.” The sound he made—closer to a purr than a thoughtful observation—sent little sparks of electricity racing up and down the skin on the back of her hand. “That’s not old.”
She wouldn’t let that count as flattery. “Boy, you have been gone a long time. I’m all but a dinosaur these days.”
“Wonder what that makes me? No, don’t answer that.”
Not that she was going to, because then she’d have to tell him that he was clearly one of those men who only got better with age, like Cary Grant or Gregory Peck. And then she’d get all swoony again, and every time she did that, she managed to stick her foot in her mouth. “It’s different,” he went on, missing her awkward silence. “You’ve only been there for ten years. I was there for...twenty-one years.”
“Really?” It seemed like a long time—but also not quite long enough. “I always kind of thought you were born there.”
“Nope. St. Louis. My mother had me doing commercials when I was a baby.” His voice seemed to grow softer. She couldn’t tell if he was holding the phone away from his mouth or getting all sentimental. “We moved to Hollywood when I was four.”
“You were so young.”
“Oh, yeah.” He exhaled into the phone. “You know what I wanted to be when I grew up?”
“No.” She didn’t know where he was going with this trip down memory lane. If she had to describe this current exchange, she’d have to call it chitchat, the conversation of two friends. It bordered on sharing, and she was afraid she didn’t want the conversation to end.
“A firefighter, an astronaut and a cowboy. Oh, and an army man.” He paused, and when he spoke again, she could hear the nostalgia in his voice. “I went back to St. Louis once, after I came out here. Didn’t recognize anything. Not even the house I grew up in.” He cleared his throat. “That was a long time ago.”
“You didn’t want to be an actor?”
“It’s what my mother wanted.”
“You we
re good at it.” Obviously. They didn’t usually give Oscars out of pity.
“It was never my choice, Thalia.”
The weight of those words tried to cave in her chest. Gone was the nostalgic tone, the sentimental-sounding sighs. Heck, he didn’t even sound like he’d been drinking. He was dead serious.
She felt so, so guilty, an emotion that she’d gotten used to pretending she didn’t experience. She’d asked him to take the part, and he’d said no. Instead of respecting that choice, she had kept coming at him. And what made it worse was that he’d been right about the bar fight. He hadn’t been sued for loutish behavior yet. He was, relatively speaking, safe out here. She was the one who could expose him. If people came looking for him, it would be because of her. If he went viral, it would all trace back to the day she landed in Montana.
But to show guilt was to show weakness, and no matter how personal this conversation seemed, she wouldn’t grovel. So she tried to deflect. “A cowboy, huh?”
“Yup.”
He didn’t come up with another wild tangent. For the life of her, she couldn’t read his mind. The silence started to bug her. Maybe she couldn’t bring herself to apologize for not honoring his choice, but she still owed him something. “I’m sorry I slapped you earlier. You were right, that was uncalled for.”
“It’s okay. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have. My apologies for that. It’s just...”
When his voice trailed off, Thalia found herself leaning into the window, hoping to hear what he had to say. A story below her, she saw J.R. shift in his seat, leaning forward until he was looking up at her. She couldn’t see his eyes, darn it, but she still felt a connection with him as clearly as if she was sitting across the table from him.
“Minnie’s probably worried about me.” He leaned back, his whole face disappearing into the cab of his truck.
“Yeah.” Right—she was supposed to tell him that exact thing. “You should probably get home.”
The dome light flipped off, and she thought he’d hung up on her. Then she heard him say, “I won’t let anyone bother you, Thalia.”
Harlequin Desire February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: The King Next DoorMarriage With BenefitsA Real Cowboy (Kings of California) Page 40