A Land Called Deseret

by Janet Dailey

  Nothing had gone the way she planned it. The ride here had been a miserable, bone-jarring, bruising experience. The ranch was a despicable place and Travis McCrea had not fallen at her feet, figuratively or literally, when he'd met her. She felt close to tears, which was ridiculous. She never cried. She stared at the distant horizon and blinked at the smarting moistness.

  The screen door opened, the sound followed by heavy footsteps on the porch floorboards. LaRaine didn't turn around. There were two sets of feet, Sam's and Travis McCrea's.

  "That business discussion was short but sweet," LaRaine said, to let them know she was aware they had joined her outside.

  "It isn't over." It was Travis who responded to her comment. "I came out to bed the calf down in one of the stalls."

  "Oh." Her reply was an indifferent sound as she pretended that she didn't care what either of them did.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Travis's bulk only a few feet away. The calf was in his arms. This time it was making an attempt to hold its head up, the purple splotches of antiseptic on its white face.

  "Are you admiring the view?" Travis asked.

  "Yes." LaRaine agreed rather than turn to look at him. She was afraid that the brightness of unshed tears might be in her eyes and she didn't want him to see. A further comment seemed to be expected from her and she searched for one. "It's a vast, beautiful …" The lie stuck in her throat. She couldn't find anything beautiful about the desolate country. "Nothing," she finished with cold, blatant truthfulness.

  "Yes." Travis seemed to consider her reply. "You could be right."

  LaRaine felt his gaze dwelling on her. Heat rushed through her veins as she realized he was applying the description to her instead of the land, a beautiful nothing. She pivoted to glare at him, all proud and defiant, her dark eyes flashing, her volatile beauty coming into play.

  "On the other hand, maybe one of us isn't seeing it all," Travis qualified his previous statement.

  His sun-browned features revealed nothing. Neither did his eyes. LaRaine was confused, unsure whether there was a double meaning to his comments or whether she had imagined it. Travis moved off toward the barn before she could decide.

  LaRaine watched him go, with Sam following. She saw him say something to Sam, evidently about the bay horse, because Sam gathered the reins and led the horse inside the barn after Travis had slid the door open. An hour ago she would have smiled at that, aware of Sam's dread of horses. At that moment, the thought didn't even register.

  When they came out of the barn they were discussing the proposed use of Travis's ranch as a location for the movie. Sam was doing most of the talking, explaining which sections of the ranch would be used and the approximate length of time it would take to film the location sequences. They discussed price and who would be responsible for what. The two men remained outside, standing on the porch, and LaRaine overheard it all.

  When they came to terms, Sam shook Travis's hand. "It's a deal, then, McCrea. I'll have all the legal papers drawn up so you can review the agreement with our attorney. We should have our film crew out here next week if it's all satisfactory."

  "Sounds good," Travis agreed noncommittally.

  "I'll make a phone call and get the ball rolling." Sam excused himself, and entered the house.

  His departure left a silence in its wake. LaRaine wandered with seeming aimlessness toward the porch where Travis stood, a shoulder leaning against one of the upright posts supporting the roof. His hat brim shadowed the upper part of his face, but she felt his gaze on her.

  "You could have asked for more money," she told him. "You would have got it. Everyone on the production staff wants your ranch for the location shots now that they've seen it."

  "I'm satisfied with the price and the terms. It's fair to both sides." His tone indicated that it was none of her business.

  "I was just trying to be helpful." LaRaine shrugged, but she felt defensive and on edge.

  "Thanks, but I'm old enough to make my own decisions, " he said dryly.

  "And how old is that?" she blurted, her gaze flickering to the distinguished streaks of white hair at his temples.

  "Forty last month, and how old are you?" Travis countered without hesitation.

  "Didn't anyone ever tell you it isn't polite for a gentleman to ask a lady her age?" LaRaine would have guessed that he was in his late thirties. She veiled her surprise at learning he was older than that. He didn't look it. There was so much vitality about him, so much untapped strength.

  "I'm not a gentleman." But his answer implied that she wasn't a lady, either.

  "I'm twenty-five, going on twenty-six." She wished she hadn't put it that way. It reminded her of a child who had to tack on the approaching year to appear older.

  Sam chose that moment to return. "It's all in motion," he told Travis. "I'll be back in touch with you in the next day or two."

  "Fine."

  "I know you have work to do, so we won't keep you. Besides, we have to be heading back." Sam shook hands with him again. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other over the next month or two, so I won't say goodbye."

  "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. McCrea," LaRaine offered with studied formality. Strangely enough, she was just as eager to leave the company of the rancher as she had been to seek it. It wasn't like her to fluctuate in her wishes.

  "You, too, Miss Evans," was his bland response.

  The four-wheel-drive Scout had crested the rise, leaving the ranchyard behind, before Sam directed a remark to LaRaine. "McCrea didn't turn out to be the pushover you thought he would, did he?" he said with smug satisfaction. "You're going to have a time trying to twist him around your finger."

  "Who said I wanted to?" LaRaine would rather have died than admit differently to Sam.

  It seemed to be an extraordinarily long and silent drive back to the motel in Delta that was serving as headquarters for the cast and crew. LaRaine was glad when Sam let her out at the entrance and went to complete his report on the meeting with Travis McCrea.

  As she walked down the hallway to her room, a door near hers opened. Susan Winters, who had one of the charter parts in the film, stepped into the hall. She was a slim, attractive girl with honey-brown hair. An eyebrow lifted in recognition when she saw LaRaine.

  "You're back," she announced.

  The statement was so obvious that LaRaine simply nodded and slipped the key into the door lock. She wasn't in the mood for conversation. The only thought in her mind was to shower away the grit and dust from the rough ride.

  "You should have left word where you were going." Susan followed LaRaine into her room, unbothered that she hadn't been invited. "Andy Pandy was upset when he couldn't find you," she said, using the cast's nickname for their director. "Luckily someone saw you leave with Sam or your name would have been mud."

  "You mean it isn't?" LaRaine retorted cynically. The director's opinion of her had seemed to be pretty low since she arrived here. "Besides, it wasn't any of his business where I was. My free time is my own. I checked the shooting schedule and there was nothing posted for me today."

  "That was before Chuck cut his leg and had to be taken to the hospital for stitches. They had to abandon that scene and rearrange the schedule," Susan explained.

  "What heroics was Chuck performing this time?" She derisively referred to the leading man and his penchant to prove what a macho figure he was.

  "It was a totally graceless accident. He stepped on a rock, twisted his ankle and fell, cutting his leg on a piece of glass lying on the ground."

  "I'll bet that isn't the story the press release will give," LaRaine commented, knowing it would be one to enhance the star's image. She sat on the edge of the bed and began tugging off her boots.

  "What made you decide to go with Sam today? I thought you two were bitter enemies." Susan had an emery board in her hand and began filing at her nails.

  "He's bitter. I'm not." She tossed the boots in a corner and began unbuttoning her blouse.
"He was taking a ride out to the new location to see if it met with his approval and asked if I wanted to come along. I was more than willing to escape this dreary hole." Her gaze swept the room with disdain.

  "What's the verdict on the new location? Did Sam tell you?" Susan moved to half stand against and half sit on the low chest of drawers.

  "It looks like we'll be shooting out there next week." LaRaine took off her blouse and tossed it on the bed with careless disregard for its soiled condition and the cleanliness of the bed.

  She was accustomed to someone picking up after her. When she was younger, it had been her mother. Later, there had been her cousin Laurie to rely on to clean up her messes. Lately, it had been maids or cleaning ladies. Her disregard for such things had long been a habit.

  "This whole project has been chaos from the beginning," Susan declared. "No one is organized. Really, LaRaine, changing locations in the middle of filming, that proves it right there. It's no wonder that everyone keeps talking about the budget and delays."

  "From what Sam said, I gather that the change of locations won't require any reshooting." LaRaine stepped out of the fawn leather culottes and left them lying on the floor.

  Walking to the small closet, she took out her two robes, one a red caftan and the other a gold velour that zipped up the front. She hesitated in her choice before selecting the red. The gold she flung across the lone chair, not bothering to hang it back up. After slipping the caftan over her head, she walked into the adjoining bathroom and turned the water on in the tub.

  "The new place is on somebody's ranch, isn't it?" Susan called, raising her voice to make herself heard above the running water.

  "Yes." LaRaine returned to the bedroom and began winding her shoulder-length black hair into a bun on top of her head, securing it with a comb and pins.

  "I heard the guy that owns it's a bachelor. Did you meet him or just look around?" Susan eyed her curiously.

  "We looked around and we met the owner." LaRaine answered the question and volunteered no more.

  "And?" Susan prompted. "What was your impression?"

  "You have to see the place to believe it." Her dark gaze swept the hotel room, comparing it to the ranch house and deciding it was a palace.

  "Who cares about the place?" Susan dismissed that as totally unimportant. "I want to know about the man."

  "You'll meet him yourself next week." LaRaine had no desire to discuss Travis McCrea.

  "What does that mean—hands off, you saw him first?" the girl laughed with a trace of sarcastic challenge.

  "It means." LaRaine walked to the bathroom door, "that I'm going to take a bath—in private."

  Alone in the bathroom, LaRaine heard the hotel room door close, signaling that Susan had left. It wouldn't matter what she told Susan about Travis. The word would have spread that she was out to snare the rancher. Everyone expected her to go after any eligible bachelor that came along, especially the ones that were believed to be wealthy. It was true, wasn't it? So why did it bother her?

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  Chapter Three

  IT WAS ALMOST two full weeks before the movie company moved onto the McCrea ranch. Gossip had continued to be whispered throughout the cast and crew, linking LaRaine with the rancher, even though she had not seen him since that one time.

  LaRaine ignored it. As intrigued as she had been with the man, Travis McCrea did not meet her standards. Just thinking about the house made her shudder. In her mind, she crossed him off her list. The problem was that there was no one left on her list who could be regarded as potential husband material.

  Her future, beyond the conclusion of this film looked bleak. Twice she had come close to catching the ideal man, only to lose him both times to someone else. She was afraid of failing a third time. Her confidence was shaken, although no one on the outside had guessed.

  But then no one liked her, so they never bothered to find out how she truly felt about anything. That was the way she wanted it, she told herself. Who needed them anyway?

  The film company was taking a noon break for lunch. The cast and crew intermingled, clustered in little groups around the film set. The director and his assistant were huddled with the screenwriter, going over more proposed script changes. A tangle of electric cords snaked along the ground, running from the lights and sound equipment to the generator truck.

  LaRaine was alone, sitting on a flat rock apart from the others. Her back was turned to the luxurious motor homes parked to the side, provided for the leading actors in the film. Inside the large vans there were soft, cushioned chairs and couches, plus air-conditioned comfort. She didn't need to be reminded that she would never attain that status in her career.

  The styrofoam cup in her hand contained iced tea, but the sun had warmed it to a tepid stage. She swirled it uninterestedly. The remains of a sandwich and its wrapper were on the ground near her feet, cast aside half-eaten.

  It seemed like such a short time ago that she had shared an apartment with her cousin Laurie. At the time, LaRaine had been certain she could conquer the world. Now it seemed that the world was threatening to conquer her. Thick and long curling lashes touched to blink at the stinging moisture in her dark eyes. But her artfully made-up features retained their smooth, unemotional expression.

  The drumming rhythm of a cantering horse opened her eyes. Approaching the film set were a horse and rider. LaRaine recognized the easy-riding man in the saddle immediately. Her gaze caught the slight checking of the reins by Travis McCrea that slowed the bay horse to a trot and finally a walk.

  Unconsciously she got to her feet, discarding the cup on the ground. The tea spilled onto the thirsty soil. Her senses came to life, no longer dulled by the unhappiness of her thoughts. There was a faint quickening of her pulse as she watched him rein in at the edge of the set, not thirty feet from where she stood.

  His gaze touched on her in silent recognition. LaRaine was drawn toward him, compelled by something she neither understood nor questioned. Others were aware of his arrival, but she didn't notice. As she walked forward, she admired his fluid dismount. Despite his height and muscled build, his movements held an animal grace, the suggestion of lightness almost catlike.

  "Look what the wind blew in!" Her voice was riddled with cynical mockery and a trace of arrogance. "If it isn't our long, tall Texan!"

  "Miss Evans." Leather-gloved fingers touched the dusty brim of his brown hat in a respectful greeting, yet she didn't like that knowing complacency in his look. "Why are you off by yourself?"

  Instantly LaRaine was on the defensive. "I was having lunch. I prefer to eat alone," she stated, her spine stiffening rigidly.

  "I thought you might have been waiting for me." The corners of his mouth deepened in amusement, but the half-smile seemed to taunt.

  "But I didn't know you were coming." She kept her reply calm and smooth while she bristled inside.

  "I thought your boyfriend might have mentioned it." Travis gave the impression of shrugging indifferently.

  "My boyfriend?" LaRaine challenged.

  "Sam Hardesty," Travis identified.

  "He isn't my boyfriend." Her correction was cool and swift.

  "That's right." He made a brief nod of remembrance. "You said you dumped him, didn't you?"

  Which was almost literally what she had done once she was assured she had a small part in this film. She had been accused of such a thing before, but, coming from this man, it was a condemnation that hurt.

  "No, I said that he asked me to marry him and I refused." She rephrased it to take out the sting of his sentence.

  But the look in his dark brown eyes said that she had probably led Sam to believe that her answer would be affirmative. Maybe she had, but LaRaine would only admit that to herself. She rationalized her actions with the excuse that she needed the job. She had been desperate—and still was.

  "I believe you did say that," Travis agreed, but his expression didn't change.

  "Hello, Travis." Sa
m Hardesty hustled forward to shake his hand. "It's good to see you again."

  "You left a message at the house that said you wanted to talk to me." Travis explained the reason why he was there.

  "Yes, I did," Sam admitted. "We have a scene coming up next week that calls for cattle. I wondered if you would want to rent us about thirty head of your stock."

  Neither man paid the slightest bit of attention to LaRaine standing beside them. She waited for Travis to snap up the offer, guessing that he was probably desperate for money considering the state his ranch buildings were in.

  But he didn't. "What will you use the cattle for?" he questioned instead.

  "We just need a small herd to be grazing in the background with a couple of cowboys working them maybe," Sam explained. "We won't be stampeding them or anything like that."

  "In that case, I can gather thirty head for you," Travis agreed.

  "Good, and the scruffier they look, the better," Sam added.

  "All I have on the place is blooded stock," Travis told him. "If it's rough-looking range cattle you want, you'd better check with one of the other ranchers in the area."

  "I see." Sam looked thoughtfully away, mulling over this information. "Maybe they'll work, anyway. I'll talk it over with the others," he said. "In the meantime, why don't you come over where the others are and I'll introduce you around?"

  Travis hesitated as if he had more important things to do, then agreed, "All right."

  "Do you want a cup of coffee, a sandwich or anything?" Sam offered. "The mobile canteen is here."

  "Nothing, thank you," he refused.

  LaRaine walked along with them. She noticed the way heads turned as the lunching cast and crew noticed Travis walking through their midst leading his big bay horse. It wasn't just because he was a stranger. It had something to do with that air of quiet authority about him, a presence that made itself felt. She couldn't help thinking that it was a pity he wasn't rich.