by J. S. Marlo
“You can’t lock yourself in your hotel room every night. You’ll suffocate.”
“At the risk of repeating myself, Paul, I am not interested.” She tossed the bottle into the drawer and slammed it shut. “We’ll discuss whatever we have to discuss in this office. I use my lunch hour to run, and I am not having dinner with you, not tonight, not ever. Is that clear?”
“Morning, everyone.” A smile pasted on his face, Andy breezed through the tension permeating the office and tossed some files on to his desk. “Riley, you got your wish. Carson’s ex-wife suffered a miscarriage. Make sure the lover is consumed with rage over the loss of the baby he believed was his. Paul will help with character development.”
Disbelief ran through her mind. It was doubtful that Paul had ever experienced the pain of losing a child, but if she wanted to keep her job, she had no other choice than to agree.
Lunch hour didn’t come soon enough. By the time she closed her laptop, she was ready to smack it over Paul’s head. “I’m going for a run. You can have lunch with your ego.”
To make room for her laptop in the drawer, she removed the bottle of perfume. Sensing Paul’s gaze on her, she looked up. Seated at his desk, he grinned like a Cheshire cat. She aimed to toss the bottle into the garbage can when a better idea surged inside her head.
Intent on keeping him guessing, she walked out of the office with the bottle of perfume in her hand.
Chapter Eight
Exhausted after a frustrating day spent working with Paul and a turbulent flight home, Riley was glad to land.
Inside the airport terminal, Ollie waited for her with a smile on his face. She’d been afraid he might still be upset over their fight, but when he pulled her into a tender embrace and kissed her, any misgivings evaporated from her mind.
Wrapped in his arms, she breathed in his scent. “Would you take me home, please?”
“With pleasure.” As soon as she retrieved her suitcase, they headed for the ranch.
The sun had disappeared behind the mountaintops, and darkness washed over the foothills. Riley opened her window and took advantage of the one-hour drive through the quiet landscape to recount her three days at the studio.
“Dark chocolates on Monday, the cold shoulder on Tuesday after you gave your boss a better idea, and perfume this morning?” Her husband had summarized Paul’s puzzling behavior in one sentence. “Am I the only one who questions his motives?”
The headlights of Ollie’s truck bathed the rural road in a yellow glow.
“No.” Paul buttered her up one moment and belittled her the next. It was obvious he had an agenda. “Blythe doesn’t trust him, either, but he won’t tell me why.”
“At least someone is watching your back. What did you do with the perfume?”
The truck entered a patch of fog, and the temperature dropped suddenly. She rolled up the window. “Let’s just say a trash can in the park smelled of lavender today.”
“Lavender?” The truck swerved on the road to avoid roadkill. “How did he become privy to your favorite fragrance?”
“No clue.” Another creepy coincidence. “You’re not going to start worrying about me when I’m at the studio, are you?”
“I… No. You can take care of yourself.”
She appreciated the reluctant vote of confidence. “Glad we agree.” The fog dissipated, and in the distance, the light on her front veranda beckoned her home. “Any new fires in my absence?”
“A brushfire. Nothing serious.” He slowed as he entered their private road. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? It’s not perfume or chocolate, is it?”
“It’s sweeter than chocolate.”
Not many items entered the sweeter-than-chocolate category, except—
A tall, athletic silhouette stood on the veranda. “Hunter? Is that Hunter?” Her son waved, and any doubt of his identity vanished. “Did something happen to him? Why is he home?” Afraid his return might be the result of some mishap, her heart beat louder than the rain pounding on the aluminum roof of the barn on a stormy night.
“I told him if he was serious about becoming a firefighter, I wanted him to apply as a volunteer first. He arrived this morning, and he’ll spend the summer in training at the station. If he hasn’t changed his mind by August, I’ll ask the chief to give him a recommendation, and I’ll drive him to firefighter school myself.”
Pride and love swelled in her chest as tears pooled in her eyes. She reached out and clasped his hand over the gearshift. “You’re a good man, Oliver Durham.”
Chapter Nine
“I see your plane didn’t crash. That’s too bad.”
It was another typical Monday morning at the office. Ever since Riley had gotten rid of that perfume three weeks ago, Paul treated her with indifference or condescension, whichever suited his daily mood.
She ignored him and settled at her desk.
Moments later, Andy marched into the office. “We have a problem. The stuntmen’s strike is finally over, and Martin is shooting the boat explosion.”
Not understanding the problem, she looked over her laptop at Andy. The strike began the week she arrived, and she’d been with the studio five weeks. The producer should have been happy it’d come to an end. “I thought Martin was eager to shoot that scene.”
“He is, but the script supervisor just called in sick. Grab your sunglasses. You’re going on location.”
“Me?” If she’d known she’d be spending the day at the lake, she would have flown in wearing Capri pants and hikers, not a skirt and a pair of sandals.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Paul’s objection didn’t come as a surprise to her. “She won’t recognize the subtle differences in the script if they step on her purple toenails.”
Infuriated by his patronizing tone, she grabbed her purse from her drawer and stowed her laptop in its place. “It sounds like fun.”
“That’s my girl.” Andy’s appreciative remark elicited a groan from Paul. “If you remember the boat scene, there’s lots of action but little dialogue. Take advantage of the ride to review it. Once at the lake, note everything.”
On the set, actors were allowed to change the lines and improvise as long as it stayed within the spirit of the script, and it was the responsibility of the script supervisor to keep track of the continuity and to note the discrepancies in the dialogues and actions.
A chair screeched on the floor. “I should be the one going.” On his feet, Paul towered over Andy’s head. “This isn’t a picnic.”
“Paul, sit.” Spoken calmly, the words carried Andy’s authority. “The train station episode is out. I need another scenario before lunchtime. Start working on it. Riley, get moving if you want to hop on the crew van. They leave in thirty minutes, and they won’t wait for you.”
***
When filming on location, Blythe didn’t leave the studio without his black baseball cap, and he didn’t rely on studio transportation. He preferred to drive his own car, and he never accepted passengers. By adhering to this strict rule, it made it easier to turn down unwelcome riders, like Bella.
What part didn’t the actress understand? The he, the wasn’t, or the interested? Surely, she hadn’t run out of college-age lovers. Perhaps some of them were still taking summer classes.
During the morning briefing, he learned Riley would be the one acting as script supervisor. For her, he was ready to make an exception to his rule, and he couldn’t care less if it ruffled Bella’s feathers. He enjoyed spending time with Riley, and he’d love for her to ride with him to the lake.
In search of his baseball cap, he climbed to the seventh floor. If he weren’t mistaken, it was in a drawer of his desk. He found it in the third one under a novel he’d never finished reading. Cap in hand, he left his cubicle, but then, around the next intersection, chance smiled on him. Riley waited near the elevator, alone.
As lovely as she looked in a skirt, she might want to stop by her hotel and change into som
ething more comfortable.
“Riley?”
At the sound of her name, she turned toward him. “Hello, Blythe.” Her eyes twinkled with glee as she looked down at his hands. “Nice cap. I like the silver thunder bolt on the front.”
He twirled the special baseball cap between his fingers. “A gift from my little nephews. They play hockey, and their last team was called the Thunder.”
“You’re a lucky uncle. Hunter stopped playing years ago, and I miss watching kids on the ice. Too bad it’s not winter, or I might ask you to take me to one of their games instead of dinner.”
If Martin renewed her contract in the fall, he’d invite her to some of his nephews’ hockey games. “Would you come down the stairs with me?”
As he accompanied the request with a grand, sweeping gesture toward the end of the hallway, the door of the elevator opened.
“Sure.” Without giving the elevator a second look, she followed him. “I’m on my way out. I got a special assignment for the day.”
The excitement in her voice was palpable.
“I heard, and I was hoping you’d ride with me.” As he spoke, he studied her face.
Her eyes widened, and she slowed down. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It’s a long two-hour drive into the countryside near the Manitoba-Minnesota border. I’d love some company.” Her company. “And if you need anything, we can stop by your hotel on our way out.”
She gazed down at her painted toes, which he found peculiar since she didn’t wear any makeup. “I may need my hiking shoes.”
***
Technicians strapped explosives to a red vessel anchored some eighty feet out on the lake, and with each deadly charge added on board, trepidation coiled Riley’s stomach into a tighter knot. She hated explosions and fires.
On shore, Blythe had donned a fire suit under his yellow jumpsuit and was busy applying a thick layer of fire-retardant gel on the exposed parts of his body to prevent burns when he jumped from the burning vessel.
During their long ride in the car, they’d discussed the intricacies of the scene, but he didn’t mention performing his own stunts until they reached the lake. The stunt hit too close for comfort. She should have swallowed her pride, refused the assignment, and let Paul handle the outdoor shooting.
On her left, Martin rubbed his hands together as he trampled the grass at the edge of a gravel path. “This will be spectacular.” In the heat, sweat beaded on his forehead. “The weather is perfect.”
The cloudless sky melted into a shimmering lake surrounded by a young, verdant forest. Along the tree line, orange barricades prevented a handful of curious fans and onlookers from approaching the site.
Moored to the pier, a rubber dinghy waited for Blythe. Martin signaled for the actor to board and for the pilot to proceed.
Cameras rolled, capturing behind the scenes footage that might one day make unforgettable memories or great bloopers.
Positioned at the stern, Blythe untied the ropes securing the dinghy to the pier then reeled them in as the pilot turned the engine on.
Farther out on the lake, a ladder ran down the side of the red vessel.
The dinghy skimmed over the surface of the water, and when it pulled alongside the vessel, Blythe stood and gripped the ladder. At the bow, a black and white flag flapped in the wind.
In her mind, Riley reviewed the scene. The engine explodes while Blythe is at the helm, and he jumps off before the fire engulfs the entire boat.
As the dinghy moved away, Blythe climbed on board. A sudden explosion rocked the lake and tore the red vessel apart. His body flew into the air.
A scream escaped her throat, and amid the mayhem, she ran toward the shore.
***
Blythe touched the bandage on his face and groaned. A shard of metal from the vessel had cut his right cheek but, thankfully, missed his eye. The scar he’d gain didn’t bother him as much as the extra time he’d have to spend with the makeup artist to cover it up.
After the rescue crew pulled him out of the water, they’d taken him to a nearby hospital where a doctor stitched the wound and gave him painkillers and antibiotics. With the drugs dulling his system, Riley had refused to let him drive back to Winnipeg. He’d been tempted to argue, but one look at her green eyes warned him against waging another losing battle.
Seated in the passenger seat, he studied her. Gaze focused on the road, she kept quieter than usual, and the eerie silence fogging the inside of his car unnerved him. “Is something going on? Has something happened to your children while I was at the hospital?”
“You’re asking about my children?” The high-pitched comeback replicated a foreign accent. “You almost died, Blythe. Blown into tiny pieces right in front of my eyes. The doctor wanted to keep you under observation. You should be at the hospital, not riding back to Winnipeg with me.”
It didn’t occur to him she might still be rattled by the mishap, though her reaction mimicked the one he would have received from Claire had his wife been with him.
“I’m fine.” He didn’t have a concussion. Staying overnight would have served no purpose, and he didn’t need a nurse to change his bandage or remind him to take a pill three times a day. “It was an unfortunate accident. It happens…in any job.” If anyone could relate, it was Riley. An investigation had been launched, but it’d be weeks before the cause of the early detonation was uncovered.
“If you say so.”
The darkness descending upon the countryside obscured her expression, but he had the uncanny feeling she was mad at him.
“Riley?” Right now might not be the best time to ask, but he needed a favor. “In the next episode, could you disfigure my character?”
She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “You want me to do what? Why?”
“I hate heavy makeup. I’d like you to write my scar into the script.”
“I guess I could try selling the idea to Andy.” Her tone had mellowed. “It’d make Carson more endearing in the eyes of the female viewers.”
If fan letters were any indication, crazed women already paid too much attention to him, and his character wasn’t as popular as Luke or Roch.
“While we’re on the subject of infatuation, can you tell me why Vivian is showing an interest toward Carson?” The idea that fiction mirrored real life disconcerted him. Bella didn’t need more encouragement. “The stolen glances my character has been throwing her way for the last three years aren’t signs of mutual attraction, are they?”
“Well…I suppose that could be one explanation.”
After many dinners spent together, he’d learned to interpret her evasive answers. “Any chance I could convince you or Andy to abandon that ludicrous story line?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Great. Just great. Muffling a heavy sigh, he slumped against the seat and closed his eyes.
Chapter Ten
The plane began its descent in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. Seated in the window seat, Riley peered outside, resting her forehead against the cool glass.
Down below, an intense fire burned in the foothills. At the sight of the red and white lights of the fire trucks flashing in the twilight, fear constricted her chest. Sometimes Ollie’s brigade was called to assist even if the fire was outside their jurisdiction. He could be among the brave men and women fighting the blaze.
When no one approached her in the arrival terminal, Riley relaxed a notch. Had her husband been injured, a solemn face would have greeted her as soon as she stepped off the plane.
She retrieved her suitcase from the conveyor belt and walked outside. Her SUV was parked in the long-term parking lot.
Before departing, she’d convinced Ollie the four hours he spent driving back and forth to the airport every week could be put to better use, but alone on the road, she missed his presence.
When she got home, she found her son stargazing in his boxers on the veranda. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Yes, but I saw a fire from the air.” Leaning on the railing, she gazed into the quiet night. Only two vehicles were parked near the garage, Hunter’s car and her SUV. Ollie’s truck was nowhere to be seen. “Has your dad been called away?”
“He’s at Joe’s and Myra’s ranch.” Her son’s shoulder brushed against hers as he adopted a similar pose against the railing. “Their barn burned this afternoon. Dad is examining the scene.”
Joe and Myra Keer, their third neighbors to the east, raised llamas. They were hard-working people. Good people. “Any casualties? Human or animals?”
“The guys at the station didn’t mention any.” Beams of lights pierced the night, and down the road, an engine roared, the sound growing louder as it neared. “That’s Dad’s truck. I’ll leave you two alone. Good night, Mom.” He kissed her before disappearing inside the house.
A few minutes later, Ollie parked beside her SUV. She met him in front of the garage where he welcomed her with a loving hug. “HelIo, Ken.” The weak smile he threw her way didn’t erase the weariness from his eyes. “How was Winnipeg?”
“Busy, like usual.” As much as she enjoyed working on the show, she missed him while in Winnipeg, especially at night. “How are Joe and Myra?”
“Myra is distraught.” He tightened his embrace. “And Joe blames the arsonist.”
If a suspicious fire ignited around the ranch, she’d blame the firebug too. “Is he right?”
“The arsonist leaves a can of paint thinner at each of his crime scenes, but I didn’t see any container or any signs an accelerant was used. All I found was a disposable lighter.” Ollie’s chest deflated against her. “Joe faces foreclosure, and he increased his insurance coverage last week.”